𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗧𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛 𝗛𝗜𝗠 !

I’m thinking about Albedo, wanting to run a test on you. He wants to make you addicted to him.

Whenever you’re with him, he laces your food. first, with a highly addictive substance, then with an aphrodisiac. your first visit on the side of dragonspine was fairly uneventful, but he could tell you were flustered as you left. he revels in it, wondering if you could even make it down the side of the mountain before your hand was down your pants. or maybe you did make it all the way back home, all pent up and hazy from the drugs, rubbing your little pussy against a pillow like a bitch in heat.

and you come back, and you feel the same feelings. this time, though.. you’re a little less adept at hiding it. he’s made you cum at least six times by the end of the night, and you pass out there. of course, your breakfast the next morning is laced too, and he gets to watch you blush and shake and try to hide it and fail miserably all over again. how exciting.

and eventually it works, you turn up at his shelter more and more often, all but begging for his cock even without the drugs. he successfully got you addicted to his dick, and he’s gonna use it to his advantage.

content warning: noncon, aphrodisiac drug use, mindbreak, masturbation (f), creampie. dark content! anti dc & -17 dni + nsfw under the cut.

ANONNNN big brain i love u for this kiss kiss

It’s the type of feeling that crept up on you almost instantly, lathering your inner thighs with slicks and clouds up your mind with lewd thoughts. All you could think is going anywhere as long as you’re alone, as long as you can hurry your dainty fingers down your panties and twiddle your wet cunt with your hand cupping your mouth to muffle your whines. it’s weird how you’re always like this around Albedo, knees growing weaker, cheeks heating up and by the time you realized, you’re rubbing your thighs together to ease the ache between your legs as he speaks.

It’s truly immoral coming from you, but even you can barely hold yourself together right now to think straight. Every subtle touch from him elicits a whine out of you which leads to you quickly excusing yourself without caring about the brutal cold. Not like it could compare with the way your body heats up right now, you just hope and wish to Barbatos that Albedo doesn’t hear you.

Guilt came to play with your heart when you started touching yourself to him, your fingers pumping inside of you, pussy squelching as Albedo’s face flashes across your mind. Embarrassed come next when you showed up at his shelter with a much more disarrayed appearance, begging for him to help you out from this weird situation you found yourself stuck with.

It’s a shame that your vision is too blurry from all the tears if not you could’ve pieced it together— why every time you consumed everything from him your body acts up, why even a spoonful of his food sent this feeling jolting in your body. But at least somebody prefers it that way, Albedo would rather you not know of it. Besides, why would you want to, right?

You’re happy here with him, constantly fucked out of your mind. If his nose isn’t buried in books then it would be buried in you, tongue lapping your wet cunt as the bridge of his nose rub against your puffy clit. And when he’s frustrated with his experiment, he’ll just let it out on you, pushing your soaked panties before shoving his cock inside of you. Not that you mind, all you know is throw your head back and worship his cock, tight pretty cunt clamped down his cock every time you cum all over his lap.

He doesn’t even need to laced your food again.

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.

–First Time

⚠TWs/CWs: pre-Fatui Scaramouche, use of Scaramouche’s real name, submissive top! Scaramouche, fem reader, first time, brief voyeurism, virginity kink, loss of virginity, creampie, not rlly proofread

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Tighnari -> breeding

content: nsfw, breeding kink, praise, mentions of pregnancy and creampies, Tighnari has a knot | reblogs & comments appreciated!

~0,7k words | kinktober masterlist

Tighnari was a gentle lover. 

He was attentive and kind, always aware of what exactly you needed when you needed it; the pace with which he fucked you with was usually slow and deep. Sensual. 

He liked to press his lips just below your jaw whenever he pushed into you, pressing loving kisses to your skin until he had bottomed out, and he made sure to make you cum at least once before he took you properly. 

He had each of your preferences memorised perfectly; he knew whether you preferred him to lick or suck at your clit, whether you enjoyed having your nipples played with or not, and he never failed to make you absolutely lose your mind in pleasure, all your muscles turning to jelly. 

Tighnari was a gentle lover, until he suddenly wasn't. 

Unaware, dare you say naïve, as you were, you hadn't known about ruts, though they appeared to be quite a big deal if the way Tighnari was currently pounding into you was anything to go by. 

His narrow hips slapped against your own, his nails were digging into the soft skin of your waist and you cried out sharply at a particularly hard thrust. 

Your back arched off the bed, your eyes fluttered closed, and, God, you were almost sure that the head of Tighnari's dick was hitting against your cervix with how deep he was, with how full you felt. 

