older gf!shoko ieiri being turned on because it's your first time ╱ mdni, fingering, minimal ass play, pussy eating ˚.✦
She finally has you splayed on her bed, only with your bra and damp panties on, your breathing is ragged and you’re fighting the urge to cover your face because you know she would tie your hands to the headboard.
“S-Shoko…” you call her, watching the older woman get rid of her own clothes.
“Yes, baby?” she says, her voice is sweet and soft, you can feel her caressing your body with her own tone. “Everything alright?”
“Y-yeah, it’s just… you know I’m a virgin.” You don’t know how to put your nervousness into words, so you just say that, hoping that she understands you.
“I know, sweetheart, you told me,” she nods, climbing the bed so she’s resting naked by your side. Her warm hand comes up to play with your tits, just massaging them over the bra, feeling the nipple harden. “Can I get rid of the rest of your clothes?”
She smiles at you so gently it almost hurts, her dark eyes sparkling with something hungry and tender all at once. “Of course you can say no, baby. But I really want to see all of you, I’ve been thinking about this for so long.”
Your throat feels tight, but you nod anyway, Shoko’s fingers are careful as she unhooks your bra and slides it down your arms, tossing it somewhere off the bed. Then she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of your damp panties and tugs them slowly down your legs.
When the fabric finally leaves your skin and she sees you completely bare, smooth from the shave you did earlier that day, her brows pull together just a little, a soft disappointed huff leaves her lips.
“Aww… you shaved,” she murmurs, running her fingertips lightly over the hairless skin. “Don’t do it anymore for me, okay? I like it better when you’re fuzzy down here.”
You whimper, embarrassed and turned on at the same time. “S-sorry… I thought it would be easier…”
“Shhh, it’s okay,” she cuts you off, voice dropping lower as she leans in and kisses just above your mound. “You’re still so fucking cute. But next time I want to feel those soft curls against my tongue, yeah?”
Before you can answer, Shoko settles between your thighs, spreading them wider with her palms. She’s already so wet herself you can see it glistening on her inner thighs, but she doesn’t touch herself yet, her focus is all on you. She coats her fingers generously with lube, the cool slick sound making your stomach flip. Then one warm hand rests on your lower belly while the other slides down. You can’t help yourself and let out a tiny gasp, trying to close your legs out of instinct.
“Relax for me, sweetheart,” she whispers, voice thick with lust she’s barely holding back. “Fuck, I can’t believe I get to be your first.”
Her middle finger circles your entrance slowly, spreading the lube around your folds. You’re already dripping, but she adds more anyway, making everything slippery and messy.
“Gonna start with one, okay? Breathe for me.”
She pushes in carefully, just the tip at first and you gasp at the stretch. It doesn’t hurt, not really, just feels different. Her finger is long and gentle, curling slightly as she sinks deeper until she’s knuckle-deep.
“Oh my god,” Shoko breathes out, eyes fluttering half-closed like she’s the one getting fucked. “You’re so tight, baby, so warm and soft inside. I’m losing my mind.”
She starts moving slowly, pumping in and out with careful strokes while her thumb finds your clit and rubs soft little circles. Every time she presses against that spot inside you, your hips twitch.
“That’s me touching you nice and deep.” she says, kissing your inner thigh. “Does it feel good?”
“Y-yes ah Shoko…” you moan, hands fisting the sheets because you’re scared if you touch her she’ll stop.
She adds a second finger after a minute, scissoring them gently to open you up. Her breathing is getting heavier, cheeks flushed and you can tell she’s fighting not to just devour you.
“God, listen to those little sounds you make,” she groans, leaning down to kiss your neck, then your tits, sucking one nipple into her mouth while her fingers keep working you open. “I’m so wet just from fingering you, baby. You’re doing so well for your first time, taking my fingers like such a good girl.”
Her pace picks up a little, curling harder against that spongy spot that makes sparks shoot up your spine. She can’t stop talking, the words spilling out between kisses and soft bites.
“Ah, ah, Sho… Shoko!” you whimper, eyes shutting and back arching. “Feels ‘mazing, ah!”
“I’ve wanted this for so long… wanted to be the one who makes you feel this for the first time. Fuck, you’re clenching around me so tight. You gonna cum on my fingers, sweetheart? Let me feel it. I want to watch you fall apart.”
She adds just a bit more pressure on your clit, rubbing faster, and her voice cracks with how turned on she is.
“Come on, baby… Show me how pretty you look when you finish.”
Your thighs start to shake, the feeling building fast and overwhelming. Shoko’s eyes are locked on your face, dark with lust, lips parted as she keeps talking to you through every second.
“Cum for me, my sweet girl.” She leans in to trap your lips in a kiss and muffle your moans, she feels you clenching hard and cumming on her fingers, your thighs spasming and back arching. “That’s my girl.”
She presses a kiss to your forehead, cleaning the sweat with the back of her hand. “Baby… can you keep going for me? I’m not done with you yet. I want more.”
You nod weakly, voice hoarse. “O-okay… yeah.”
A bright and hungry smile spreads across her lips. “Good girl.”
She gently pulls her fingers out, making you whimper at the loss. Then she helps you turn over, guiding you until you’re on your knees with your chest pressed to the mattress. Your ass is up high, back arched, completely exposed. She runs her hands over your hips and the curve of your butt, squeezing softly.
“Comfortable like this, sweetheart?” she asks, as she strokes your lower back. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
You bury your face in the pillow, cheeks burning. “Y-yeah, I’m okay. Shoko… what are you gonna do?”
She chuckles softly, the sound warm and a little wicked. She spreads your cheeks gently with both hands, exposing everything to the cool air of the room.
“I’m gonna eat you out from the back, baby,” she says, almost purring. “Gonna taste every inch of this pretty pussy while you’re all open for me like this.”
Before you can even process her words, you feel something warm and wet land right on your asshole. Shoko just spit on it. You gasp, your body jolting a little. She watches as the spit slowly drips down, sliding over your tight hole and down to your soaked pussy lips.
“Fuck… so messy already.”
Her tongue is hot and soft as it drags from your clit all the way up, licking through your folds in one long stripe. She moans loudly against you, the vibration making your toes curl.
“Mmm… you taste so fucking good,” she groans, doing it again, savoring every bit. “Even better from behind. God, I love having you like this.”
She buries her face deeper, tongue circling your entrance before pushing inside you, fucking you with it in shallow thrusts. One of her hands stays on your ass, keeping you spread open while the other reaches underneath to rub your swollen clit in tight circles.
You can barely hold yourself up, moans spilling out into the pillow as she eats you like she’s starving. Every lick and every suck, every time her nose presses against your asshole makes your legs shake harder.
Shoko pulls back just enough to speak, her breath hot against your wet skin. “Keep making those pretty noises for me, mmh. You’re so sweet and puffy, fuuuuck, I’m so wet just from tasting you.”
She spits on you again, this time letting it drip down while her tongue chases it, licking everything up in messy and eager strokes. Her fingers keep working your clit faster, and you can feel another orgasm already starting to build, hot and overwhelming.
“You gonna cum again for me like this?” she asks, voice muffled against your folds but still so full of lust.
“Y-yes! Shoko, nghh, you’re so good… shit, hah!” Your own voice is muffled when you bury your face in the pillow, fisting the sheets as Shoko keeps closing her mouth around your clit and sucks gently.
Her tongue flicks fast and you know you won’t last much longer. Shoko just keeps going, moaning like she’s the one getting pleasured, completely lost in how much she loves being your first. When the sensation starts to feel like too much, you have the instinct to pull back, but Shoko grabs your hip with one hand as the other pinches your clit.
“Nuh-uh, don’t squirm away. You have to cum,” Shoko says while your moans fill the room.
“Shoko, please! Please mmph it’s too much!” you try to say, but Shoko doesn’t listen to you and keeps circling your clit until her face is covered in your cum, mixed with her own saliva.
“My sweet girl,” she says, pulling back from your pussy and letting you flop on the bed. She grabs you by the waist, pulling you into her chest.
“Did I… did I do good?” you ask, not really thinking about what you were saying, your whole body sore from Shoko’s actions.
“You did amazing, sweetheart. The prettiest virgin ever.” She kisses the top of your head, her hand caressing the sensitive nipple. “Can’t believe I have you all for myself. Cause you’re all mine, yeah?” She looks down, making you look up at her.
You nod vigorously, a tired smile on your face. “A-all yours,”
Shoko hums low, you can feel the vibration. “That’s what I love to hear, sweetie.”
── ❨ ⸝⸝ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑. ❩ IS HE A MOANER, GROANER, OR DOES HE WHIMPER? + how does gachiakuta men sound like in bed? + with extra p! links.. wink wink
ೀ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 - aged up zanka (20+), implies to p! links, p in v, praises, fingering, sigh they’re all goners, mentions of a threesome, car sex, short drabbles, oral (m! receiving). make sure to be logged in twitter, also please don’t read if you’re uncomfortable.
⊹ ⸝⸝ .ᐟ enjin ┆tamsy┆zanka┆ zodyl
𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍 -
𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧! who is nothing but a BREATHLESS groaner with a bit of moaning.
𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧! who has a praise kink because he can’t get over the fact that he’s in you— “fuckk— princess.. you’re so good. arch your back more,” and who constantly presses your hips down the mattress to prevent you to squirm away.
𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧! who bottoms out if you keep going round to round. who struggles to keep his stamina up but manages to keep some stamina— but mostly when you ride him. shh he also likes cumming in you when he’s lazy to pull out..
𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧! who loves fingering you hard and fast, making you a moaning mess underneath him. he loves hearing your moans and fingers get soaked wet just by fingering you.
𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐒𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 -
𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐲! who moans softly ONLY occasionally. but usually he groans aggressively.. and sometimes not.
𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐲! who LOVES flexing his muscular body to you— especially because he knows you’d get wet like a waterfall for him. he just loves seeing your pretty clit aching for his touch, your cute undies all wet and soaked in your sweetness. “miss me dove?” he’d say.
𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐲! who likes cumming on your back.. for some odd reasons. he admits that the reason was because he doesn’t want to impregnate you.. but we all know he’s lying.
𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐲! who likes fucking in doggy-style. he likes seeing your back arched, while his cock disappears in and out of you slowly.
𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐀 𝐍𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐊𝐔 -
𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐚! who whimpers WHILE actually praising you— he just loves your pussy :(
𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐚! who steals enjin’s jeep so then you and him can fuck in the back of the jeep. he usually does it when you two are sent to go to a mission—after it, he would purposely tease you until you’re soaking wet, begging for him to fuck you.
𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐚! who he once caught jabber and you fucking behind his back, although he didn’t get mad because deep down he’s been ACHING to have a threesome with you and jabber. so he let’s you stroke him as jabber fucks you.
𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐚! who gets extremely horny when you’re gone, often recording himself jerking off before sending it to you because he knows you’d come over to his room asap.
𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐘𝐋 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍 -
𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐲𝐥! who actually moans because he’s a virgin and didn’t know how good your pussy would feel ..
𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐲𝐥! who loves being aggressive sometimes because that’s when you moan a lot.. and also because he just likes seeing you desperate.
𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐲𝐥! who LOVES when you suck him off. he likes seeing you gag and messy on his cock, he can’t admit but to like your face covered in his cum. he also likes pushing you deeply into his cock so he can feel the back of your throat.
𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐲𝐥! who’s favorite position is missionary. he likes holding your legs together while he goes deeper and harder each time. who also likes making eye contact while fucking because he loves how shy and nervous you get. eventually he cums inside of you while staring deep into your soul.
Sometimes I think about the Shoko Ieiri of it all.
You’re fifteen. All your life, you’ve lived in a world where you constantly see horrible things but can’t do anything about them because of your technique. You get to high school and your only two classmates are generational prodigies. You are a healer, and you will only ever be a healer. Still, you’re too valuable to lose. You’re close with your classmates, but never as close as they are to each other. You can’t be, their strength begets loneliness, so they’re cursed to really only understand each other. They go out to fight the monsters, and you stay, and you heal them when they come back, if they even need healing at all. You treat the small rotation of adults that go on missions and actually come back. You are a coroner for the ones who don’t. You go out with your friends, laugh with smoke curling around your head. You have a little hope for the future, or at least don’t worry so much about it. Not with your friends right there.
You’re sixteen. You’ve gained two kouhai you adore, and once again are the odd one out. Your classmates have only gotten stronger. You still stay back. You worry about your juniors — they’re not as strong as your classmates, but no one is. You treat them often, usually for minor things, but sometimes for injuries that leave you exhausted, deep in the night. You smoke more often — the adults say nothing, your friends wrinkle their noses and ignore it. Your friends go on a mission that changes them. They come back with scars you can’t fix and shields you can’t get around. One of them doesn’t need you anymore, he doesn’t need anyone anymore. The other needs you desperately, but has sunken into a place you can’t follow, can’t pull him out of. They grow further apart. You see them less and less. One of your kouhais is dead, and you have to handle his body. You are the only one who ever does. You see how it changes your other kouhai, how it forces your classmate even deeper. You can try and fix it, but in the end you can only watch.
You are sixteen. One best friend is a mass murderer, and the other is the only one able to kill him. You meet your friend on the street and he looks better than he has in months. You ask if the charges are fake. They aren’t. You wonder what breaks in a person that taking a hundred lives makes their soul lighter. You two sit and smoke, and you call your other friend to handle it. You are a healer, have only ever been a healer, but you can’t fix what has shattered here. Your best friend lets him go. You wonder what it would break in him, to kill the only person capable of understanding him. You wonder when you will find out.
You are twenty eight. You have graduated, cheated your way through medical school, quit smoking. Your eyebags are deep and your hair is long. Your best friend is unserious and calculating in the same breath. Your kouhai has quit and returned. You have stayed behind, as always. You have healed students and adults. You have prepared the bodies of children and friends. Your old friend has declared war. You walk out of meetings that call for his death. You sit on the sidelines and wait for someone to need help. Your old friend is fatally wounded by a prodigious child, and your best friend deals the killing blow. You aren’t given a body to prepare for cremation. Your best friend has a blank look in his eyes, and you don’t ask. Something did break in him — nothing load-bearing, but something important nonetheless.
