#dottore/reader
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Blasphemous Rumors - IV
“Marry me.”
He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly. Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope.
“Just for a year. A marriage of convenience. Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.”
Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality. Slow-ish burn. Semi-enemies to lovers.
On AO3 here. Likes, reblog, and comments appreciated.
That sentiment never left in the weeks of planning that followed.
Every time someone asked about your ring, you told them it was being resized and that neither of you were pleased with the clarity of the gems. Besides, you would say, you didn’t want to show it off before the wedding.
The wedding date was settled by a Segment (Omega, you were certain, for he was the closest to the actual Doctor in personality) unceremoniously dropping a calendar on your desk. You closed your eyes, placed your finger somewhere and landed on a weekend towards the later half of the month.
Omega then had the gall to take a paperclip from your tiny dish that held them and twist one into a ring before he left without another word.
You didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.
The timeline was short. Six weeks. Even your coworkers who dabbled in event planning for the annual ball and other celebrations balked at the small window of time. A wedding of this magnitude required at least a year, someone said, and you wished their gaze hadn’t dropped to your lower half so blatantly.
When you weren’t working and trying to keep your eyes and ears about you to pass along information, you were trying to meet and correspond with vendors and come up with a vision of an event that, quite frankly, would suit neither of you if the matter of rank didn’t come into play. It kept you so busy that you toyed with the idea of a kamera to save you time but even those in Snezhnaya were not slim nor inconspicuous. But they were expensive to maintain. You couldn’t afford to add another item to your paper-thin personal budget.
You ran through your itinerary in your head again as you made your way down from the Palace and into town, thankful the weather was at least holding out a bit. Post office, bank, and an appointment with a seamstress that wasn’t on Regrator’s list of preferred vendors.
All of the dresses you saw and tried were simply…too much. Tried too hard. Beautiful in their work but felt like another layer of paint rather than an organic addition to the whole affair.
As far as you knew, the Harbinger had a personal tailor in the Palace anyway and going off of the suggested list was bound to produce some results. You were determined to find vendors who could use the support and might be overlooked otherwise.
Bad enough you had to go to Northland; you didn’t need wedding vendors working against you either.
The post office was packed, as usual, and you eagerly handed over the last remnants of your copied ledgers and notes. They might as well have been burning holes in your cloak pocket all morning. Your room and your office was now free of damning evidence. Privacy was almost non-existent now and it would vanish entirely soon enough. If you wrote to your parents more frequently, you could still keep up the habit established and not raise suspicion.
A break in a usual routine would be seen as unusual, you reminded yourself.
Amid the other envelopes was a thicker one, your reluctant communication to your parents about the change of circumstance. They deserved to know and understand that it changed nothing (if they were different people, you would not have told them at all). Traveling to the city was out of the question for them between the cost and your father’s health, let alone the added layer of your boss being thrown into that mix.
Lord Dottore’s proposal and your agreement already put you in a spotlight you never wanted to be in. You didn’t need Pantalone knowing exactly how bad of a position your parents’ bankruptcy had put them, and you, in.
Funny how you feared the Second Harbinger far less despite his gruesome acts, you mused after you thanked the clerk and made your way to Northland’s prominent facade. At least he wouldn’t care one way or the other so long as nothing interfered with his work. He never made it personal.
Until now, in a way.
Your cheek strung for a brief moment as your skin remembered the cold metal of your letter opener. The closest thing to a kiss you two shared.
Northland’s home branch was a source of tourism as much as it was an actual bank. Vaulted ceilings soared high overhead and marble pillars provided support that, for the briefest moments, made the building feel as much of a chapel as it was a bank. The guided tours helped.
Compared to the latest branch in Liyue Harbor, it was surprisingly austere in its plainness. Pantalone’s office suite and several of the other rooms outside of the lobby of tellers were far more opulent; much like its owner, the bank presented one image to the public and another to its closest confidants. The coffered ceilings casted shadows as intricate as the dealings on the floor below.
You waited in line, as everyone did. Most of the staff knew you, at least by loose association, and you were under no impression that anything was ever truly hidden.
Your family situation wasn’t the secret you needed to keep, after all. As far away as you tried to keep it, part of you knew that your boss was likely aware you sent most of your pay home. That you worked at the Palace as a sacrifice for the poor choices of others. And that he was likely at fault, although you doubted he would ever claim as such.
The source of the money was a different story, of course.
A bridge to cross another day.
As you filled out the respective slips for deposit and withdrawal, the clerk’s head snapped up out of your peripheral vision with an audible gasp.
“My lady, why didn’t you say you would be accompanied by your fiancé, the Lord Harbinger?” She whispered, a tinge of fear tainting her words. “We would have prepared a private office for you both to take care of your business.”
“I—”
Out of the corner of your eye to your left, you caught a tall figure with hair the color of a spring morning sky and a shining earring that gave off its own glow. The white cloak with its black fur collar filled in the gaps. Around you, it felt as if the very air around you had been sucked out. Chattering had all but ceased and you heard the shuffle of people changing their posture, dedicating their attention to the notion that a Harbinger was among them.
Would you ever get used to that? Likely not. When it was just the two of you, things were different; it was you and him meeting blow for verbal blow. You did your best to keep your composure and just as you were about to politely smile and tell the clerk that you handled affairs separately, a voice to your left interjected.
“Such accommodations won’t be necessary. We are not staying long enough to require them,” Lord Dottore remarked, not even turning his head in your direction.
Your face felt hot as you thanked the clerk for their assistance and handed over the account slips. A presence lingered at your side and you didn’t have to look to see that it was Dottore; he had already finished whatever his errand was but for him to leave would look bizarre, you rationalized. You tried to ignore the biting thought that he was sticking around to ensure you didn’t bumble your way through the transaction now that the cat was out of the bag.
“Just a deposit then, My Lady?” the clerk asked.
“Yes, as usual. Will the funds be accessible later today?”
“Immediately, ma’am. The account holder should have no issue.”
If you timed it right, the morning post would arrive in time for your mother to reach the bank and take care of other affairs before the end of the day. Bills were already paid. But groceries and medicine were constant necessities and your parents couldn’t stockpile like they used to.
Next to you, Lord Dottore seemed to prickle with a question that he knew wasn’t appropriate. Hearing his fiancé was giving money away when she was, supposedly, so good at it herself, was a variable never discussed.
A lot of things weren’t discussed though. This might as well have been an elopement save for the actual, well, act of running away.
Once everything was finished, Dottore escorted you out of the bank, extending his elbow in silent regard. Right. Anything else would be too informal. You tried your best not to look uncomfortable with his proximity or at the looks and whispers from staff and client alike as you looped your hand underneath to hold the crook of his arm.
“Not an outcome I anticipated but one I will take advantage of nonetheless,” Dottore muttered, only loud enough for you to hear. “I need to borrow your hand.”
You looked up at him, face contorted in confusion. The proposal was unusual enough on its own. Did he mean your actual hand, and if so, attached or detached? Was your life now going to be filled with bizarre requests?
“What?” you hissed, baffled.
Several heads turned as you walked through the snowy street. The tilt of his head told you he was glaring at you for drawing such attention.
“You need a ring, do you not, my dear? I might be the best scholar in several centuries but even I am aware that ring sizes are best left to proper measurement devices.”
Oh. Of course. Your ring.
“I thought you were busy for the next several weeks, sir,” you emphasized your correction more for those who might overhear than the man you were speaking with. “Unless you are, in fact, not the Doctor?”
“As if I would leave such a personal matter to a segment.”
He spat the words, insulted. Whether by the insinuation he’d doled out the task or your seeming inability to tell him apart from his counterparts, you couldn’t quite tell.
You could tell them apart. Lord Dottore knew that.
But he also knew how important it would be to make this appear right.
Lord Dottore didn’t wait for you to reply and continued. “It will not take long and then you can be on your way. Where else are you off to, anyway?”
“I have an appointment with a seamstress. Plenty of well-known vendors extended their offerings but they were…” you gestured with your free hand, finding yourself at a loss for words other than, “rather unremarkable.”
The chuckle that wrenched from his lips made your blood run cold and your heart jump.
“You’re certainly playing your part, Accountant,” he teased.
Of course you were. What did he expect, to marry you in your uniform? You bit your tongue for a second to think on your words.
“As I said when last we spoke, I don’t wish to misrepresent you. That goes for your rank as well as who you are, or at least the image you project. But everything I was presented with was just not right.”
You walked in silence for three steps before Lord Dottore said, “Elaborate.”
That was like asking you to explain why you balanced numbers the way you did or why you preferred to sleep on your right rather than your left side. You just did.
“They’re beautiful but they feel almost…like I’m competing with the Tsaritsa. Like I’m just a doll to wear the dress rather than the dress being a reflection of…well, me.”
You cast a glance up at Lord Dottore as he gave a hum and found his head angled towards you in such a way that prevented you from seeing beneath his mask. A part of you was curious, of course, about what he looked like. You weren’t alone in that regard but it was never acted upon except by the young, giddy acolytes who had yet to find their place as a Fatuus, enamored with the prospect rather than the work.
Even as a spouse, you doubted you would be privy to his face. Why would you be? You were to be an equal on paper, nothing more.
“I trust your judgment, Accountant. The ceremony is long and the reception is longer; it would be better to have something that you feel comfortable in. I don’t rightly care, as you well know, but expectations must be met for this to be believable.”
Before you could speak again, you were led into a shop with glass counters and carefully placed lights. The encased jewelry and the glass itself didn’t so much sparkle as glow and you were careful to tap out your boots so as to not soak the plush carpet.
Lord Dottore didn’t so much as shake out his cloak’s hem as he addressed the shopkeeper. You tried to keep your expression neutral as you looked around, each case organized by the type of stone. Everything in here had to be worth at least ten times your salary in total and it churned your stomach to even try to calculate that amount. You tore your gaze away and returned to Dottore’s side.