“So good for me, aren't you?” His voice was raspy, lower than usual, and it sent a shiver up your spine. “God, you feel fucking perfect around me, so hot and tight. You're such a good girl.” 

The praise earned him a needy moan from you, the noise high-pitched, and you couldn't help but clench around him. The sudden tightness caused both of you to groan. 

“You're so pretty like this.” Tighnari's breath was warm against your neck; suddenly, he reached down to feather his thumb over your clit, and you whined, the noise breathy. “Gorgeous, really. And you'll be even more stunning after I've filled you up.”

Without even meaning to, you tightened around him, wet walls pulsing as heat rose to your cheeks because of words. This really wasn't something you had ever imagined but, suddenly, you found yourself unable to think of anything but him filling you, getting you pregnant. 

Tighnari's chuckle had a mocking tone to it. “Oh? Seems you liked that, didn't you? Is that what you want, love?” A grunt as he pushed into you again. “For me to fill you up until you're dripping with my cum? For me to breed you?” 

You whined in response, the noise utterly needy. Sweat dripped down your neck, arousal coiled heavily in your abdomen, and everything felt so damn hot — your clit was throbbing, your lips open as more high-pitched sounds fell from them. “Please—” 

“So you do?” Tighnari huffed out a laugh, though his grip on your hips tightened. His next thrust had you all but keening; your sight blurred when, suddenly, your orgasm crashed over you without a warning. The constant stimulation of your clit was overwhelming. “That's cute, darling. I'll just do that then.” 

Pain and pleasure mashed together into one confusing emotion as Tighnari kept fucking you through your orgasm, his pace unrelenting; you whimpered pathetically as your wet walls pulsed around his cock, all but sucking him in despite the dull ache in your abdomen.

“Please”, you eventually choked out, though forming coherent words seemed like a herculean task right now, “Please, Tighnari, fuck—, want you to knock me up, please.” 

You moaned as your words made his dick twitch inside of you, and your thighs trembled when liquid warmth filled you up moments later, his dick growing in width and, oh—, the sensation of your cunt being stretched even wider was overwhelming, indescribable, and tears welled up in your eyes before you knew it.

“Ah. I forgot to tell you about the knot, didn't I?” Tighnari's smirk was cheeky, his ears twitching. You merely whimpered in response. “Just be glad for the brief break you're getting. Once it goes down, I'll take you again and again.” 

Your cheeks seemed to grow impossibly more hot as he leaned down, green eyes sparkling with mirth. “After all, we want to make sure it really takes, right? We'll have to go for quite some more rounds if you really want to end up pregnant. But don't you worry, love. I'll breed you properly.” 

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at last.

pairing: yan!morax (zhongli) x f!reader

contains: not safe for work content, explicit sex, dubious consent, yandere, obsessive behavior, arranged/contract marriage, coercion

“M-Morax…” His name leaves your trembling lips in a soft plea, and you can feel strong arms tighten protectively around you as his mouth brushes, deceivingly sweet, against your neck.

“Yes, my darling.” His hot tongue darts out to lick over the hickey that he had etched into your soft skin just minutes prior. “Tell me what you want, and you shall have it.”

Your vision is blurry and your mind is a chaotic mess, spinning with nothing but pleasure and desire, yet a voice deep within you screams and begs for you to run.

You did not belong with someone like him.

You were a loyal handmaiden to the late goddess Guizhong, who served by her side for many centuries. Upon your goddess’s death, Morax, her dear friend, took you into his care. A god of war, hardened by battle, you were always puzzled as to how he and your goddess were such closely aligned comrades. With a terrifyingly sharp golden gaze and bloody weapons that left many helpless at his feet, he was a strange friend for the kindhearted Guizhong to make.

Yet, perhaps your judgement of him truly was wrong. After all, how could a ruthless brute hold you so delicately, kiss you so tenderly, touch you so lovingly?

It was no secret to the gods of Celestia that Morax had always favored you, even to Guizhong herself. However, you were ever oblivious to his molten golden gaze following you ever so carefully whenever you graced him with your presence upon his visits to Guizhong’s domain. Guizhong’s death was the last barrier preventing Morax from securing you in his grasp, and the archons watched in silence as he staked his claim over you, his late friend’s poor abandoned handmaiden.

You still remember the day that he took you away from everything you knew, the memories that now linger so distantly in your muddled mind.

The cool evening air had brushed gently against your face, a few strands of your hair rustling in the wind as crickets chirped their songs in the distance along with the occasional croak of a lone frog. Glaze lilies were blooming around you, glowing a faint blue hue in the moonlight. You were quiet, still, unmoving, save for the slight quiver of your lips as you whispered a soft prayer into the night to a dead god.

