#misha.writes

[ne-videl]

𝓾𝓷𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓰𝓮

♡

yandere Poseidon x fem reader

hide your tears and smile, little goddess.

yandere, unhealthy relationships, objectification, angst, power imbalance, depressed reader, forced marriage, poor english, sfw. first half – Poseidon's pov, then yours.

word count: ~1.5k

a/n: hii everyone!! how have you been? I have no ideas. like, absolutely. art block I guess?? anyway, have some of my old stuff. this is my least favorite yandere trope, but I love angst, so sometimes I go for it. by the way, when I first started it, I wanted to write a super idolized fluff but... well, we have what we have, or "why you don't want to marry Poseidon". hehe big booba man hehehe

the endless ocean is noisy outside the huge windows.

today, the sea sings a memorial service for you.

two people at the altar – the god and his bride.

Poseidon wants to smile rapaciously at her shaking figure.

she's afraid, poor thing. who wouldn't be afraid? he is, after all, the god of all gods, known for his cruel and merciless temper, the lord of the seas.

and she will become his lady very soon.

[name].

her name spreads like ambrosia across his lips.

even her name is so ordinary, so human, as, indeed, everything else about his charming wife.

she was a priestess in Poseidon's temple: in his own, so there's nothing wrong in taking what was already his. he noticed her by accident.

[name] was sitting hunched over, touching some bright flowers with her bruised palms. he liked to visit this temple sometimes: it was quiet and peaceful in the atrium, noisy humans did not flicker before his eyes.

little human girl did not even flinch when he silently stood next to her, only continued to look with big and very sad eyes at the colorful flower bed.

at their second meeting, she greeted him.

at the third time, she dared to start an idle conversation.

the fourth, and she talked about life in the temple.

at the fifth time she asked why he was coming here.

Poseidon always stood silently next to her, looming over her like a suffocating shadow. he was amused by her chattering, and, unexpectedly for himself, found her presence soothing, pleasant, unlike other humans, the mere sight of whom made the eye of the deity twitch.

life was bad for her in the temple.

[name] told him, she was sent to this place when she was still a girl, and she spent her whole life by the cold blue sea.

new head of the temple did not like her, saying that there was nothing for women to do here. that she should get married, but who needs her?

Poseidon saw the marks of beatings on her girlish body.

so he took her with him. she served in temple made in his name, spent her short life at his domain – it is quite natural that she will become his wife.

of course, it is unheard of that god marries a human – but does he really need someone's approval?

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

Hades advised to propose to her. it's the way humans do it.

Poseidon did not ask for her consent, for him it was just a formality: of course she would say yes, he was sure.

he will dress her in the finest silks, she will own the most beautiful jewels on all Olympus, the sea itself would be at her feet – how could a human girl want more?

smile spreads across his face as he sees her eyes widen, as she begins to shake – no doubt, from embarrassment – and his palm rests protectively on top of her head.

of course she agreed, how could it be any other way?

his fiancee is incredibly sweet. but weak and naive at the same time, like the rest of the human race. but he will protect her, give her a better life.

she must be very grateful to him.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

Poseidon remembers their wedding well, how [name] looked in amazement at the beauty of Atlantis, at the greatness of his seas.

in white robes, with downcast eyes, she swore an oath binding her life forever to a cruel deity, accompanied by singing of nymphs and the sound of the ocean.

she was now a goddess herself, whether she wanted to or not. of course, she wanted to, it couldn't be any other way. she loves him.

and, as the new lady of the seas, she will spend her now eternal life by his side. Poseidon will make sure of this no matter what.

she fearfully puts her small palm into his, while he, her husband, leads her through the corridors of the palace. [name] is silent. probably still embarrassed.

from now on, she will be the most beautiful ornament of his possessions, the shining pearl of Atlantis – his precious property, belonging only to him. and the sparkling ring on her tiny finger was proof.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

"wife." – [name] immediately turns around, smiles, comes closer.

his hand rests on her waist, his grip firm, possessively strong. she doesn't notice.

or pretends not to notice.

over time, [name] got used to him, cheered up, blossomed. it couldn't have been any other way, right?

songs, dances appeared, bright flowers and ringing laughter in the cold and empty corridors.

she became friends with his brothers, was able to conquer the proud Aphrodite, whom she now called her friend with visible joy.

Poseidon is pleased to consider himself a good husband.

he loves to see his wife smiling, laughing.

even if it's not just with him. it's better to be patient for a while, he thinks, than to lose her cheerful chatting for the whole evening.

though, she's cute even when she's angry.

Poseidon was gentle with her. allowed her much, much more than others, even spoiled her. [name] was his wife, after all, so he had to make sure she looked good enough.

he's a good husband.

[name] never contradicted him, never raised her adorable voice at him, never was not too selfish.

although deep down, he would like her to become more spoiled. so that, like him, she would not tolerate anyone's presence, except, of course, her husband.

to think of it, why would she need anyone besides him? she can be quite happy within the walls of the palace.

Poseidon dismissed these thoughts from himself – for some reason, his wife liked to be in society, even if without him.

well, he's willing to put up with her quirks as long as she knows who should come first for her.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

the outfit given by Aphrodite was very becoming to his spouse. Poseidon loved to see her beautiful.

in luxurious clothes, undoubtedly worthy of the wife of a sea god, or in the warm candlelight in the night darkness of their shared bedroom, happy or shedding tears, [name] was equally beautiful.

the precious treasure of Atlantis.

he was never moved by her tears – even if she was crying, of course she loved him anyway. [name] is happy. so why make a big deal about it?

none of the pathetic mortals could take care of her like he did. none of them would love her the way he does.

"you are my wife. you're not going anywhere."

