Yandere Genshin Imapct - Tumblr Posts
Broken Loyalties (1)
Yandere! Ayato + Thoma x f!reader
-I originally posted this on ao3 but decided post it here too! mostly thomaxreader but pt 2 will be ayatoxreader <3 sorry for the odd paragraph spacing btw :,)
Thoma finds his loyalties questioned
Warnings: Yandere themes, forced marriage, no explicit sex but contains thoma’s filthy imaginations 💗 descriptions of unstable mental health (?)
You feel like you are withering away.
Every day, it feels a little harder to drag yourself out of bed. The colors around your world seem so bleak and dark and dreary. And the food presented in front of you, has it always been so… unappetizing? Truthfully, the piping hot dishes spread across the oak table is a feast. Steaming soup, fresh fish accompanied with a bowl of rice. The clammy grip you have around your chopsticks tightens.
All of a sudden, you are hit with an overwhelming sense to heave your empty stomach across the lavish meal.
“Miss? Miss?”
You don’t hear your attendant until his warm fingers are prying the trembling chopsticks from your grip. Your heart calms down from its frantic gallop. He?
Immediately, your head shoots upward. Blonde hair, soft emerald eyes, and an even softer look of concern flashing in his gaze. “Who are you?” Your eyes narrow. He isn’t the usual timid servant who trails around you like a second shadow. The second thing you register is the unfamiliarity of his uniform. It’s unlike the typical Inazuman attire adorned by the Kamisato servants, they normally wear gray and blue - a representative of the Kamisato clan’s colors. On the contrary, his clothes seem to be a mixture of traditional Inazuman embellishments paired with… The crimson red of his jacket tugs on your memory. “Where are you from?” The question escapes your mouth before you can stop yourself.
His bright eyes widened in surprise. This man is perfect picture of youthful innocence.
“M-My name is Thoma,” he explains as he snatches his hand away from yours. “I hail from Mondstadt. I must apologize for touching you without your permission, it just looked like you were about to-”
“Mondstadt?” you parrot. Before Thoma can take his hand away from yours, your fingers close around his wrist in a grip that betrays the strength of your smaller figure. Something akin to life seems to flicker alight in your dull eyes. “Are you really from Mondstadt?” you ask him again.
Thoma seems startled by your bold movements. “Y-Yes, my lady.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” You finally seem to realize that your fingers are still snared around his wrist. “I did not mean to grab you, that was very unbecoming of me.”
“Please don’t apologize! It was an honor for me to meet the mistress of the Kamisato clan. I shouldn’t have touched you without permission.”
That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. The hand around Thoma’s wrist loosens as you turn around to the table again. In the blink of an eye, you’ve withdrawn back to your shell. The spark of interest in your eyes dims like a fire deprived of oxygen. “You may take your leave,” you tell him in a clipped yet polite voice. You cross your hands elegantly over your lap, not a trace of earlier friendliness could be found. “It was nice meeting you.” Smaller in stature, larger in presence. You weren't the young woman who’d gripped his wrist earlier anymore, you were now the Kamisato matron, elegant, poised, lifeless. A title that you clearly despised.
Nevertheless, Thoma bows as he retreats out of the room.
Not once do you turn around.
—
The second time Thoma meets you, he finds you in the Kamisato gardens. Your hair is swept into a delicate spiral of elaborate braids and held away from your face by a floral kanzashi at the nape of your neck. The dim sunlight glints off the pin in your hair, casting a reflection around your head and setting your skin alight with muted golden rays. A sight that would have left every painter in awe. Thoma swears his heart skips a beat.
But when you turn around, the sound of his footsteps had clearly alerted you, your eyes are dark and cloudy. Like a match about to die out if the wind blew a little too strongly. “My lady,” Thoma calls out respectfully. “It looks like it’s about to rain. My lord has requested for you to return indoors.”
The corners of your lips tug downwards slightly. “I see.”
A few moments pass as you continue to stare off into the distance. Thoma shifts uncomfortably on his feet.