Your heart was broken into pieces having witnessed your goddess and fellow handmaidens perish in a war that wreaked havoc on the entirety of Teyvat. You had no idea how long it had been since you ran away from the bloody battle to this secluded field of glaze lilies, only that the sting of the arrow wound in your shoulder and countless trails of tears staining your face remain as a reminder of what cannot be reversed.

His voice had cut through your anguished turmoil, the deep tones reassuring and gentle as they coaxed you closer. Promising that he would take you away from your pain, relieve you of your lonelieness, and protect your broken heart for the rest of eternity. Foolishly, naively, you had stood from your spot on shaking legs and ran into Morax’s waiting arms.

To his credit, he had not rushed you into anything. He maintained proper distance to allow you to recover both physically and mentally. You were given a luxurious room to stay in along with huge banquets and servants at your beck and call; you had found it strange to not be in the position of servitude for the first time in your life. Through it all, Morax was nothing but kind to you, keeping you company at your meals and taking strolls with you in the sprawling palace gardens. Your heart had been stirred by the gentleness he showed you; he was certainly not the terrifying war monger that many think him to be.

However, as you began to trust your goddess’s old friend, all of it came crashing down as his true intentions began shining through. Once, he returned to his palace from battle, eyes gleaming with bloodlust, and marched up to your room where you pretended to lay sleeping. He gathered your form in his arms and buried his nose in your neck, savoring the sweet scent before kissing his way up and down.

You had squeezed your eyes shut and tried to sleep; even if you were awake what difference would it make? How could you ever shake the will of a god?

One time turned into two, two into three, and then into every night when he returned, the stench of blood still clinging to his clothing as he tightly embraced you and ravished your neck.

It was not long before a contract was presented to you. Become Morax’s bride, and he will continue to protect you. Deny him, and he will no longer be obligated to do anything for you—and you would have nobody left.

You had signed your name with a shaking hand, tears falling down your face and blurring the ink.

Morax had carried you to your now shared bedchamber after the wedding ceremony, his grip still gentle but his eyes gleaming with something primal and ravenous.

He had pecked your forehead before laying you down in the luxurious silk sheets, wasting no time with pinning your trembling form down and claiming your lips. This was the second time he had kissed you—the first being at the ceremony—and this one was much different. Rather than chaste and tender, he’s all teeth and tongue, sliding his tongue into your mouth and biting at your lips until they swell.

Your wedding garments slip off your body with ease, and you’re left bare under the god who had been waiting for many years to finally have you in his arms. Morax’s golden eyes drink in every inch of your body, from your pouting lips, to your delicate collarbones, to your perky breasts all the way down to the little leaking cunt that was waiting to be filled by him. An almost wicked, triumphant grin stretches across his lips as he drags a finger from your hole to your clit, pleased when you whimper for him.

“Oh, my darling, Aren’t you exquisite?” he murmurs, gathering your slick on his fingers before circling your clit, sending pleasure shooting through your entire body.

You’re shaking, weak protests leaving your mouth in pathetic blubbers as he continues to ruthlessly play with your drooling cunt. One long finger prods teasingly at your hole, and you wince as it struggles to work its way inside. You hear Morax inhale sharply.

“Hmm.” He huffs out a laugh. “We’ll make it fit, won’t we?” Fear briefly lances through you, but before you can act or speak, Morax’s finger begins moving in and out of your wet hole, stretching it out slowly. Your mind is filled with haze, your mouth falling slightly open as he adds his ring finger, humming in satisfaction as your pussy opens itself up for him.

“Such a good girl.” Morax kisses away a tear that has slipped down your cheek. “Don’t cry now, my beloved. I vowed to cherish you for the better and for the worse, for the rest of time.”

You let out something between a sob and a moan as your husband continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, the other hand lovingly brushing hair off your sweaty forehead. You feel a coil building in your stomach, something so terribly pleasurable and nearly ready to snap. His pace is brutal, and your eyes blur with stars as he hits the deepest parts inside of you with his long fingers over and over. You’re crying now, the room filled with only the squelching of your shamefully wet cunt and your sobs of pleasure. You’re so close to falling off the edge, but what will happen when you do—?