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

you didn't tell anyone about your sorrow: didn't share it with anyone – neither with Aphrodite, nor with the nymphs and mermaids, your husband's brothers remained in the dark too.

a little human girl shedding tears by the huge waves.

an unhappy goddess, forever imprisoned in an cold palace, surrounded by hypocritical deities, in the iron grip of an unloved husband, eaten alive by sadness and suffocating hopelessness of her position.

none of them saw you as an equal: you were only a curious little thing, a way to dispel eternal divine boredom, and the Olympians, of course, did not bother to hide this fact.

you didn't know what your husband found in you, and you didn't want to. sometimes you wished that back then, many, many years ago, he would have left you in that temple, or that you would run from the garden in terror, or anything. anything.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

you knew your place well.

by his side, always, no matter what. from the very day when you stood at the altar and did not dare to raise your eyes to your fiance, you were no longer anything human.

from that moment, you became an ornament, a property, a beautiful doll. nothing more.

Poseidon wanted to see you happy – and you smiled, laughed, you did everything that you thought he would like.

are you satisfied? please tell me you're happy. I'm scared.

scared.

your husband allowed you the freedom he thought his property could have, and you greedily soaked up every drop of it.

you're lucky, you told yourself, you're very, very lucky. It could have been worse. any other girl would give her soul to be in your place, – repeated, looking at your own reflection in the cold glitter of jewelry.

you must be like it yourself. a thing. a thing, of course, must have an owner, and a thing cannot be sad.

Poseidon's cold hand rests on your waist, pulls you into his arms, and you do not allow yourself to resist: you exhale into his neck, placing your small palms on his broad back.

your spouse is purring contentedly.

he's happy. you can relax a little.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

sea nymphs comb your hair, weave pearls into thin braids, fold strands into an intricate hairstyle.

"what's bothering you, madam?" – the lady of the seas does not bother to answer, your dead calm gaze wanders over the high ceilings, walls and huge windows of your chambers.

a common topic of idle conversation among the Olympians was Poseidon's boundless adoration for his charming wife. cruel god who fell in love with a mere mortal – what a beautiful story.

even the ocean itself seemed to dote on you. whenever the warm waves caressed your feet on the coast, your dried-up insides were filled with melancholy. your body was here, in Atlantis, which became a prison for you, and your soul, which remained to pain in your chest human, floated far away. your tired mind wandered, and you are a little girl again, and once again the bright sun warms your childishly plump cheeks, and in your hands are colorful flowers, and the kind grandpa from the temple strokes your head.

Poseidon will be coming for you soon – as always.

as always, you will talk about something, laugh, sitting on his lap in the throne room. or in one of the living rooms, or in the bedroom – you were not allowed to leave him without permission.

you flinched when you felt his strong hand on your shoulder.

Poseidon smirked.

his wife is not going anywhere. she will stay with him.

forever.

not the best one of my works but uh well I felt like posting something

maaybe will be deleted since it doesn't look as good as I thought it would be in english

btw thinking about writing tartaglia fic soo the next one is probably gonna be genshin man again

thanks for reading!!

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #record of ragnarok #ror #record of ragnarok x reader #poseidon x reader #yandere poseidon #record of ragnarok poseidon #misha.writes #yandere

[ne-videl]

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤

♡

yandere Dion Agriche x fairy fem reader

he will gladly go even to his own death if you'll order him to.

sub yandere, unhealthy relationship, a little bit of Cassis x reader, mentions of violence, reader and Dion have master/pet relationships, also reader is referred to as "sister" a few times so pseudo incest I guess, sfw but a bit suggestive, everybody likes you!! poor english

word count: ~2k

a/n: there I am again drooling over fictional men. so here's my favorite yandere trope!! for if your psychopath doesn't worship you it's not your psychopath ©

honestly when I was reading this manhwa for the first time and saw dion I was like "damn I want this man on his knees 🤨🤨", so here you are. eat.

"you're a dog, Dion." – not-Roxanne lifts the corners of her lips in a slight smile, while her neat fingers run through his shaggy hair.

"your dog," – Dion adds mentally.

you feel the touch of his dry lips on your bare foot.

sitting like this, kneeling in front of you, seems right – it can't be any other way, and it won't be.

"may I?" – after receiving tacit approval, he leans closer, his hand stroking your bare thigh.

you smell like flowers: maids must have added rose oil to the water, and this smell digs into his lungs, making him roll his eyes in ecstasy.

just from this, from the fact that you are so close, he could just reach his hand out and feel you.

your body is cold – devoid of any human warmth, burning his skin with the cold of it's touch. your eyes look with a non malicious mockery: how a person looks at their beloved pet. with kind condescension.

you lean in, and Dion feels a kiss at the top of his head. scent of roses hits his nose, almost suffocating, and it feels like his mind is about to give up. well, if he dies right here, he won't regret a bit.

crimson flush on his cheeks almost burns his skin.

____*:･ﾟ✧

"hello. my name is ███████. do you mind playing with me, brother?"

he turns around at the girly voice behind him – distracting himself from the dead bird – and he is met by the look of your laughing eyes.

not red ones.

his sister tucks a lock of her hair behind her little ear and sits down next to him, waiting for an answer.

shouldn't she be blonde like Roxanne?

who is Roxanne?

"okay." – Deon catches his sister's smile and for some reason wants to smile too. she talks about a cute teddy bear that her father gave her, about how she likes to drink tea under the summer sun, and that she probably likes him too.

he had once seen in a book: in the old fairy tales that mothers read to their children, it was said that fairies could replace a human child with their own.

none of Agriche's children believed in fairy tales, but it seems appropriate for his "sister" – you, not-Roxanne, must be a fairy. a lovely creature with transparent wings and a honey voice.

he doesn't mind. whatever calls itself his sister, Deon thinks he really, really likes it.

