Revoked Privileges (ii)

love lost - aemond targaryen.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader.

warnings: mentions of rape.

summary: you are forced to see Aemond after six long years much to your dismay after finding out you are still to be wed to him.

word count: 2200+

a/n: reader is adopted by Rhaenyra and Daemon. I personally couldn't force myself to write such direct incest lol.

(X)

An incessant ringing sounds in your ears, a mild throbbing in the back of your head signalling the start of an oncoming headache as your mother Rhaenyra reaffirms what you had most hoped no longer stood.

“No, no, no,” you mumble in your seat, shaking your head in denial and pushing your palms into your eyes.

“I thought-,” you cut yourself off, leaning back in your chair and pinching at the bridge of your nose. “I thought when we left King’s Landing that my betrothal to Aemond Targaryen would be null and void.”

“Now, why would you think that?” Daemon raises a barely visible brow at you.

“Because it’s been six years!” you argue, fixing your sharp gaze on your parents.

“Six long years since we’ve left King’s Landing and not once was there mention of my betrothal to him. One would naturally assume that it ceases to exist especially when another was put forward. Albeit he is not longer but, that's not the point. Now, suddenly because we have to go back, I’m to find out that I am still to be wed to that halfwit.”

“That halfwit is to be your husband,” Daemon mocks.

Your cheeks burn in anger, but you say nothing to him, knowing it would get you nowhere. Instead, you intentionally turn your now softened gaze to Rhaenyra in the hopes of garnering some sympathy from her for she knew what it was once like to be in your position.

“Mother, please,” you plead but, your gaze hardens just as quickly as it softened when she’s blocked from your view by Daemon.

“That’s enough. You like your siblings will do your duty to this family. So be it if that duty means marrying Aemond Targaryen then that is your duty and that is the end of this conversation.”

-

You sigh heavily into your drink, eyes downcast and watching the amber liquid slosh against the glass of your cup as you swivel it around in your grip. The false niceties for the sake of your adoptive…. Grandfather? Uncle? You weren’t sure what to call him since your mother married Daemon but, the false niceties had taken its toll and you simply couldn’t feign friendliness any longer as you sat beside your betrothed who’d been ignoring you all night.

“Is there a problem?” Aemond bites out, head turning to finally acknowledge you.

“Yes,” you sigh dramatically into your drink for what you think to be the hundredth time that night.

Swivelling the cup one last time, you drain it of its remaining liquid then place it on the table, laying your hand flat at its base and looking back at Aemond. You narrow your eyes at him, briefly mimicking the look of annoyance on his face which is met with a scowl. While he scowls at you, you take the time to study his features, observing all the way in which his face had changed since the last time you saw him in Driftmark.

Your relationship with Aemond hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when the prospect of being married to one another was all the two of you had wanted. Of course, things had changed when you had steadfastly stood by your brothers (and at the time, cousins) the night Aemond lost his eye. Perhaps you were to blame for the downfall of the relationship between you two - many did say you should've stood by him. But then you remembered his promise.

“You are the problem,” you groan.

You probably wouldn’t be so bold if you hadn’t been steadily becoming more wine drunk with little to no filter standing between your thoughts and your mouth and if Aemond wasn’t irritated with you before, you were certain he was now. What was otherwise a handsome face marred by the ugly twist of his mouth. If looks could kill…

He says nothing right away, his face relaxing back into the cool expression he seemed to always wear nowadays, and you steel yourself for whatever insult he’s sure to throw at you but, it doesn’t come.

Your… conversation interrupted by a hand being placed over your own on the table, and you sober immediately, skin crawling at the older Targaryen boy. You had made it a point to avoid him the entire night, well aware of his indecencies. But, as Helaena danced with your younger brother, Aegon had you cornered between himself and Aemond and if Aemond’s behaviour towards you tonight was anything to go by, he would be of no help.

“Y/N,” Aegon practically coos at you, and it takes everything for you to stop yourself from vomiting all the wine you had drunk, on him.

“Aegon,” you speak with a clipped tone.

Instead of being deterred by your lack of response, Aegon takes it upon himself to drag his chair closer to you. You don’t realise you were moving too until your chair knocks into Aemond’s, your own knee knocking into his thigh. If Aegon could sense your revulsion, he didn’t show it. Although you were sure the depraved boy was likely finding joy in it.