You suddenly feel his fingers slip out of you, and you gasp, letting out a weak whine of protest. Morax chuckles, caressing your cheek with his free hand while he brings his other to his lips, allowing himself to taste your arousal soaking his fingertips. Another uncharacteristically wicked smile mars his handsome face as he savors your flavor, golden eyes darkening ever more. “No need to whine. I’ll make sure you’ll never want for pleasure. Be patient, my beloved.” He leans down, head disappearing between your legs, and you jolt as he presses a soft kiss right on top of your clit.

Your eyes slip closed when Morax’s tongue licks up your folds, and he groans deeply as he tastes your sweetness directly from the source. You can no longer control the moans and whimpers that leave you as he laps at your cunt, circling and sucking at your clit while his large hands knead and pinch at your sensitive breasts. Your pussy gushes eagerly, and embarrassment burns hot in the pit of your stomach as you cum for the first time in your life, right onto Morax’s hungry tongue. You twitch and flinch as he continues to lick, overstimulating your poor abused clit as he tries to take in every drop of your essence.

“A-Ah… m-my lord…” you cry out, finally willing yourself to speak while trying to close your legs in response to the overwhelming feeling.

“Morax will do,” your husband chuckles against your cunt. His strong hands keep your legs open, unwilling to take his eyes off the image of your messy pussy. How could he ever stop admiring such a sight? “No need for formalities anymore, hmm?”

“M-Morax.” You whisper his name for the first time, your eyes fluttering closed as you heave weakly from your orgasm. You can’t see him, but his eyes soften as he hears his name fall from your mouth.

“Yes, darling?” You’re silent for a moment, still trying to catch your breath.

“Do… do you r-really love m-me?” Your voice sounds so tired, so broken. You hadn’t wanted to care, hadn’t wanted to give yourself to the man who had coerced you into being his tragic bride. Still, Morax is all you have left. Aside from him, there was no one else in the world who could take care of you. Deep down, you knew that, and the idea of rejecting him is too much to bear.

Morax reluctantly pulls away from your pussy only to gather your naked form into his lap, pressing his lips against yours once more. He’s gentle this time, his lips barely brushing against yours. “Little one, you’ll never know just how much I love you. Nor for how long I’ve waited just to have you by my side.” A sickening, yet warm feeling sweeps over you as he says this, and you involuntarily lean into his broad chest, hands fisting at his robes. Morax smirks, all teeth and malice, though you’re completely unaware. “Be assured of this, my dear. I will never let you go. You’re mine. Do not dare to forget my love for you.” At his coldly possessive words, your body recoils, snapping you out of your stupor. You can suddenly feel the hardness of his erection prodding against your stomach, and dread fills your chest as you realize that the night is far from over.

You’re laid on your back and faced with the view of Morax removing his clothes, his large erection springing free and dripping precum onto your belly. Morax grasps his cock in one of his large hands, greedy gaze reveling in the way you stutter and flinch as you stare at him.

As much as he loves and treasures you, he can’t help but also bask in the fact that he has you completely at his mercy.

Of which he has none.

Your entire body tenses in anticipation as Morax guides his huge cock towards your entrance, alarms ringing in your head as you once again attempt to close your legs. How is that supposed to fit—?

“I’ll take care of you,” Morax tells you, stern as he grabs your thighs firmly and spreads them back apart. His gaze flickers down to your warm, soaked hole, waiting and ready just for him. He groans, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, trying to stop himself from shoving himself inside right then and there.

“Forgive me,” he apologizes, before he allows the tip of his cock to breach your virgin walls, and his eyebrows furrow in concern as you let out a cry of pain. “I’m sorry, my darling.” He slowly starts to push the rest of his dick in, holding you tightly when you wail out at the thicker parts, and kissing at the tears that stream down your cheeks.

“I-It’s… i-it’s too-o b-biggg…” you slur out, drool dripping from your mouth as your innocence is finally claimed by your new husband, blood soiling the sheets as evidence.

“I know, my little one. I know,” Morax coos, planting kisses all over your pretty face to try and soothe your pain. “Just a while longer. Soon you will feel nothing but pleasure.”

You can’t answer him, the feeling of his cock sheathed in you is too much. You can feel him throbbing with need deep inside you, and when you shamefully tilt your head downwards, you can see the large bulge in your stomach. Pain is slowly replaced with feeling of just being wholly, overwhelmingly, full. His dick is just so long and thick, filling up every part of you so well—

Your eyes roll into the back of your head and you involuntarily arch against Morax’s muscular frame, your arms wrapping desperately around his neck as your little cunt creams around his cock. You rasp out his name in a sobbing whisper, your second orgasm nearly making you pass out from its intensity.