____*:･ﾟ✧

if he's not on a mission, Deon is always by your side.

"what are you doing here? can't you see sister is with me now?" – Jeremy mumbled indignantly, but you only laughed softly, covering your lips with a neat palm.

a beautiful silver ring glitters on the sixth finger of the "sister".

their father also adores you – maybe it's natural for fairies to charm everyone around them – from members of their so-called "family" to the maids and even the hounds of the estate.

maybe he's a hound himself in her eyes. it didn't matter, as long as he could be with his "sister" – or at least with the creature that pretended to be her.

it was undoubtedly a pleasure to belong to you.

Deon drapes a white fur coat over your shoulders: you often went out into the garden in light clothes, as if the winter cold did not bother you at all. your hair falls over the fur collar, and you smile at him, giggling about how quietly he walks, and chirping about something else. you were fond of chatting, and it was often very difficult to stop listening to you. he, however, usually spoke rarely and little, accompanying you, his mistress, like a silent shadow.

you're spending too much time in the company of a Pedelian pup – an unacceptably long time – so that his eye begins to twitch with anger.

isn't he enough? why would you need this toy if he is always at your feet, your faithful dog, a hound, ready to do whatever you want without a trace of doubt and regret?

Dion wished you'd let him kill Cassis.

"may I ask you a question?" – you turn at the sound of his voice. surrounded by a winter garden, you look even more beautiful, pitch black against dead-white snow. perfection.

"of course, ask. what is it?" – "sister" raises an eyebrow a little stiffly, not naturally, just a little bit.

"do you like him more? I dare not doubt you, and you should not doubt my loyalty, but still-" – his scarlet eyes narrow slightly – "but still, do you like him more?"

if you answer yes, he will go and kill the eldest of the Pedelian offspring on the spot. this is Deon's place. and the hell he's going to let someone else take it.

"of course not, silly." – you laughed – "didn't we discuss this earlier? toys are toys, but you were and will remain my favorite."

right. that's how it should be. why did he even doubt it?

"favorite." – mentally repeats after you while your six-fingered palm rests on his head: you had a habit to pet him like a puppy.

"favorite." – gaze of crimson eyes trembles, invariably riveted to you, and Dion struggles with the desire to grab the object of his sick adoration in his arms, hug you, to feel the cold of your inhuman body at least through clothes. your smell is dope, your touch is opium, your eyes are an abyss, mesmerizing with the horror of its cold depths.

but he can't. you didn't allowed it yet.

and he, as befits a well-trained hound, will obediently wait for your permission.

____*:･ﾟ✧

"███████. that's not your real name, is it? what are you?" – Cassis looks at you expectantly.

you tilt your head to the side, picturesquely rounding your eyes and raising your neat eyebrows.

theatrically. not natural.

"what are you talking about? I am me. who else do you think I can be? stop asking stupid questions, darling." – you answer with a mocking smile. like he's saying something ridiculous.

"are you kidding me? you have six fingers! why doesn't anyone else notice this? besides, you look different, not at all like-" – Cassis cuts himself off in mid-sentence.

like who?

"you know, forget it... it's like I haven't been myself lately. you know, with all this kidnapping, and even your brother..." – he shakes his head nervously under your laughing gaze.

something inside told him that if he kept asking questions now, it won't end well. and anyway, why would he do that? after all, it's not polite to interrogate his benefactress.

everything is fine.

"the less you know the better you sleep, my dear. why don't we just proceed as planned? and how many fingers I have is none of your business." – you look appraisingly, as an already well-fed snake looks at a mouse.

eat or not?

"if I were you, I'd be more worried about the success of your future escape, and for that matter, about my dear brother. you see, Dion has been wanting to twist your neck for a long time." – mention of the red-eyed man makes Cassis tense up.

when you see his reaction, you giggle like you just said the funniest joke in the world.

"come on. I was joking. Dion won't hurt you unless I tell him to. he's a good boy."

when he thinks about it, you, the elder Agriche, had a lot in common with the poisonous butterflies you adored so much. in the sense that Cassis often got the impression that you wanted to devour him. at least it wasn't hard to imagine transparent wings behind your back.

____*:･ﾟ✧

gatherings with your father always ended well after midnight – invariably over cigars and wine, in his office full of acrid tobacco smoke.

it was no secret who will become the next head of Agriche: Lante never hid his paradoxical favoritism. with you alone he had the relationship that most closely resembles the relationship of a parent to a child.

"in general, everything is going as it should. don't forget to dress up for the next dinner party: I've already called the designers." – Lante exhaled a cloud of smoke, smiling cheekily: alcohol was doing its job.

"as you wish. Is Dion doing good at his job?" – you answered with a relaxed face: wine, as well as many other "human" things, had no effect on you.

"you ask as if you don't know. you raised him well." – you slightly unnaturally round your eyes in surprise – "only a fool here does not know that the only person to whom my son is truly faithful is you. I don't know how you did it, but these mind games of yours seem to have had the desired effect. of course, you're my daughter! you're more like a dog with a mistress, not a brother and sister."

Lante bursts into a deep laugh, and his "daughter" does not deny herself a satisfied grin.

a dog and his mistress, huh?

heavy doors of the head's office closed behind your fragile – at least visually –figure.

you are greeted by the night chill of the deserted corridor of the estate and your dog waiting in the distance.

"hi, Dion. already returned?" – he just nods silently in response, coming closer to you and offering his hand.

my-my, just came from a mission in the middle of the night and immediately rushed to you. how obedient.

"did you hear it?" – you tilt your head to the side with a sly grin.

"I did. while I was waiting for you." – he doesn't say anything about Lante's comment. doesn't deny it.

indeed, you raised him well. no trace of pride was left.