Sizing was, in fact, just as quick as he said it would be. The process was just a matter of using the jeweler's equivalent to a set of keys, each sizing ring marked with the appropriate measurement. You tried on a few before settling on a number that was snug enough not to slip over your knuckle easily and came off with a bit of a struggle.
“There, matter settled,” Dottore murmured as the jeweler jotted down notes.
And you didn’t even lose a hand, you thought. Yet.
If you were alone, you might have made the joke aloud.
He was closer than you expected, his eyes seemingly glued to the case the entire time you went back and forth with the jeweler on the sizing. He’d only chimed in once in the whole process, to take your hand and try the sizer himself, as if gauging the difficulty of getting the ring over your knuckle. You tensed instantly before reminding yourself to relax.
You would need to get used to being in his presence and he would have to put your band on your finger publicly, after all.
Something in his face shifted and you got the distinct feeling you’d failed whatever he was trying to benchmark. You’d been slipping. First the bank, now this. His finger traced the faint line across your cheek as he brushed his lips over your forehead.
“You should get going if you don’t want to be late, my dear.”
“Of course,” you replied, tilting your head and daring to lean ever so slightly into the gesture.
Two could play that game.
You thanked the jeweler for their time and left the shop, hoping the cold would stave off the burning sensation on your cheek.
The seamstress appointment was better, but only just. At the mere mention of the timeline and the passing look between the shopkeeper and the assistant, you knew they connected the dots as to which upcoming wedding this was for.
“We would have come to you, my lady,” the seamstress said.
You could feel any sense of control over the situation slipping away to propriety again.
“Please, I’m not—”
“A Harbinger’s fiancé, and the Second’s at that, shouldn’t have to come down into town. We would have gladly made the trip up to the Palace.”
Was it a faux part on your part or was it fear? Her face was so hard to read. Running any kind of business was difficult enough. Harder still to contend with public courtesy and unwritten rules. Fontaine had it worst of all, you recalled, but even here in Snezhnaya, rank and social standing ruled with a golden hand.
It only went so far, though, and that Pantalone didn’t work directly with the shop spoke volumes to you. You overheard so many conversations when you were in the backroom, balancing the books and triple-checking the tax levies. Those who respected your father’s time were the ones he was always willing to work with, no matter the situation.
“I want whoever I work with to be in the best environment for them. You have everything here, after all; it makes far more sense for me to come to you,” you replied evenly.
Hopefully, in the event someone decided to speak and spread whatever they saw, you passed as humble and self-aware.
After all, that was the point.
You eventually found yourself swaddled in lace and tulle, watching as the two craftspeople worked together to find the perfect color and the perfect patterns. A very soft silvery-blue, rather than a strict white, laid a shimmering foundation upon which the lace and tulle were overlaid; the bodice and sleeves would be lace and the pattern would fade until the hem and the train. It was difficult to visualize at first until you looked at another dress, already made, and they described the changes in volume and cut with a sketch that made you wish you did have a kamera after all.
What beauty, wasted on the likes of Il Dottore, you thought as you looked in the mirror and watched as the material reflected light as though it were water. Such a moment would make any ordinary bride happy but you had never felt more alone in the entire endeavor thus far.
Neither truly balked at the six week time frame when you began discussing deadlines and cost. Instead, you were reassured that you would have a dress that would keep the rest of the nation talking for years to come. A grandiose exaggeration, spoken with all the levity one might read a law, but you appreciated it nonetheless.
When you stepped out into the cold again, you were greeted by a familiar mask and cloak; Lord Dottore was standing outside like a large menacing hound, waiting for you.
He said nothing and began to walk away as you pulled your cloak tighter around you to seal away your warmth. It took you a moment to realize he was walking in the direction of the Palace.
“If you’re finished, my lord, it would be more expedient to take a carriage back,” you advised. “The snow makes for poor footfalls and the sky might open any minute again.”
Dottore turned his head to gaze over his shoulder at you, his mouth thin. In turn, you raised your eyebrows, expectant. It was the same look you gave him when you needed an explanation during an audit.
“I walked down from the Palace,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and the biggest inconvenience to admit.
“So did I. But the people have seen us together and it would not be fitting for us to be seen trekking back up to the Palace. We don’t have to be a wholly united front but even you know that the optics of that, in addition to my empty finger, don’t bode well. Don’t want to be accused of not caring, do you?”
Dottore clicked his tongue as a puff of hot breath streamed from his nose and for a moment, he looked every bit like an angry dragon as he turned and flagged down a nearby coach. You didn’t miss the smug smirk and sardonic bite when he said, “After you,” and helped you into the closed carriage.
Silence dominated the ride out of town and back up the hill the Palace sat on. Your feet ached and now that you were sitting down, you realized how much the day had taken out of you for errands that, normally, wouldn’t have bothered you. Granted, you hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was well into the afternoon, which didn’t exactly help. You went through your mental checklist of things to be done as you gazed out the coach window; your thoughts were interrupted by a tap of your shoe from the man across from you. He withdrew his leg, as much as he could within the confines of the space and extended his hand, which held a tiny box.
Your eyes flicked from the box to his hidden face just once, finding his expression unreadable as always, before you took it from him.
Perched within were two rings of gold so brilliant it looked almost pink, woven into a vine pattern. The first ring held a sizeable light blue stone so clear it looked as if it could have been carved from ice, flanked by a smaller stone on either side that appeared more purple than blue, iridescent in the way it refracted light. The setting was dotted with tiny blue stones of the same color and clarity as the centerpiece, resulting in a diamond-shaped cluster. Beneath it, the accompanying wedding band mimicked the setting, woven vines housing tiny ice droplets, the shape lining up with the other ring exactly so the two nested together.
The sensation from earlier in the dress shop came flooding back. Such craftsmanship and time went into making such a beautiful piece. On their own, the rings were stunning, but there was thought in this choice; it matched many of the motifs the man himself used and was known for and it would act as a reminder whenever she wore it.
Something tugged at your stomach before you reminded yourself that this was all for a show, that it didn’t matter. You blinked away tears faster than they could form. No. He didn’t deserve such a thing from you.
But you couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been in that shop looking for something capable of such impact.
“It should keep Pantalone quiet. Not that anything will ever silence that man’s prattling, especially if he knew how many arms I had to twist to find something suitable.”
Briefly, you recalled the rings on Lord Pantalone’s fingers and how often they were swapped out, save the globus cruciger. It was not uncommon to hear him remark about the clarity of a stone or the difficulty in obtaining it; the bragging point was often the price and you always refrained from retching every time you heard a figure higher than the last.
You removed your gloves and slipped on the first ring. It fit perfectly; not that you expected anything less.
“Thank you,” you said quietly, handing him back the box with the wedding band. “I wasn’t expecting anything quite so…”
“As we’ve agreed, Accountant, this needs to be well beyond believable,” Dottore replied, tucking the box away in his cloak. “It would have been easy to give you any ring and have this be passable on the surface. No one questions a diamond ring in high social circles, only how big the diamond is, after all. However, we have the added thread of plausibility and both of us are aware Regrator scrutinizes everything. Aquamarine and tanzanite, with reinforced rose gold, in the event one should ask.”
When you’d managed to bring yourself to make the trip down to his workshops, you didn’t expect much from that conversation other than at least a piece of jewelry that would stop all of the lingering stares and whispers. He’d thrown your expectations out the window.
That was quintessentially him, though, wasn’t it? To take something and run with it, to push an idea well beyond the expectations and thoughts of others.
Lord Dottore knew it, too, for he adjusted his posture ever so slightly. Just like he did when he knew you had no other recourse but to give in to his budget requests.
“I’ve held up my end as requested, Accountant. But I find myself curious: what were you doing at Northland?”
A question you knew he’d been dying to ask ever since he overheard the transaction at the bank. And you were no longer in a position to deny him the answer, not when he’d not only fulfilled your request but did so well beyond the expectations you held.
Bastard.
He didn’t need to know much, you reasoned. And you were in no position to not answer. Defensiveness here would raise too many alarm bells.
“I…send money to my parents back home. Most of my pay goes to them to cover bills and expenses. My father no longer works; my mother spreads herself too thin caring for him and trying to earn a pittance when she can,” you replied.
The words almost choked you to admit them outloud. No one else, not even your coworkers, knew; Lord Pantalone probably did, at least to some extent. But it seemed like an unspoken responsibility shouldered by those within the administration spheres and on the field. The way food was shared during lunch after an admission of missing a meal or the crowd-funding of a night out to raise spirits seemed so contrary to what you expected. You had chipped in all for the sake of appearances only to be given the same respect in kind. It wasn’t foreign to you, per se, but after the bankruptcy, it was difficult to find those willing to help your family when all they saw was negligence and bad decisions.
It was nothing to be ashamed about.
To clear the air, you continued.
“They’ve asked for nothing more and I fully intend to only use my wages for such things.”
Lord Dottore tilted his head before he looked away, his gaze seemingly set on the landscaping passing by. The answer bored him, clearly, as you expected it to.
“I care little for what you do beyond your role but be sure not to neglect yourself for the sake of others.”
Icy rain fell in sheets, pelting the ground in soft plinks as you arrived back at the Palace. You parted ways without another word and you wished the metal on your finger was as cold as the rain and the man who gave it to you.
Her visit to Haeresys was quite unexpected, to say the least. Not many people ventured down into the bowels of the Palace unless they absolutely had to. But for her to not would otherwise lend itself poorly, wouldn’t it?
After all, she was never afraid to speak her mind before. More than once she has left my ego bruised and my pride singed when she laid out points I’d pushed aside in previous considerations. Said points were not neglected but rather only issues if they were encountered; when she provided context, more often than not, there was little option but to compromise. When all is said and done, she too considers the bigger picture, just from a different angle. No two artists paint the same image even when given the same set of references. It is one of the few areas of the human experience that is, perhaps, at least intriguing.