“It’s been so long. Had I known you would blossom into such a beautiful young thing who enjoyed indulging in the cup as much as I did, I might have asked that your hand be given to me instead of young Aemond’s here,” he caresses your hand between both of his.

“Although I hear my brother is in the business of making people who are not him in your life disappear,” he chuckles, eyes flickering to Aemond.

“And if you were not my brother, I would make you disappear too,” Aemond grins. “Now remove your hands from Y/N or I will remove them from you.”

You groan in disgust, standing abruptly in your chair. Perhaps you should've been grateful for Aemond's defence but, it only served as a reminder of what he had done in the past. The sound of the chair’s scrapes are lost amongst the noise, everyone else too engrossed in their own doings to know what was happening at your end of the table and, you use it to your advantage to sit yourself amongst your younger siblings.

“Seven hells,” you exhale loudly, slumping in your new seat.

“Not having fun, sister?” Luke asks, filling your cup for you.

You nod in gratitude, taking the cup in hand, “oh brother, you have no idea.”

Leaning closer to him, you speak low enough for only your siblings to hear, “let’s just say I would give an eye to be anywhere else but here.”

Laughter erupts amongst you all, catching the eye of Aegon and briefly Aemond but, the night carries on. Everything fine for a few more moments until all hell broke loose with Aemond’s final tribute.

-

The quiet of the Red Keep during the night is a stark contrast to its bustling nature throughout the day. The only sounds being the echo of your shoes on the stone pavements as you navigate the secret passageways back to your room. The long walk much needed to clear your thoughts after the turn supper had taken and then the argument with your mother and Daemon that followed.

While you thought the obvious outcome would be to call off your betrothal to Aemond after the insults flung at your brothers, your mother thought otherwise with the seeming resurgence of her friendship with Alicent.

The heavy door creaks on its hinges and closes with a dull thud as you try but fail to be quiet, hoping that no one in your family would hear it from their rooms. But that becomes the furthest thing from your mind when Aemond Targaryen is sitting in front of the fireplace of your room.

“I do believe you have a fireplace in your own rooms,” you quip.

Crossing the room to the large bed, you finger at the night gown laid out by your handmaidens – all of them now gone to bed due to the late hour.

“It’s dangerous enough as it is to be wondering the grounds of the Red Keep during the hour of the owl and yet you also insist on doing it alone,” he scolds from where he sits, gaze fixed intensely on the flames and ignoring your earlier comment.

You breathe a short laugh.

“and yet,” you mock. “I wasn’t alone, was I?”

Turning to face him, he’s already looking back at you as your fingers close around the end of the bedframe.

“Mmm… someone has to look out for you.”

“Is that what you call it?” you narrow your eyes at him, fingers now tapping irritably against the wooden frame.

“If you have something to say… say it,” Aemond taunts.

You open your mouth ready to fire back but, hesitate. In your sober state, you were able to actually hold a conversation but, you didn’t hold the same bravado you did earlier in the evening and quite frankly you just wanted to sleep. You roll your eyes, turning your back on him and sweeping your hair over your shoulder.

“Help me undress, my handmaidens have gone to bed,” you call him over.

You wait patiently, tension thickening as he gets closer, each step heavy and purposeful. When his fingers brush at the hair at the base of your neck, goosebumps spread across your skin.

“You anger with me is misplaced,” Aemond mutters gruffly.

He begins to undo the back of your dress, trying to focus on being careful in undoing the intricate design that holds it together and not your exposed skin.

“I hardly think so after what you did at supper earlier tonight.”

“Tonight?” he tuts, his hand pausing to graze the partially exposed skin of your back. “Tonight, is not why you’re angry with me.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his touch. You want to protest but, have no energy to. It would be a losing fight anyway because he’s right, it wasn’t why you were angry with him but, saying it out loud made you feel silly. When you don’t respond, Aemond continues.

“Between the two of us, if anyone should be holding onto anger and grudges it should be me. You did lie about what happened that night Luke took my eye,” he reminds you.

“I made amends for that,” you defend.

“I know. Sapphires. Which I’ve grown quite fond of.”

Sapphires indeed, ones you had sent him in various shapes and sizes in place of his eye. An apology without apologising.

Turning to face him, you place a hand on his chest, the other reaching for his eyepatch. You don’t worry about your dress or dignity, knowing that he hadn’t undone enough of it for it to fall.