Dion in your hands – a faithful puppy, readily following any of your instructions. even if you'll send him right to his death, he will return, only bowing his head in anticipation of praise and the touch of your cold hands.

and you, like a good master, praise, and stroke, and kiss. after all, if there is a stick, there must be a carrot.

____*:･ﾟ✧

"here we will part, my dear friend. we have already discussed your plan of action, so I see no point in repeating myself. go to freedom, but quickly: we, you know, deal with riots quickly."

"wait, listen, please. can you at least answer me before I leave? what are you, really? I always have the feeling that you're not who you seem. I mean... no, I like you, I really like you, it's just-" – Cassis cuts himself off, realizing that he blurted out too much.

he's all flushed, confused in words, and you're just looking at him with your unnerving eyes and smiling.

watching. and aren't blinking.

"God, no matter how much years I'm carrying on my shoulders, it's the first time I've met such a curious human." – you purse your scarlet lips, thinking about the answer – "don't worry, "she" is now where she will be better. and as for your question, dear, you can consider that I'm just a bystander. yes, let's think so. so stop talking and run, okay?"

"and you? will you be okay?" – you raised your eyebrow: still unnatural, however, he's already used to it.

exit from the estate is already very close, just a stone's throw away, and Cassis is hesitating. desperately grabbing your wrist, looking with shining yellow eyes into your laughing, soulless ones.

tch.

"what, you want to stay my toy forever? you know, I'm an Agriche too, and I might change my mind about letting you go if you keep looking at me like a beaten puppy." – realizing that your quip was not accepted by the "audience", you rolled your eyes, but then broke into your too perfect smile again.

"don't worry. I can't be killed in a way that matters."– a six-fingered palm rests on the top of his head, and your face stretches into a grin, not human, too wide for a human.

but he's not scared. he wants to watch more – it's impossible to look away, even if his instinct for self-preservation screams that he needs to get out of here as soon as possible.

the abyss, as it turned out, can really look back, and it is beautiful in its terrifying appearance.

is this how Deon feels every time he looks at something that calls itself his sister?

"well, let's never meet again, my friend." – and Cassis leaves, leaves without turning around, because he understands that if he turns around, he will never be able to leave this nightmarish estate. he won't want to.

you hesitate a little, watching him with unblinking eyes, and with a sense of accomplishment you turn back.

your face rests against a man's chest. familiar scent of ash and blood hits your sensitive nose.

"and you're still walking silently." – Dion drapes his coat over your bare shoulders. a gloved hand lingers on your skin a little longer than it should.

"it's cold in the dungeons. you should have dressed warmer." – you laughed a little.

he knows perfectly well that you don't feel the cold, but he does this every time anyway.

"and what, you won't even ask anything? aren't you curious why I let the Pedelian offspring go?" – your six–fingered hand is holding his elbow as you wind through the dark and cold corridors.

"I will not question your methods. but was it wise to talk about your secret, even in this way? doesn't he know too much now?" – it's not difficult to understand what he's hinting at: in his opinion, you should've get rid of Cassis. athough never said out loud, your "brother's" dislike of your toy was ridiculously strong.

ah, men's jealousy!

"let him think what he wants. there are no big conclusions to be drawn from what I said anyway." – you tilt your head to the side, your eyes lazily scan the walls of the dungeon. he just nods and continues to walk beside you in silence.

Dion never asked too much, never doubted any of your actions, never poked his nose where it should not be. you certainly raised him well. no, even exceeded your own expectations.

what a good boy.

mom yelled at me for almost a hour and I wanna curl up and die 🤩

thanks for reading!!

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere dion agriche #dion agriche #dion agriche x reader #sub yandere #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #yandere manhwa x reader #yandere imagines #misha.writes

[ne-videl]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞

♡

yandere Ayato x fem reader

there's something wrong with your employer.

yandere, mentions of violence & kidnapping, stalker Ayato, non-consensual touching (not sexual, just our man being clingy), reader has a pretty low self-esteem, sfw this time I guess??, poor english

word count: ~2k

a/n: alright I decided to procrastinate and ignore my study, and what's a better way to do it than posting some more of my stuff?

p.s. лисичка солнце как ты меня находишь?? теперь мне стыдно за то что я все никак не могу дописать главу про нёвиллета и ничего не придумала про венти 🤧🤧

enjoy.

bright sun of Inazuma shone on the kimono shop on the corner of the street, filling its visitors with pleasant laziness, and the hostess herself with a desire to end the stuffiness of the day as soon as possible.

you hung your haori on the back of a chair covered with bunch of fabric and exhaled wearily.

it's only noon yet, and you're already listening to insults from a well-to-do girl after announcing that her outfit won't be ready at least until the next evening.

"and besides, with your appearance, I would be ashamed to even look people in the eye!" – the client left, slamming the door irritably. the bell on the door rang plaintively.

"why get personal...?" – you rubbed the bridge of your nose with another sigh, while your gaze slid to the dusty mirror.

impassive glass showed a young woman. always sad eyes, hands covered with calluses and small scars from work. slightly disheveled bangs framing a tired face.

"no matter what, it's still you." – your reflection replied mockingly.

you knew yourself that you weren't that beautiful. there was a little chance to notice you in a crowd, "unremarkable" was the word that suited you the most. the only bright detail on you was, perhaps, a smear of red lipstick on your dry lips. gloomy appearance and an overly calm personality did not add to your attractiveness either. but you were a reliable and practical person, and therefore at least you had a successful career as a tailor.

summer in Inazuma was a nice season for the likes of you: time of festivals and celebrations, banquets and parties of nobles. sometimes you wanted to be in the shoes of your clients yourself: a charming, cheerful young lady choosing among a string of colorful fabrics the one that would suit her new luxurious outfit.

but, unfortunately, you were just a gloomy mistress of a sewing workshop, overwhelmed with work in the hot season.

the long-suffering doorbell, which had to endure a lot of tantrums and dissatisfied cries from visitors today, once again tinkled plaintively, forcing you to come out of your thoughts and turn around.

tall gentleman dressed in expensive white clothes stood in front of the counter. gentle, beautiful face was decorated with a friendly smile and a mole under his lips. at first glance it wasn't difficult to understand that someone very important was in front of you. you were even a little embarrassed, just a little bit: he, bright and cheerful, looks at your modest figure, dressed in a dark, simple kimono.

looks without taking his eyes off.