You are twenty eight. Important things keep happening. Another child is ordered to die, and again is save by your best friend. Your bosses get the child killed anyway, but it doesn’t matter because the kid comes back. Something big starts miles away, and you don’t quite stay behind this time. Everything falls apart around you. Your best friend is sealed. Your kouhai is killed. Their students are maimed in irreparable ways, even for you. The demon of all demons kills thousands. You lights up a cigarette for the first time in a decade, and the smoke doesn’t comfort you like you hoped it would.
You are twenty nine. Everything has gone to shit. Your bosses have taken the opportunity to do all the horrible things they’ve been waiting years to do. Your best friend is locked away, and his students are in a death game. You stay behind, because you are a healer and you are essential. Something is using your dead best friend as a puppet. You pick up drinking again, and chain-smoke until your office is stifling. Your best friend comes back, a little different, a lot more grim. He asks you to let his students use his body when if he dies. You say yes because you can do nothing else, because you aren’t a fighter and you know the threat is real and your best friend’s ability is the best chance you all have. You say yes because he is asking. You say yes and you know it will kill you a little bit, but it might also save everyone left to save.
You are twenty nine. Your best friend is dead. You do as he has asked, and when the battle is over and won, you take his body for the last time. You turn the retort on high enough to burn all of him ash, so that he may never be used again. You do the same to your old friend. You are the last of your cohort, one of the few adults left in these children’s lives. You take the chance to help build something better, something that wouldn’t have failed your best friends so deeply. You stand at their graves and try not to feel lonely, to feel forgotten. You had plenty of that while they were right next to you, needing something from each other so desperately that they missed what you tried to give.
You are twenty nine. You are a healer, have been and always will be a healer. You are a survivor, too valuable to risk and too essential to lose. Your entire world has turned over, and you do what you have always done, will always do.
ꉂ dream (sum): Teens in your town are turning up dead—mutilated by their own nightmares. The solution? A government-issued pill that creates dreamless sleep. But you're taking your chances! Dreams are the only place where all the hott senior boys line up to rail you! Tonight, though, someone new joins the lineup—ancient, hungry, and hellbent on turning your wet dreams into a bloodbath. Will you survive?
ꉂ nightmares (cw): based on nightmare on elm street 2. freddy krueger. freddy! sukuna kinks: teratophilia, size difference, virgin. everyone in this fic is 18+ senior in HS. horror but also humor/crack. *warning*—this fic makes fun of small town evangelism/religious frenzy. gooner!reader. nerd!reader. sheltered!reader. wet dreams. mentions of death/murder. brief mentions of one-sided delulu!reader x other jjk men (𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮, 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨, 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢, 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢, 𝐢𝐧𝐨, 𝐤𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐨). heavier mentions of gojo (dreamjo) as readers dream bf. true form!sukuna, double pen and voyeurism, masturbation. (also a few horror movie/tv show easter eggs if you catch them!)
ꉂ kills (wc): 7.8k of ?
ꉂ a/n: hope y'all enjoy p1! had to break up as i start going crazy when the draft hits 10K.
𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 || 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐
Your favorite hobby is sleeping.
Not exactly thrilling, but in this dead-end town? Girl, dreams are all you’ve got.
So it’s no wonder why on a Friday night you're racing up the stairs just to get in bed.
Not like a shut-in like you gets invited anywhere anyway—not since middle school at least. Your bible-thumping mother treats anything past sundown like a one-way ticket to hell.
She’s also the reason why you’re still a senior at nineteen.
After listening to your pastor’s fire-and-brimstone sermon about ‘Satan’s curriculum in secular schools’ (or whatever that means). Apparently cutting paper animals and licking glue was too “spiritually risky” so your kindergarten enrollment was delayed.
From there your social quarantine only escalated—no playdates, no sleepovers, no extracurriculars—unless it was church related.
Eventually, your childhood friends gave up even trying. You don’t even blame them. With your brick-like fossil Nokia phone you couldn’t even download any social media apps to keep up with them.
Sure, you’ve technically been a legal adult for a while but for now you’re biding your time until graduation. You’ve already got a full ride to an out-of-state college lined up behind your parents’ backs. So missing out on being blackout drunk in a field somewhere wasn’t exactly tearing you up—there would be many more opportunities in college to drink that didn’t involve trying to dodge cow shit.
But there IS one thing you definitely feel like you’re missing out on—
Dating.
Boys and dating are two things your parents, especially your mother, would absolutely not tolerate until marriage.
No exceptions.
Not even a chaste courtship with Ino—the good-natured, boy-next-door who played acoustic guitar for the church choir—was allowed.
You still cringe thinking about the first (and last) time he bought you a popsicle from the ice cream truck one summer. Of course, your mother snatched it right out of your hands then gave you both a scathing 10-minute lecture on how popsicles are a ‘slippery slope to orally sinning.’
You’d say she put the fear of God into Ino, but honestly?
Ino seemed way more afraid of your mother than of God—especially with the way he’s avoided you like some biblical plague ever since.
Not that you were too heartbroken.
Sure, Ino liked you. Like a lot.
But you mostly just liked the idea of being liked.
Still, the fact remains that beggars can’t be choosers and Ino is sweet enough that you would’ve let him be your first kiss.
With a sigh, you shut your bedroom door—not that it mattered when it didn't even lock.
Your mother has a sixth sense for depravity and always knows the worst possible moment to barge in.
You can’t even goon in peace.
So something perfectly normal for a nineteen-year-old—like a vibrator? Yeah, no.
You’d never risk bringing one into the house. Your mom wouldn’t just ground you—she’d send you straight back to the Lord himself.
Tossing your hoodie on your desk, you dig through your drawers for your favorite sleep shirt: the faded one that says Crystal Lake Camp. The yellow, worn cotton is basically the closest thing you own to illicit contraband.
It used to belong to a hot camp counselor at the church-run summer camp your parents dumped you in last year, hoping it would “instill moral character.”
(Spoiler: it didn’t.)
Thankfully, every camper and counselor got the same oversized shirt, so it was easy to swipe Counselor Kashimo’s from the laundry pile without anyone noticing.
And yeah... you shamelessly didn’t wash it for like a month. Not until the woodsy, storm-soaked scent of the punky, blue-haired hunk faded completely.
Nostalgia clings to it like old cologne as you change and enter your bathroom.
Sigh. Your nightly routine is as dull as ever. Brushing your teeth on autopilot, you rinse and glance up at the mirror. Gaze catching on your reflection, you just stare.
Same tired eyes. Same boring hair. Same pouty lips, still tasting faintly of berry chapstick—untouched by anyone else’s.
Well, anyone real. (Doesn’t hurt to stay ready, though.)
While staring in the mirror you often imagine Suguru Geto—your school’s unnervingly charming student council president—standing behind you, just out of frame. One hand ghosting over your neck, the other trailing down your spine as he leans in to whisper something unhinged in that smooth, reverent voice of his.
You don’t even need to close your eyes to picture it.
You’ve rehearsed this scene so many times before in your dreams you can practically see him in the mirror behind you.
A familiar heat pools low in your belly as you quickly flip off the light and exit the bathroom.
Eee! You’re so horny—you need to get to bed like asap!
Your panties are already soaked, clinging to your heat as you kill the light and melt into the mattress—settling in like a seasoned whore slipping into her usual spot on the curb, ready for the night.
Daydreams are one thing—but lucid dreams? A whole different beast.
Vividly visceral, they’re the only place you start living the way you were meant to. There you can flirt like a slut, wear skirts with nothing underneath and kiss boys your mother would definitely deem to be demons.
And in your dreams? They might as well be devils.
Bending you over desks, pinning you to lockers, in their hedonistic hunger they are too down to stuff you full at the drop of a hat—usually more than one of them at the same time too.
You smile to yourself, already squirming just from thinking about your favorite senior boys who make up the main cast of your delusional dream harem.
First up—
Toji Fushiguro—quarterback of the football team, built like he does prison workouts for fun (which is convenient as prison is exactly where everyone thinks he’ll end up).
He’s got a sexy scar on his lip, a black ‘67 Impala he calls “Baby” and allegedly a secret kid according to the rumors.
You’re pretty sure he’s repeated a year or two if not flunked out entirely—no one’s ever seen him in a class. Moonlighting as the school’s resident plug, Toji just shows up to deal, wreck the other team on game days and rail a cheerleader in the parking lot before dipping. As long as he keeps winning, no one seems to care.
The only place to reliably spot Toji is at his part-time gig at the local auto shop. You started tagging alone so much your dad thinks you’ve developed an interest in cars—but really, your interest lay in seeing Toji. You know without fail, the second your dad’s back is turned, Toji will tower over you wearing that deadly smirk and ask if you need anything “checked under the hood” while he licks his thumb like he’s prepping it just for you.
He’s grimy and disgusting.
Far beneath any self-respecting standards of the modern woman.
And yet?
You’d let him raw dog secret baby #2 into you—no questions asked.
Even so, you could only imagine the shotgun marriage your parents would force upon you so a much safer option would be…
Gojo Satoru—the basketball star that’s six feet of snowy-haired chaos with dazzling crystalline eyes and a mouth that never shuts up.
He has no concept of the term “inside voices” and half of what he says is utter nonsense. Yet somehow the devastatingly attractive goofball still manages to be the school’s resident heartthrob.
Once you ran into him while he was skipping class on your way back from the bathroom. Thinking he’d ignore you, you were completely blindsided when he complimented your Digimon keychain like it was the coolest thing he’d ever seen—right before having the audacity to ask if he could borrow your hall pass.
And of course—like the absolute simp you are—you handed it over without a second thought before he could even finish the question.
Pleased, Gojo purred out a thanks with a wink, tongue peaking out between his lips
And then you blacked out.
No, seriously—like full-on collapsed.
You came to twenty minutes later in the nurse’s office with a goose egg on your forehead and Gojo looming over you amused as fuck at you giving him an actually legit reason to skip class.
Now he calls you ‘anemic girl’ in the halls and occasionally tosses you a hard candy like you’re some random stray he adopted. He’s given you 16 so far and you’ve kept every single one—carefully hoarded like relics—in a shoebox shrine under your bed.
Obviously.
Although there is never a dull moment around Gojo’s chaotic energy, sometimes you crave a little order. Someone more on the straight and narrow to keep you on track. Someone like…
Nanami Kento—head of the disciplinary committee.
Nanami is the only senior who people sometimes mistake for an actual teacher as he dresses like he already has 3 kids and holds down a grueling 9-to-5. One thing is for sure though, those khaki slacks that Nanami wears are most definitely working overtime as they have absolutely no business showing off just how double-cheeked up he is (and still being within the dress code).
Nanami carries a clipboard stacked with half-pre-filled detention slips like he’s just waiting for someone to fuck up. His moral compass is so rigid it could be registered as a weapon.
And if the outline in his pants is any indication—so could his dick.
One morning, you were sprinting through the halls, already late, when Nanami caught you. Flushed and fumbling, you spat out some half-baked excuse about helping a teacher.
Nanami didn’t blink. Just stared right through you like he’d already clocked your piss-poor lie and filed it and you under ‘pathetic’.
Yet in a rare show of mercy, noting your otherwise perfect attendance, he simply adjusted his glasses and let you off with a cool, “don’t let it happen again.”
You could’ve cried in relief—which, in hindsight, would’ve been way less humiliating.
Instead, nerves had you whimpering out a needy, “Y-Yes, sir.”
It was the one time you ever saw him falter—just briefly—before he smoothed it over, raising a single brow. But the faint curl of his smirk and the darkening heat in his eyes as he turned away nearly brought you to your knees.
You would’ve gladly taken in-school detention and correction right then and there—which, unfortunately, left you fantasizing whether Nanami detentions come with safewords.
Still, there were times when the thought of answering to anyone in your already sheltered life felt suffocating—and that’s when you craved someone more free-spirited. Enter...
Choso Kamo—the art freak burnout with a facetat, who’s always “getting air” behind the gym with the other stoners, the smell of weed and acrylic paint always trailing behind him.
Notorious for that pale, sleepless Edward Cullen look, Choso’s eyebags all but screamed he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since leaving the womb. And if expecting him to sparkle didn’t keep you staring at him more than the whiteboard during class, the way he toys with his labret piercing using his tongue barbell definitely did the trick.
You’ve watched him do it enough during fifth period to know—deep in your depraved little soul—that he eats pussy like it’s his last fucking meal.
But the most disarming thing about him?
That brooding emo-boy exterior melts into golden retriever sweetness any time he talks about his younger siblings.
Surprisingly sentimental, you once caught him tearing up at his locker over a crayon drawing his little brother Yuji hid in his lunch bag, along with the message to—“half a gud dae at skool :)” scrawled in glitter gel pen. When you handed him a tissue, he looked up at you with glassy puppy-dog eyes and whispered a broken, “Thanks,” like you’d just saved his life.
You can’t decide if you want to wreck him or swaddle him but either way?
Choso is your Roman Empire.
And finally…
Suguru Geto—class president. What healthy ovulating girl didn’t want Suguru?
Smart, commanding and terrifyingly magnetic—Suguru’s morning announcements feel more like political rallies. He’s got the presence of a world leader and the aptitude of someone who’d absolutely start a murderous apocalyptic sex cult.
One that you’d be first in line to pledge yourself to, collar, chains and all.
Especially when he smiles that polite, unnervingly deliberate smile.
Geto is always top of the class. Always ten steps ahead.
Like he could correctly guess the color of your panties—and then know exactly how to talk you out of them for "the cause."