Morax chuckles, kissing your lips gently. “Do you love my cock that much already, sweet girl?” Your unfocused and dumb expression is perhaps the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. This is all he’s ever wanted to do; to make his kindhearted, gentle lover completely stupid on his dick. You’re the very image of beauty as you whisper desperately,

“Y-Yes, Morax. I l-love your c-cock so m-much…” Pride swells within him as you hide your face in his chest, embarrassed at what you had just said. Still, you can’t stop yourself from begging, “P-Please, it’s t-too much… p-please do s-something…”

Morax takes this as a sign to move, and move he does. He thrusts once into you, and watches with great interest as your pussy convulses around him and your mouth falls open into a wanton moan. Soon the only the sounds in the room are the slick sounds of Morax’s cock filling you up, accompanied by your whimpers and his deep grunts. He fucked you at a ruthless pace, your pussy split open on his cock again and again.

You should feel dirty, used, unpure; Guizhong’s handmaidens typically choose to remain untouched for the entirety of their lives (although Morax had personally defiled several of them in secret, imagining they were you. You rarely left Guizhong’s sight; how else could he deal with his desires?). However, as much as it repulsed you to admit it, your body craved and enjoyed every second of his cock inside of you.

You lose track of how long this lasts, of how many times your husband flipped you into a new position and sheathed his dick inside of you, wracking your body with cries of pleasure and pain, of how many times your little cunt gushed all over him, of how many times he stroked his release into you and filled you with his cum. All while whispering in your ear how delicate you were, how you should be grateful that he, a big strong warrior, had come to save and shield you from the terrifying world, how he loved you ever so much and without him and his love, you would’ve perished along with everyone else, so open your legs a little wider, darling, and let him cum inside you once more.

Only after does it hit you that you’re trapped in his arms, and that there’s no way out. A numb feeling runs over you as you lay, boneless, sleepy, and belly swollen with cum. He’s holding you close to him as he vows to give you whatever you wish for, and your lips seem to move by themelves as you silence the voice screaming in terror within you.

“I-I want…” you whisper out, your fucked-out mind only wishing to be held and cherished and loved. “…you t-to stay. F-Forever.” As soon as you utter those words, you don’t even have time to regret your statement before Morax’s smirking lips kiss your cheek gently.

“As you wish, my dear.”

Despite it all, a dumb smile crosses your face as his fingers brush against your pussy and push his leaking cum back inside. Yes, you will never be alone again.

You’re right where you belong, at last.

Title: Clear As Porcelain.

Pairing: Yandere!Scaramouche x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.4k.

TW: Kidnapping, Mentions of Death/Injury, and Slight Dehumanization.

You heard Scaramouche’s laugh before you ever saw his face.

It might've been more like a cackle, actually – the noise so uneven and so cracked, you mistook it for the screeching of a wild animal, assumed a frightened boar or a very distressed bird had wandered into your storefront and would find its way out again, after it calmed down. You only thought to look up from the ceramic figurine you were painting (a commissioned piece of the Shogun in all of her awe-inspiring, ethereal grace) when you heard the door to your workshop crash open and hit the opposing wall with enough force to shake the contents of a shelf hanging nearby. He was standing there, disheveled, grinning, his clothes soaked and his eyes wild, and he was mumbling – to himself, at first, and then loudly, his voice spiking as his tone dipped into something sharp and erratic. “That bitch, she could’ve—She tried to take my fucking arm off. I’ll fucking kill her. I’ll choke her to death with her own fucking tail—”

“Sir,” You cut him off, turning to face him. His hair was partially seared, too, despite the fact that he looked like he’d just crawled out of the ocean. Faintly, you could smell traces of smoke and ozone, but you were more preoccupied by the puddle he was going to leave on your floor than whatever mess he'd clearly gotten himself into before barging into your shop. “We’ve already closed for the night. If you want to place an order, you can—”

“Shut the fuck up.” He was already limping forward, already shoving armloads of supplies and half-finished projects out of his way as he pulled himself onto your worktable. He stopped at the figurine, his grin faltering for a fraction of a second, but that was on the floor too soon enough. You heard something crack, but your attention was pulled away before you could evaluate the damage, back to Scaramouche, now lying on the wooden tabletop, pulling his tattering sleeve up to his shoulder. “Fix it. I don’t care how. I’ll pay you when you’re done, just make sure it looks like the rest.”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. The injury was on his bicep, if you could really call it an injury at all. It was more like… shattered porcelain, what should’ve been torn, bloodied skin replaced with ragged cracks and chipped paint. Some portions were missing entirely, giving way to black void. There was no blood, or muscle, or fat. There was nothing, save for the interior shell of his arm on the other side.