"lady seamstress? good day. I'm here with a business proposal for you." – the man came closer, still smiling. – "you see, my sister happened to visit your workshop a short time ago."

you tilted your head to the side, scratching your chin. the man in front of you surely looked familiar, for some reason. so it should not be very difficult to remember some pretty young lady with blue hair, from whom the same aura of aristocracy and prosperity would emanate.

"I remember something like that. you must be lady Ayaka's older brother?" – you looked at the supposed head of the Yashiro commission with an impassive look. you're too tired to be surprised by anything, and after all, important people have visited you before. if anything, you certainly had no equal in skill.

"yes, indeed. you are very observant, [name]." – you raised your eyebrow: you couldn't remember telling your name to Ayaka. well, it's not like it really matters, right?

your strange visitor continued to speak with an unnerving gleam in his purple eyes.

"as you have already understood, my name is Kamisato Ayato. I would like to offer you to work at our mansion."

____*:･ﾟ✧

"it's beautiful. I like it." – the younger Kamisato was looking at the sleeves of the kimono with satisfaction while you, now her personal tailor, pinned the hem with pins.

"but, I would like to ask you something, [name]." – you raise your head, looking up at your lady. – "you make such beautiful things. why don't you ever wear them yourself? I always see you in such inconspicuous colors. no bright fabrics, no embroidery."

you get up from your kneeling position, your scarred hands concentrating on straightening the fabric while you mumble without looking up from your work.

"you see, milady, there are people like you and people like me. beautiful things are meant for beautiful people, for important ones: who look good in gold embroidery and silk hemlines." – you look up at Ayaka, narrowing your eyes a little. – "people like me don't wear such clothes. besides, I don't have the looks to wear bright fabrics."

you walked over to the table, adjusting your black haori and assessing the work you've done. kimono suits your lady, who is currently looking down in embarrassment, realizing the huge difference in your statuses.

"ah, I also wanted to know..." – Ayaka swallows, averting her eyes and changing the subject. – "you're going to the festival, aren't you? I'd like to do your hair, if you don't mind."

you answered as calmly as usual, stating the fact.

"I have nothing to wear. and no one to go with." – calloused fingers unconsciously run through your hair, as if you could not imagine someone gathering them into a beautiful hairstyle.

"how is that? what about my older brother?" – the younger Kamisato bats her eyes with confusion.

"master? why would he?" – you tilted your head to the side in genuine surprise.

"wait, I remember exactly, brother said that you will go to the festival with him." – you smiled wearily, as if Ayaka was a child who blurted out some nonsense.

you? with him? you'd rather cut off your own finger than believe it.

you felt your master's hands resting on your shoulders.

"that's right, you're coming, and you're coming with me. I'll take care of the outfit, and I'll do your hair too." – Ayato glanced at his sister and continued talking. it seemed to you that he was standing a little closer than he should have been: at least you heard his voice right next to your ear. – "are you done here? can I borrow you for a while, [name]?"

you just nodded cautiously, wary that your master still had his hands on your shoulders. and the fact that you could clearly feel his hot chest pressed against your back.

"eavesdropping is bad, brother!" – that's right, eavesdropping is bad. and you could only think just how much did he hear.

your walk down the corridor was in silence: you didn't want to speak until you were asked, and apparently he didn't want to ask.

"master," you finally spoke up, tired of the suffocating silence, – "why would you need to accompany me to the festival?"

Ayato gave you a look with his cunning lavender eyes and replied with an unchanging smile.

"because I want to."

"what about clothes? you know, I feel quite good in what I usually wear." – you raised your voice slightly, sincere confusion shone in your eternally tired eyes, – "and my hair? why would you need to-"

Ayato bent down, holding a strand of your hair between his fingers.

you saw him kiss your hair, felt his hot breath on your face.

"because. I. want. to."

that night, as at all nights before in this estate, you felt like you were being watched.

and they didn't take their eyes off for even a second.

____*:･ﾟ✧

summer passed quickly: time for banquets, bright festivals and celebrations ended.

you always finished this usually noisy and busy season with a sense of accomplishment, although, of course, you had less work than usual this summer.

you thought you loved to work. at least your hands were always busy with something: fixing someone's obi, making a sample for the store's assortment or another order. to live you need money, and to have money you need to work. so you've been working as long as you can remember.

that's why it was a surprise to find yourself sitting and doing nothing. Thoma did the mending of clothes and other simple work, and new things, as it turned out, were not needed too often by your masters. so all that remained was to drink tea with them and walk around, feeling guilty for your rather big salary.

archons, it's like you're not a tailor but a friend for them.

on the day when you were ready to climb the wall from idleness – such a seemingly unusual thing for you in the past – you finally decided to visit your employer.

Ayato perked up as soon as you appeared at the door of his office.

"master." – you bowed briefly, looking at him with your eternally tired eyes.

"what can I do for you, dear?" – lord Kamisato, realizing that you were here on a business matter, continued with an impenetrable smile, – "is there something you're not satisfied with? if you don't like the food or the clothes, then I'll immediately-"

you shook your head no, clenching your hands nervously, and spoke. there was a tiny bit of embarrassment in your usually calm voice.