Your parents might’ve put you off religion, but you’d still worship at his altar any day of the week—even if he was Damien in the flesh, horns tucked beneath that gorgeous spill of raven hair.
One time during an assembly, Suguru stated that, “devotion breeds obedience”—while staring dead at you.
Your panties haven’t been dry since.
All-in-all, with such a powerful teen dream starting lineup, of course it made the perfect sleepy-time goon fodder
Or at least—it used to.
Then the deaths started.
Peculiar ones. Grotesque in that slasher-movie kind of way that even left investigators rattled.
Too violent to be self-inflicted, yet no signs of forced entry, no murder weapon, no DNA—no trace of anything, really.
Like their dreams themselves were killing them.
The few who survived long enough to wake up? None of them stayed sane. Every single one was institutionalized. And all of them raving about the same thing: A pink-haired monster who crawled into their heads and twisted their worst fears into blood-soaked nightmares.
The only thing anyone could confirm? It only happens while asleep.
And it wasn’t just at night either.
A girl in your Biology lab—Riko—nearly jammed a scalpel into her own temple, convinced there was a giant bug burrowing into her brain.
She would’ve done it too, if class president Suguru hadn’t reacted fast enough—snatching her wrist and shaking her awake just in time.
Soon all over town, whispered rumors and wild theories began spreading like wildfire.
The cops blamed a new wave of hallucinogenic drugs.
Churchgoers (your mother included) pointed fingers at violent video games and action movies.
But the older folks, the ones who’d lived here long enough to know where the skeletons of the town were buried, blamed something else entirely—a curse.
An ancient and particularly malevolent one at that.
The local folklore of the town’s founding told of a vengeful spirit—one from an evil man from nearly a thousand years ago who could control the souls of others.
One who was burned, quartered and his body sealed away for his blasphemous sorcery.
Supposedly, he wasn’t even from the area and among the founding settlers of your town were the guardians of the sealed parts and they scattered his remains across it.
But these were just stories. Just silly hoodoo.
Or it was until Yu Haibara died. The pastor’s son.
Bright, kind and beloved with no moral vices nor enemies to blame—that’s when the fearful frenzy truly hit.
Yet somewhere in all the chaos, someone suggested a desperate, off-the-cuff fix—Dreamless sleep.
And shockingly?
It worked.
The deaths stopped. Just like that.
Naturally, what followed was a strict curfew along with mandatory, state-distributed, sleeping pills were handed out to every teen in town. The heavy stuff—the kind that shoved you right past REM and into a dreamless, black void.
No dreams meant no monsters.
No monsters? No mysterious murders.
Unfortunately for you, it also meant no wet dreams.
It’s been almost a week since your last one and you’re on the verge of crashing tf out.
Forget killer nightmares—at this point, it’s the built‑up tension in your core that feels lethal.
Your one escape—poof, gone. Just like that.
God, you miss getting railed in every depraved way your real life refuses to allow.
Unlike the rest of the town—currently drowning in shared hysteria—you’re keeping your head.
Thankfully, you literally just covered something like this in your psych textbook.
To you, the “dream murders” sound like a perfect storm of sleepwalking, mass panic and one very real killer no one’s caught yet. You’re not about to knock yourself unconscious any longer while everyone else plays catch‑up.
So tonight? You don’t take the pill.
The second your mother’s back is turned, you spit it into your mint tin for safekeeping.
You’d flush them, but hey—never know when they’ll come in handy.
Maybe once this all blows over, you’ll spike your parents’ nightly chamomile and finally sneak out.
Toji did say to stop by if you were ever in need of a tune‑up… and you wouldn’t mind letting him pop your hood—among other things.
Settling deeper into your pillows, you release a few cleansing breaths. You’re too eager to see who your subconscious picks tonight—or maybe something more collaborative?
Yeah.
A gangbang sounds like the perfect ‘welcome back’. Every hole and limb filled, twisted into tools of pleasure, used exactly like the desperate little slut you are.
With a hum you close your eyes and allow your mind to drift into sleep. There’s no way you could’ve known that the thing haunting this town wasn’t just real—it had locked onto you the moment your brain dared to fall into REM.
Inside of your dream world, you awake in the boys' locker room.
Nice.
Looks like you’re getting that gangbang after all.
Although you're no stranger to the boys’ locker room in your dreams, something about this time feels off.
The rows of lockers stretch farther than they should, looming taller, their metal faces dull and streaked with grime. Overhead, the lights flicker with a jaundiced glow, casting jagged shadows across pale concrete walls. The air buzzes with the sputter of dying ventilation and reeks of damp metal, mold, and something almost bloody.
Technically, it’s the same room. But it feels... wrong.
Too quiet. Too empty. Like a space between spaces.
Then again, it is the boys’ locker room—nobody expects it to smell like a field of lilies.
Then you glance down at your outfit.
No cheer skirt. No pom-poms.
No thigh-highs, chokers, or themed S&M ensemble.
Just the ratty Camp Crystal Lake sleep shirt you passed out in.
Yeah… that’s definitely not normal.
“Hey, cutie…”
Oh!
Eagerly, you shove the weird vibes to the back of your mind the second you hear a familiar voice echo behind you. The setting was never the main event in your dreams anyway—you’d fuck on a cardboard box in an alley if the dick was good.
“…ya know you’re not supposed to be in here.”
Fresh off the court and glistening, Gojo rakes a hand through the messy white strands clinging to his forehead. With the other, he lifts the hem of his jersey just enough to wipe the sweat from his face.
“…but I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Your eyes trail down his exposed waist, savoring the definition of his glistening abs. You follow them as they dip into a deep V-line, the waistband of his shorts hanging dangerously low, teasing tufts of well-kept fuzz.
Gojo chuckles, clearly enjoying the way you’re eye-fucking him like he’s girl dinner.
“See something you like, doll?”
He winks.
Thank god you never pass out in dreamland, although you do erupt in shameless giggles out of glee of seeing Gojo.
Of all your guys lately, Gojo’s been showing up the most—your unofficial dream boyfriend.
So you’ve gotten used to this version of him—Dreamjo, as you’ve dubbed him.
No doubt nerfed by your subconscious, your brain probably built this version of him off that one time he called your Digimon keychain “sick as hell”—which means the man has serious dork potential.
Real-life Gojo? A walking ego-trip in Airforces.
Dreamjo? Still cocky, but also nerdy and endlessly down bad.
And you do mean endlessly.
Whether he’s center stage or getting gleefully cucked by the rest of your lineup, he plays his part.
So no—you’re not even a little mad that he’s the first to greet you after your dream drought.
“You missed my game again.” Gojo pouts, swaggering toward you until your back hits the lockers with a hollow clang. “Hard to focus on the court without my lucky charm in the stands... dressed like my personal guardian angel in that slutty Angewomon cosplay.”
You roll your eyes.
You’ve never actually worn the cosplay—even in your dreams. It’s just one of those weird lore bits your subconscious cooked up for him and now Dreamjo won’t let it go.
But that’s part of the fun—letting your mind run wild, turning fantasy into fact.
Whatever. This is your dream.
Your rules.
And Dreamjo? He always falls in line.
“Urgh, just shut up and fuck me, Toru!”
You mean it to sound commanding—but it comes out breathy, desperate and you can’t keep up the femdom act for long.
“C’mon… let’s hit the showers. You’re already filthy.” You whine as your hands roam his sweat-slick abs, fingers slipping under his jersey to grope at his pecs.
Gojo groans, gripping your waist, before dipping lower to mold his hands into your fleshy bare bottom.
“Mmm, so you did miss me…” His voice is hot against your ear, lips brushing your lobe before he nips at it. “Y’know it’s been even longer for me... especially since you cucked me last time.”
If you weren’t already feral, that line might’ve given you pause—lore aside, your dreams always reset.
But you’re so hard up your brain automatically switches off when his long fingers ghost over your already soaked folds.
Your mouth crashes on his, hungry and impatient, making Gojo groan into the kiss. Lifting you with ease, he carries you toward the showers.
Expecting to be pinned to a tile wall with steamy water pouring over you—you blink in confusion when Gojo sets you on a bench, a wild gleam in his eyes.
“Aht-aht… I’m the messy one, baby. But you’re not dirty enough for a shower. Not yet, at least.”
Great. Even your own mind is edging you.
Not that you don’t love Dreamjo’s games—his teasing is half the fun. But tonight?
You’re wound far too tight to mess around.
“C’mon, princess. Get nasty for me, please? And I’ll fuck you just how you like it.”
You pout for show but of course, you already know what he wants. Dreamjo’s wired into the most crazed parts of your subconscious afterall.
Gojo peels off his jersey and tosses it at you.
Catching it on reflex, the jersey is damp with sweat and adrenaline. You don’t hesitate to pull your own top off and slide it on instead.
Urgh, the oversized fabric soaked in jock pheromones feels clammy and damp against your skin. Sick.
And yet somehow your pussy’s even wetter than before as you bury your nose in the material, inhaling like it’s life support.
“That’s it,” Gojo breathes, voice thick as he palms his cock through his shorts. “Take a nice, lonnnnng whiff, babydoll.”
Gojo’s musky amber scent hits like a slap: the tang of salt and heat with an undercurrent of something primal. You squirm on the bench, thighs rubbing together, belly molten with slow, coiling heat.
“Heh, now turn around and show me how messy my nasty girl’s pussy gets sniffing my musty jersey.”
You think about mouthing off, maybe rolling your eyes—but the way his scent is sinking into your skin brain makes it impossible to deny him anything.
“Toruuuuu….” You whimper out complaints, but you obey—because the sheer depravity of it only makes you more desperate to be fucked.
Turning around, knees digging into the bench, you lift Gojo’s jersey around your hips.
The basketball hunk whimpers out a moan as you arch—back bowed, cunt spread—two fingers parting your folds. A thick string of slick drips from you, glossy and obscene, smearing on the bench beneath you.
Glancing over your shoulder, you catch the sight of his shorts hitting the floor—his cock already leaking globs of pre as he strokes himself slowly, eyes glued to the gorgeous mess between your thighs.
“C’mon, my pretty goonette princess…” Gojo as groans his own need seeps through. “T-Touch yourself…”
Turning back around to face the lockers, your fingers circle your fluttering hole, gathering creamy juices to smear on your clit.
“S’toruuu c’mon… am I not wet enough for you yet.” You slur out his name, trembling with raw need to feel his thick cock inside you.
Exposed to the air, you squirm, the cool draft making your muscles spasm as you fight to keep yourself spread.
“Jus’ a second, doll…,” Gojo pants out. He’s so close now you can feel his warm breath tickle your soppy folds, “...lemme get a better look.”
The sounds of a lewd schlick-schlick, fill the room as Gojo fists his cock. You’re tempted to groan remembering how stupid sensitive he is—almost as bad as Dreamcho (Choso)—who often busted from just one look at your sloppy pussy.
Gojo better not fuck around and cum before actually stuck his dick in you.
“Hurry up, ’Toru n’ fuck me before you c—”
You freeze as warm liquid splashes your backside as wet gurgles bubble up behind you.
He came.
Urgh fuck—fine.
You’re taking matters into your own hands now. You’ll just have to ride his twitchy, oversensitive cock until it’s hard again, no matter how much he cries or begs for mercy.
Wait. You’re cooking, not a bad plan, all things considered.
As much as you wanted to be manhandled, bent over and used like his personal onnahole—there’s something equally delicious about wrecking Satoru. Riding him half-hard while he sobs under you, limbs quivering from overstimulation, his cock slipping in and out of your creamy cunny before you grind your clit against the feathery soft hair on his pubic bone.
Yup, you’ll take it—you’re still gonna give him plenty shit about it though.
“Toruuuu! You dummy, I told you not to—”
Whipping around, you stop when you don’t see him.
He’s gone.
What?! He was just right behind you!
Wiping a hand over your backside, you roll your eyes when your fingers come back slicked in thick red liquid.
Blood.
Oh. My. God—did that dork seriously get a nosebleed before even putting it in again!?
Well… wouldn’t be the first time the little perv squirted blood mid-thrust trying not to cum too fast.
But where the hell did he go?
Not like you can see anything now with steam rolling in the area like a tsunami, swallowing everything until the whole room’s bathed in a sickly haze.
Looking around frantically you spot it: a single bloody footprint leading deeper into the locker room.
Okay. That’s way too much blood for a nosebleed.
Your stomach tightens.
“S’toru?” you call, voice pitching high. “It’s okay, I’m not mad! Wouldn’t be the first time you bled all over me…”
Shit. Maybe the sleeping pills are still in your system, messing with your ability to lucid dream. Or maybe your poor, dick-deprived subconscious has finally snapped.
Okay. This dream is officially a bust.
And with nothing to show for all that buildup with Gojo, there’s no way in hell you can stay still. Your hips rock against the bench, chasing friction like a dog in heat.
No, girl—focus!
You sit up, close your eyes, force a breath.
With a shaky sigh, your fingers snake back between your thighs—just a few light circles. Just enough to quiet the needy throb at your clit so you can concentrate.
“Okay. Malaysia. Beach. Gangbang. Any guy—go!” You chant it under your breath like a spell.
Nevertheless when you open your eyes, you’re still in the same musty old locker room full of steam.
Fuck. Well at least the blood’s gone.
But Satoru is too, every single trace as realize you’re right back in your old sleep shirt.
What the actual fuck!?
BANG!
You jump as a loud crash echoes from the far entrance near the football field.
Heavy footsteps drag as the sound of metal screeches like nails on a chalkboard.
“Toji?!” you call out. Though your gut’s already telling you that’s no football cleat.
The steps stop.
Silence.
The hiss of steam thickens it’s angrier and choking what little visibility you have left in front of you.
BAM!
A locker slams shut—closer this time.
You squeak, heart jackhammering... but your fingers don’t stop.
They move faster now, shaking with horny panic, the tension somehow is making you even hotter.
God, you just want some cock is that too much to ask!?