Sohreh, for all her fawning, was similar. At least the Accountant did not blush every time she laid eyes on me.
Such things were what drove my desire to create the prostheses, after all.
The pageantry of all of this…utterly ridiculous. All of this for the sake of a bet, a gamble; a ladder for Pantalone to get off of my back at the cost of time I will never regain.
How do others pursue this for the sake of emotion? This is truly joyous for some? Or is it social convention that dictates one must go this route, to celebrate so widely when so few truly know those exchanging nuptials?
Does one even need emotion, that worthless thing of love, to make these arrangements work?
The historical argument would hold that no, emotion doesn’t matter. Without that, perhaps something stronger still is erected to replace fleeting desire and heart palpitations and whimsical dreams. This farce can be plausible without such trivial things.
And Regrator will be proved wrong, as all others before him have been.
Even if it means playing by the convention he expects us to follow.
Us.
Strange to use that in reference to…an existence outside of my own.
Other than her late night gallivanting to demand a ring, I have seen little of her. Omega has dutifully managed what needed my input and that has allowed me to prioritize.
The Tsaritsa has already insisted on sending me away and offered up a choice of properties to boot. A lack of a honeymoon would be forgivable given my position and I would rather stay here and focus on what must be done. Too much progress has already been made. But I am in no position to deny Her Majesty’s will and I must also consider the Accountant’s position. She was already questioned about a ring; I would never hear the end of it from Regrator and it would put her in an even worse position, surely, if we didn’t at least leave the Palace.
Annoying. Worrying about another’s quality of life. Their actions. The impact they’ll have.
I had not expected running into her at the bank, of all places, although I cannot place why. After all, she’s an accountant and financial assistant. At the very least, she would be running an errand for work, if not for herself. That was a normal occurrence for most people.
She’d avoided eye contact with me. Even looked annoyed when the clerk mentioned transaction details, perhaps under the assumption I would be aware of them.
Not helped by her surprise when I provided my reasoning for needing her company. What did she think, that I would be severing her body? I am aware of the fear about me that spreads rumors like a plague but she should give me a little more credit than that. After all, short of the reports given to the Tsaritsa, the Accountant is one of the few who at least can put a value to the work I do.
Worse still, she looked stiff and uncomfortable during the ring sizing. The jeweler is one of Regrator’s contacts but to work with anyone else would result in another earful I didn’t want to hear. Anything detrimental would make its way back to the banker in no time. But what better way to prove solidarity than throw it right in Regrator’s face? Acting distant would do us no credit.
I had specifically chosen her for the bite she could give back and in public settings, she was proving to be less reliable than I hypothesized.
How would she react to public affection, gestures that few would think twice about? Her skin was still cold from outside when I leaned in. She hid the dark circles beneath her eyes well enough and by now, the cut on her cheek had healed, leaving behind only a thin line noticeable in the right light. The scent of parchment and ink clung to her, mingled with whatever floral scent her soap was infused with.
Disgusting. How could anyone ever find the smell of flowers pleasant?
And then she had the gall to tilt her head and look up at me through her lashes. A lesser individual might have bought such behavior.
Not me.
She left for her dress appointment and the nagging thought of my own attire came to mind. Omega was seeing to that. White with tails, blue and gold accents, all the while bearing the feathery mantle I’ve grown quite fond of. Why not have a bit of a dramatic flair, after all, if I must go through with all of this?
I should have left the ring to Omega, in hindsight. He would have come to the same conclusion I did. All the colors before me were nothing more than structural compounds of specific minerals and a mix of circumstances. No stone was special when it was broken down into its most basic components.
The deep reds and brilliant rubies were, to the jeweler’s credit, remarkable enough for what they were. If this were different, perhaps these would have been suitable…
But she has never seen my eyes. And she likely never will.
Diamonds would be appropriate, if nothing else.
Rare, resilient.
Cliche.
Aquamarine, however…would be a reflection of her homeland, among other things. Symbolically, it was impossible to go wrong or be misinterpreted.
But the stones nearby, iridescent purple ranging in various shades, were far more unique. I’d encountered such stones before, in the depths of the desert when taking apart Deshret’s Primal Constructs to reinforce my boots and weaponry during my exile. Deshret had failed in his attempt to save the people; his legacy meant little to me.
Two colors, then.
The jeweler was quick to accommodate, finding a matching band in no time, but it paled in comparison to the main ring when the stones were properly set. I had little doubt he would hesitate to inform Pantalone the moment I left. Paying extra would do little but delay the information anyway.
I found the notion of a band for myself wasteful. I’d never wear the thing. It would only get in the way.
But the Accountant was dedicated to portraying the image needed…
Platinum would, at least, survive.
The Accountant finished her appointment not long after I’d tucked both boxes in my pocket and found the shop she’d mentioned. It was impossible to see the back of the shop from the windows in front, even if I had been curious about her plans and wanted to know.
Which I didn’t.
I just wanted to be done with this entire affair so I could focus on other things. Usually, I enjoy the process of the experiment; ever since the words left my mouth weeks ago, however…
Perhaps she was feeling something similar. The look on her face when she stepped out of the shop was not unlike the one from when she first began working in the Palace, when she’d had no choice but to summon me in place of the Segments. Her smile was strained, her eyes looking at him but clearly elsewhere.
And yet she still managed to dig her heels in about a carriage, of all things.
She’d walked down herself–she wasn’t the type to take an easy route or method anywhere. The cold was, despite my Delusion, still bitter and dry for me and yet I didn’t think twice about taking the trip on-foot. Few bothered me and I could go at my own pace.
I should have left her behind. Why had I gone to the shop to wait for her, anyway?
Other than her protest for a carriage, she was quiet. Not that I minded. But her earlier behavior continued to nag, like an irritating fabric in cloying heat. Was she like the rest after all?
When she took the box and opened it, her pragmatism won out. It unsettled me that she did not, as most might, gush over the rings, but it sickened me all the more to wish she did.
What use was her praise?
None of this mattered.
The thanks from her lips were genuine enough but something in her face was harder to pin down. Her eyes were a little watery though and the flush of her cheeks was not just from the brisk wind outside. I’ll take what reactions I can get out of her…I need to document something, after all.
She kept her main ring and returned the box with the other band inside. The red leather was still warm when I tucked it away again.
I couldn’t help myself, however, as the moment from the bank came to mind again. Perhaps she would be pliable, now that I’d played along? What was the worst that could happen?
Right. Most still have a family. Living for centuries desensitizes you to all of those notions.
Sending money back home is not uncommon, especially among the lower ranks and the administrative branches. She cared for others. Not a sentiment I can understand.
But I do know what it means to rise to every occasion, to come from nothing and fight for every scrap along the way. As unconventional as it had been, the Akademiya saw to it that I would, in one way or another, find what I wanted out of life.
Her earnestness is unsettling. Hard work pays off but only when you have something to prove. At least she knows her boundaries, I suppose. That should make it all the quicker to find them myself, see how they might break…
That this is nothing more than transactional should make that all the easier.
I left the carriage as soon as the horses pulled to a stop. She’d managed to shake the doubts instilled in me with nothing more than a few words and a conviction that ran deeper than the icecaps not far from the Palace.
She was the right choice for this little experiment after all.
#fic: blasphemous rumors#il dottore#dottore#dottore x reader#il dottore x reader#dottore/reader#dottore/female reader#il dottore/female reader#dottore x female reader#female reader#marriage of convenience
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Can you write a Part 2 of the pantalone and dottore oneshot where dottore finds the reader and brings them back?
Oh boy CAN I. This isn't super well edited because I've taken much longer than anticipated writing this, but it's 4k words and editing it properly would take maybe another 1-2 days fhjghjkghjkg also excuse any inaccuracies with the Harlow's monkey experiment, I'm rolling mostly off my recollection and a quick skim of a wiki page.
Cut Me Open, Bleed Me Dry
Continuation to Gilded Cage, which can be read here.
Pairing(s): Dottore/Reader, Pantalone/Reader(implied)
Word Count: 4.2k
CW: NSFW, torture, mild gore, drugging, kidnapping/captivity, yandere themes, threats of mutilation, noncon, implied somnophilia, AFAB READER (I know I usually do gn but being nondescript didn't fit the writing this time, sorry!)
It’s cold.
That’s the first thing your mind registers when you come to. The second, is the throbbing and insistent pain behind your temples as consciousness slowly comes back to you.
There’s a sour taste in your mouth. Your tongue feels like cotton, your fingers tingle with pins and needles as numbness slowly fades from them, and you immediately know you’ve been drugged. Even with the fog of sleep and the drug still clinging to your mind; even as your thoughts are waterlogged and you’re treading water just to piece them together, you know where you are.
Dottore always did like to use the same drug every time he sedated you.
There’s a blindfold covering your eyes, pressing uncomfortably against your lashes when you try to open them, but there’s no gag to accompany it. That must mean he wants you to talk.
You decide to stall. If you thrash, beg, or scream, he’ll know you’re awake. And you’ll be subjected to whatever it is he’s going to do to you a lot sooner. So… you don’t do that. Instead, you keep your breathing steady, holding still against the cold metal table you’re strapped to.
Sure, it’s only just delaying the inevitable, but you’ve gotten good at drifting away whenever you wake up on his operating table. It’s the only thing you can do to cling to the frayed threads left of your sanity.
In a way, the blindfold helps. Dottore usually doesn’t blindfold you, but Pantalone…
You close your eyes, focusing on the pressure of the fabric covering your eyes to distract yourself from the bite of cold metal against bare skin, and you drift.