"you see, master," – you swallowed nervously, – "I'm a little worried that I don't really have anything to do."

under Ayato's confused gaze, you continued, explaining what you meant.

"I've been working as long as I can remember myself, and when you offered me to work for you, I expected a higher level of workload." – you exhaled.

"I think I feel guilty for sitting around all day. at least let me fix the servants' clothes."

Ayato scratched his chin while his purple eyes seemed to drill a hole in you. you wanted to leave, to end this conversation as quick as possible. you've never been very comfortable in the presence of your employer. you felt the urge to run away to lady Ayaka and distract yourself with idle conversations, or embroidery – with anything.

"no, no, dear, that won't do. I can't let your pretty hands do that." – your gaze dropped to your rather elegant, but scarred and callused hands. not "pretty" at all.

"then," – you sighed, – "then I'm asking for your dismissal. in that case, it would be better for me to return to my shop in the city. I can't sit around all day, master."

pen crunched in Ayato's hands and fell onto the countertop, breaking in half.

you couldn't see him get up from the table before you felt his hot arms wrapped around your waist in a strangleingly tight grip. gloved finger gently stroked your cheek, outlined the edge of a dark circle under your eye.

seeing in your gaze the absolute misunderstanding of what is happening, commissioner Yashiro only smiled gently.

"[name], sweet, sweet [name]. no matter how beautiful a kimono is, if you lost your legs you won't be able to wear it, don't you think? I would recommend that you don't even think about leaving me. besides, Ayaka will be sad. we all got so attached to you."

Ayato giggled sickly, stroking your hair.

it's time to start preparing for the wedding.

____*:･ﾟ✧

[name]. sweet, adorable [name].

quiet and calm woman living on a street corner. completely unnoticeable in a noisy crowd. smoothly, smoothly her hair flutters in the wind. scarred, thin fingers hold the bundle of fabric tightly.

last name is unknown.

date of birth is unknown.

presumably an orphan.

owns a sewing workshop in the city.

not married.

"is this really all that has been found out?" – Ayato puts down the papers, staring intently at the servant who just nods nervously.

"I see. you may leave."

it's probably a good thing she doesn't have a family. no one would look for her if, say, he decided to kidnap her.

any other person would not have noticed her dark silhouette among the noisy streets. would not have remembered the features of her tired face. would not have made inquiries, looking into her past, find out her schedule, send people to monitor and report to him where and with whom she was. any other wouldn't have memorized what she likes and what she doesn't like, and what time she goes to bed.

anyone else wouldn't, but to commissioner Yashiro, she was the most precious person in the world.

ah, she's so diligent! every time Ayato sees his charming seamstress on the street, she always carries some bundles of fabrics, or in the shop, always busy.

today [name] is also working hard.

hiring her at the manor was the right decision: it meant always having her in sight, by his side. whether it was trying on another suit, when he could feel the light touches of her calloused hands sending euphoric shivers down his back, or just talking over tea – being in the company of a gloomy tailor was great.

humans are greedy, selfish creatures by nature. Ayato was no exception–a man of his status could afford everything and even more. and at the moment, his "everything" was her.

sweet, sweet [name].

slipping into her bedroom in the middle of the night has already become a familiar, routine activity. yukata fell off her shoulder, exposing her skin, while she slept, wrapped in a blanket and quietly snoring.

Ayato carefully, so as not to wake her up, sat down next to her and stroked her hair.

of course, so far they are just a worker and an employer.

"but not for long." – he whispered to himself.

you've always wanted to be in the shoes of your clients, haven't you, my dear? to be a noble lady dressed in luxurious silks?

well, you don't have to worry, your wish will come true soon. you won't mind becoming the wife of the head of the Yashiro commission, right, [name]?

I'm very very sleep deprived I wanna scream cry and throw up

bye!!

#yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere ayato #yandere ayato x reader #yandere #genshin x reader #genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere x you #genshin x you #kamisato ayato #misha.writes

[ne-videl]

𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖉𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖕𝖎𝖉𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘

♡

yandere Wriothesley x gn!reader

another long day with your duke.

yandere, reader is a murderer sentenced to death and is ok with it, imprisonment & isolation, mentions of going insane and you really are kinda insane, no happy end :(, poor english, sfw. not very yandere (except you're literally isolated) actually, but well I felt like thinking thoughts don't judge me

word count: ~2.2k

a/n: hiii

not really my best work but uh well I tried. the question is, how do I get that man to sit on my face 🤨

also go check my masterlist ^^

enjoy.

it's difficult to determine what time it is in the Meropide Fortress, so it is better to take a watch with you.

you turn over the next page with boredom, hardly paying attention to the contents of the book, and lazily glance at the clock. in the farthest corner of this prison, in a huge room, a murderer is deeply hidden, who is once again bored.

lunch has already passed, which means he will certainly come soon.

from the very beginning of your imprisonment, he always found you wherever you were hiding, and eventually you completely gave up trying to escape from him. after all, the world is not so huge, and your own is completely concentrated in this copper fortress.

your duke is the only one who speaks to you. actually, he was the reason for your forced loneliness, so that he could generously dispel your boredom. to be the only one who can do it at all.

and the gray, yellow and dirty-green walls of the copper corridors suddenly lose all their sullenness, and even breathing seemed to become easier, as soon as you heard this cherished "how are you". it's amazing what a live conversation with a person completely deprived of any human society can do!

yes, your kidnapper was kind and affectionate, of course, but he still was your kidnapper. even you forget about it sometimes.

well, who wouldn't start going crazy at your place?

Wriothesley combs your hair, humming softly.

"can you not make that face?" – duke bends down to look into your eyes, and his sharp gaze captures every tiny detail of your frown.

"you're awful at this." – you huffed, getting out of his arms.

"I'm trying to learn." – he answered you with a sly, deceptively harmless smile.

yes, that was his style. to pretend that everything is fine.