He was as hollow as a doll.

Huh.

You reached over him, to the other side of your table, grabbing the container of resin he’d nearly overturned. The hardener was already in your pocket, and you could mix your paint later on, while the plaster dried. You had a feeling he wouldn’t think to question it, if you took your time. “Please, try to hold still. I’ll be gentle.”

He didn’t. Honestly, you doubted he’d even heard you, too preoccupied with his own manic, meaningless rambling. You were able to convince him to lay down, to let you work on his bicep without having to worry that you’d leave him stuck to your table with a thin layer of white cement. You were able to lay the resin, and as you sanded down the excess, his ranting came back into earshot, his words once again beginning to form coherent thoughts, more or less. “She tried to kill me.I don't know why. She’d already killed, I don’t fucking know—” He brought up his free hand, gesturing vaguely. “—all of my men. I don’t know what she wants. What could she even do to me that her and her fucking girlfriend haven’t already done?”

The rest of his arm was porcelain, too. Disguised porcelain, sure, clearly meant to mimic flesh and bone, but you recognized good craftsmanship, the little methods and techniques employed to trick the eye and present dead clay as something else, something with more life inside of it. You wondered, briefly, if it was a prosthetic, but it would’ve had to start somewhere closer to his collarbone than his shoulder, and you could see his fingers twitching as you smoothed over rough mortar, as you did your best to make the patch indistinguishable from what you could see of his undamaged skin. If you could call it ‘skin’.

Suddenly, Scaramouche fell silent. After a moment, you realized he wanted a response. You hesitated, but forced yourself to say something, if only so you could focus on the task at-hand. “Does this kind of thing happen often?”

“She’s always wanted me dead.” You pushed your chair back. You’d been painting when he came in, but what little you’d had on your palette had long-since dried and cracked, and the rest of your supplies were in a cabinet hung on the far wall. You could feel his eyes boring into you as you searched for what you’d need. When you glanced over your shoulder, he didn’t bother trying to look away. “I don’t know what she has against me. I’ve never done anything to her, or that tyrant.”

“Some people just choose to be cruel, like that. There isn’t always a reason for it.”

His voice was quieter, now, slower. He let his head roll back, his attention falling to the ceiling. “People say I’m cruel.”

“You don't seem very cruel to me.”

He didn’t answer. By the time you found your way back to him, his eyes were closed, and he didn’t wake up until long after the sun rose the next morning.

~

A week after he left, a man in a uniform came to your door and announced that he’d been ordered to escort you to the estate of his master, the Balladeer, Honorable Lord Scaramouche. When you asked why you were being summoned, he told you to bring your tools, and you asked no other questions.

He received you in his parlor, a large room made just a little smaller by the painted screens that lined every wall, made just a little more oppressive by the fact that it was empty of all but you, Scaramouche, a low chabudai, and the tea tray that sat on top of it. You sat across from him, tucking your legs underneath you and keeping your tool kit at your side. No sooner than you'd settled into place, Scaramouche nodded, and the soldier took his leave, bowing and closing the door behind him.

He started, predictably. There was no greeting, but you hadn’t expected one, not really. Not from him. “I trust you've realized that our last transaction will have to stay between us.” Formal words, made to cut precisely and leave no room for error or argument, so unlike his manic rambling from the week before. It didn’t suit him, as a costume of fine lace and silk wouldn’t suit a child’s mangled toy. “It would be… inconvenient, for me and the organization I represent, if the Shogunate was forced to waste their time and look into our actions. I’m sure an investigation would be an issue for your business, as well, and make it difficult for us to reimburse you for the services you’ve already provided.” He paused, leaning onto the chabudai. “Wouldn't you agree?”

You didn’t hesitate, this time. “A client asked me to repair something very important to him. I don’t see why the Shogunate has to know anything else.”

There were no visible signs of approval, no hum or nod of his head. He closed his eyes, instead, and brought a hand up to the collar of his nagagi, toying with the fabric as he spoke. “And if this client asked you to make another repair, would you accept the job with the same discretion?”

A few minutes later, Scaramouche's nagagi was pooled around his waist and you were kneeling behind him, mixing your plaster as you looked over the array of lesions scattered across his back. They weren’t scars, exactly, and you didn’t want to call them open wounds. If anything, they were more similar to scrapes, deep scratches in his porcelain that darkened and cracked at the edges, forming a sprawling web of hairline fractures. It was a wonder he was still in one piece, honestly. It seemed like a strong gust of wind would be enough to shatter him.