You’re in bed. It’s warm, if only under the sheets. You’re not… home, but if you’re being honest with yourself (you rarely are, these days), you don’t really remember what home was like, anymore. So you settle for the empty imitations of it; the dreary and beautiful halls of Pantalone’s mansions– he had to move you around, a few times, but never told you why, when you’d asked. You know now.
You’re… in bed. It’s cold. You’re shivering. You can hear Pantalone across the room; he’s saying something, but you can’t– you can’t hear him. Why can’t you…?
You’re in bed, and you feel gloved hands tracing up your arms, fingers pausing to tap playfully against your pulse, and then your head is being lifted so deft fingers can untie the knot holding the blindfold.
The fabric is pulled away, and red eyes meet your own.
You’re not in bed. You’re with Dottore, strapped to an operating table. Reality crashes into you like a bucket of icewater, and your trembling increases tenfold.
“Enjoy your rest?” He asks, monotone. He’s not smiling, and it’s the first time, you realize, that he hasn’t smiled when he’s had you on his exam table.
You don’t respond, and Dottore’s face stays carefully blank as he regards you. “...Hm.”
The Doctor steps away, out of sight, but you don’t try to follow him with your gaze, listening instead to his receding footsteps.
It still doesn’t feel real. Undoubtedly, part of you knew that, as tightly as Pantalone held on, it was only a matter of time before Dottore sunk his claws into you once more.
But part of you wanted to hope that it wouldn’t happen, that Pantalone would be able to shield you from him forever. Because though Pantalone treated you more like a beloved pet than a person, it was still better than this: pinned under the microscope and picked apart piece by sinewy piece by Dottore.
Dottore returns to your side, and you count ceiling tiles, willing the ground to open up and swallow you into the abyss. Or better yet, to swallow him, so he can be surrounded by darkness as deep as the pitch of his soul.
You’d pray if there were any gods to hear you. But you know better. The prick of a needle, chased by the burn of whatever he’s injecting into you, and you know that the gods– or perhaps just the blasphemous parody of gods that had sunk their teeth into Teyvat long ago– had abandoned you.
Gloved fingers trace a slow path down your sternum, pausing just below your diaphragm and pressing down until you wince in discomfort, stopping when you do but not yet easing up.
“Comfortable?”
“No,” Comes your hoarse whisper. Your eyes stay pinned on the ceiling tiles overhead. There’s specks of blood you can barely see from where you lie. You wonder how much of it is yours.
“Pity.”
The hands continue their slow descent over bare skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He pauses again once he reaches your pelvic bone, drumming his fingers there before pulling away entirely. Glass clinks against glass when he steps away again, and you feel a hand grabbing your chin before the narrow mouth of a test tube is pressed against your lips.
“Open,” He says, grip tightening on your chin, and you do. You know better by now than to fight him.
The liquid inside of the tube sloshes out as he pours it a little too quickly, and the rest of it burns the whole way down your throat, sickly-sweet. Dottore pulls the tube away when he’s sure you’ve swallowed it all, wiping the excess dribbling down your chin with his thumb before dipping into your mouth to smear it against your tongue.
It doesn’t take long for you to figure out what it was he gave you. You think he injected you with a muscle relaxant– you realize too late when your fingers stop responding to your attempts to twitch them (not that you could do much to struggle otherwise. The straps pinning you to the table hold firm).
As for what he poured down your throat…
Dottore is across the room washing his hands when you begin to sweat. You can hear the sound of running water, and while you’re sure it’s only for a minute, it feels like an eternity as the chill of the room begins to hurt, turning sharp and biting.
He comes back over when you whimper, with a fresh set of gloves and a scalpel. You regret looking, forcing your gaze back to the ceiling and breathing through your teeth. You try to count the blood specks on the ceiling, the cracks, the tiles– anything and everything to distract yourself.
The blade of his scalpel grazes your wrist, leaving what you’re sure is no bigger than a papercut, but it burns so much more than it should, ripping a muted whine from your throat.
Dottore hushes you, continuing to cut through the straps. You know he could just undo them, instead of ruining them by cutting through the leather, but he wants to see you squirm.
He doesn’t nick you again, but it doesn’t matter. The pain of the cut on your wrist stings so insistently you can’t manage to drift, to distance yourself, away from him and from what he’s doing to you.
When he finishes with the last strap, he sets the scalpel down on a tray beside the table– one you refuse to look at, not wanting to see the tools laid out there; to see what he intends to do to you. Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is bliss, you tell yourself, and you try to believe it.
You’re lifted and positioned so you’re lying on your stomach now on the table, and he has the barest amount of mercy left in him to turn your head to the side so your nose doesn’t smash against the metal surface.
“Now, this is going to sting a bit, dear,” He starts, once you’re positioned how he wants you, “But you’ve suffered worse, hm? Bear with it.”
It’s detached, the way he speaks to you; so unlike the usual underlying excitement that drips from his voice whenever he’s laid you out on this table in the past. It’s.. horrifying. The safety net of his obsession that’s saved you from worse in the past no longer feels safe, anymore. If ever it did.
Cool metal ghosts over your spine, the flat of the scalpel dragging over skin before stopping to rest below your shoulder blade. He pulls away and you hope that’s it, that he’s just going to toy with the threat of hurting you instead of actually doing so, but then cold metal returns and it’s the only warning you get before sharp pain bursts from just below your shoulder blade as he begins to cut.
It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and you can’t focus on anything but the white-hot pain as it spreads from the tip of your scapula to the tail.
It hurts. You think you must be sobbing something similar, but if your cries are coherent, Dottore doesn’t pay them any mind. There’s a ringing in your ears that drowns everything out, your vision blurs, and you’re still reeling from the pain of the first incision when Dottore moves to your other shoulder.
You taste copper and you realize you must have bitten your tongue at some point, but the pain doesn’t compare to the sensation of fire lapping at your back– to the nerves firing off, overloading your senses with undiluted agony.
Something is forced between your teeth and you bite down immediately out of instinct. He’s saying something to you, now, but his voice is muffled, like your head is underwater. You’re drowning. You can’t breathe, swallowed up by the capsizing waves of sensation.
Pain traces a blazing trail down your spine. Your head is swimming, black spots dancing in your vision, and you close your eyes to succumb to the mercy of unconsciousness.
You’re not granted that mercy.
Instead, the sensation of ice chases away the heat, the fiery agony dimming as a freezing numbness settles in.
A voice cuts through the fog. “Open your eyes before I decide to remove them.”
You open your eyes, looking back towards Dottore through the film of tears over your eyes, the blur of pain. Dimly, you can feel his hand gripping your jaw again, but the feeling is distant, disjointed.
“Good.” Red eyes scan over your form, less cold, this time, as he appraises his work. “I’d like you present for this.”
You mumble a slurred “Where elsh would I be?” around the gag stuffed in your mouth.
“This-” There’s a harsh pinch to your arm that you can hardly muster a wince for, too exhausted from the pain he’d already put you through. From the corner of your eye you can see the glint of amusement in his eyes fade at your lack of reaction, “-is here. But this-” Gloved fingers tap at your temple, “-is not. Stay present. I’m being gentle with you.”
He’s not. He’s really not, but you know he could be doing so much worse, so you nod and make him a promise you can’t keep, like you’ve done a thousand times before.
Dottore stares at you for a long moment, and you resist the urge to let your eyes glaze over, to stare off into the distance. You level your unsteady gaze at him instead, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact. Your efforts are rewarded with a dispassionate simper, and Dottore picks back up the knife.
You stop looking.
The pain ignites anew, duller now, no longer white-hot. It’s still insistent, inescapable, and you wish you could crawl out of your own skin.
A line drawn down your back with the knife, like your body is a canvas, your blood the ink, and Dottore the persevering composer.
There’s a study that comes to mind. You remember reading about it, one rainy afternoon as you took shelter from the rain in a quaint library in Sumeru, procrastinating your own studies. Before everything… before this.
The study was done on monkeys. They were separated from their mothers young, placed in cages with a wire mother, which provided milk, and a cloth mother, which provided nothing but comfort.
Survival or comfort. That was the study. The monkeys chose comfort, only going to the cloth mother for food when they were hungry and spending the rest of their time with the cloth mother.
You’d always wondered, then, what you would choose. As Dottore pushes something into one of the incisions, gloves slick with your own blood, you think you know.
Dottore stops. “Say again?”
It’s hard to get the words out around the gag, but Dottore seems to understand you regardless.
“Oh. Poor thing,” It’s a cold comfort, the blood-slicked hand that pats your head. His voice is flat, not condescending or patronizing like when Pantalone simpers at you. But you can hear the amusement creeping into his tone, and it’s enough. “We’re almost done. I’ll give you something for the pain in a moment.”
Something for the pain, he says, as though he hadn’t already given you something, turning the low burning flame of shallow incisions into a raging inferno.
There’s a cut to your arm, this time, deeper than the rest. It burns, but it’s overshadowed still by the throbbing and insistent agony in your back. Something else is pressed into your arm, and Dottore finally sets down the knife.
The room is spinning.
A hand returns to pet your head once more, matting it further with your own blood. You slowly become aware of just how cold the room is, heightened by the sheen of sweat covering your bare skin. You want to go home. …You’re not sure where home is, anymore.
There’s another needle, a sharp sting and then a dull ache settling in like a bruise at your nape. It doesn’t take long for the pain to dull, and you fight the wave of exhaustion that chases on the heels of relief, not wanting to aggravate him further by slipping into unconsciousness before he lets you.
You try to stay awake. You really do. But with your heartbeat echoing in your ears, the warm hand resting atop your head, and the pain dulling, unhooking its claws from your consciousness, you drift.
When you wake, you’re still in the nightmare. You’ve been moved to a stiff, sterile bed, lying on your stomach to not agitate the wounds on your back. It feels like Dottore must have cleaned and bandaged you up already– a small comfort.
The injuries ache dully, but more concerning is the feeling of fingers digging into your hips.