“T-Tojiiii…daddy? Is that you? I’m really pent up—come fuck n’ me already…”
Still no answer.
Fuck—maybe if you could just get off a lil, maybe you could reset this weird dream spiral?
“Toji, stop playing around! I’m serious—I’ll…urgh, I’ll even eat your ass this time…how does that sound?!”
Yeah, you were getting pretty fucking desperate alright if eating that caveman’s ass was now on the table.
A low growl resounds through the locker room just as the lights above stutter—then flicker violently.
Then—
Blackout.
Every bulb dies at once… except one.
It buzzes overhead, flickering weakly, drowning you in static and shadows. A singular light casts you in rouge.
The rest of the room disappears into heavy black fog.
Unnerving? Sure.
BUT—the red haze reminds you of something.
That sleazy adult video store you snuck into when your parents allowed you to visit your aunt’s place in the city for your bday—who, frankly, didn’t give a single rat’s ass what a nineteen-year-old got up to.
The place was sensory overload—neon buzzing like a live wire, shelves of sex toys and cursed DVDs. You remember the sticky faux‑leather peep booth seat, the moaning through the wall—and that flicker of real flesh on the other side of the viewfinder.
And now?
It’s like you’re the star. On display. Center stage.
And the idea of one of your dream boys dragging you into a sleazy backroom for a “demo”… yeah, you’re already dripping for it.
Your fear slips the leash, devoured by the hunger igniting in your core.
Well you might as well put on a show then!
Your frame control is shaky, but you force it—closing your eyes and gritting your teeth until it appears in your hand: a long, fat, ridged pink dildo. It’s curved just right for maximum g-spot stimulation and features a giant knot sitting atop two heavy balls at the base.
Sigh. It’s a start.
“Looks like I’ll just have to fuck myself againnnn, if no one wants to put their big fat cock in my wet lil holeeee!” you shout into the haze, voice frustrated with need.
Equipped too with a suction at the bottom, you hurriedly slam it down onto the metal bench as you straddle it. Steeling yourself, thighs trembling, you sink down—inch by greedy inch—until a desperate moan tears from your gut.
You’re being extra loud on purpose, hoping someone hears. Anyone.
Oh sweet relief! The ridges scrape perfectly along your walls. Building up more pleasure, you tweak your nipples, moaning again as they stiffen with every flick.
Not enough.
Dropping your hips hard, the toy slides in deep with a wet, obscene squelch, knot popping past your entrance, stretching you wide.
“Mother-fuck!”
Spasming around it, you feel a wave of release rippling through you.
But even gasping, hunched over on the bench, your thighs clenching—
You wouldn’t be satisfied with mere solo play.
“Slutty ass nerd, ya mean you couldn’t even wait f’er me, ma?”
Relief washes over you—Toji!
Oh thank fuck!
Finally, sweet salvation.
Wet from the showers, water carving down golden skin and sculpted muscle to soak into the towel slung low on his hips, tented over his girth.
He looks positively delectable coming out of the fog.
And unlike Dreamjo, Dreamji didn’t fuck around—he just fucked.
Except… something’s wrong again.
Argh! You try to shove the thought away—desperate to stay in the moment—but then you see it.
The scar.
It’s on the left. It’s supposed to be on the right.
You’re not Toji.
The second the thought crystallizes, the illusion ruptures.
To your horror, Toji's skin begins to bubble like wax in a furnace, melting off in thick, gleaming globs. His flesh is sloughing off from the bone, muscles bulging as his left side bursts open, a chuck missing from his torso.
You scream, unable to move—still speared on the knotted toy, legs paralyzed. Your hands fly to your face, eyes clenched shut like a child praying the monster away.
The air fizzes with something sinister as you fight to reboot your dream once more.
Yet when you dare peek one eye open.
The locker room is normal again.
Pristine and silent, no corpse, no red blood nor haze.
But your heart seizes as realization sinks that you are not alone.
A foreign presence consumes the room. It’s overwhelmingly oppressive.
For a moment you struggle to even breathe under its weight.
Then a voice cuts through the silence, soaked in venomous delight that grips you in feat.
“Figures the only other person in this pathetic town who knows how to control their dreams is a filthy little whore.”
A masculine figure steps into view.
There’s a bleeding red aura clinging to him as he looms above the lockers—eight feet of muscle and malice—shoulders squared beneath a haori that drapes from him prominently like a war banner. His chest is bare, skin the color of desert stone, marred with old scars and writhing with black markings—symmetrical, like incantations meant to cage something.
There’s just too much of him. Too much presence. Too much mass. Too many arms.
Wait—four? Four!?
You count again, just to be sure—fuck.
Yep. Still four. Each one outfitted with razor sharp claws too.
Yet most striking of all is his face—almost beautiful in a twisted, uncanny way. Four fiery crimson eyes glower down at you. Two in the right place. Two more set in a mangled, flesh-twisted mask along his right cheekbone.
Buffer than Toji.
Taller than Gojo.
More tattoos than Choso.
And with a commanding presence that would put both Nanami and Geto to shame.
Oh, this creature is giving major demon daddy vibes …and is that?
Holy Shit.
Your eyes widen at the monstrous grin stretching across his stomach—teeth jagged like carved ivory, lips peeled back around an obscenely meaty, drooling tongue.
Okay….This is definitely not where you thought the dream was going.
Your imagination is good—but this?
This had to be aftereffects from the pills. You haven’t even been allowed to watch enough sci‑fi or fantasy to dream of something this elaborate.
But one thing’s for certain—you abso-fucking-lutely have a monster-fucking kink now.
Sukuna growls as he stalks forward toward you, moving in the space like gravity bends for him alone.
“One, two…Sukuna the Curse King’s coming for you.”
Releasing a shrill cry, your pussy pulses feverishly around the dildo inside of you—shit you almost came from just looking at him—omg, how humiliating! (although you now sympathize a bit more with Dreamjo and Dreamcho).
Watching you wiping spittle off of your chin, with damn-near hearts in your eyes, Sukuna’s upper lip curls as he feels your fear lessening the closer he gets.
“Couthless woman.” Sukuna sneers. “Did you hear what the fuck I said?”
You nod rapidly, biting your lip, every nerve in your body screaming for you to run is easily overpowered by your pussy practically sobbing for you to stay.
“Uh‑huh,” you breathe excitedly, eyes still focused on that vulgar looking tongue flicking out from his stomach, “I, uh—something about you… cumming in me?”
Sukuna stops dead in his tracks, blinking with all four eyes.
“…You—What? No, whore. I said I’m coming for you, brat—as in I’m going to fucking kill you.”
Lost in your arousal, your dream brain doesn’t register the actual threat—it just chalks it up to your slutty-ass subconscious cooking up its most diabolical scenario yet.
Guess you weren’t so immune to the hysteria after all, well might as well enjoy it.
“Yeah—demon daddy, mmm fuck—murder this pussy!” you moan, desperate to swap the plastic for cock inside you for a real one.
If the rest of him was any indication, his dick would be like a goddamn tree trunk.
Oh you’d break for sure.
You can’t wait!
“Demon?” Sukuna snarls, eyes flashing. “I’m a curse, you insolent brat.”
With a lazy flick of his claw, a gash splits open across your thigh.
The pain hits instantly. You scream as blood gushes—hot, thick, and far too real.
“Keh. Figures,” Sukuna sneers. “Bet if I cracked open that slutty little skull, all that’d ooze out is cum.”
A white-hot bolt of agony surges through you leaving your nerves tangled in something raw and electric. Confusion coils tight in your gut as the pain on some level feels exhilarating.
Shit. Knife play too? Really?
You’d laugh at your ever-expanding kink list if you weren’t seconds from blacking out.
The pain doesn’t fade, it gets worse.
No dream logic. No mercy failsafe. Nothing kicks in to soothe it.
Okay, this is getting a lil too real.
Frantic, you clamp your eyes shut, trying to force him out. Force the pain away.
But it’s still there—throbbing louder, sharper, deeper.
There's a siren blaring through your soul. Telling you something’s pushing in, peeling apart your dream from the inside out, cracking open your subconscious like a ribcage.
And the more you resist, the more it hurts.
Your breath falters. Your chest tightens.
All that shit you brushed off—the whispers, the rumors, the monster hiding in the dreams?
It’s real.
“Bingo, you ditzy whore,” Sukuna purrs evilly. “Finally catching on? If I kill you here—in your dream—you die for real.”
Your eyes fly open, breath hitching.
He’s inside your thoughts too?!
“Of course I am.” Sukuna’s grin widens.
“If I can crawl into these vapid, dick-obsessed dreams of yours, I can root around wherever else I like as well. There’s nothing you can hide from me.”
Those last words bypass your ears entirely—hot and sticky, slithering straight into the depths of your mind.
“I don’t just know your fears... I bathe in them.”
Well damn…
“Ahhh, so you get it now,” Sukuna drawls, laughter echoing off the lockers.
“You’re fucked—and not the kind you’re so desperate for. But don’t fret. One of us’ll enjoy it, pet. I’ll take my time… peeling the ski—”
“Wait!” You throw your hands up—palms out, halting.
“Sorry—, not to interrupt but... speaking of fucked...,” you cut in, words tumbling as your brain trips over the spiral it's in. “Just walk with me here—let’s say you did actually fuck me—would I lose my v-card in real life too?”
Sukuna stops. Not dramatically. Not ominously. Just... stops.
His whole face slackens in unfiltered disgust that anyone could have terminal brainrot to this degree without quite literally being braindead.
To add insult to injury, you simply blink up at him in earnest, like you actually expected him to take that obscene drivel seriously.
You had to be categorically insane.
Sukuna grits his teeth. “Exactly what in the fuck is wrong with you, woman?”
You have to fight to suppress a giggle at that—beacause honestly?
A lot.
But you do not have the time—nor emotional bandwidth—to unpack all of that right now. Not when the only problem you care about is still leaking so audaciously around the knotted dildo still lodged inside of you.
“Look, uh, Sukuna, right? This cut sucks,” you wince poking at it, “but I’m still not totally sure you’re real. I’m like, 85–90% there.”
You cross your arms, unconvinced. “There’s just this stubborn little 10% whispering that I made you up to rail me. I mean… there’s a mouth on your tummy for crying out loud! Why else would you have a tongue that big if I’m not supposed to ride it!?”
Sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, resisting the urge to slam his head into the nearest locker.
You have no idea how powerful your dreams are. Consuming your soul would amount to dozens of others. Your subconsciousness is a loaded weapon—and you’ve turned it into a hedonistic fuck circus, it’s pitfull.
“It’s to tear the flesh off the bones of women and children before I devour them.”
Sukuna roars, the sound shaking the lockers with unseen force. The mouth on his stomach splits wider—dagger-like teeth bared, tongue thrashing like a whip—clearly meant to terrify you.
Unfortunately for him, all it does is make you cream harder around the dildo as you tilt your head, genuinely considering it.
“Mmm. Yeah, okay I can see that too—but it honestly looks wayyyyy better suited to devouring pussy and breeding children, Curse Daddy.”
Curse Daddy!?
Sukuna lets out a guttural snarl as his aura lashes out in fury—but it’s no use.
If he had the power to kill your infuriating ass, he would’ve done it ten minutes ago.
But it’s been a week since he last fed.
The whole town’s gone dark—one big dreamless dead-zone.
And you?
Even with fear buzzing under your skin, your brain short-circuits the second you look at him. There’s no room for survival instincts in that slutty little head of yours.
Just one thought on loop:
What his monstrous tongue, thick n’ velvety, would feel like thrashing inside of your pussy, flicking at your cervix.
For once, the Curse King is at a loss.
He’s fed on nightmares for centuries.
Roamed the minds of tyrants, zealots, serial killers—hell, even a few professional whores.
But never—not once—has he met a creature so catastrophically, proudly down bad.
Did you never leave your house?!
“With my mom? Tuh. I’m lucky she lets me go to school,” you snort, catching his thoughts.
You grin as his face falters.
“Figured if you’re poking around in my brain, I could poke around in yours. It’s called home field advantage, Curse Daddy. You’re in my dream, remember?”
Malice hums in the air and the tile beneath Sukuna’s feet cracks.
But you don’t flinch.
Because Sukuna has already said too much and upon that confirmation the power dynamics decidingly shift.
“Anyway, judging by how much this fucking leg hurts, I’m bumping you up to a solid 99.9% real. And since you’ve already murdered your way through half this shithole town, you already know how ass-backwards it is.”
You press on.
“Hate to break it to you, Curse King—but your reign of terror? Yeah, that’s over. Everyone’s doped up on prescription elephant tranquilizers. Nobody’s dreaming about anything anymore.”
Sukuna growls something under his breath about modern bullshit—how no tincture or herb in his time ever blocked dreams, only enhanced them.
“I’m SAYIN’!” You throw your hands up, equally annoyed. “We need our dreams! I haven’t been properly fucked in a week and it’s starting to show!”
Your leg throbs, pulsing hard enough to break your focus.
Wincing, you groan and slowly lean forward, using the leverage of your body weight to slide off the dildo. There’s a salacious pop that echoes once you are free of it, catching Sukuna’s attention as his eyes track the tantalizing trail of slick shimmering as it drip-drops down your plush thighs.
Indecorous slut.
Yet staring a moment too long, Sukuna’s eyes immediately flick to your face.
Oop, busted! You smirk. “Anyway, if you’re really just a dream demo—”
“Dream curse,” Sukuna sneers. “I’m The Curse King, you crude little cumdump.”
“Right,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.
Big difference.
“So, as I was saying—If you kill me, you lose your only power source. You feed off nightmares—but you’re still standing here, aren’t you? That means you can survive in normal dreams too. So if I’m gone then you’ll fade away, huh?”
You cross your legs and fold your hands in your lap, playing fake diplomat which leaves Sukuna scowling at you harder.
“Let’s cut a deal, then!”