Just as the silence stretches on to the point where it was uncomfortable, you raise an eyebrow. “How did a young man from Mondstadt end up serving an Inazuman clan?” you start.
You look at him properly this time. And faced with the undivided attention of your steely gaze, Thoma nearly stutters over his story.
When he finishes, you smile a bit. It’s a small smile, but Thoma takes it as a victory anyhow. “Are you happy here, Thoma?” Your voice was so soft that Thoma nearly missed it over the rumble of thunder.
Somehow, he had a feeling that the answer to your question was one that he should tread with extreme caution. “The Kamisato siblings have never treated me with anything but kindness,” he says carefully. Emerald eyes scour your face for any sort of emotion. Your features betray nothing. “But my heart still longs for Mondstandt.”
You stared at Thoma for a moment longer before you calmly rose to your feet. “Let’s go. Ayato doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Thoma nearly flinches at the direct use of Ayato’s name. You were quite probably the only person who could get away with it.
When the two of you make your way back to the estate, the elder of the Kamisato siblings is at the entrance. “My lord,” you echo emotionlessly when he makes his way to your side. Ayato’s slender fingers drifts to your hip, ghosting over the silk fabric of your kimono. Not quite touching you, but his presence is enough to catch your undivided attention. Thoma feels like an outsider all of a sudden. Like he’d just witnessed something he wasn’t supposed to set his sights on. He watches as Ayato’s larger body curves behind you, almost towering over you. Immediately, you stiffen. The tension between the two of you is so palpable that it hangs thickly in the air.
“My lord, please don’t forget that we are in the public eye.”
“The hairpin I chose for you looks good in your hair.”
Your lips flattens into a thin line as your finger twitches and Thoma half-expects you to rip the bejeweled pin out of your hair just to stab his lord in the eye.
On the contrary, Ayato’s smile broadens, the beauty mark under his mouth follows the upward curve. He’s goading you, dying for you to lash back at him. You refused to give him the satisfaction of your temper. Instead, you step away from the cage of Ayato’s possessive arms and vanish inside without a single word, all while under the watchful eyes of the other loitering servants.
It’s almost unsettling how Ayato seems even more amused. “My dear Thoma, what do you think about my adorable wife?” He continues without waiting for the latter’s response. “She has quite the temper. I’m always afraid she might slip away from my grasps if I take my eyes off her for a minute. Of course, I can count on you to watch over her in my stead, right?”
Thoma gulps. He thinks of your lifeless eyes. The pin in your hair. Your soft voice. “Yes, my lord.”
—
The more he spends time with you, the more he finds his heart wavering.
Thoma likes you... Alot. He likes to hear your voice, he likes the way your eyes light up when he first gave you a bouquet of windwheel asters that he bargained for from an Inazuman merchant, he likes the way your hair looks in the pretty complicated updos, he likes you.
And you’ve warmed up to him as well. You smile more around him, the heavy weight over your shoulders seems to lighten when you catch sight of him.
It had always been an innocent sort of crush. The type of crush where he’d do anything to see your beautiful eyes light up and crack jokes to make you laugh. He thinks he’d be happy like this if he could just spend the rest of his life seated next to you under the shade of the sakura tree in the Kamisato gardens. He’s content being your husband's servant. If this was all he could get, Thoma could die happy.
Until one day, the collar of your kimono slips. It’s not much. It just so happened that you’d bent down to pet a stray cat that wandered into the gardens. It’s not much , but it allows Thoma to catch a clear view of the smooth expanse of the back of your neck and the purplish mark on your shoulder.
His hand grazes your skin before his brain fully comprehends the sight before him. “Thoma?” you jerk up in surprise and Thoma nearly rears back. All of a sudden, you're straightening back and Thoma yanks his gaze away. He’s no virgin, he knows what that mark means. He can already feel the tip of his ears flushing as hot as the pyro vision hanging by his hip. Even when Thoma glares stubbornly at the grass, his imagination is already running wild.
The innocent crush he’d developed for you begins to spiral out of control. One sinfully wrong glimpse and the blushing servant is hooked.