“Glad to see you’re finally awake, my dear.” A pause, then a lewd squelch as he pulls his other hand out from between your thighs. “I was starting to get bored.”
Dottore thumbs at the edge of the bandages encircling your back, humming. “That spoiled brat thought he could hide you from me forever.” He leans down, pressing his nose against the nape of your neck and causing the skin to prickle with goosebumps. You shiver at the contact and he smiles against your skin.
“Oh, but don’t worry.” You cringe when his hand, still wet, taps you on the cheek. “I’ve already made something to keep him busy. You don’t mind that I took a bone and tissue sample while you slept, do you?”
It’s a rhetorical question– one that you don’t bother to answer and that he doesn’t care to hear the answer to, regardless. Instead, Dottore seems to be interested in the space between your legs once more, hand running down to smear the arousal he’d coaxed out of you in your sleep against your inner thighs.
“Pity that you’ll have to be on your stomach for this,” He muses, chuckling quietly at the way you flinch when he slides two fingers back into you, “I do so love seeing your reactions.”
You bite your lip to stifle a groan when he curls his fingers against your walls, grinding his thumb against your clit. It aches, just a little bit. Like you’re sore. Like he’s been doing this for a while.
It’s almost mortifying, actually, how well he knows your body. The building pleasure drowns out the lingering ache of your injuries, and it’s hard to focus on the shame coiling in your gut when there’s something else coiling faster and brighter than the shame.
“Mm, faster than I’d expected.” Dottore mutters from behind you, increasing the pace of his fingers as his other hand slips beneath you to press down on your stomach, right over where his fingers curl against your walls.
Your thighs spasm, trying to close around his wrist, and he tsks, moving his other hand to hold one thigh against the bed as he presses a third finger around you. Your vision whites out, and Dottore doesn’t stop pumping his fingers inside you until you’re whimpering and twitching from overstimulation.
“There. Good.”
There’s a wet pat to your thigh, and you hear him walk off to grab something from the other end of the room. He returns with a jar of… something pink, some kind of salve, and dips his clean hand inside the jar to scoop out a generous amount of it.
He applies it between your legs, over your clit, pressing some of it inside you and deliberately rubbing his fingers against your g-spot, eyes crinkling in delight at the oversensitive spasm that runs through you. It doesn’t take long for you to figure out what it does.
It burns. Not in the same way as the pain did when you’d woken up on the operating table, but suddenly it feels like your cunt is on fire, all of your attention forced to the way Dottore’s hands feel as he rubs the excess off against your labia.
You barely register the sound of Dottore unzipping his pants, but you do register the sheer, overwhelming relief you feel when he immediately presses inside of you, the head of his cock dragging against your walls before coming to a halt just below your cervix.
He begins to thrust, mercifully not commenting on the keen you let out the second he starts moving.
Dottore sets a brutal pace, snapping his hips against yours, grabbing one of your thighs and lifting it higher on the bed to get better leverage. You can feel his balls slap against your clit with each snap of his hips, the sound of it drowned out by your hiccuping moans.
Your second orgasm is ripped out of you suddenly, embarrassingly fast. You choke on a moan and tighten around him, distantly hearing the doctor laugh as he fucks you through it. It’s getting hard to think, to focus on anything but his cock hammering into you.
Unfortunately, Dottore seems keen to talk, while you’re still coherent enough to listen.
“You know,” he begins conversationally, gloved fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh as he slows his pace to a slow, maddening grind inside you, “The femoral artery is right about-” he fumbles for a second, then his fingers are digging bruisingly into the flesh, “-here. If I were to cut you here,” You feel him lean down to breathe against the shell of your ear, “It would take about… Oh, I don’t know, three, four minutes for you to bleed out.”
You go still beneath him, holding your breath and he slows to a stop, relishing the way terror makes you tighten around him. It’s hard to focus, to think through the fog of lust, but the sudden, blatant threat still manages to cut through the haze like a knife.
“I won’t, of course,” He tells you after a beat, laughing cruelly at the tentative sigh of relief you let out. “Not to you, that is. You’re my favorite test subject, after all.”
Dottore resumes his pace, loosening his grip on your leg and letting it drop limply back against the table.
You think that’s the end of it, until he speaks up again, halting his thrusts briefly to tuck your legs under you and cant your hips up higher. “What wouldn’t kill you, however…”
One hand finds its way to your stomach again, tracing light circles around your navel. “I could remove most of your small intestine, and you would survive.”
“N-” You begin to protest, but another harsh thrust cuts you off.
“Not comfortably, of course, depending on how much I remove.” His hand floats down, pressing harshly against your clit and forcing another sudden orgasm from you. He waits for you to come back down before he speaks again. “If I take too much, we’d need to adjust your diet. But…”
His breathing is picking up now, getting more labored. “I could, hah-” He leans down, breathing hotly against your neck and trapping you against the bed with his body. The movement drags against the bandages, agitating your injuries. “I could… Take just a little bit. A few feet.”
“No-”
“Quiet.” He snaps his hips harder against yours and you bite your tongue, drawing blood again, to stifle the sob that bubbles up. “I could take a few feet, make a leather collar out of it… Make you wear it, sew it to your skin if I must-”
His fingers continue circling your clit and you blink back overstimulated and terrified tears, his hand on your hip tightening painfully. You can feel the next high approaching and you desperately hold it back. It’s hard to think. In the back of your mind you know you need to say something, do something to stop his train of thought before he decides to act on it-
Dottore growls against your shoulder. You can feel his scowl as he presses his weight harder against you, but it twists into a smile at your responding pained gasp when the bandages drag against the incisions. “Ah- hah, I won’t, of course,” He pants, nipping at your throat, “I could do that to just any test subject of mine, my dear, but you’re more than that now, aren’t you? Just tell me, again, that you love me.”
Again?
“You’ve already said it before. Once more won’t kill you.”
It takes you several long moments, not helped at all by Dottore continuing to rut into you distractingly, but you remember. He’s right. When he was cutting into you, when you were desperate and delirious from the pain, you’d choked out the three damning words around the gag.
It was done out of desperation. You’d wanted the pain to stop, and it had. Dottore had stopped after you’d said it, taking pity on you instead.
One more time couldn’t hurt, right? It’s such a small price to pay, a white lie so he doesn’t hurt you further.
“I- ah, nnnm-” He doesn’t slow down his pace for you to get the words out without stuttering, but you’re too exhausted to feel ashamed of the way that your voice cracks with pleasure. “I love- love you.”
“Yes,” Dottore’s cock twitches inside of you, and he snarls against your neck. “Good. You don’t have to mean it, yet. But you will. You will.”
It’s spoken like a promise; one you’re unable to dread as your mind starts to blank, focus drifting to your next orgasm as Dottore’s thrusts become wild, desperate.
The head of his cock batters against your g-spot with every stroke, pleasure and overstimulated pain lancing through you. Your thoughts are fuzzy from lust, unable to focus on anything but the heaving breaths against the shell of your ear, the wet slap of skin-on-skin, the hiccuping moans and noises of pleasure he pulls from your throat.
Teeth sink into your shoulder at the same time Dottore pinches your clit, and your eyes roll back as white-hot pleasure lances through your veins. .
He growls, the sound vibrating against your shoulder, and you shudder when you feel him cum after you, cock twitching as he shoots his load deep inside your cunt.
The world comes back to you slowly, in jagged pieces. When you crack your eyes open once more, you’ve been moved so your legs are no longer tucked up under you, lying comfortably flat on your stomach once more.
Dottore comes back from the other side of the room with a vial, and your face scrunches in revulsion as he presses it to your abused hole, collecting the cum that oozes out. A gloved hand pats your head affectionately before he pulls away.
“Get some rest. I have something that I need to… attend to.” Sleep. You can do that, certainly.
He waves his hand, and you vaguely hear him speaking to the clone that immediately comes into view– who was probably stationed in the corner the whole time, taking notes or something. You wouldn’t put it past him, and from the way some of them stare at you a little too long, a little too intensely, you’re sure many of his clones would like to do a little bit more to you than just watch and take notes.
As Dottore leaves, and his clone wipes you down with a rag, knuckles brushing against the inside of your thighs a little too deliberately to be innocuous, you’re reminded of the cloth monkeys again.
The clone moves to rest his hand atop your limp one once he’s sure Dottore has left, and you curl your fingers around his own. His hands are cold without the gloves, just like his progenitor’s.
You choose comfort too.
#yandere#dottore#il dottore#dottore/reader#il dottore/reader#dottore x reader#il dottore x reader#yandere dottore#yandere il dottore#yandere dottore/reader#genshin#genshin impact#yandere genshin#yandere genshin impact#dead dove do not eat#cw: noncon#cw: drugging#cw: torture#i'm so sad the childe fic vanished from my top posts and the zhongli modern au was buried#it's JUST DOTTORE#LITERALLY NOTHING BUT HIM#WAAAGH#what have i become.... i have lost sight of myself.... of my noble journey.....#my writing#one day i'll format these prettily. not today though. i'm lazy#enjoy the meal xoxo#smut#not sfw
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obstinate. dottore/reader.
tags: yandere themes, no spice
And why don’t you understand how much you make his gums ache?
Why don’t you comprehend the power you could wield if only you remained at his side, cozied into him like you’re supposed to? He is a man who, admittedly, likes to play with his food (play is a part of the process. How can he hope to comprehend something if he doesn’t fiddle with it, if he doesn’t stick his hands inside to discover and dismantle it?), but he is not playing, now.
“Put it down, girl,” he commands, eyes narrowing behind the black steel of his mask. “You have no idea the danger you are toying with—”
“You’re more dangerous than a delusion could ever hope to be, and you know that,” you snarl. How obstinate. How impertinent. How utterly correct.