It was a momentary impulse, as fleeting as it was self-serving, but before you could swallow it down, you ran your hand over his back, tracing over a cut that ran parallel to his spine. He tensed, glanced towards you, and you offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen something so…”

“Bizarre?” The suggestion was accompanied by a bark of laughter, a wild grin. “You nation has dancing tanuki and wandering spirits. You can’t tell me that I’m the only oddity you’ve ever run into.”

“Well-crafted,” You mumbled, already distracted. He was more awake than he had been last time you’d worked on him, more aware, and he shuddered as you spread the plaster over the uppermost lesion, curling into himself before he could correct his posture. “Oh, does that hurt?”

That wasn’t really what you meant, but Scaramouche didn’t give you a chance to correct yourself. “It’d hurt more to let my body cave in on itself, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I could use a different technique.” If the rest of his body was like his arm, he probably didn’t have a rib cage, or shoulder-blades, or anything you had to be wary of or avoid. Still, you tried to work around what might affect his mobility, and when it came time to cut away the excess, you worked quickly, unsure if he could feel what hadn’t already set. “Or, we could bring in a healer. They couldn’t use pyro or hydro, but—”

“That’s not an option.” He didn’t even give you a chance to finish, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders – nearly causing you to chip away a piece of his side, in the process. “This is going to stay between us. No one else has to know. It would be—” He cut himself off with an airy sigh, as shallow as it was exhausted. “I don’t need my subordinates spreading rumors about my ball-joints. You’re not to breathe a word of this to anyone, from the Shogunate or otherwise.”

You were quiet, for a moment.

Then, you leaned against him, resting one hand on the dip of his shoulder while the other fell to the small of his back, your fingertips pushing absentminded patterns into his cool skin. “For such an important client?”

He grit his teeth as you started, but didn’t make a sound.

“Consider it our secret.”

~

Six months and a dozen appointments later, you woke up on a bed, in the cabin of a ship, your wrists bound behind your back and a bruise beginning to form on your cheek from where his soldier had struck you before driving a needle into the side of your neck.

He was sitting on the edge of the mattress, gaze cast downward. When you began to stir, he , a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked over your bound form. If there was any part of him you didn’t care for, it would’ve had to be his eyes. They lacked something, a certain light that should’ve been there if he’d been made of something else, if he’d been just a little more alive. You doubted you could’ve done any better, but that didn’t mean you had to praise his lifeless stare.

“It was a new recruit. I’ll have his fingers broken when we dock – or if he’s foolish enough to show his face to me before then, the next time I see him.” For a second, you wondered what he was talking about, but his hand came up, cupping your injured cheek, and your confusion was quickly replaced with hollow irritation, traces of dampened panic. “I didn’t tell him not to hit you, but archons, you’d think one of these imbeciles would be able to think for themselves. If anyone on this ship so much as looks at you, tell me. The last thing I need to deal with is idiots as disobedient as they are stupid.”

“I don’t—” You tried to sit up, only to fall back onto your side immediately. Your vision blurred, spun, and your body felt weak, as if your blood had been drained from your veins and replaced with solid lead. He laughed as you clenched your eyes shut and shrunk into yourself, as you tried to get the world around you to stop moving, if only for long enough to let you catch your breath. “Scaramouche, I—”

“Kunikuzushi.” A slightly tightened grip, his thumb tracing over your cheekbone in a gesture that you could nearly call tender. “Say it for me.”

“Kunikuzushi…” Your voice was quiet, weak. You felt weak. You probably looked weak, too, but he didn’t seem to care. “Wha—What’s going on? I can’t—”  

He was grinning, now, the expression eager and unabashed. “It’s nothing you’ll have to worry about. Her Excellency has called me back to Snezhnaya, and I thought it would be wise to keep my dollmaker in the same country as myself.” A blade was produced from his belt, or a nearby dresser, or some other forsaken place, and the rope circled around your wrist was cut with no great amount of thought or ceremony. You were dragged into his lap with just as little ease, your head soon resting on his thighs and his fingers soon skirting over your neck, your shoulder. His hands were so cold, as if he’d never known an ounce of warmth in his life. As if he’d never bothered to make himself into anything more than damp clay. “I’ve already taken care of your store. You can thank me later on, when we go over what could and what couldn’t be salvaged from the fire.”

You took a long moment to remember how to use your tongue, how to speak with any confidence. Even after that, it still came out so quietly, you had to question if he heard you at all. “And if I don’t want to go with you?”

A light chuckle, in response, the noise wistful and idle and awful. “You will,” He said, the promise as hollow as he was.