That night, Thoma excuses himself to his bedroom as soon as he’s done with his chores. Usually, he’d linger around with the other staff to chat and make , but he had a pressing issue that was too hard to ignore even if he tried to.
With a stifled groan, Thoma buries his face into his pillow. He can smell you. More accurately, the soap that makes you smell like flowers and clean laundry. Oh, Thoma knows exactly what soap that is. This knowledge only serves to make him harder than ever. Maybe he can put in a good word or two with the maids, would they let him use your soap? The thought of being enveloped in your scent every single day makes his skin flush hotly.
Those same trembling hands have found their way to his pants. A low hiss escapes through his clenched jaw, he’s so hard that it almost hurts to touch himself. Carefully, Thoma wraps his fingers around his cock and rubs his thumb across his pre cum to smear it across his shaft. Slowly, he pumps it once, twice, thrice. The moment his eyes flutter shut, images of you begin to flash in his brain again.
Maybe– Maybe you’ll let him dress you up after your shower. And Thoma can wrap those beautiful silk kimonos around your body, kiss each part of your bare skin as he wraps the ribbons around your waist. His calloused hand slides up his shaft, maybe he’d be rewarded with a soft sigh of appreciation if he kisses your skin. No- he would worship your body. At night, he can undress you again. Make you lie down on the bed as he massages the tension away. You are miserable, aren’t you? And Thoma can sympathize with that. Two foreigners far away from home and trapped in a marriage you never wanted. So maybe… you won’t protest when his deft fingers slip lower down your spine until they are between your soft plush thighs. Maybe you won’t push him away if he pets your warm cunt and makes your slick stain the expensive bed sheets.
Thoma can’t help the pathetic choked whine when his cock throbs in his hand at the thought. His hips buck forward as he nearly weeps into his pillow with each buck of his hips to push his cock through his hand. The warmth of his climax bubbles like a coil in him, he shouldn’t be surprised at how fast it arrives, he should be guilty that the thought of you is making him so aroused that Thoma can barely see straight. His hand speeds up, the wet click of his cockhead slipping past his fingers filling the dark room and Thoma cums so hard that he nearly sees stars. His cock twitches in his grip, the image of you, sprawled across the bed as his fingers are buried in you still embedded in his treacherous mind.
Dimly, Thoma is aware that he just made a big mess on his bed. But the you in his imagination mewls like a kitten when Thoma crooks his fingers just right, and his cock begins to twitch to life again. “Fuck,” an uncharacteristic curse echoes from Thoma’s flushed face. Despite the murky white coating his fingers, Thoma wraps his sticky fingers around his cock again.
One last time. He promises himself. One more fantasy and he’ll swear to put everything behind him. Though he might deny it, the seeds of his love for you had been planted the moment he saw you at the dinner table.
That night, Thoma doesn’t get to catch even a wink of sleep.
—--
“Thoma.” It’s near the end of your little evening session with him. The mere sound of his name rolling off your tongue is enough to send a delicious warm shudder licking down his spine. He tries to imagine how it’d sound like a little more high-pitched, a little breathier and–
“Thoma.” You frown at the dazed look in his eyes. “Are you all right?”
He needs to focus.
“Y-Yes, my lady?”
Before he can blink, you trip over something (a stray pebble, your robes, Thoma doesn’t know) and Thoma’s reflexes move before his brain does. A strong arm catches your body by the waist before you can hit the ground and his other arm braces the two of you against the railings. He thinks his brain short circuits a little because you are so close that he can feel each puff of your warm breath fanning against his skin and you are so soft. “M-My lady, are you all right?” He gulps, the tips of his ears are beginning to burn because the longer he has you in his arms, it makes him feel as if he’s going to explode.
“Thoma,” unlike him, your voice is unwavering. All of a sudden, he feels your hand glide into his front pocket. “Thank you for helping me. I must have tripped over my robes.”
Without another word, you right yourself and give him a pointed look. “Will you escort me to my room?”
“O-Of course, my lady.” The piece of paper you slipped into his pocket seems to sear like a burn against his skin.