“Not to you,” he coos. “Never to you, darling. Come here now. Enough with these games. Put the delusion down on the table, put on your coat and come home with me. Just put it down and I’ll pretend this unfortunate lapse in judgment never happened at all.”
The verdant gemstone in your hand pulses to life, and he cannot help but feel in awe of your audacity for one, fleeting moment. The still air of his laboratory kicks into a violent gale. His tools go flying, papers scattered and swept into the growing storm. The windows shatter, frame shattering with the sheer force you’ve generated. Shards and splinters are brought into the vortex with the rest of the debris.
Your aptitude with a delusion scores among the highest he has ever seen.
The instinctual response would be to force his way through the cycloned to reach and restrain you. A proper lecture and punishment would follow suit, yet, the elemental energy coalesces to your own with near natural ease, settling underneath your skin and nestling into your lungs, exhaled with every labored breath. For a sheer second, he catches a glimpse of you among the currents and debris, your eyes blown wide and wild. He is reminded of the moment this obsession sparked within him, and the rush of fond indulgent is enough to let you leap from the window without interference.
He walks to the gaping hole. The cold Snezhayan air floods into the room. As you flee, the wind pressed to your back let you nearly glide over the thick snow. Perhaps he should be hurt when you disappear into the far treeline, enveloped by the shadows cast by its evergreen maw. Yet, all he can feel is the animal excitement of the distant chase, of knowing he will be able to observe your unique capabilities with the delusion up close.
A small group of scouts will tail you for the next few days. EWhen you’ve grown more accustomed to your new toy, he will gladly come to collect.
Until then, he will endure the void your absence saddles him with, ignore how his gums ache with the urge to sink his teeth into your skin.
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Genshin Men when Someone Notices Lipstick Marks
Pairing: Kaeya, Diluc, Itto, Childe, Pantalone, Dottore, Kaveh, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Zhongli x Reader
Tags: fluff, suggestive, being flustered, teasing, bragging, lipstick marks
A/N: The only way you'd get me to wear lipstick tbh.
TRIES TO HIDE IT - Pantalone, Kaveh, Zhongli
He would glare at whoever pointed it out, partially embaressed and partially grateful that it was pointed out so he could hide it. In friendly company he wouldn't mind this happening but when he's in a more professional setting they don't want it to be visible. In the future if you want to leave marks on him when before he goes to work make sure it's in places he can cover up.
BRAGS ABOUT IT - Kaeya, Itto, Dottore, Wriothesley
Doesn't deny that he has it, rather he pulls his clothes further down so the person who pointed it out, and everyone who sees him can guess what he was doing with you minutes before. Won't say anything in detail, he thinks it's funnier that way. He will almost point it out to people because he thinks they should all know what a good time he has with you.
WANTS TO GET MORE - Diluc, Childe, Neuvillette
As soon as he notices it too he thanks the person who noticed it first and runs right back to you. No matter what you're currently in the middle of he will drag you into a private area where he will, very seriously, ask for you to leave more lipstick marks on him. Anywhere is fine but he would prefer them on places people can see so he can wear them with pride.
#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#kaeya x reader#diluc x reader#itto x reader#childe x reader#pantalone x reader#dottore x reader#kaveh x reader#neuvillette x reader#wriothesley x reader#zhongli x reader#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact headcanons#genshin imagines#genshin headcanons#genshin impact fluff#genshin fluff#kaeya fluff#diluc fluff#itto fluff#childe fluff#pantalone fluff#dottore fluff#kaveh fluff#neuvillette fluff#wriothesley fluff#zhongli fluff
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Safety!
{Debuted} Harbingers driving with you!
Modern AU, can be seen as platonic or romantic, gn!reader, Scara can be seen as Wanderer (vice versa)
A/N : God, don't ask why Scara/Wanwan is so detailed in colouring.
Go ahead make headcanon/blurb based on this!
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Childe
He is a big brother, he is used to strap his younger siblings to the car seat.
And he probably has sensory sensitivity with the beeping noises from the car whenever a safety belt isn't on.
NUMBER ONE IS SAFETY!! SEATBELT ON!!
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Scaramouche/Wanderer
He prefers riding bike (like an asian man he is) because he doesn't want people to hitch a ride with him.
He doesn't care, he just don't want to be sued if something happen to you (a lil bit of caring in his own way.)
Don't put stickers on his helmet.
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Dottore
As a doctor, you could be a free future-to-be cadaver for him.
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Signora
She has her own personal driver to pick both of you up.
Doesn't really care tbh, because she is also rarely wear seatbelt.
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Arlecchino
A mum and a dad
She would give you "that look" and count down from 5, and if you didn't put on the seatbelt she will-
"There you go, isn't it that hard to fasten the seatbelt?"
#imaginedraw#harbinger x reader#harbinger x male reader#fatui harbingers#genshin harbingers#childe x reader#genshin x gender neutral reader#scaramouche x reader#wanderer x reader#signora x reader#dottore x gender neutral reader#dottore x reader#arlecchino x reader#genshin impact imagines
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Normal People: "Why did u start writing Yandere content?"
Most Yandere Authors: "I wanted to express my dark desire for a forbidden romance through a creative medium. Forgoing social norms to create a love that is most cruel yet utterly true. To appease the lethal love that lays dormant within my bones, rattling me with its yearning for freedom. To show the world a love that is hideous, dangerous, yet wholly profuse. The sort of love only found under a moonless sky. A romance that can kill and heal with the same hand. To fashion ballads of broken hearts and damaged minds trapped in a waltz of shimmering hearts."
Me: I want to get kidnapped so I won't have any responsibilities.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yancore#yandere x you#yandere aesthetic#twisted wonderland#yandere twisted wonderland#genshin impact#star wars#barbie#yandere genshin impact#yandere headcanons#yandere imagines#childe x reader#dottore x reader#wriothesley x reader#ken x reader#lyney x reader#bucky barnes x reader#winter soldier x reader#loki x reader#rook hunt x reader#leona kingsholar x reader#ruggie bucci x reader#yandere dabi#yandere malleus draconia#yandere neuvillette#yandere wriothesley#yandere miguel o'hara#yandere furina
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NSFW - MDI
He's obsessed with your voice. He loves the way you whimper and just struggle your words out. He loves to to tease, he LIVES to tease you. He's so mean whe he asks what you want, just so he can deny it and command you to beg for it.
He's buried deep inside of you, barely able to hold himself up, panting heavily. He looks down at the pretty face you're making and he can't help but think that the only thing that would make it better is the sound of your beautiful voice.
"Tell me what you want, baby" he breathes in your ear, dropping his head down to your neck. He stopped moving. His hot breath hitting your heated skin. "I asked you somethin'~" he hums leaning back down to press kiss over your shoulder. You can practically feel his smirk in his voice.
"Please-" is all you're able to stutter out at first and it makes him grin onto your skin as he lifts his head to shake it at you. "Naw, I couldn't quite hear you princess,.. you should use bigger words for your needs?" there's this pout on his face, he's mocking you. Out of desperation you kiss him, in hopes that he could possibly forget about your loss of words.
He indulges you for a few seconds before pulling away and raising his eyebrow at you. That's when you realise he's serious; he really won't move an inch until you tell him exactly what you want. "Please-, just.. fuck me" you whine, you know it won't be enough for him but you hope it is because if he doesn't move in the next thirty seconds you feel you might combust. You honestly don't know what will combust, but something is definitely blowing up and its also gonna be you.
"Good start, baby, but it's not enough" he chuckles at your responding whine and buries his head into you neck chuckling. Although this is more than entertaining, he also has to hide the fact this is just as agonizing for him like it is for you. "How do you want it, hm? Tell me how you want me to fuck you." "Please, just fuck me. Fuck me hard. Fuck me dumb. Fuck me so hard you break me, the bed or the wall. I don't care just please fuck me" you desperately shout out in embarrassment.
He lets out an elated laugh, this is exactly what he wants to hear. He leans in to kiss you and ends up muffling the happy whine you let out when he finally starts moving. But quickly you feel dizzy, you're beyond coherent words at this point. You can't even think straight. He feels so good inside you that you almost go crazy. You instinctively grab at his skin, raking your nails over his shoulder blades. He loves being able to get you like this, he loves listen to you break like this. You and the pretty noises you make are all his to enjoy....
Kageyama, Tsukishima, Matsukawa, Kuroo, Atsumu, Suna, Tendou, Terushima (haikyuu)
Kaeya, Al-Haitham, Ayato, Itto, Scaramouche, Wriothesley, Dottore, Pantalone (genshin)
Geto, Nanami, Gojo, Toji (JJK)
Hisoka, Chrollo, Feitan, Phinks (HxH)
Rafayel (love and deepspace)
Leona, Lilia, Jade, Floyd, Ace, Trey (twst wonderland)
#x female reader#x fem!reader#genshin x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#haikyuu x reader#jjk x reader#love and deepspace x reader#hxh x reader#kaeya x reader#alhambra#ayato x reader#itto x reader#scaramouche x reader#dottore x reader#pantalone x reader#ace trapolla x reader#leona kingscholar x reader#lilia vanrouge x reader#jade leech x reader#floyd leech x reader#nanami x reader#geto x reader#gojo x reader#toji x reader#rafayel x reader#kageyama x reader#matsukawa x reader#tsukishima x reader#kuroo x reader#wriothesley x reader
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him breaking you. and i don't mean like physically breaking you or something, but mentally breaking you through senseless fucking. mindfuck kinda shit. could be corruption too? a good girl x bad boy trope is perfect for these. he wouldn't necessarily force you into anything but would "convince" you into it. slowly and gently breaking you until you go from an innocent girl to a cockhungry whore for him and him only. that you can't live without his touch, his cock, his cum inside you. and would even make you say that you belong to him. and he enjoys every bit of itㅡ from the way you denied it at first, started giving in, to the begging and pleading for him to keep giving you more and more, to paint your insides white with his cum, taking in every single drop deep within you. fucking you harder and faster only to deny you :( he loves to rile you up with the endless teasing, having you lose your mind from the lack of release. hours of him fucking you dumb until your brain doesn't function properly, all your thoughts contain him and the things he'd do to your body. he loves what he made out of you.