You wait for him to pull away from your touch, but he doesn’t. You allow your hand to gently touch the leather eye patch, waiting a beat before finally removing it.  The scar might’ve been hideous on any other face and, it is hideous but, it doesn’t do anything to take away from his appearance. He certainly doesn’t look the beast that so, many claim.

“I loved him truly,” you drop your hands to your side. “the last one that you took from me. He made me happy.”

“Your happiness with him was fleeting,” he utters, eyes trained on you as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His hand trails down to your cheek, caressing softly before it continues its journey along your jawline and finally resting at the base of your neck.

“So, you can stop feigning anger with me.”

“How did we get here?” you mumble, searching his eyes.

The tension suffocates the two of you. Aemond’s breath fanning across your lips and, you don’t even know when he got so close. His lips ghost yours and you involuntarily lean into him but, you're held back by his hand that has snaked its way from the front of your neck to the back.

“We loved one another once. We will learn to love one another again,” and with that Aemond closes the distance between your lips.

The kiss is desperate but tender and, he holds you to him like he will never let you go.

For all that he has done, promises that he made to ensure that you would not be happy after undeniably going against him, he still carries a torch for you – his love is not lost and when you kiss him back with as much urgency and fervour, he knows your love for him is not either.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

© bookofbonbon 2022. All rights reserved.

Title: Pliant.

Pairing: Yandere!Scaramouche x Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Implied Improvement, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Slight Degradation, Slight Codependence, Manipulation.

“Again.”

He looked less domineering than he sounded, all parted lips and disheveled hair and pink dusted lightly over pale skin, a slight blush that betrayed the even cadence of his voice. His hands were still on your hips, slid underneath below your open tomesode, and you could feel his nails digging into your skin, his grip far too tight to be romantic, as if you still had to be held in place to reciprocate his sparse affection. You liked him when he was like this, quiet, flustered, his abrasive shell not completely broken and done away with, but fractured, the cracks just wide enough to expose the deprived, trembling creature that dwelled within its protective walls.

“Are you listening? Why am I even asking? Of course you're not.” An edge, now, a note half-hearted anger. His eyes caught in the dull light, dark irises momentarily lined with silver, and you dropped your gaze to your neck, to less treacherous territory. “Again, you empty-minded whore. Before I lose by patience.”

You liked him even more, when he wasn't talking.

“That’s really no way to ask for a kiss, my love.” From your position, forced to straddle his waist, you were above him, allowed (possibly for the first time) to look down on Scaramouche, if only for his own convince. He liked to think of himself as something strong, something powerful, and more often than not, he was. Letting you tower above him was only a testament to that strength; it was only something he could do because he had so much power to give away. You were aware of that, and yet, it was nice to let your knuckles brush over the side of his neck, to card your fingers through his hair and watch him keen, leaning into your palm with only the slightest trace of reluctance. It was nice to pretend you had power, even if you knew you were only borrowing his. “I really don’t like it, when you talk to me like that. Do you want to try again?”

A scoff, accompanied by a dismissive frown. You leaned forward, and Scaramouche pulled back, his hands falling away from you and curling around the silken sheets. “You’re babbling nonsense. Should I assume you’ve taken one too many blows to the head?”

He’d never hit you, never been the type to resort to measures so blatantly violent. Scaramouche preferred bloodless punishments, methods that wouldn’t break what he’d rather preserve, what he knew he's want to cling to and clutch later on. Burns, sometimes, hot coals piled onto your cupped hands until the pain threatened to overwhelm you conscious mind, or isolation, whenever he deemed you ungrateful for his love and care, days upon days spent locked inside of your empty bedroom, your absentee captor serving as your only source of company. No broken bones or choking collars, nothing that might get out of hand, nothing he might get carried away with. He wouldn’t risk letting you escape from him so easily.

You cupped his chin, attempting to tilt his head back just a little further, but he batted you away a second later, already glowering. “Don’t treat me like a child. I don’t need you to coddled me."