—--
Ayato has a routine. One that you’ve memorized until you knew it like the back of your hand. Nevertheless, your heart still slams against your ribs with each shaky step you take. On Tuesdays, he comes to bed much later than usual. Not that you cared what he was doing. But this piece of information was something you tucked carefully in your mind.
Coincidentally, the window to your bedroom is connected to the garden. And after weeks loitering around the garden under the pretense of observing sakura petals, you finally figured out the rotation of the Kamisato guards.
Right now, they were changing their rotations. With your heart in your throat, you haul yourself out of the window and into the garden. Despite the stinging sensation of pebbles biting into your bare feet, you race through the garden until you reach the corner of the wall hidden behind the sprawling estate. Every Tuesday, you’d been sneaking out to add bits of valuable into the silk pouch you hit in the crack of the wall. A small diamond off your hairpin, a small comb, all tiny things that wouldn’t rouse any suspicion. Right next to the crack was a ladder that the gardener forgot to keep this afternoon because you’d instructed him to help you with the flowers in your room. Much to your relief, the aging gardener had forgotten about the ladder entirely. You can only pray that Ayato isn’t too harsh on him after you escape.
The cold wind bites into your skin, but somehow, it’s a comforting sensation. It reminds you of the time when you still had your anemo vision. It reminded you of the time before Ayato stole it away and made you his bride.
You recall the note you slipped into Thoma’s pocket earlier. It seemed unfair to abandon him here as you made your escape. The two of you didn’t belong here, you’ve seen the way the other staff gossipped about Ayato’s foreign status. It served as further motivation for you to send him the note that detailed for him to meet you here tonight.
“My lady?” A hushed whisper yanks you out of your thoughts.
“Thoma!” You could’ve jumped up to hug him at that instant. “Let’s go,” you grab his wrist and begin to yank him toward the ladder. “We can escape right now! I’ve heard that a pirate by the name of Beidou has smuggled foreigners away from Inazuma. With the stash I’ve gathered, it should be more than enough to guarantee us a trip to Mondstadt. We can go home!”
In the midst of your excited rambling, you miss the odd look that crosses Thoma’s face. Without waiting for his response, you turn around and worm your hand into the crack to grab the stash. Yet, your fingers close around empty air.
No… No way. No, it was impossible. It feels as if someone had doused your entire body in cold water. Desperately, you fall to your knees and tried to peer through the crack. Where is the pouch?
“Looking for something?”
Your heart drops to your feet.
You don’t have to turn around to recognize that honeyed voice. Nevertheless, you push yourself upright on shaky feet and come face-to-face with your loathsome husband. A knowing smirk dances across his handsome face. After a few moments, you finally register that Thoma is standing right behind him with his face turned to the side, refusing to meet your eye.
“Thoma?” Even in your ears, your voice sounds oddly strained and tense. Far away, you hear the heavy footsteps of the Kamisato guards resuming their stations, sealing off all of your escape routes.
Amidst your thundering heartbeat, silence is the only response.
“Darling, don’t be too upset,” Ayato coos, “Don’t you think that Thoma’s loyalty is an admirable thing? He– “
Before he can finish his sentence, you lunge toward Thoma and lash your palm at his face so hard that he staggers backward. Your eyes are half crazed, pupils shaking so badly that Thoma doubts that you can even see clearly. “Fuck you,” you hiss as you slam your fist against his chest again. Despite your frenzied blows, Thoma makes no move to defend himself. Instead, he remains silent as you continue to sob. He nearly breaks down at the look of utter anguish on your face. “You betrayed me! I trusted you! Out of every person in this wretched place, I gave you my trust!” Around you, the wind seems to howl in response.
A surprised look flits across Ayato’s face when he feels the strong wind billow at his robes.
Upon his command, two burly guards begin to yank your trashing figure away from Thoma. “What did he promise you?” you hiss at him in a voice full of malice.
Thoma looks like he’s on the verge of a breakdown, with his emerald eyes still downcast and fixed on anywhere but your seething figure. There’s a red angry gash across his cheek from where your nails had scratched him. Instead, Ayato answers on his behalf.
“You.”