scaramouche, childe, dottore, heizou, ayato, itto, xiao, kaeya, albedo, alhaitham, kaveh, cyno, abyss!aether, dainsleif ♡
#☾★ 3am thoughts »#genshin smut#scaramouche smut#childe smut#tartaglia smut#dottore smut#heizou smut#ayato smut#itto smut#xiao smut#kaeya smut#albedo smut#alhaitham smut#kaveh smut#cyno smut#aether smut#dainsleif smut#fem!reader
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// how genshin men would kabedon you //
i. note — im stuck in bed because of cramps help me i wanted to be productive today but eye can't write good…… so i wrote something self indulgent silly to get my mind off of the pain instead _(´ཀ`」 ∠) _ ueue
ii. cw — fluff/crack, gn!reader, suggestive if you squint rly hard, you're shorter than them in the third part for convenience's sake, not rly proofread im melting
standard kabedon with one arm
↳ alhaitham, diluc, zhongli ˎˊ˗
immediately understood what you meant when you asked if he could “kabedon” you. he either he read it about it somewhere or it’s just something he picked up from overhearing others talk about it in passing— you’d tease him for being “nosy” if you weren’t so flustered at the sight of him looking down at you with such a straight face.
your gaze travels down from his face, to his neck, to his bicep… close to you… and his forearm… that’s even closer to you… you’re so focused on his strong masculine arm that you don’t catch the slight blush tinting his cheeks.
whew. is it just you or is it getting hot in here?
standard kabedon but with both arms
↳ albedo, xiao, lyney ˎˊ˗
he either knew what a kabedon was already or you had to explain it to him and he… misunderstood a little bit.
or maybe he didn’t. maybe it was on purpose. maybe caging you in with both of his arms was what he was planning all along while you sheepishly explained what a kabedon entailed…!
or maybe he doesn’t want to admit that he zoned out while you were talking because all he thought about was how cute you looked, all flushed and embarrassed. yeah. that’s definitely not what happened. of course not
invades your personal space and backs you up into the wall without even using his arms
↳ pantalone, ayato, dottore ˎˊ˗
he pretended not to know what a was kabedon because’s he’s mean. while you tried to explain what it entailed (while sweating nervously from how hard he was staring at you), he slowly closed the distance between the two of you before you realized just how close he was.
he was taller than you, so he had to bend down at the waist to be at eye-level with you… and the action didn’t help your poor little heart. you could smell his cologne and gods did you feel your knees go weak.
but on the bright side, if your legs give out he’ll be close enough to catch you before you bust your head open! such a gentleman
forget using arms, he’ll use his leg to pin you to the wall instead
↳ itto, cyno, childe ˎˊ˗
why be like everyone else when he can show off instead? you think he might have been a bird in another life because this isn’t a kabedon, it has to be some sort of courting ritual or… something.
at least it’s working, though. your face is flushed, you’re holding back a smile and your heart is racing against your ribcage.
the only downside if that your face is buried in your hands; if it wasn’t, you’re sure your curiosity would get the better of you and you’d end up looking. don’t ask where, you know what i mean
….you kabedon him.
↳ wanderer, baizhu, neuvillette, webttore ˎˊ˗
he either straight up refused to do it or was so utterly puzzled by what on earth a “kabedon” even was that you had to show him.
cue a strained gasp, his brows either raised to the heavens or furrowed so hard he would immediately get wrinkles, and a blush that you would never let yourself forget. maybe you should do this more often.
but be careful, he might turn the tables and catch you off guard to kabedon you someday as payback. oh no! terrible, i know
#i wanna get kabedon'd by them....................#post divider by cafekitsune#wanderer x reader#baizhu x reader#neuvillette x reader#webttore x reader#itto x reader#childe x reader#cyno x reader#pantalone x reader#ayato x reader#dottore x reader#albedo x reader#xiao x reader#lyney x reader#alhaitham x reader#zhongli x reader#diluc x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin crack
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Men who use their legs to keep you spread open while they finger you☺️(this is my [short] apology letter for my april fools joke😓) this was based off some chilumi nsfw i found on X. I'll link it later!
Tag ~ fingering, fem!reader(no pronouns),, overstimulation, squirting, mating press, no sex but implied at the end, eating outz, size difference, tit slapping + nipple play,
The way he just snaps you into position with your legs bent away to your shoulders beneath their legs. The way they pumps and ruthlessly thrusts their fingers into your clenching hole, sending you sky high into a bursting orgasm. The tears and drool running down your face says it all. Your trembling hands clenching the thigh of his pants.
You try your hardest to wriggle your way out of his tight leg lock but they're not letting you go till he's finished with you. You've come for the nth time of the day. your mewls, whines, and moans getting high on pitch every waking second. They like seeing you like this; all spread out, puffy pussy sucking their fingers in, eyes rolling up to heaven, and the sweet juices you squirted out onto their hand.
He leans down and licks a stripe of your cunt, you immediately jump from the sudden change of roughness. They tweak and suck at your clit. Their tongue licking long and forceful stripes of your pussy. Their nose pokes at your clit from time to time. Your tongue hanging out of your mouth and tilting your head to the side to hopefully avoid neck pain. You let out a sharp moan and gasp as you felt yourself wet their hand. Your toes curled at the erupting feeling. You are nearly embarrassed about how you've wet yourself. They raise themselves back up to look back at the mess they've made beneath them. That mess being you. Your eyes are so close to closing as you let out soft and quiet pleas for no more.
But as I've said before; he's not stopping now.
One more time at least baby is what they say and they slide their fingers back into you, immediately curling up into that spot he knows like the back of his palm. Their other hand slams down onto your tits, tweaking them in the process. You're so cute they think as they see you trying to escape his leg prison once again. They give you a hearty chuckle and a teasing smirk. Your eyes try to ultimately focus on them but he doesn't stop pumping his fingers into you. Poor thing, it was only 15 minutes in, but it must've felt like eternity for you. Which you hope was the last of, you clenched your teeth and let out a gut bursting orgasm.
He gets up and flips you onto your stomach and removes the rest of your clothes along with his. They aligned his thick, long cock to your sensitive hole. Oh boy, this was gonna be a long day or night for you.
The characters i think: Zhongli, blade, childe, Kaeya, Boothill, Aventurine, Dr. Ratio, Diluc, Wriothesley, Jing Yuan, Pantalone, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Alhaitham, Sunday, and you favs!
LOVE NOTE SIGNED © 𝑢𝑣𝑢𝑦𝑎𝑖 2024
DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, COPY, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY POST W/O PERMISSION. DO NOT COPY MY LAYOUT. YOU MAY TAKE INSPIRATION BUT MAKE SURE TO CREDIT ME.
#zhongli smut#blade smut#childe smut#kaeya smut#boothill smut#aventurine smut#dr ratio smut#diluc smut#wriothesley smut#jing yuan smut#pantalone smut#capitano smut#dottore smut#scaramouche smut#genshin imagines#honkai starrail imagines#𓆩ri.𓆪#✉️.txt#✎ suggestive 𓆪#𓆩ri.txt📝𓆪#𓆩!smutty.𓆪#✎ characters from other clubs#honkai star rail smut#genshin impact smut#[ ♪o(〃＾▽＾〃)o♪ ]#alhaitham smut#sunday smut#blade x reader
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Your hands are pressing his to the mattress so possessively...
It's sinful how loud he moans when you stop him from grabbing onto you, pinning his scrambling and twitching hands to the soft sheets of the bed he was being fucked so mercilessly on.
"Pl- Pleasheee!~" he cries out for you and calls your name soon after. His voice is broken, desperate and a clear representation of his debauched self.
The many hours he had spent under your body, receiving the mind breaking pleasure that you had to offer him had already turned his pretty little head to mush.
Oh, but he should've known better, right? Known better than to flirt with that whore at the bar. But he just couldn't get enough of your jealously filled roughness. It was truly divine, pushing his body well past its limits.
"Hic- 'm SORRY!!~♡ Re-really am- HNGH~" his voice is breaking, it's pitch is so high and whiny as he pleads for a break, for you to slow down. But he knows he doesn't really want that, he wants to be fucked brainless, turned into a stupid little slut, your stupid little slut.
Your thrusts continued their harsh pace, bullying your darling's hole just right. You kept hitting the poor thing's bruised and throbbing prostate, driving him to orgasm for the nth time that night. But.. did you give him permission? No, you didn't.
"Wuh-wait! No 'm sorry- pleashe forgive m-me! AHN!-" his little babbling apology is cut short by yet another hard thrust and another mean bite to his already tender neck. He's biting his lip as you squeeze his pretty hands tighter and pin his body down with an even firmer grip.
No matter how much the pretty thing pleads for you to stop he never uses his safe-word, only screaming out your name like its going to make you forgive him. Well.. you already have forgiven him, but were you going to pass up the opportunity to have your baby crying and begging? No, you weren't. So he's just going to have to take it for a while longer.. ♡
KAEYA, CHILDE, dottore, kaveh, boothill, DOUMA, sunday, DAZAI, NIKOLAI, zhongli, HAWKS, wriothesley, alhaitham, dabi, dan heng, jing yuan, AVENTURINE, dr. ratio, your favs...
#sub kny#dom reader#sub character#sub kaeya#sub childe#sub dottore#sub kaveh#sub boothill#sub douma#sub sunday#sub dazai#sub nikolai#sub zhongli#sub hawks#sub wriothesley#sub alhaitham#sub dabi#sub dan heng#sub jing yuan#sub mha#sub hsr#sub genshin#sub aventurine#sub dr ratio
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Blasphemous Rumors - MASTERLIST
“Marry me.”