Sukuna narrows his gaze but allows you to continue, he had little choice otherwise.
“I let you squat in my dreams—for now. But no nightmares. No trying to murder me nor anyone else, seems fair, right?”
Sukuna scoffs at you, all four of his arms crossing. “Tell me why the fuck would I want to squat in some horny brat’s cock-crazed delusions?”
“Because you’d be alive, jackass! Uh.. and maybe…” You clear your throat. “...maybe I could make it worth your while?”
Sukuna glares at you menacingly, seeing your pathetic attempts at tempting him.
“If I have to suffer, so do you,” he snarls. “And you think, someone as powerful as I would stoop to fucking some sad twitchy virgin who’s desperate for male validation?”
Biting your inner cheek, you bristle, your hands clenching into fists as you stand to face him, bare and bloodied.
“I never said I wanted your approval, you dream creeper!”
Sukuna laughter is full of dark amusement.
“No, you didn’t—and yet that vulgar ass cunt of yours is practically penning me a puddle of love poems every time you glance at my stomach.”
You don’t need to look down to know he’s right.
Yet the vibes are still undoubtedly set to ‘fuck this guy’ as your indignation builds.
“You’re nothing but a fraud, you know that!?”
Rage, arousal, and defiance crackle through you like live wires.
“You couldn’t kill me even if you tried. You’re too weak. You’re nothing but a big sad bully,” you snap.
“And now that I have an idea of how this whole dream shit works—you don’t even scare me anymore!”
In a flash Sukuna is in front of you. The size-difference apparent as his body dwarfs yours and all light cast upon you.
“So do what you want. Cry. Brood. Fap in the corner for all I care!”
Your determination only grows stronger as you stand your ground, finally assuming your the title of deity of your own subconscious domain.
“Fuck you, because after I fix this leg and I’m going and getting my shit wrecked like I should have been doing all along!”
Because god knows how much time has actually passed—you might have to wake up soon!
You challenge Sukuna, eying him up and down. “And that's worse right? Sentenced to rot slowly, not quite dead but wholly dismissed in the mind of a ‘silly little slut’ who you couldn’t even scare enough to kill.”
For a moment it’s quiet, only your huffs of exertion filling the space.
Then, just as suddenly, the room shakes more violently than before as rows of lockers begin to explode in shockwaves, the ceiling cracking like it might collapse entirely.
Through the chaos and rubble, Sukuna’s eyes glow sharply, locked on your form.
“I’ll kill you yet,” he hisses, “That’s a promise.”
Ignoring him, you fling open the door of a mangled locker that has fallen on its side.
What pours out is an otherworldly light, bright and swirling, reshaping into a portal to the deeper parts of your mind where your real sex-crazed dreams await you.
Glancing back over your shoulder, you blow him a kiss.
“Try it then, Curse King. Let’s see whose kingdom this really is.”
And with that, you step through—the portal vanishing along with you.
The realm rapidly dissolving, Sukuna seethes in the crumbling dark.
𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼? then please 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 or 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠! you can also join my gen. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 or contribute to the 𝐛𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐨$𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐝.
ꉂ a/n: i will release p2 of plug!reader (final edits), incel!naoya, elevator p2 and then come back to this before working on invisible man!gojo. [if i didnt mention it no im not working on it right at this second, yes i do plan to finish it, please don't bug me about it :) ]
accepting p2 tags below (100 cap) if you are already on gen or kinktober list you will be tagged automatically.
WARNINGS: NSFW - MDNI, Pet names, obviously making out and physical contact, suggestive comments and writing, sry if some are shorter or longer...it's not good, i deeply apologize for Itto's part, idk what substances i took for this one. (DW i took none, don't do drugs)
SUMMARY: Making out with your favorite
CHARACTERS: Everyone x F!Reader
WORD COUNT: bestie, a lot you can count if youre bored haha
A/N: wrote more about making out than i ever made out in my life myself
Yoo quimichi many months later haha, Citlali and ect are not in here so sorry about that
Hi quimichi many many months later, never finished this, pls dont be mad i just wanna post some food for ya oki?
Aether
Aether moans into your mouth at the contact, his mouth parting slightly beneath yours, eyes falling shut as he melts against you. His hands reach up to cradle your face, long slender fingers gently caressing your skin.
His lips are softer than rose petal against yours, as though every part of him was crafted for worship. The kiss deepens as Aether opens his mouth further, one of his hands moving to cup the back of your head tenderly, pulling you closer against him. His tongue traces your upper lip, seeking entry into your own mouth. It's hesitant at first, as though he's asking for your permission. But he is growing more sure, more confident, as the moments pass.
His breaths, soft and warm against your skin, come and go like the wind. They carry a sense of reverence, his desire for you almost tangible. "Shit-" you breath out. An amused smile lifts the corners of his lips. "Is something the matter" he murmurs against your mouth. His tongue traces a line down to the pulse point on your neck and he gently bites down. He hums in satisfaction when you shiver.
The sound you make when he bites you goes straight to his core. It's impossible to remain unaffected by you, not under you like this.
His hands roam freely under your clothes, exploring your skin like a new continent. They move with a purpose, mapping out your every curve with reverent fingers. He pushes you down onto the bed, following closely after. His body lies against yours, pressing you into the bedding. One of his hands tangles itself in your hair, gently pulling your head to the side to get better access to your neck.
Albedo
He can barely contain himself. His tongue dances in your mouth like a flame dancing for air, his body trembling wherever he touches you. His hands move in tandem with his mouth, roaming up your sides with a carefulness that says he's scared you'll disappear at any given moment. He presses his body closer to yours, almost as if he's scared a single centimeter of space between bodies will send you away. Albedo's eyes are closed, lost in the sensation of your tongue against his. His breathing is deep and even — almost calming, like the sound of the ocean slowly washing up and down the shore.
He sighs against your mouth, his tongue sliding up against yours with a practiced ease. One of his arms snakes around your waist and draws you closer, pressing you against him until there is no space between your bodies whatsoever. Albedo's teeth nip at your lower lip. They skim across the tender flesh, tugging on it and drawing a soft little gasp from your mouth.
He smiles at that, then moves his mouth away from yours to press a trail of kisses and nips down your neck. He kisses at the bare skin there, his lips moving with the same reverence as his words, his breath warm and heavy against your skin.
"You taste so good."
Amber
Amber leans into you, her touch gentle as she holds your waist. Her eyes flutter shut, a whisper of breath brushing against your lips. Her body fits against you as if she was shaped to be there— perfectly, completely.
"Kiss me," she murmurs, her fingers tangling in your hair. "Please, please..." Amber inhales a sharp breath as your lips meet hers, and then she makes this quiet, soft noise as she melts against you. She pulls you closer, holding you as if you would disappear if she didn't keep you close to her.
Her hand against your cheek, fingers brushing your skin like light on water. She leans into the kiss, pressing against your body, all thoughts in her mind disappearing as she focuses only on you. Amber makes a soft noise, something like a sigh, as you run your fingers through her hair, and a shiver runs through her frame. She gently pulls on your hair, guiding your head to the side. She kisses along your jawline, down your neck, all the way to your collarbone. She pushes you until your back hits something behind you— a wall, a door, anything— and she traps you against it so that she can press against your body. Her hands are everywhere on you— on your shoulders, your waist, your hips, your back— as if she doesn't know which part of you to focus on. She mouths and nipped at your skin, leaving soft marks in her path. She pulls back for a moment, catching her breath, her eyes drinking in the sight of you. She's panting, and her hair's a mess from the way she's tugged at it and tugged at yours, and her lips are swollen from kissing you. She looks disheveled, but in all the best ways. Amber takes a step closer again, and she lets out a low exhale.
"More," she manages to gasp out as she grabs your wrists, pinning you against the wall.
Al-Haitham
His lips are like silk, his hands moving up your sides with a slow, almost reverent touch. He deepens the kiss and pushes you down into the soft sheets, trapping you beneath him with a slow, effortless smile.He moves his lips to your neck, sucking gently at your skin, leaving behind a trail of marks. He whispers against your flesh, his words soft in your ear.
“I adore you,” he rasps. “Look at you beneath me.” He runs his hands down your sides, fingers tracing over every inch of skin he can find. His touch burns like wildfire, and his kisses are as hot as embers. He nips at your skin as he kisses lower, his body moving against yours, his tongue flicking against the hollow of your collarbone. When he hears you say his name, something catches inside him. It’s almost like he’d been waiting to hear you say it, craving the sound of his own name from your lips. He pauses, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before he speaks, his voice a ragged murmur.
“Say it again,” he whispers against your skin. “Say my name again.”
"Al-Haitham..."
He shivers as the sound reaches his ears, his breath catching in his throat. He lets out a shaky inhale and he presses you closer, his hands running down your back. "Again," he whispers in your ear, his voice rough. The words come out as both a request and a plea, and he kisses your skin once more, his tongue tracing a damp line across your collarbone.
"Fuck, say it again."
Arlecchino
Arlecchino buries her face into your shoulder, pressing her face against the crook of your neck. She hums against your skin appreciatively, the vibrations from the sound of her voice shivering down your spine. Her lips brush over the skin of your nape lightly. If she were cat, she’d be purring right now. She’s content to simply hold you in her arms, and do nothing else. She runs her tounge over your neck and trails to your lips. Arlecchinos tongue slides over yours, hot and demanding. Her lips move against yours, biting and sucking in turns. She moans into the kiss, a low, throaty sound that vibrates against your mouth. One of her hands slides under your shirt, fingertips dancing across the skin of your stomach. She pulls you closer to her, her embrace possessive as she holds you tight against her body. “Mine,” she whispers again into your ear. One hand slides up to cradle your jaw, holding you in place with a firm grip. She pulls your head back, exposing your neck.
Arlecchino kisses down your exposed throat, lips brushing over your flesh reverently. She sucks again at the spot on your neck that makes you shiver, and hums appreciatively at the way you squirm against her.
“So sensitive,” she murmurs into your skin. Arlecchino kisses down your pulse point, lips tracing a path down to your collarbone. Her mouth latches onto the skin there, teeth scraping over your flesh.
Ayaka
She melts in your embrace. She lets out a trembling sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan as you pull her into your lap. When she feels your hands on her, they might as well be caressing her soul. Ayaka shifts, turning and wrapping her arms around you. She is shaking against you, almost desperate for you to feel her.
"Please," She whispers. "please… I need you…" Your presence is both intoxicating and addicting. Ayaka feels as if her head had taken on a drunken spin as she sits in your lap, held by your embrace. She lets out a whimper, burying her face in the crook of your neck. Her breath is shaky against your skin, her body trembling. Her mouth finds your skin, kissing and mouthing at it needily. Ayaka whimpers again, melting further into your lap. Her body goes boneless as she lets you kiss her, completely submitting to your touch. No other feeling in the world is more sublime than your lips on her skin.
She moans against you, mouth going slack. Her breathing turns to quiet, laboured pants as you kiss her. "Please," she mumbles, her voice almost pleading. "Please, don't stop…"
Ayato
His hand is at the front of your neck, fingers sliding back into your hair as he kisses you, drawing you close to him. He leans over you, his body pressing you to whatever surface is behind you, while his mouth devours yours over and over again. He nips and teases at your bottom lip, his teeth scraping along it before he soothes your mouth with the flick of his tongue against yours. Ayatos hands seem to be everywhere all at once. One moment they’re in your hair, the next he’s grasping your hips, his grip tight and firm, as if he’s desperate just to feel you. Then he’s pulling you closer, lifting you up so you’re sitting on his lap, and his hands are on your thighs, stroking over the skin there.
He kisses your cheek, down your jaw, and back up again, his lips seeking your skin, desperate to taste you. “You taste so sweet,” Ayato mutters against the skin of your throat. His lips are against your pulse, and he’s murmuring against your skin, his breathing already ragged. He presses the words into your skin as softly as his kisses, as warm as the heat of his body.
“Let me taste more of you.” One of his hands slides under the hem of your shirt, fingers pressing against your skin. He’s everywhere; in your hair, at your neck, trailing kisses over your shoulder, all the while he’s tugging at your shirt, desperate to undress you.
“I have to taste all of you,” he mutters, his voice hoarse and rough like sandpaper.
Baizhu
Baizhu’s arms encircle your waist like a snake coiling about its mate. A noise like a sigh of contentment bubbles in the back of his throat, lost in the sound of your kiss. His glasses threaten to slide off his face at the movement, and he pulls away for a brief moment as the glasses shift, only to be right back against you a heartbeat later. Baizhu is flush. His cheeks are like roses with a fever; he looks as if he’s about to melt beneath your touch.
A breathless gasp leaves his lips when you pull him in again, and his fingers curl in the fabric of your shirt. You can feel the heat of his skin against your own— he’s burning like a fever, his very touch the fire of desire.
“I’ve longed for this.” He’s breathless, every word a mere gasp against your lips. He’s been starved of your love, craving the touch of your hands like a man dying of thirst. It’s all he’s wanted. You, against him, drowning out all other noise in the world with the beating of his heart. “Too busy,” he admits, his words a breathless huff of air. His fingers are tangled in your shirt, pulling you closer with every fiber of his being. “I hate not being with you,” he confesses, a ragged edge to his voice, as if the words are being forced out of him against his will. “Hate it.” Every kiss is another desperate whisper, another admission lost amid the heat and tangle of lips. “I missed you.” The words are soft, spoken with the reverence of a prayer. “I need you, I want you.” He clings to you as if you’re his lifeline, as if he will drown without you being so close.
"You're gonna stay here, for as long as I want you to."
Barbara
Barbara's hands find your shoulders. They are trembling, her grip on you tighter than it ever has been before.
The whine that leaves her as you press her against the wall is desperate, wanton. Her body shakes against you; with you pinning her against the wall, it's as if all her strength and will have deserted her. Barbara has no choice but to submit to you entirely. The wall behind them is cold against her back as your body pins her against it. Her breath hitches in the back of her throat, coming out in soft, shaky gasps.