“But, that’s what you want me to do, isn’t it?” Arms strung over his shoulders, instead, your chest nearly touching his. This time, he didn’t draw back. “I’m not asking for much. Just a few nice words. That’s all I want.” You found the nape of his neck, the small, purple mark just below it. You traced your thumb idly over the faded tattoo, and he stiffened, going rigid beneath you. “Can you do that for me?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve forgotten your place.” A stoic expression, a show of his oh-so-unshakable composure. As if he honestly thought you were so naïve. As if you couldn’t read him just as well as he could read you. “Keep talking like that and I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Brand me, again? Whip me, again? Lock me in my room and threaten to leave me there, again?” You couldn’t help yourself, letting out a dry, breathy laugh, curling into him, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder. He was cold to the touch, unpleasantly so, in a way that seemed to sap the warmth out of your body wherever it made contact with his. Another trait that made him all the more unbearable to be around, even if you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to mind it, anymore. “We’ve been doing this for months. I know all your tricks, and I know you’re getting tired. I know you don’t really want to have this fight. I know you don’t to want to put me away, right now.” You paused, letting your lips ghost over his skin. “Can’t you just be nice for me? Just for tonight? Please?”

He didn’t respond. You straightened your back, cupping his face, kissing the top of his head gingerly.

“Please, Scaramouche?”

Silence. You felt his hands on your thighs, his movements now trepidatious, unsure.

“Please, Kunikuzushi?”

His mouth opened, then closed again. He bowed his head, shutting those awful, awful eyes. You were thankful for it, in some quiet, sickening way, and when he began to speak, pride bloomed inside of your chest, far brighter and far more vibrant than any dull, panicked fear he’d ever managed to provoke. “I…” Slow, shaking, hesitant. More of a sound than anything else, meaningless to everyone and anyone but you. “I don’t care. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“That’s not good enough, Kuni’.” Another kiss, this one to his forehead. “One more time, alright?”

“I can.” Then again, slightly louder. “I can.”

You didn’t chastise him, or praise him, or say anything at all.

You only kissed him, softly, as intimately and as lovingly as you could. He melted against you, wrapping his arms around your waist. There was no permission, no approval, no power to be bargained away or borrowed or returned, as soon as he decided he had to take it back. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. It was something, even if it was still something small, something just beginning to take a form you recognized, a form that he didn't, a form that you could only hope he wouldn't. No tonight, at least. Not until he was something softer, something more eager to be adored than to be hated.

Not until it was too late for him to take a drop of that power back.

scaramouche + "bite me please."

LMAO, anyway, love your writing!

note: yandere, forced marriage, sassiness, mild sexy times

--

The sound Scaramouche makes is akin to a splutter.

"What did I do," he mutters, fingers trailing over your partially bared skin, "to deserve such an unbecoming, lewd--"

"Aren't you the one currently in between my thighs, husband?"

At this, he shuts up entirely. You can practically hear the indignant expression on his face. Beautiful.

You sigh, amused, pleased at his reaction, and splay your arms out over the silken sheets underneath you. Oh, how you relish the swishing sound they made. You imagine that you were supposed to revel in the luxury afforded to you, being the wife of a Harbringer and blah, blah, blah.

But what you reveled in wasn't the thread count or the cost or the envy of the servants who made the beds, but the funny, satisfying sound the silk sheets made when you wiggled around on them.

"Obstinate," he mutters, breath puffing out against your skin. "In every way."

"You could always petition the Tsaritsa for a divorce, if you're so bothered by me." You make the grin plain in your voice, since your husband is oh-so-lovingly occupied with the opposite side of your body.

You think you've won, but then, a sudden harsh, gripping pain in your thigh forces a squeal from between your lips and you bolt upright in the bed.

Skin flushed, you look down at the red teeth marks square in the middle of your inner thigh.

He bit you!

Scaramouche smiles thinly up at you.

"I only did what you asked, dear spouse."

You huff, and prepare to gather your robe up and storm off--a good tantrum might set him straight--but he pushes you back down on the bed and looms over you before you can blink.

Oh. Oh dear. You know the look in his eyes, you know this force in his grip. Not true anger, but a rush of flushed huffiness that always makes him want to control you. Steer you somewhere, whether you like it or not.

"Where else should I bite, hm?" He asks, eyeing your skin. Your lips, your neck, your chest, and everywhere else.

Your fingers twist against the silk sheets. Swish, swish, swish.

"Anywhere you please," you say, voice twisting into mockery of a subservient, cooing spouse. You still can't decide if that's what he truly wanted out of you--why else force you into this?--or not.

There's a flush to his cheeks, a prickling heat that seems to radiate off him, and it makes you grin.