"I don't like it here. terribly boring." – you mumbled, leaning back so that your back rested against his broad chest. – "did you know that the lack of sunlight is bad for health?" – Wriothesley listened to your little tirade without interrupting you for a second, putting his hands on your shoulders and knowing full well that he was not going to let you go anywhere at all.

what else could he do? to look at you as much as he wanted, yes, at least he could do that. the duke kisses you on the top of your head, once again ignoring your words, and speaks with his kind smile, boring into your back with a loving, but slightly frightening look.

"let's talk about something else. you seem to have read a new book today." – Wriothesley grabs you by the arms, sitting down on the sofa and sitting you on his lap. you don't resist, but huff irritably.

even if you don't answer him, it's nice to just be in your company – he thinks, looking down at you.

"it's not fair." – you still don't even deign to give him your arrogant look – "other prisoners can move freely around the fortress. can talk to each other." – you remark bitterly, resentfully.

a strange, sticky feeling of contempt for the person sitting in front of you has passed through your heart. as if the sudden realization that you were locked up, and locked up for nothing, at his whim, suddenly came over you like a wave.

and resentment, anger and longing flashed in your eyes; a look that, however, was met with the same gentle, painfully sweet smile of your dear kidnapper. Wriothesley left a kiss on your trembling palm, and the pair of handcuffs on your wrists flashed in the dim light of your room.

they didn't constrain movements at all; and it was not even clear why these restraints were needed at all, carefully fastened by Wriothesley on your wrists and ankles like an engagement ring.

they didn't constrain movements at all, but nevertheless, they were always on you, and were palpable: like another reminder of your stolen freedom, forged in cold, soulless metal.

"but you're not like them at all, [name]. what if you get hurt?" – he almost purred, playfully, almost mockingly, as if perfectly aware of the absurdity and contrivance of his reason for keeping you under lock and key. – "oh, I would never forgive myself for that."

strong arms hug you, squeezing your shoulders in a tight, almost suffocating grip, and you internally laugh at yourself for another attempt to reason him. another failed attempt.

"I hate you, you know? I wouldn't put up with it if I could, but instead," – you feel the indifference slowly returning, filling your mind with the usual boredom. – "i'd strangled you instead." – you stretch out your chin more comfortably on his shoulder, ecstatically imagining how your hands close around his neck.

"I wouldn't mind." – Wriothesley pats you on the back, responding with the smile you know so well. – "please hate me until you die. never forgive me." – he exhales somewhere into your neck, and you are almost sure that on his face there is a familiar expression of sick, obsessive affection.

Wriothesley was really afraid of very few things, but even the tiny thought of your indifference drove him into a frenzy, ringing with an alarming noise in his head. even if you cannot love him, he could be satisfied with your hatred, any feeling. any.

please, hate me.

maybe one day your hatred will turn into love, maybe one day you will look at him the same way he looks at you.

please hate me until you die.

♡

"lovely." – Wriothesley briefly commented on your story about the contents of the book, sitting opposite you and sipping tea.

your duke always spoke lazily, with a tiny bit of fun in his voice, like an actor in an old play laughing from the stage. so that any will and desire to scream, cry and try to explain to him at least a little common sense immediately disappeared.

Wriothesley remembers your first meeting well. how the murderer in shackles laughed in the faces of the guards, led through the damp corridors of the fortress, and how relaxed, even familiar they behaved in front of him.

and how insignificant his greatness suddenly seemed, whole life and all death in front of this person, this different person, unlike anyone else he met.

"how happy and calm I am now that death is finally breathing down my back," – you smiled at him that day, – "do me a favor, your grace, please do not delay the execution."

oh, beautiful creature, how lovely is your smile. but why don't you deign to even look at him?

it was like a virus, like a bright flash; your image had entered into his consciousness, become ingrained in his blood; the memory of your laughing eyes could not be eliminated either by the judgment of reason or common sense. but it's not a bad feeling, he sometimes mused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

the duke liked it very much.

his obsession had neither teeth nor claws. he did not have that simple-minded fervor, haste with which a young man loves, or the cold cruelty with which a psychopath loves; on the contrary, the duke adored you tenderly, affectionately, like a good-natured dog, a breath of wind on a sultry summer day, a warm ray of sunshine after a cold winter. he never hurt you, rather, he took every tiny wound you had as his own.

and yet, there were shackles on your wrists and ankles, and you hadn't spoken to anyone but him for years. every day you felt how sanity was gradually slipping through your fingers, how consciousness and purity of thoughts were slowly being replaced by a static noise in your ears and that terrible, disgusting smell of dampness and the shine of copper pipes, and your once lively, thoughtful expression with a dull, meaningless calmness and a tired gleam in inflamed eyes. boredom, oh, what a boredom.

but Wriothesley didn't even think to stop your isolation.

how well you suited each other! if you have something to chat about before going to bed for so many years, then you were not mistaken when choosing a life partner.

even if said life partner became so against their will and chattered out of sheer boredom and loneliness: let it be, let it be so. the main thing is that he has you, and you have him. two out of seven billion, the prison's administrator and the murderer.

"freedom and equality?" – you raise your eyebrows in mock, arrogant surprise, – "to say that to the face of the person you've been keeping isolated for years, duke, you have to be either a fool or an incredible hypocrite."

"oh, I am undoubtedly a terrible fool, my dear [name]. the worst one you've ever known." – Wriothesley speaks in a laughing tone you know so well, sipping tea – "what other duke would allow himself to have conversations with a prisoner like this?"

you've never been impressed by his stories about the construction of the fortress; rather, they were depressing or, at the very least, made you smile sarcastically.