She can do nothing but whimper into the kiss as you press closer, her trembling fingers curling against your shoulders. "Please," Barbara breathes out, voice catching softly on the single word. She can feel herself growing hot, her knees weakening, struggling to keep her standing. Her hands cling to you like a vice, seeking out anything to anchor themselves against before she crumbles entirely. "I've got you..." you mumble against her parted lips. Barbara shudders at the sound of your voice - she can feel your lips brush hers as you speak. Every word sparks a fire in her, her breath coming out in quick, short gasps against your mouth.
"Y-You do, you've got-" Her words die on her tongue as she loses herself to sensation, to your touch. Barbara can taste you on her lips, can feel the heat of your body pressed up against hers, pinning her to the wall. She lets out a soft, breathless whimper, trying to focus; but it's difficult when you're so close, when the sound of your voice has her trembling even more than before.
"M-my love," she whispers against your skin. Her hands pull you closer against her, seeking out something, anything to ground her against this sensation.
Beidou
As she pushes you back onto the mattress, her lips press against yours firmly. Beidou lets out a quiet little whine into your mouth, a soft sound of need. She brings a hand up to cup your face, her touch tender and firm. You are trapped under her now, her body pinning you against the bed with strength that belies her appearance. She breaks the kiss and trails a line of kisses down your throat, her body shifting against yours. A quiet whimper falls from her lips as she peppers your skin with attention, her touch just the slightest bit desperate.
Her hands wander up your stomach, pushing the hem of your shirt up with them. Her touch is tender, like moonlight against your skin. She kisses a path down your chest, stopping for a moment to worship every inch of you she can reach. As she comes to the waistline of your pants, she stops, nuzzling your bare hip with her face, breathing in the scent of you like a woman possessed. When she looks up at you, her eyes are wide and dark, watching you like a predator watches its prey.
Her hand comes up to rest on your stomach, her touch almost teasing. "Can I?" She asks, her voice little more than a whisper as a rosy blush climbs up her cheeks. Your answer of yes is barely out of your mouth before her hands start to work at your pants, pulling them off your hips to reveal more of your body to her. Beidou is impatient, wanting to claim you in every way she can.
Bennett - aged up
He melts into you, his body soft and pliant, his mouth warm and welcoming under yours.
One hand finds its way to the small of your back, the other holding your face like you are the most fragile and beautiful object in the world. His breath is ragged, his skin blushing under your touch.With the slightest bit of pressure, he pulls you a step or so closer. He's so close now that he can feel your heart beat against his own. He lets you taste his lips, soft sighs stealing from him as you touch him. He flinches when his teeth snag your lip, breaking the kiss.
It takes a moment for him to gather his tongue, his eyes open wide. He touches your lip, an apology already on his lips. "Ah- I-" He swallows, his cheeks flushing.
"I didn’t mean to-" Before he can even finish his sentence, Bennett is bending to press a soft, barely-there kiss to the redness on your lip. Then another, and another. Each kiss more gentle than the last.
His hands come up to rest on your arms, holding you in place. "I'm sorry." He murmurs, the words whispered against your skin, his breath like steam rising in the winter cold. The tip of his nose touches your jaw, his hands running over your arms with a reverent sort of worship. "I didn't mean to- to bite you."
Capitano
He pins you against the nearest wall. His body is pressed up against yours, warm and firm and solid like an iron pillar. One arm curls around your waist, pinning your hips to his, keeping you flush against him. He kisses you like he's starving for it. He kisses you with the desperation of a drowning man gasping for air. One of his hands slides up under your clothes, pressing against the bare skin of your side. Even the touch of his fingers against you is like a brand, setting your flesh alight.
His other hand grabs at the collar of your shirt, yanking it down to leave your skin exposed for him to mark with his mouth. He kisses his way from your jaw to the crook of your neck, his breaths hot and his lips feverish. Capitano mouths at your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a red-purple bruise on your skin. It's like he's trying to mark you, leave a trail of hickeys up and down your throat like a claiming badge, for all the world to see.
He groans against you, his breath hot and heavy. He shoves his leg between yours, holding you firmly in place against him. He's grinding against you, his mouth never pausing in its assault on your neck, still marking you with deep hickeys and claiming you as his.
His hand, still under your shirt, finds a way around the front and up to your chest. His thumb brushes against a nipple, flicking over it teasingly. He's almost panting, breaths harsh and heavy against your skin. It feels like his whole body is thrumming with electric energy just from you, from the way his hands are sliding against you and the way you're pressed against him.
"Only mine," he growls against your skin. "You're mine. All mine. You understand?"
Candace
Her fingers reach up and touch your face, gently, reverently. They touch the curve of your lips, as if tracing your smile. Then, with a breath, she kisses you. Her touch is soft, gentle as a feather, tender and loving. Her mouth moves against yours, the touch light as the caress of silk, the slide of a flower petal. Candace savours the way you taste against her lips. She is gentle, slow. Her kiss only deepens as she lets out a sigh against your mouth. Her hands find your waist as she pulls you closer, shifting so that her body is against yours. Her hair is wild, unbound, glowing like moonlight against the night sky. She is soft, warm, safe. Everything you want her to be.
With a soft moan, Candace breaks away, eyes fluttering open. Her eyes are glazed, unfocused. Her breath is heavy, warm against your skin. Candace opens her mouth to speak, her voice a whisper. "I—" She falters. For once, her mind seems to be utterly empty. The words die in her throat, and she swallows hard, searching for them.
"You—" she tries again, only to fumble over herself once more. Every one of your touches, every glance, every word spoken against her skin— it is as if you are a drug that has taken over her mind.
"I love you."
Charlotte
Charlotte trembles as you run your fingers through her hair. You can see her eyelashes flutter against her high cheekbones. She can't help but lean into your touch, her shoulders rising and falling more rapidly as you caress her. "Ah…"
That one little exhale is all she lets out before biting down on her lower lip, trapping the noise that almost came out with it. Her face is a little pink, flustered under your touch. Charlottes breath stutters as she feels your lips against hers again. It steals the air from her lungs, her whole body growing warm at the feeling of your kiss. She kisses you back, leaning in towards you as her eyes fall closed, her eyelashes resting feather-light against her flushed cheeks. Her hands itch to touch you; to feel your skin against her own. Charlotte isn't even thinking anymore at this point— she's acting on instinct alone. She wants to be closer to you, to feel your body against hers; to feel the heat of you on her skin.
She deepens the kiss, her tongue gliding against yours in a way that makes her shudder. A soft, barely detectable noise escapes her at the contact. Her tongue slips past yours with a need that surprises even her— the kiss growing suddenly hungrier, more desperate. Her hands find your waist, her fingers clutching at your skin as if she's drowning and you're her lifeline. Charlotte breaks the kiss, her breathing ragged and chest heaving. Her breaths come in sharp gasps, her lips flushed and slightly bruised from the contact. It's like she's been drowning and you're the first gulp of air.
She's so close to you now that you can feel the heat of her body against your own, the way her heart is pounding against her ribs.
"Archons-! Air seems so precious now-!"
Chevreuse
Chevreuse is desperate. She's pressed up against a wall in a dark, secluded alley in Fontaine. You're the one pressed against her, kissing her, pinning her to the wall, and it steals whatever thoughts she'd had right out of her mind.
She pulls you closer against her, wrapping her arms around waist like she's starving for some invisible, intangible thing. Her heart is a fluttering thing— delicate and quick. Chevreuse doesn't feel like a person in this moment. Her skin tingles everywhere you touch as if she's been struck by lightning, and her mind is a hazy, lustful place. She moans against you, pressing even closer so that there's not even an inch of air left between you. Her hands clutch onto the back of your shirt.
Chevreuse lets out a small, soft gasp as you pull away, blinking as if she's been suddenly woken. "Salty..." you mumble. She's breathless, her cheeks flushed pink, as she asks "Salty?" her voice is little more than a breathless whisper. "You taste salty." Chevreuse's mind takes a moment to catch up. You're saying she tastes salty?!
Her first reaction is a small noise, somewhere between a whimper and gasp, but her gaze flickers down to your lips and she realizes exactly what you meant by salty.
She blushes, and averts her eyes. "O-oh…" she murmurs, feeling a little embarrassed.
"It's the food I constantly snack on..."
Child (idk why the e is missing folks)
Childe pushes against you, his slender frame trembling against your body. He kisses your jawline, his lips skimming your skin in a desperate attempt to feel more of you, more of your heat. His hands are on your hips, his fingers gripping the fabric of your clothes. He can't get close enough. He needs you closer, tighter, closer.
With strong hands, Chile hoists you up onto the table, his eyes never leaving yours. He positions himself between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs to maintain his balance. He leans in close, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, he just breathes you in. One of his hands comes up and cups the side of your face, gently tracing the line of your jaw. His thumb grazes your cheek, drawing small, affectionate circles against your flesh.
"You're mine," he whispers, the words barely more than a breath against your skin, and then Childe is kissing you again. The kiss is hungry, desperate, as if he is drowning and you are air. His teeth nip at your bottom lip, his tongue darting out for a taste, taking the chance to deepen the kiss when given.
One of Childe's hands slips under your shirt, tracing the sensitive skin of your stomach with a feather-soft touch. He moves to press his lips to your neck, his tongue flicking out to taste your bare flesh. He sucks at your pulse, biting the skin just enough to mark you as his.
He wants you to remember this. He wants you to remember him, to remember that you belong to him.
Chiori (had to add her in cause she disappeared?? Sry she's not green lol)
Her lips are soft against yours, but the kiss is anything but. She kisses you with a ferociousness that surprises even her. She bites down on your lower lip, a quiet sound of desire slipping from her throat as your tongue slides over hers. She moves, shifting closer to you, pushing you against the nearest wall. "Meanie..." you mumble into the kiss as your back hits the wall not so softly. Chiori lets out a low laugh, moving closer until her body is pressed against yours. Her fingers slide around your wrists, pinning your hands against the wall on either of your head, effectively trapping you. Her smile is sharp, but her voice is low.
"You tease me, first, and I'm the mean one?" She murmurs. She leans in further, until her lips are barely a breath away. "Or do you like when I get like this?" She almost purrs against you, her eyes meeting yours with a mixture of desire and challenge. Her teeth scrape against the side of your neck, leaving a trail of hot breath behind. Chioris grip on your wrists tightens, her voice a low growl as she leans closer.
"Answer me, darling," she murmurs against your skin. "Do you like it?" "Shut up-!"
Chiori lets out a quiet huff. Her fingers loosen against your wrists, though she doesn't release your arms; not yet. There's a certain look in her eyes. "Are you giving me orders?" She says, her voice still low. She smirks. "You know better than that." She leans in and mouths against your neck, and her voice drops an octave.
"Brats shouldn't be talking back."
Chongyun - aged up
Chongyun's mind is utterly blank. His thoughts melt like wax in a fire, burning around him and falling from his brain like droplets of rain. He's never kissed anyone before. He's never felt this way before.
And— as your lips meet his— he doesn't know what to do. Chongyun is perfectly still for a moment, overwhelmed at the pure bliss of your touch, before he begins to follow the push and pull of your mouth against his. The kiss is messy. And clumsy. And absolutely perfect.
Chongyun's hands find their way into your hair, twisting themselves among the strands as he tries to pull you closer. He's utterly inexperienced at this, but in his mind, there is nothing in the world that matters except the feeling of your body against his.
"Doing good." "I am?" His words are breathless, like a leaf caught in a gale. His chest is heaving and his entire body is shaking— but in that moment he has never felt so alive. "I'm doing good?" He repeats the question, hoping that you'll reassure him. His hands are still buried in your hair, holding you to him. The contact is almost as if he is trying to anchor himself to you.
"Mhm.""Can we-" His voice catches in his throat. "Can we keep going?" The way he says it, so sweetly and gently, makes him sound so very vulnerable.
He just wants this moment to last forever. "Kf course we can."
Clorinde
Clorinde lips part in a slow exhale as her tongue slowly, gently slides inside your mouth. She pulls closer, and her hands come up to grip your waist, tugging you flush against her body. Her eyes flutter shut as she presses against you, body humming as she tastes you. Her hands slide to the small of your back, and she moans softly into the kiss.
Clorinde is all hands and heat, grabbing and pressing and pulling you closer. She doesn't want even an inch of air between the two of you— she desperately wants the feeling of your body against hers. Her hands slide up your back, running across your skin to pull you deeper into her.
She kisses you with an almost sinful fervor, completely surrendering herself to the heat of the moment. Clorinde is drowning in a wave of sensation. Clorinde grins into the kiss when you make a noise, and she immediately responds by biting your lip. Her tongue slides along the same spot, soothing the sting as her grip on your waist tightens.
She tilts her head to deepen the kiss, lips molding against yours and body flush against your own. Every movement is deliberate, calculated to wring out another gasp from you and another moan from her. Her body presses against yours as she kisses you again, pushing you back against the nearest wall. Your bodies press together like fitted puzzle pieces, molding and sliding in all the right ways. Clorinde groans, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates against your lips.
Her hands slide from your waist to your hips, nails raking against your skin. Her teeth sink into your lower lip and tug.
Collei - aged up
The moment your lips touch, it's as if Collei has been thrown into a world of sensation. She gasps softly, closing her eyes and leaning into you.
Her hands, shaky and trembling, come to rest on your shoulders and hold on to you as if you were a lifeline. Her grip is firm but gentle, her touch so light it's as if she fears you might disappear under her hands. Her lips are warm and soft against yours, tasting of summer rain and something faintly sweet. She makes the softest noise in her throat when you move against her and she seems to shudder under your touch, hands squeezing your shoulders.