"Just know, husband, I'll bite you back for each one. Twice."

visions

pretty bunny yan!tighnari x bunny!reader (bunny reader brainrot send thirst)

----------------------------------------

"oh bunny~"

his voice purred into your ear as he folds your legs over against you, pressing you into a mating press. his cock prods at your hole, smearing the pre against you.

"my sweet bunny, wont you be mine?"

he looks into your eyes, waiting for your response. your ears folded over and you grab them, pulling them over your face to hide how red youve gotten. one of his hands comes up and grabs yours, pinning it to the bed.

"i said.. wont you be mine, bunny?"

you still dont answer, too shy to speak. he tisks and thrusts himself into you harshly, setting a quick and deep pace right at the start.

"come on, we're perfect for each other. both in the midst of our ruts.. together~! its like fate was pulling us together. nng! youre so tight, so perfect for me, youre so perfect, be mine, be mine please, wont you be mine?"

you cant hide the moans spilling from your lips. hes right, you're both in the middle of your heats. he could smell it in the air, pleading you to let him breed you because it was just too hard to resist. with your clouded mind, you couldnt think of anything else but his cock going into you, so you agreed.

he pressed you into the mattress and went harder, letting out a strained moan. he couldnt help himself. his ears flattened against his head and he continued to spew out dirty words, calling you his bunny.

"my bunny.. my bunny.. i have thoughts about you.. dirty dirty thoughts.."

you cry out as you start to feel a warmth build up in your stomach.

"close! m close,,"

"fuck-"

tighnari's hips went faster, his teeth sinking into the flesh of your neck. he wants to mark you so everyone knows youre his.

"nari! n-nari!" you squeal, moaning out.

he groans hearing that nickname coming from you. with a few last thrusts of his hips, you both cry out in ecstasy. but does this stop him from pounding into you? not at all <3

loyalty to the raging tempest

CW: This contains spoilers from the new archon quest. Read at your own discretion.

"You can start a new life here if you want to."

The God of Wisdom's words echo in your mind as you watch your Lord's unmoving figure on the hospital bed. You saw his fall, from the proud and cruel harbinger to a lifeless puppet who had its heart taken away. With Scaramouche's defeat and the Fatui branding you a traitor for refusing to return with the Doctor, you had nowhere else to go… until the Dendro Archon offered you sanctuary in her region.

"Gravedigger… You will regret this." The Doctor spits with the promise of your death.

"I'm sure the matra would be willing to take you in. Creating a final resting place for the dead is also necessary." In contrast, the Dendro Archon's kindness promised protection.

She was right. Under her watchful gaze, no one will be able to lay a hand on you in Sumeru. You can leave everything behind; even the pitiful puppet in front of you. Truthfully, Scaramouche was an awful person. No one in the Fatui liked him and your colleagues would often give you pitying looks once you got summoned to his side. You've lost count of how many times you were punished for not following his orders perfectly.

But still, for some reason, you can't leave him alone. Perhaps it's because of the way he looked at you when you first met. The look of recognition, fury, and something else. You remember him looming over you, staring at your dirt-covered body - the result of digging tirelessly in the cold mornings of Snezhnaya, all in an effort to create a tomb for a soldier you hardly know. Once you lock eyes, you see a raging tempest and you wonder what he's seeing when he looks at you.

"Pitiful. What's with that look in your eyes? Are you merely a doll who knows nothing more than to roll around in the dirt? Perhaps I should call you a rat."

You nod, but that seemed to make him angrier. As insulting as his words are, you really don't know anything else. In a distant memory, you see the blurry faces of your mother and father, hear their whispers of your duties and how it is important to create a final resting place, you remember the old shovel they handed you before you dug your first grave and the sight of their backs as they left for a mission and never returned.

You feel his attack before you see it. Your vision glows and you parry the blade of electro he sends towards you. You get thrown back, and you feel the air get knocked out of your lungs as you slam into a tree.

"...Good. It seems you're not entirely hopeless."

You stand up on shaky legs, tensing as he steps closer and closer. He scoffs as you raise your weapon defensively. He probably thought fighting you was mere child's play.

"Work under me. I'm sure I can find some use for a little rat like you."