He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly. Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope.
“Just for a year. A marriage of convenience. Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.”
Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality. Slow-ish burn. Semi-enemies to lovers. Rating subject to change.
CHAPTER 1 || CHAPTER 2 || CHAPTER 3 || CHAPTER 4 ||
CHAPTER 5
#dottore#il dottore#dottore x reader#il dottore x reader#il dottore/reader#dottore/reader#il dottore/female reader#dottore/female reader#fic: blasphemous rumors#marriage of convenience#slow burn#juni masterlist
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I kindly ask for any loose Dottore hc’s you have running around in your head 😔🤲
Oh definitely! Forgive the formatting I'm too lazy to move this to gdocs lol
Cw: needles, drugging, biting, unhealthy relationships, medical malpractice, doctor/patient relationships
Dottore likes to bite-- that's a given, but it's troublesome when he does it to you after a shot, dragging teeth over the sore patch of skin and lapping up the beads of blood that well up.
It's terribly unsanitary, especially after all the care he takes to sanitize the area, but he seems unconcerned about the threat of infection. It's nothing he can't easily treat, anyway.
For all his sadistic tendencies, you're usually incredibly healthy. You can't remember the last time you were sick-- not as a result of Dottore's "medicine," that is.
Of course, you can never tell when Dottore's giving you actual medicine, or when he's decided to give you something different. His smile is always the same as he flicks any air bubbles from the syringe; always the same mocking warning of "this might pinch a little." If you didn't have a fear of needles before, you do now.
Depending on how well behaved you are, he's... tolerable. "Well behaved," of course, means no getting skittish and trying to run or squirm away whenever he administers a shot. He doesn't mind if you're afraid of him, but he prefers fawn or freeze responses to fight or flight. He'll try to coax you into responding the "correct" way to fear, but, failing that, he has plenty of sedatives at his disposal.
You learn pretty quickly that sedation isn't a mercy. Oftentimes, it just means you're paralyzed while he does whatever he pleases to you-- whereas when you're good, he'll check up on you; ask how you're feeling, if it hurts, etc. If you've been good, sometimes he'll take pity on you and stop. Sometimes he'll give you anaesthetics or painkillers.
He also does that thing that doctors do, where they completely lie about the level of pain you'll experience. Sometimes "just a pinch" is truly just a pinch, sometimes it's a burning, white-hot agony.
If we want to get into modern au.... I think modern au Dottore would like you sickly. He'd prescribe you something to keep you frail and weak and sick, just enough to keep you reliant on him until he can convince you to try in-home care-- so that when you have another flare-up, you can be treated in the comfort of your own home.
What he neglects to tell you, of course, is that once you invite him in he intends to stay. Your sickness worsens tenfold with him there, rendering you bedridden, and you realize-- too little too late-- that maybe you were never sick to begin with.
He'll maintain the façade of doctor and patient even as he changes the locks in your own home, confiscating your phone and locking up anything that can be used as a weapon. You sometimes hear your neighbors at the door, talking to him, and you wish you could scream-- tell them what's happening, beg for help, anything to put an end to this nightmare--
You know better, of course. You made that mistake once, and what followed was silence, then the tell-tale sound of dead weight hitting the floor. He'd come into the room with a smile, dragging your semi-conscious neighbor by the feet behind him, and explained that he's lucky he had the foresight to keep tranquilizers on him at all times.
He'd made you watch, that time. You learned not to scream again.
#asks#yandere#il dottore#yandere il dottore#dottore#yandere dottore#yandere dottore x reader#yandere dottore/reader#il dottore/reader#dottore/reader#dottore x reader#il dottore x reader#yandere il dottore/reader#genshin#genshin impact#yandere genshin#yandere genshin impact#dead dove do not eat#my writing#cw: needles#ok whew million tags out of the way#i probably have a bunch more hcs but they're messily buried in my notes app or on a gdoc somewhere#i organize my thoughts HORRIBLY#it's the adhd lads
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★ a spoonful of sugar to make the dose go down easy
dottore in love.
tags: yandere themes, noncon mention, experimentation, medical play it’s dottore what do you expect lol
Dottore does not fall in love at first sight. He is rationally minded and not prone to the same emotional urges that most other mortals are. To fall in love with someone, he needs to be interested in them. They need to be unique. They need to catch his attention, usually in a way that pertains to his research. His initial intrigue is a slippery slope to deep and irrevocable obsession.
He does not love normally. He’s the obsessive type. He needs to know everything about a prospective paramour, and has no problem delving into your personal records and other private information. He pays keen, cutting attention to your mannerisms and behaviors and notes your preferences with astute diligence. All information pertaining to you has been embedded permanently in his mind, but he writes everything down just in case.
He does not consider you “equal”. He is a man powerful enough to contend with the archons. Hardly anyone within the confines of Teyvat can hope to contest his strength and his intelligence. However, he is interested in your thoughts, and your interests, and how you tick. He’ll tend to ask you questions pertaining to your feelings in particular, because chances are you are more emotional than he is, and receiving a perspective so wholly different from his own is both valuable and interesting.
It’s not uncommon for him to ask you questions like “why did this experiment react in this way, and another experiment subjected to the same procedure and conditions react in another way?” or “under what circumstances do you believe murder to be an acceptable act?”
He keeps you on a short leash. If you try to break it off with him, he’ll indulge you. He’ll put up an argument, but you’re allowed to leave his side. Being the second of the Harbingers brings with it a slew of resources and perks that make it easy to keep you under surveillance. There’s not a moment where he doesn’t know where you are and who you are with. None besides Pierro and the Tsaritsa herself can question his use of personnel resources, and they’re both willing to look the other way as long as he continues to do his good work.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and he’s sure that with a little time (and threats to the lives of your loved ones), you will come to see reason.
He also doesn’t like keeping you cooped up or constantly drugged. You’re more interesting to him when you have external stimuli, things to form opinions on and observe and enjoy. He already has enough lifeless dolls to play with. That’s not to say that he won’t experiment on you. He’ll ply you with all sorts of chemical concoctions and restraining devices, typically nothing that will do lasting harm—unless he believes a permanent modification will benefit you.
The only thing that gives him pause is your possible resentment. He doesn’t like it when you withdraw yourself from him. He regards your hissing and fitting as he would regard a misbehaving kitten, cute and ultimately harmless. But take care not to try his patience. Settle willingly into his arms and engage him in conversation, lest you force him to use negative reinforcement.
He enjoys your resistance, likes it when you squirm and spit and snarl at him to release you. It appeals to a primal kind of excitement he typically doesn’t experience much these days. Nothing is more rewarding than pinning you and taking what he needs—but be sweet for him after. Or at least agreeable.
His affection is indulgent. He spoils you with material items and coos at you in his soft, low voice. He calls you darling and dearest and all manner of pretty pet names. You want for nothing, while in his care, as long as you behave.
Stay resistant, but not too rigid. Retain a respectable level of independence, but do not stray too far from his grasp.
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Genshin Men + When You Lean Up to Kiss Them
Pairing: Kaeya, Itto, Dottore, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Zhongli x Fem!Reader
Tags: fluff, teasing, height difference, princess carry, biting, kissing, sitting on his lap
A/N: Yes, I'm short, I will need to stand on my toes to kiss them.
Kaeya smirks as he crutches down and gets on eye level with you, his hands on your hips before he scoops you up into a princess carry to kiss you. As he puts you down you have to balance on your toes to not break the kiss. It becomes a battle of who can keep kissing the other longer. There's no real winner.
Itto has the hugest, most heart warming smile on his face when he sees how you wrap your arms around his neck and look up to him. When you ask for a kiss he doesn't have to bend down if he doesn't feel like it but who is he trying to fool? He can't say no to a cute girl like you.
Dottore thinks it's cute how you want to kiss him but you know the rules, you need to ask properly and no amount of batting your lashes at him will do the trick. You need to either say it or to climb onto his lap and take what you want. He knows you can, you've spent enough time with him, you should be able to be a bit more assertive.
Neuvillette leans down and rubs his nose against yours before bending into a full kiss. It wasn't often that he had to do this before he met you, he was rather happy looking down on people actually, they weren't worth the time. But you are, you're always worth coming down to for a kiss.
Wriothesley almost lets his tough mask slip when you cup his cheeks and start leaning up to kiss him. He doesn't want you to notice his ears getting red so kissing you is the perfect way to distract you from that. The funny thing is that he could easily carry you but he finds it cute how you brace on his shoulders just to kiss him.
Zhongli pretends that he doesn't see what you're trying to do. Pulling him down doesn't work so you decide to stand up as much as you can to kiss him, only he responds by biting your lip and slipping his tongue into your mouth. You weren't the only one wanting a kiss, he just wanted to see how far you'd go for one.
#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#kaeya x reader#itto x reader#dottore x reader#neuvillette x reader#wriothesley x reader#zhongli x reader#genshin impact imagines#genshin imagines#genshin impact headcanons#genshin headcanons#genshin impact x you#genshin x you#genshin impact x female reader#genshin x female reader#genshin impact fluff#genshin fluff#kaeya fluff#itto fluff#dottore fluff#neuvillette fluff#wriothesley fluff#zhongli fluff
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"Grandpa Knows the Best"(+Art)
In which your grandpa, Pulcinella, tells you a reason why Harbingers are bad as your partner.
Time set after Signora's funeral, before Sumeru setting, comedy/crack, dry humor, capitalist joke
Series I Series III
#harbingers x reader#genshin x gender neutral reader#gender neutral reader#genshin x reader#childe x reader#tartaglia x reader#pantalone x reader#dottore x reader#pierro x reader#capitano x reader#arlechinno x reader#columbina x reader#sandrone x reader#fatui harbingers#imaginedraw
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