#yeeaaaghhhhh uh i wrote this in a daze !!!!!!

[zorosdimples]

mdni. nonconsenual groping and ajax tartaglia childe’s foul legacy form (a dash of monsterfucking)

perhaps it’s cruel of him to tease you so—donning his foul legacy form and cornering you, a little human who naively wandered too close to a fatui camp in these remote woods. chasing you under dappled moonlight is exhilarating, but the harbinger wants to play a more intimate game.

fear is one of tartaglia’s favorite emotions; it’s telling, it’s universal, it’s honest. and your gaze—brave yet shimmering with unshed tears—tells him all he needs to know: you’re scared. and he has you right where he wants you, up against gnarled tree.

the beast curls a single steel claw beneath the neckline of your shirt and rips the garment clean off your body. a panicked whimper leaves your lips—bitten and bruised from anxiety—and your hands fly to your chest, your instinct to hide from the monster’s prying stare (though you can see no eyes on his masked face).

tartaglia kneels to get closer to you, though he still fully eclipses you on his knees. sweat gathers at your temples and your legs quiver as he grasps your wrists. but he’s surprisingly gentle when he guides your hands away from your breasts and down to your sides.

a rich purr rumbles his chest as he views your bare torso, skin slashed by a glowing moonbeam. hot tears drip from your lashes and carve burning tracks down your cheeks; you tremble in horror when a tongue prods out from underneath his mask. it’s long and pointed and utterly inhuman as it laps up the sweet salt on your skin.

the harbinger’s claws skate up your sides firmly, the gleaming tips embossing puffy lines onto your flesh. his tongue continues to lave at you, snaking down the arch of your neck and the slant of your sternum to wrap around a pebbled nipple and tug.

the sound that bubbles past your lips is half-gasp half-moan. it’s mortifying—your stomach churns in disgust—and you bite your tongue until you taste copper. but the damage is done.

tartaglia won’t stop until he hears all the lovely music your body can make.