And he did find some use for you. Before you knew it, you became his right hand… or maybe "errand runner" was a better description for your job. "The Balladeer's Servant", others would whisper behind your back as they see you tailing the Harbinger's figure. You were at his beck and call and usually the one that bears the brunt of his anger (or as you like to call it in your head - his temper tantrums.) It was exhausting work; trying to keep up with his demands.

But sometimes, you would see the eye of the storm. He was calm in those times, his voice losing the sharp edge it always seemed to have - like a storm temporarily diminishing into a gentle, soothing rain.

"What are you looking at? …The cherry trees?"

He hums, tipping his hat up as he stares at the lush pink trees, not minding the rain of petals falling on him due to the strong gust of wind. You think that he looks very beautiful.

"I don't need anything. Just stay there and don't make a sound."

You watch him collapse in pain after enduring the Doctor's experiments. Regardless of his protests, you help him get settled on his bed. You silently question why he doesn't see himself as a human. After all, he feels pain and suffering, just like everyone else.

Your current situation reminded you of those quiet nights with only the candle light to keep you company. But instead of seeing your Lord's eyes open the next day, he's been asleep for more than two months. Just as you think he's never going to wake up, he stirs from his slumber one morning, jolting you awake.

"...My Lord?" You call, making his pretty eyes focus on you.

"You're still here?" He mutters in disbelief, like he expected you to be gone from his side.

"Why wouldn't I be? I pledged loyalty to you, didn't I?"

Your honest words stun him into silence. He narrows his eyes, looking for a lie, a hint of deception and desire for personal gain.

He finds none. Just an honest fool that he picked up from the dirt littered with flowers and concrete.

"Idiot."

.

.

.

"̵͉̐̈́S̷͍̜̓c̶̱͎̈ặ̸̪̕r̴͚͎̉̍ă̵̤m̴̻̃̀ö̴̤̣́̈́u̷͍̙̽c̷͓̘͠h̷͈̟̉̀ė̸̗"̷͚͍͒̚ ̶̲̈ǎ̸̲͋ń̶͖̥̐d̷͉̒ ̴̤͍͗̀"̸̬̳̈K̴̤̤͝ả̵̰̈͜b̶̦̱͝u̶͖͚͋ķ̷͆̀ì̵̦̙̓m̸͓̥̑ô̸̠̥͝ṉ̴̦̀͆o̶͖̘͑́"̵̟͂ ̸͖̆̀ͅw̷͕͆̊ǐ̶̺̮l̷̦͋̅l̴͔̹̈́ ̴̫͗̾ç̵̖͋́ẽ̶̯̺ả̸͎̒ş̴̪͒e̶̳̼̍ ̵͍̱̿t̸̬̍̀ọ̸̩̒̍ ̶̻̯̿̚e̷̤̎̚x̵̼͗ì̷͉͈s̴̯̈̈t̸̡̻́.̸̬̏

.

.

.

"Do you… do you remember him?"

A floating fairy that carried the scent of stars asked you as she gestured to the man in blue. Four pairs of eyes stare at you in anticipation as you gaze at the man with a frown. He crosses his arms as he waits for your answer. You weren't expecting this strange turn of events at all. Your life was finally becoming peaceful under the kindness of the Dendro Archon. She gave you a home and a place to work. You needed nothing more. And yet, you feel like things are about to go upside down again with the presence of this strange man.

"I'm sorry. I don't know him." You said. Their gazes turn uneasy and the man in blue's neutral expression breaks for a moment.

"...But I feel like I should." You added, stepping forward to get a closer look. Not expecting the close proximity, he flinches and moves back, as if electrocuted.

"How dare-!"

"What's your name?" You ask, not paying attention to the spark of anger and embarrassment that appeared in his eyes.

"...Give me one." He says with a sigh.

"Pardon?" Did this familiar stranger really ask you to name him?

"How fascinating…" The Dendro Archon mumbles, placing a hand on her chin as she regards you with curious eyes. "Their memories were definitely erased… but somehow, the connection you formed with them was so strong that it resisted the data deletion process. There is a saying that the heart and mind are two separate things. In this case, the mind may have forgotten, but the feeling is still there. It seems you've garnered someone's loyalty regardless of your lack of divinity."

"...I suppose that's enough." The man in blue looks away, tipping his hat over his eyes.

"Well? Have you thought of a name yet?" He addresses you and you find yourself at the center of attention once again. They were actually serious about naming him…

"How about…"

The man in blue closes his eyes. You think you see the corner of his lips twitch upwards into a small smile.