“Soon enough, you'll only ever want to be by my side.”

Top 5 yan!Genshin men that would commit murder to off a rival or a threat to their darling? Ironically, I haven't come across much... murder in a lot of yandere imagines despite them being-- well, /yandere/, which tend to be famous for killing, frankly.

I think it’s partially due to the greater view of the ‘yandere’ concept evolving. Yes, the murder is still there, but yanderes aren’t defined by the crimes they commit, but by the love they feel towards their Darling that makes them commit those crimes. And, frankly, the whole ‘I will murder everyone in your life so that you’ll love only me’ schtick gets boring after you read the same thing over and over. Like, there are other crimes besides murder.

Anyway, philosophical tangents aside, let’s get back to what we’re actually here for.

Diluc is fiercely protective and will not hesitate to get his hands dirty if he needs to keep you safe. Doesn’t matter if they’re Fatui, some drunkard who got a little too handsy, or even someone he used to be close to. As long as not a hair on your head is out of place, he can relax.

Scaramouche does not see the value in the life of an individual human. Their lifespan is so short and whatever power they have is weak. You are the only one in his eyes that matters.

Childe is notorious for his bloodlust and desire for a good fight. So, he’ll let his victim struggle a bit, build up the courage - or frustration - needed to lash back, only to stop toying with them and cut them down with one last strike.

Fakebedo. Do I even need to explain this one? He literally went after his own brother. What makes you think he’d hesitate to kill some random schmuck who is getting a little too close to you to his liking?

Abyss Prince Aether does not care for the current state of this world. He has a divine war to win, so what’s the loss of one more life? The needs of the many outweigh the needs of one filthy mongrel.

[ OCT 24 ] HEAT | gorou

pairing: gorou x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, slight omegaverse?? like v slight, breeding, service top!gorou, you play with gorou’s ears a lot lol, knotting, gorou in heat

notes: i had this idea after THAT audio clip was released

“i never knew your ears were so sensitive, general.” gorou wanted to despise the bright, curious little glint in your eyes as your fingers continued to ravish his flushed ears. he could hardly protest, partially because he didn’t want to, but also because every attempt at one he made was in vain as it melted into an obscene cry.

“please forgive me for prodding so openly. i know i’m not one to get distracted but…” it was ironic how you couldn’t even muster the rest of your thought, utterly indulging in gorou’s lewd responses.

kazuha was right. i need to help him.

Keep reading

TW: Yandere themes, implied noncon, reader is trapped, horribly written. I need to go to bed bro 💀

Imagine trying to break up with Yandere Tighnari.

I can imagine that the scenario would go something like this. Maybe Tighnari has been neglecting you or maybe he has been too busy.

But one day you’ve decided that you had enough. You would leave him. You would leave Sumeru to start a new life.

You take a deep breathe in as you leave Tighnari a letter in his tent. Stating that you didn’t feel loved anymore and that you would leave him. Hopefully he would understand right?

Wrong.

When Tighnari found out about the letter he was furious. His tail twitched in annoyance at the thought of you leaving him. Didn’t you realize how much he loved you? In fact he wasn’t in love with you. No. He was obsessed with you.

You are so naive, Tighnari thought to himself as he gritted his teeth. Nonetheless, Tighnari ripped the letter to shreds and he went back to carry on his duties as a forest ranger.

However, the next day when you were planning on leaving, you didn’t even make it out of Gandharva Ville before you felt a piercing pain in your neck— then the next second your body fell limp. You were falling onto the ground before a warm pair of arms grabbed you preventing your body from hitting the floor.

The next day when you wake up, you’re inside Tighnari’s hut and you were laying in his bed. Your head was hurting really badly but when your mind remembered the events from the day before, you panicked.

You immediately got up and pushed the blankets as you went to the door. It wouldn’t open. It was locked shut.

Your eyes were wide as you started panicking.

No no no. This can’t be happening.

You started hanging on the door screaming for help. You were having a meltdown.

But your arms were getting tired so you decided to lay back onto Tighnari’s bed. A few minutes Tighnari came back into his room.

Tighnari explained how you weren’t leaving him and that you were going to stay with him here for the rest of your life.

Tighnari wouldn’t even let you leave in the first place. Afterall, he needed someone to mate with and make it through the mating season.

Not only that but unfortunately for you…

Foxes mate for life.

You agreed to be his too. It gets annoying for Tighnari whenever you beg him to let you leave. But you need to keep your mouth shut. Tighnari doesn’t want to hear it. He’s never letting you go.

Might as well get used to locked up along with living in the forest for the rest of your life.