She wants to pull you closer. She aches for it, aches for you to hold her tighter, feel you against her heart. However, the mere thought of such a thing makes her blush, and she's far too shy for such boldness. "You're so cute." a smirk plays on your lips as you mumble against her lips. Colleis face flushes an even deeper shade of red as you speak. She feels like she might burn up under her skin. The praise settles in her like a warm stone, leaving her feeling almost heady, breathless.
She buries her face against your shoulder. "Am I?" She whispers, almost as if it's a secret.
"Mhm." A sigh, soft and shaky.
She can't deny the praise when you're so close to her. Collei leans a little closer into you, seeking the warmth of you and your praise. "And you are…" Her voice is soft, quieter still because she's almost afraid of the effect you have on her. She can feel the heat in the tips of her ears; her whole being is burning up, the feeling spreading under her skin like wildfire.. "...so beautiful."
Columbina
Her lips move against yours like waves upon a beach, her tongue gently slipping into your mouth as a soft moan escapes her lips.
Her hands find their way to your hips; her grip is tight, almost desperate, fingers digging into your skin as she pulls you closer to her. Her laugh is sweet as honey against your mouth.
Columbina kisses you deeper. The heat of her tongue against yours is a warm, almost dizzying feeling, and she pulls you down into her lap. Her hand cups the back of your neck, slender fingers weaving into your hair, holding you close. Her lips move from your mouth to your jaw, leaving a trail of kisses along your skin. Her warm breath fans against your neck as she buries her face there, nuzzling against your pulse with something like reverence.
"You're mine," she whispers, voice soft on the edge of a sigh. Her arms wrap a little tighter around your waist. "Only mine." Her tongue teases along the crook of your shoulder, teeth gently scraping over skin, leaving pale red marks in their wake.
"Only I can see you like this, love you like this," she mutters, the words against your ear.
Columbina's hips shift beneath you; you can feel the heat of her body through her clothes against yours. She hums in approval as your body presses into hers, her mouth finding its way back to yours. Her kiss is soft, sweet and almost aching with need. She leans up, drawing you flush against her.
Her legs shift, the knee nearest you gently but purposefully nudging between yours.
Cyno
He growls as he pushes you back and pins you against the bed, all the while kissing you with a possessiveness that matches the burning in his chest. He wants to dominate, to lay claim to you. He wants to worship and take you like a man possessed. He wants all of you, wants you to let him own you. His body is taut as a bowstring. Cyno has you where he wants you, under him like this, and he has no intention of letting you go. One knee rests between your legs, his weight pinning you to the mattress as his mouth finds your neck.
He's going to mark you, claim you in such a way that no one else can lay their eyes on you without knowing who you belong to.
"Mm-!" you can't hold back the soft hum that leaves your throat. Cyno's tongue teases over the sensitive spot of your neck with a pressure that makes your blood rise.
His lips curve into a smile as he feels you react, a soft little moan escaping you. "That's it," he murmurs, voice low and rough. "Let me hear you." He kisses your skin, then bites down, intending to leave a mark behind. His tongue soothes the skin that he'd bitten, the hot, damp flat of it skimming over the sensitive spot in a way that makes you shiver.
"Does that feel good?" he asks, but the tone of his voice tells you it's a redundant question; of course it feels good. Everything he does makes you feel good— he's just enjoying hearing you react. His mouth finds your ear as he speaks, "I want to hear you scream my name."
Dainsleif
Dainsleif presses his body close into yours, his hands resting on either side of your face. He kisses you hungrily, as if this is the only thing he's ever needed to survive. He takes the lead, his tongue brushing against yours, his lips pressing against yours again and again and again. He needs you, like a flower needs the sun or a bird needs the air. Dainsleif pushes you back against some sort of surface— anything so he can pin you against it. He presses into you, his chest hard against your own, a need in him to be as close to you as possible. His hands fall from your face, roaming over your body instead, needing to touch anywhere he can reach to assure himself that you're real.
With a soft grunt, Dainsleif moves to press his lips against your neck. His hand slides under your shirt, resting against the bare skin of your stomach, warm as a sunlit stone. He sucks and nips at your skin, his mind almost fogged over as he worships every inch of you.
He doesn't lift his head to look at you, too lost in your neck to bother focusing on anything else as you called his name. He runs his tongue across your skin, then he murmurs your name, more a breath than a word.
And then he sinks his teeth into the crook of your shoulder. He needs to mark you, to make sure everyone knows you're his alone.
Dehya
Her tanned fingers trace along your arm, leaving goose bumps in their wake. Her touch is like ice, cold but not unpleasant. You can feel her press herself closer, her breathing slow as she buries her face into the crook of your shoulder.
She murmurs your name, the syllables falling from her lips reverently. Dehya's fingers grip your arm, her chest brushing against yours. You can see her breathing speed up, every exhale coming faster than the last. Her face turns slightly to bury her nose into your neck, and you can feel her breath on your skin as she inhales.
"Your smell…" she whispers against your neck. "Gods, you smell so good…" It starts slowly at first, her lips like velvet against your skin. It's just a gentle caress, a tentative brush of her mouth against yours, but soon she's pressing against you with more intensity. It's as though Dehya can't help herself, like your touch drives her to insanity.
She breaks the kiss to catch her breath, but only for a moment. Then her mouth is on yours again, biting and claiming. She pushes you back, pinning you to the nearest surface as her mouth wanders over your skin. She kisses a path down your throat and down your collarbone, leaving bite marks behind. Dehya's breaths become more and more ragged, until you can hear a soft moan escape her mouth. She moves back up to you, finding your mouth and taking advantage of it, her tongue slipping in between your lips with a desperate urgency.
Diluc
He kisses you with a desperate passion, his arms tight around your waist pulling you flush against him. He keeps his eyes shut, lips moving against yours urgently. His body trembles in your grasp, fingers grasping a little too tightly at your clothes. Each time footsteps sound from the hallway, he stiffens a little, his lips faltering and his body tense.
Diluc breaks off the kiss and buries his head into the crook of your neck, his breath quick and hot against your skin. His shoulders stiffen as their voices and footsteps come closer to your hiding place. His hands grip a little tighter at your shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric and crumpling it. He presses his body flush against yours, his face buried in your neck. His breath is shaky, each exhale hot against your skin. The maids chat amongst themselves as they pass by, unaware of the pair hiding in the corner. Diluc stays utterly still, his body rigid, his breathing shallow, like a deer hiding from a hunter. With each moment their voices fade, his body relaxes little by little until he's fully sagged against you, head still tucked into the crook of your neck.
"Gonna fucking fire them if they don't move their asses." he growls.
Dottore
He kisses you with a fierce sort of fervor, biting and pulling at your lip. His hands are on you, holding you tight, fingers digging into your skin as he holds you there. He wants you close. He wants you his. His tongue flickers against your lip, trying desperately to get more of you, as if he's trying to memorize the flavor that is your kiss. His teeth nip at the inside of your mouth, making you gasp, and he uses the opportunity to slide his tongue further, tasting you like a starving man. The taste of iron on his tongue has Dottore's mind spinning. He greedily sucks at your tongue, taking everything you give him and wanting more. His grip on you tightens, nails digging into your flesh. He tastes you, he takes and he takes and he wants.
"Gods," he mumbles against your lips once he finally pulls back, panting and breathless. His voice sounds ragged, barely more than a low, gravelly whisper. "I want to taste more."
One of his hands is in your hair, gripping so tight it's on the verge of being painful, while the other is on your hip, pulling you against him. He wants every inch of you pressed against him, skin against skin, his body seeking yours. He is desperate for you.
"Please," he whispers. The single word sounds like a prayer. "I need to taste the rest of you." "You're just gonna draw more blood like a vampire." "True."
Eula
Eula melts when you take a seat in her lap, her arms wrapping around you. Her lips are warm, her breath hot when she parts them for you, pressing herself up against you.
She cannot get enough of you, the feeling of your skin against her own, the taste of your lips. She shivers, letting out a soft moan against your mouth, arching closer. Her hands come to rest on your hips, gripping them tight as she pulls you against herself. Her tongue brushes your lower lip, slipping into your mouth when you open it, tasting you, exploring. She groans when she shifts against you, her thigh pressing up against your own. Her hands find their way up your body, tracing over your skin with a reverent touch. Her fingers slide up your back, over your shoulders, running up the sides of your neck. Her touch is light, yet it somehow feels like a brand, marking you as hers forever. She's panting when she pulls back for air, her voice coming in a rough murmur.
"My love," she whispers, still close to your mouth. She doesn't move her arms from around you, holding on tight, pressing her forehead against yours, drinking in the very sight of you. "I love you," she gasps out, leaning into you.
She buries her face in the crook of your neck, burying her nose in your hair. She inhales deeply, taking in your scent, taking in you.
Faruzan
Her cheeks are flushed a light pink as you two kiss, and for a moment she can't bring herself to say anything. She presses close against you, her tongue darting into your mouth as she leans into the kiss. There's a hunger in her movements. It's as if she can't get enough; her hands clutch at your clothes, desperate to bring you closer, to be as close to you as possible.
She lets out a quiet gasp against your lips. "Please."
The word is gasped against your lips, a plea to continue. A plea to let her stay like this, to keep touching her, keep kissing her. She's been alone for so long. For so long
For as long as she can remember. She hasn't felt like this in so many years. She can barely think. Her skin is flush, her body burning hot wherever it's pressed against yours. Faruzan lets out another soft moan, pressing closer against you.
"Please," she gasps in a soft whisper against your lips, "don't stop. Please. I—" She stops herself, and swallows the words before they can come out. A soft, almost whimper-like moan escapes Faruzans lips as you kiss her again, her body going soft under your touch. She can't think, she can't focus, her mind is a blur of thoughts and the feel of your mouth on hers. In a quick, almost desperate movement, she pulls you against her, pressing her body against yours. Her head tilts forwards, and she deepens the kiss, her tongue slipping past your lips. There’s a desperation in her movements, a need, a desire to have you as close to her as possible. She lets out another quiet gasp against your lips.
Fischl - aged up
Fischl gasps softly at the feel of your lips on hers. She melts into you, her body practically trembling at the sensation of your touch. "I-" she starts to say, but then you're kissing her again, and all she can do is make a soft sound into your mouth. After a moment, Fischl is grasping at the front of your shirt, clutching it until her knuckles are white like bone from grasping so tightly.
"I-" she tries to speak again, but then your tongue is in her mouth and what comes out is a desperate whimper instead. She can't think straight. Her entire world has been reduced to the feeling of your body against hers, your tongue on hers. Fischl can’t seem to get enough of you, can't get you close enough. She tugs you forward by your shirt, practically pulling you against her as she leans back against a wall. Her head tilts back, exposing the sensitive skin of her neck as her breathing turns shallow. When the two of you finally pull away to breathe, she whimpers.
Your lips are swollen and bruised from the intensity of the kiss, and Fischl is panting like she’d just run a mile for you. Fischl leans into the touch, her eyes slipping shut as her breath leaves her in a heavy exhale. Her hair is silken against your fingers, as smooth as the finest silk.
"...More," she whispers, her voice little more than a breathless gasp against your lips.
Freminet
Freminet lying in the sand, your body wrapped around his. It's late at night, and the ocean is a deep, midnight blue. The stars are glimmering above like a thousand diamonds hung against the sky. Your skin against his lips makes him shiver, and his hands move to hold your hips, bringing you closer to him. He pulls you into the crook of his arm.
He breaks away from the kiss for a moment, breathing heavily. His skin is aflame, like he's been struck by lightning. His free hand reaches up to grasp your face, fingers trembling against your skin. His eyes are dark, almost completely black with how wide his pupils have become. He speaks before he can help it, his voice barely more than a whisper:
"By the Archons, I'm in love with you."
He pulls you closer, his body heat burning against your own. His body aches to touch you more. He sits up, pulling you into his lap. One of his hands cradles the back of your waist, the other still grasping your chin. He kisses you again, fiercely, his lips devouring you with need.
A soft moan escapes his lips as he kisses you. It's quiet, but it reverberates through his chest in a way that gives the impression he was holding it in. As if your lips on his are exactly what he needed. He buries his face in your neck, his lips pressing against your sweet skin. He sucks at your collarbone, the feeling of you between his lips making his mind go blank. When he speaks, his voice is guttural, raw and desperate.
"I love you. Gods, I love you," he says again, as if the words are escaping him, as if all he can think about when you're in his arms is the feel of your skin, your lips, your body against his.
Furina
Furina's tea has cooled to lukewarm, but she's far more interested in your touch. She straddles you on the couch, her heart pounding as if it will burst through her ribs. She presses her body against yours, burying her face in the crook of your neck. She leaves kisses along your pulse, breathless and desperate. Your fingers trail through her hair, and she moans into your skin. Her hands clutch at your clothes, pulling you ever closer, her voice a whisper against your flesh.
"I need you," she says, voice cracking with desire. "Your tea, Fufu." You softly remind her. She shakes her head. "I don't care about the tea." Furina captures your mouth in a kiss, desperate and needy, her body pressing against yours as if she wants to meld with you. Furina can feel your heart beating against her own; she can feel you, feel it all, and she wants nothing more than you.
Her kisses are hungry, her hands pulling you closer, desperate to feel every part of you. One of your hands finds her waist and settles there, thumb rubbing circles against her side. She groans at your touch, her own hands finding purchase on the back of your neck, holding on to you like a lifeline. "Easy girl, take it slow." Furina is anything but easy. She moans against your skin, her body shuddering and pressing closer.
"Don't tell me to be easy," she growls, biting down on your neck.
Ga Ming - aged up
As your bodies intertwined in the dark, Ga Ming loses himself in your touch. The feel of your skin on his, your fingers in his hair, your lips on his are enough to make him gasp against your mouth. His lips leave your mouth to kiss across your jawline, trailing kisses down the side of your neck. His breath hitches as he kisses below your jaw, hands roving over the expanse of exposed skin they can reach. Ga Ming buries a moan in your skin, his body reacting to the curse. He nips at your throat, teeth digging in just a little rougher than he had before, his hand grasping at your waist a little firmer.