Dragon hybrid zhongli who's fucking huge. He TOWERS over you with his horns, tail as thick as your leg and long forked tongue he just loves running all over and in you.

CW: fem!sub!reader + hybrid!zhongli + monsterfucking + size kink + forked tongue stuff + praise kink + the reader is a lovely little princess stuck in a tower with her big scary dragon

Dragon!Zhongli protecting his pretty, damsel in distress. His very own princess in her tall and mighty tower, guarding her against harm's way and making sure not a hair on her lovely head is ruined. You are just so angelic, so loving -- all by yourself, not another soul to keep you company except him. All for the sake of some fate, some destiny that a handsome prince will save you... except, that's hard with how well your dragon protects you.

But you much prefer Zhongli anyway! He is so nice to you and he sometimes lets you out of the castle when he deems it safe, supervising you as you explore the outside world, and always returning you to your room before it gets dark. He makes sure you have plenty to eat and clothes to wear, that you never go cold and never grow bored. You just adore him, and he finds it so endearing that someone so small and cute could like something as big and scary as him -- that you rush into his arms every chance you can get, begging him to take you outside or to sit in your room with you, pouting when he hesitates for even a second in his response.

Dragon!Zhongli who lets you sit in his big lap when the weather gets cold, keeping you nice and warm because his body is quite literally a furnace and in a matter of seconds that chill is gone and replaced with nothing but comfort. Who lets you pull him into your bed when the weather is bad, feigning fear all for the sake of him staying close through the night - he knows you are not genuinely scared, that you only crave affection, so he doesn't tease you about it too much.

Dragon!Zhongli who doesn't have the heart to tell you that, really, you can't be so clingy with him, don't you know you have a prince on the way? That he will inevitably have to surrender you just as the prophecy tells? But you confess that you want no prince, that you're tired of waiting on someone who isn't coming, that all you want is to stay with him in this stupid tower forever! That you wanna marry him instead of some man you hardly know!

Your confession shocks him, do you really mean it? You would prefer some scary dragon over a prince? He finds it cute how shy you get when admitting it, holding one of his huge hands in both of yours, your fingers barely wrapping around his pinky, and yet he swears your hands were made for his. You can barely meet his reptilian eyes, flustered beyond belief and wanting to show him just how deep your love goes, how much you adore him and worship the very ground he walks on. He can hardly believe it when you begin to untie the back of your dress, letting it fall gracefully to your ankles and exposing your body to him -- you want him to have all of you, every inch. You want him to make sure you truly belong to him, that way no one can ever steal you away. You want his cock to imprint on your womb, to stuff you full and train your cunt to take no one but him.

Imagine how good it must feel to have both of your ankles pinched in one of his hands, pinning your legs over your shoulder, admiring how easy it is for him to manipulate your body however he wants -- really if he wanted to, he could crush you into a million pieces. But what good would come from hurting his princess? Why should he hurt you when all he wants to give you is love? To drink you up and leave you feeling drunk off of his feelings for you. His tongue is just so long and thick, pushing between your folds and tonguing your clit, loving the way you squirm and writhe beneath him, trying to kick your legs but he has such a firm grasp on them -- and when his tongue slips inside of you, exploring your gummy innards, you came right then and there.

He had hardly touched you, and yet five minutes in you are convulsing on his mouth, bucking your hips and chasing every last second of your high -- he finds it cute, his usually modest, polite little princess now whining and begging him, riding his face and tugging at his horns. He wants to give you everything, to claim every inch of you tonight, to take all of your firsts and ruin you for everyone else. You will be his, even if it means bullying his fat cock into your velvety cunt.

giggles. . . tighnari likes being close to u when he fucks you and he subconsciously wraps his tail around u to keep u close. he's also 100% down with outdoors sex in the middle of the rainforest. generally a v soft man

*twirls around* he's adorable ty for indulging me de <3

warnings: f! reader, outdoor sex, soft tiggy, creampie; 0.5k wc.

He reeks of desperation in the way he tugs you closer to himself, “you're so warm.” he breathes, lips chasing yours as you try to sneak in a lungful of oxygen.

It's true, your skin feels like it's on fire and it only spreads like gasoline with each touch of his. The added thrill of being out in the rainforest like this just sets all your nerves alight, “so are you.”

smiling at your giggle, he wraps his tail around your waist, the soft green fur of it a welcoming gesture against your bare skin, “what if someone catches us like this?”