"indeed, you must be one of a kind." – you say lazily. boredom always leads to philosophical reflections, causing your mind to wander and hesitate.

almost all of your conversations were like this: meaningless, about everything and nothing at the same time. Wriothesley was talking because he desired your company, and you were talking because you had nothing else to do. oh, what a terrible melancholy! how can you not go crazy when every day is so similar to the previous one?

but at least your dear kidnapper was good at entertaining you.

and, in particular, one of his most outstanding skills was the ability to make you think over and over again that everything is fine; as if you are not a criminal at all, and he is not at all the one who makes you slowly go insane with loneliness.

"I love you, [name], do you remember that?" – Wriothesley speaks calmly, as if this is another conversation about something unimportant, abstract and meaningless. he speaks, glancing at you imperceptibly, as if trying to find an answer in your features, a reciprocity. something he could cling to, something that would tell him that you care, that at least you're sorry.

his infatuation has not been interesting or touching for a long time. you smile slyly, leaving him unanswered; rather, giving a silent answer, as you have done many times before. I know. and you know that I know, so why remind me of that?

duke is indeed a fool to keep repeating these words to you and keep hoping for a different result. for a result that won't happen.

but even seeing the sadness that flickered in his eyes for a second, you're not sorry. you're never sorry, and the fool is the one who thinks it could be otherwise.

"and even now, you don't love." – calmly, even casually, the duke concludes, but you know him too well not to see how his strong facade is cracking. – "and you'll never be able to?" – he looks up at you again, looking at you expectantly.

"never." – something made you feel overwhelmingly funny, as it has never been during your stay in this fortress.

as if in this conversation between you two he demanded an answer not really to his another confession, but rather, your explanation of this whole idiotic situation, as if he himself was not the cause of it. your whole current life suddenly seemed like a stupid joke, a meaningless performance for the amusement of a bored audience; and you must be an incredibly awful actor!

so you laughed.

"what guilt-seeking eyes you have, your grace." – wiping away a stray tear, you giggle – "and what should I do now, take up a revolver? take my own life? or should I be slavishly grateful to you all my life for the fact that you adore so much such a sinful and vicious me? oh, is it really all my fault?"

indeed, you must have gone completely crazy, you think with a laugh. the duke was somewhat taken aback by your sudden half–mad laughter, and could only look at you with sincere confusion, waiting for the end of your strange monologue.

"have mercy, your grace! redemption in this damn prison, love, remorse," – you lean closer, for some reason poking at him with your finger, and a handcuff glitters on your wrist – "I was spared from this. kindly leave this poor condemned person to wait for execution."

the duke silently looked at you with a cold, deathly calmness in the features of his beautiful face, but with a heavy, inflamed and passionate gaze. and it seemed to you that he would certainly die himself rather than let you die.

your cold hands intertwine with his hot, scarred ones, and you look into his eyes.

in a world without any hope or anything particularly important, the duke of Fontaine asked for the love of a murderer.

"I'm an awful fatalist, did you know that?" – Wriothesley leaves a kiss on your knuckles, looking at you with a vague, cruel emotion in eyes the color of a winter sky.

"you can be anyone and do anything you want as long as you stay here. stay, [name]."

you must not be the only one insane here, you think, looking at him desperately squeezing your hand.

you're not the only one who's cruel. just as you break his heart over and over again, he still keeps you in solitary confinement. you do not regret; but neither did he, that he so selfishly, on a whim and driven by low jealousy, deprived another person of any company except himself. it was cruelty, a blatant injustice; and Wriothesley understood that. and this made the situation worse, worse a hundredfold: he understood, but he did it anyway, and did not feel guilty for it.

none of you were sorry.

♡

today's execution seemed like a farce, a stupid misunderstanding – after all, here was his precious murderer, laughing and munching on their last meal, alive and cheerful, and sitting right in front of him. of course, there was no execution!

"come on, come on, take it off. I'm awfully tired to be in these things." – you sipped a fragrant tea, watching as Wriothesley huffs with a screwdriver in his hands over the shackles on your ankles, sitting on his knees.

duke sighed jokingly, taking off you the worn metal and watching you flex your limbs contentedly.

of course, there was no execution.

"it's summer now, isn't it?" – you ask, wiping crumbs from your lips, and answering to yourself. – "good, good. just wonderful. it's been a while since I've been in the sun."

Wriothesley just smiles weakly as he leads you by the hand out of your solitary confinement room.

a pleasant, warm and languid feeling curled up in his stomach when he held your cold palm in his. as if the whole life was waiting for him, life with you, as if everything was going to get better and it would certainly be fine.

there was no execution. there wasn't!

the guillotine flashed in the sun, reflected in the laughing eyes of the murderer.

and only one of the two remained.

it's 3AM now and I feel like I should go visit a therapist

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #genshin impact #genshin x reader #yandere #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x you #wriothesley #wriothesely x reader #yandere wriothesley #misha.writes #yandere genshin #soft yandere

[ne-videl]

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡

♡

yandere archon Zhongli x mean fem reader

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

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

word count: ~2k

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

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

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

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

bon appètit.

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

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

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

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

"for you being alive."

____*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you wanted to cry.

from that day on, you began to hate chrysanthemums.

____*:･ﾟ✧

day 345765. your 948th anniversary is approaching.

life is akin to hell.

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

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

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

what a vile, gut-wretching sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I..."

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

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

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

painful. disgusting.

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

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

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

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

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

you are so lucky, madam.

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

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

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

you pursed your lips in disgust.

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

____*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you put the jade comb aside.

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

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

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

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

____*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your little god is so pathetic. how disgusting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

there was no answer for him.

____*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

always. forever.

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

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

bye!!

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #sub yandere #yandere genshin x you #yandere zhongli #sub zhongli #yandere morax #yandere x you #yandere x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smut #yandere genshin smut #yandere #misha.writes