Tighnari slants his hips into yours and your mouth falls open in a breathless moan, “hm, then they'll know that you're mine.”

he says it so casually that you're hitting his shoulder playfully, “kidding!” a laugh falls from his lips, “who would ever come to the middle of a rainforest?”

He doesn't allow you a moment to ponder though, cock pushing past your tight walls and rendering your brain numb, “s'tight— ah, you're...”

he's stumbling upon his words as his cock throbs inside your clenching pussy, “you're gonna make me cum too soon if you keep squeezing me like that,”

his hand weaves into yours, fingers intertwined as he whispers against your lips, “relax baby.” and he hears you gasp for air as you try to follow his suggestion.

But as soon as he thrusts into you, your cunt is clamping down on his throbbing cock with both your groans filling the air around,

“you close?” you're nodding at his question, perhaps too eagerly, “yeah,”

“good,” and his voice is shaky now, his ears twitching as he heaves above you, hips rutting into yours in a frenzy— like he couldn't get enough of you, “gonna cum for me, darling?”

“yes, tighnari— fuck,” your voice breaks off into a loud moan as you gush around his cock. Tighnari follows close, teeth sinking in your neck as he fills you up with his cum seeping down your trembling thighs,

“for research purposes,” he chuckles, out of breath from the intensity of the orgasm, “we should do this more often.”

© munsonsins. do not steal / copy / translate / recommend on tiktok or any other platforms.

ᵔᴗᵔ . . 𝗮 𝘁𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗺𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗲 !

ᴖ.ᴖ . . fem!reader ⁝ wc. 1k ⁝ reblog

𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵𝗲 [𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗿]

as was foreseeable, you were more bitter than a radish over your lover’s affairs in sumeru; with the pesky follower he met in the midst of his search for godhood being the victim of your ire. she should be grateful for your show of mercy to spare her life, or else you would’ve jumped on the chance in a heartbeat.

it could’ve ended well if he didn’t dangle the idiot leech of a researcher’s devotion over your head, using it to his heart’s content to keep you obedient. “haypasia would not dare to behave so insolently,” and “haypasia would’ve done what i asked without question.”

haypasia this, haypasia that.

Keep reading

Theres no doubt in my mind Capitano is well-known man throughout Teyvat, and should his name not be as recognizable as his comrades, he should be known enough to have built up a sizeable list of enemies. So this rises the question, how would he feel if his darling was stolen away from him?

I can imagine it now, It was a plan so meticulously crafted down to the very last dot. His enemies have no limits in taking this behemoth down, perhaps they'd studied the dove long enough to know they like to sit in their shared garden, seemingly less supervised. Or maybe they watched long enough to know that they're weakened by the sounds of wounded animals and just has to answer the calls of an injured bird or fox. No matter the situation, by some miracle, they've been stolen away.

And it makes me wonder, which of darling's captors will live longest to see their brethren ripped to absolute shreds?

WARNING: Under the cut is a graphic depiction of violence, murder, and body horror (not against the reader)

He is used to what true fear looks like.

He grabbed one man's head and squeezed. It deformed easily as if it were nothing but a boiled apple. Of all the terrible screams that ever fell on mortal ears, none could surpass that man's animalistic cry. As soon as he releases his grip, the corpse falls to the ground, its warm blood gushing from his eyes and ears.

The rest of them tried to run away and were seen squeezing and crushing each other in their eagerness to flee, running frantically with faces horribly contorted by the fear that devoured them. Not one would manage to escape him. Capitano loomed over them, his great sword a giant in the dark that drew red patterns against the far moon as he swung.

"Y-you... you tried to warn us."

The man appointed to be your guard had curled up against the door when he heard the screams and the horrid sounds of blood and guts spilling everywhere. But the dreadful silence that followed is what droves him half-mad by terror.

He crawls towards you, unable to stand due to the tremors on his legs.

"Please... please stop him, t-tell him... tell him I never harmed you."

You look at him with pity, tears running down your face, and barely manage to whisper: "He won't listen to me."

Slow, heavy steps are heard outside.

The man nods shakenly, the impossibility of his request heaving down on his shoulders, and, coming to terms with his fate, takes your hands to his temple.

"... Will you pray for me?"