"You feel so good," he whispers, the words barely more than a vibration against your skin. He kisses your body like a worshiper. He pulls you closer, pressing himself flush against your body, shuddering against your skin when you move under his touch. He continues to leave a mess of hickeys along your neck, the sounds of his lips against your skin and the quiet, hitching gasps his touches pull from your lips filling the dark.
One of his hands moves over your body, exploring every exposed piece of flesh he can reach, mapping you with his fingers. As Ga Ming kisses you soundly, he pushes your body down against the sheets, straddling your waist and bracing a hand to the side of your head.
He draws in a shuddering breath between kisses, his tongue slipping through the gap in your lips when you part them.
Ganyu
Ganyu lets out a startled gasp when you pull her into your arms, the sound quickly devolving into a soft whine of pleasure. She melts when you press her up against a tree in the middle of the clearing, a faint shiver running up her spine as your bodies press together. Her lips are desperate when they meet yours, needy. She whimpers your name against your mouth as she clings to you like a leaf in the wind. Her fingers clutch at your clothes, trying desperately to pull you even closer. Every bit of her is shuddering, begging for more of you.
Her knees are weak, and she would have collapsed to the ground if it weren't for your body pinning hers against the trunk of the tree. Her breath comes in unsteady puffs against your skin, her mind blank of everything but the sound of your heartbeat. Ganyu lets out a whimper when you run your tongue against her.
She shudders and clings to you tighter, practically melting in your arms as her head falls back with a quiet moan. Her eyes flutter closed, and she seems to give herself to you completely, submitting to your every touch. Her heartbeat is racing, her breath is coming in quick, small gasps, and she is utterly lost in the sensation of your body against hers. Your every touch is sending sparks through her, stoking the fire in her gut until her entire body is aflame.
Gorou
Gorou seems more energetic when he's pressed up against you, his skin against yours. Even his tail is moving more than usual, flicking and swirling in a haphazard manner. One of his hands is pressed hard against your hip. "Eager?" Gorou's face is slightly flushed, his breath coming in short puffs as he tries to regain his composure. He nods a little too vigorously. "Yes," he answers, a shiver going through him, "Very eager." He's pressing against you even more now, the heat he emits warming your body. He has you up against the wall, trapping your body between his arms. His breathing has become more ragged, even his tail continuing its wild movements. A low groan escapes his mouth as he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. He is trying his best to not completely crumble, but each moment his control is growing more strained.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he mumbles. "No idea at all." He pulls you close in one swift movement, his arms winding around your body possessively. He practically buries his face in your neck, his breath warm against your skin.
"I want you." He whispers, and he doesn't even try to hide the desperation in his voice.
Hu Tao
Your back is pushed against a tree, Hu Tao's body pressed against you and her knee between your legs. Her breath is hot against your ear, her voice a honeyed whisper.
"You are mine." She murmurs, nipping gently at your ear. "Aren't you?" You nod. There's a low, pleased chuckle that comes from Hu Tao as your head nods. Her hands find their way to your sides, sliding under your shirt to touch your skin with reverent fingers. "Say it." her voice is demanding and loving, leaving no room to deny her. "Say you're mine." Her teeth sink into your neck with a possessiveness that leaves marks. You can feel her smiling against your flesh as she sucks dark bruises into your skin.
She draws back a little, just enough to look at you, to stare at the place between your neck and shoulder that's now beginning to stain red. "Answer me." "Yours-!" You blurt out. A satisfied hum rumbles in her throat as she hears those words fall from your lips. Her knee grinds lightly against you, drawing a low gasp from you as it puts pressure just there.
"Damn right." She mutters, her mouth going to your neck again, marking you in bruise after bruise like a canvas dappled in paint. Her hands on you are feverish, leaving behind trails of scorching heat in their wake. She nips and kisses a trail along your neck, her lips leaving behind marks just as much as her teeth.
"You're mine, " Hu Tao whispers against your skin like a prayer, "Till the day that i put you into the ground....wait...no that came off very wrong."
Jean
Jean falters for a moment as the two of you separate, the faintest sound of surprise and reluctance leaving her lips. Her breath is ragged, a few strands of hair sticking to her sweaty brow. And yet, there’s a strange… vulnerability in her eyes, as she struggles to keep them open to look at you. “You…” She begins, words soft and breathless. “… I feel so tired.”
"We can stop if you wa-" “No, I—“ Jean tries to protest, shaking her head. But her words are cut off by the most ungainly yawn that she’s produced in quite a while. She looks mortified for a moment, cheeks flushing pink as she attempts to hide her face behind her hand.
“I don’t want to,” she protests, but it sounds weak even to her own ears. “I don’t want to stop…” Jean kisses you eagerly, her own lips parting as she melts into the embrace. But it’s only a matter of moments before she’s yawning again, eyes fluttering tiredly as she pulls away. She looks embarrassed, almost sheepish as she tries to apologize. “I— I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s happening—“ "You're tired." You reason with her. “Obviously,” Jean grumbles, embarrassed at how apparent it is that she can barely keep her eyes open.
The urge to pull you back towards her is strong, but even stronger is the exhaustion that tugs at her eyes, begging her to drift off. Jean looks away, biting her bottom lip. The thought of going to sleep right now irks her, but she’s rapidly losing the ability to keep herself awake at this point.
“I… I don’t want to sleep.” She admits quietly; but even her own protest sounds half-hearted. “Just a few minutes,” she mutters reluctantly, her voice even quieter this time.
She’s fighting a losing battle, her eyelids drooping more and more with each passing moment. Her breathing grows heavier too, as her head starts to list to the side, like a wilting flower.
Heizou
A low growl escapes from Heizou's throat as he leans against you, pressing you down on the table. His fingers fumble with the buttons on your shirt, trying to undo them with his shaky hands. He's eager, wanting more— he's desperate for the feeling of you against him.
"Wait wait wait-!" you intervene. "Why?" He groans against your neck. His lips are against your skin, leaving a trail of burning kisses against your flesh as he slowly moves downwards. He's so close to you, his hands roaming across your body, mapping your skin like a canvas waiting to be painted. "Let me... please you," he says, voice strained. A small smirk twitches up the corners of Heizoz's lips. "Is it that much of a problem, darling?"
He moves his hand down from your shirt, tracing along your side, his fingers gentle but clearly itching to do more. He runs his thumb along the waistband of your pants. "We're alone here, aren't we?" "For now-!" you almost snap in panic. "For now," Heizou echos, his smirk deepening. He leans down, lips at the curve of your neck. His tongue traces a line to your ear, where he nips you lightly.
He whispers in your ear, "We'd better be quick, then."
Itto
Itto whines softly as he pulls your body against his, his mouth hot and eager against yours. He'd give up breathing, if it meant one more second with you. "Fuck," he breathes between kisses. His hand finds the back of your neck, gently tugging you closer to him. "You're perfect. Utterly perfect." Itto's hips roll against yours, a small whimper falling from his kiss-bruised lips. He's utterly overwhelmed by your presence. Your touch, your taste, your scent... it's all he can think about.
"You taste like a good" he gasps into the kiss. "Like Miso Soup." "You heard me," Itto whispers into your ear. "Good soup." He rolls his hips against yours again, another small moan slipping from him. He's flushed, lips parted, breathing heavy.
"I think you were made for me," he says, gently nipping your earlobe. Itto's hand gently grips your hip as he kisses a line down your throat. "Mm... You feel like one, too," he says, his voice low as he feels your folds, "Wet."
Kazuha
Kazuha melts at your touch, his body pressing against yours blissfully. His tongue brushes your lip as you kiss, his hands gently caressing your skin as if he is afraid to hurt you. Like this, he’s entirely at your mercy. He’s pliable, obedient, your plaything. The way his body responds to a moment with you is divine. "You're so soft," he whispers when you catch a breath, nuzzling his face against your cheek. He pulls you closer, his chest against your chest.
"You're perfect. You're beautiful," he murmurs. Kazuha's lips against your skin feel like fire, his tongue leaving a trail of heat down your throat. Your skin feels like a drug where he kisses it. His lips press against the side of your neck, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear. “You make my heart race.” He says, his voice as soft as flower petals. He worships you with every inch of his body. Kazuha is overwhelmed; your very presence is making his head spin. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. For a moment, it makes him dizzy— breathing in the smell of you.
“I love you,” he mumbles. One hand wraps around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He can feel you against him, the gentle curve of your body perfectly fitting against his. You’re all he can think about. Your smell, the feel of your skin under his hands. You take over every sense at once. Kazuha can taste you on his tongue, he can feel you against his chest. Even if he closed his eyes, he would still know you were there.
“You are a dream,” he whispers against your ear. His hands roam your body in admiration. Every one of his senses is on edge. “You have to be a dream.”
Kaeya
Kaeya's hands move to your hips, grasping so strongly on your skin that you can feel the faint tremors in his hands as he holds back. His lips push against yours, pressing firmly but gently, as if he is holding back. He breaks the kiss only to pant against your lips, a quiet whimper in the back of his throat. Kaeya is pressing you against his desk, his breath warm as his mouth moves to your neck, trailing kisses against the skin like a prayer. Your presence drives him breathless, your very touch like rapture upon his tortured soul.
"Stop-!" Immediately, Kaeya freezes in his movement, a frown upon his face as he lifts his head from your neck. "What's wrong?" His voice is a quiet murmur, his eyes searching your face for a sign of what brought you to halt him. He hears the footsteps, but they barely register in his mind. For a moment, Kaeya is frozen, torn between the person approaching and the one in his arms. For a moment, he doesn't care that someone may see them.
He continues kissing against your skin, his body moving to press you back into the desk. Kaeya is lost in the moment, his focus only on you. The sound of footsteps becomes little more than white noise, a buzz in the back of his mind as he continues to kiss your neck.
His tongue against your skin, his hands in your hair, pinning you between him and the desk... he doesn't even hear when the door to his office opens.
Kaveh
Kaveh's breaths are ragged, chest heaving like an avalanche as a stream of soft gasps and whimpers tear themselves from his throat. His hands move across your body, touching you as one might touch a holy artefact. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide by bliss.
"Yours," he moans as he presses another kiss to your skin. "I'm yours. Always yours, forever yours." "Whats gotten into you today?" You chuckle against his lips. Kaveh shivers at the sound of your voice, as if your words themselves are enough to send a shiver down his spine. His lips find the shell of your ear as he leans in, breath hot on your neck.
"Nothing," he murmurs, his words half-lost in a shudder of ecstasy. "I just…" His hands tighten on your waist; his heart races as if it might burst. "I need you," he whispers, voice trembling with desire. He lets his head fall against your shoulder, a sound somewhere between a curse and a plea spilling from his mouth. He kisses your neck, tongue tasting your skin as his fingers dig into your flesh.
"I need you," he repeats, voice growing more urgent. "You, you, you." He kisses a trail from your collarbone to the juncture of your shoulder, biting and sucking at your skin as if he means to mark you.
Keqing
Keqing lets out a soft sigh as her lips meet yours. Her eyes flutter close as the world around her melts away. There is only the taste of you and the softness of her own skin against yours. Her hands find your waist and she pulls herself closer until every point where your bodies touch meets, like puzzle pieces falling into place. She feels breathless and heady, and she never wants to leave. One of Keqings hands finds it's way to your jaw, holding your face gently. Her thumb runs over your cheek, skin on skin, feeling the soft lines, the planes and contours beneath her touch.
She presses her body closer, desperate to feel you against her, to know that you are here, real and solid and perfect. She feels so soft and vulnerable but here, with you, she doesn't mind. "You... you feel so good," she whispers against your lips, so close that her voice barely stirs the air between you. Her eyes blink open for a moment as she looks at you, taking all of you in, before her eyelids flutter close again.
She is breathless, like you've taken her air and stored it inside of you. She presses her lips to yours over and over, wanting for this moment to never end. "Please," she whispers, breathless, her hands gripping at your clothes, pulling herself closer and closer, wanting desperately to bury herself in you. She wants to wrap herself in every part of you, to let you take over her body and mind until her whole world is you, you, you.
"More..."
Kinich
Kinich can't help but grin against your skin as the tips of his fingers ghost over your sides, light and quick against your sensitive spots. He laughs as you twist and wriggle against him, your voice a delightful source of music as you half-laugh, half-complain. He moves closer yet, boxing you in against the trunk of the tree, his fingers moving to play at the sensitive skin along your thighs. "Ticklish?" he murmurs, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his hands roam slowly over your body.
"Or are you just trying to play coy with me, sunshine." Kinich's nose scrapes over your collarbone, tracing the slender lines of bone and muscle. His hands push against your thighs, gently spreading them apart so he can press closer to you. Konich kisses you slow and deep. There is a hunger in the way he moves against you, the heat of it making your toes curl and burning its way down your spine. He moans against your lips, a desperate, aching sound that speaks of an intense need you can sense rolling off him in waves.
"You sound pathetic." Ajaw interrupts. "Ajaw-!" "The almighty!"
Kirara
Kirara, after a long day at work, slumps backwards onto the bed. She's tired and sore, just wants to pass out and curl into your warm embrace. She shuts her eyes and lets her body sink into the sheets, feeling the cool cotton against her skin. She sighs softly, allowing the tension in her muscles to slowly fade and a smile to spread across her lips. Kirara hums softly at the kiss, her body reacting to yours almost instinctually.
She reaches up and cups the side of your face, pulling you in closer and kissing you deeply. She slips her free hand around your shoulder and tries to pull you down on top of her. Kiraras breathing softens, and a shiver rolls down her spine as she feels you against her. She deepens the kiss, pulling your body closer against hers.
She doesn't want to break away, but she knows she has to breathe. Pulling away, she gazes up at you, her eyes hazy with lust and exhaustion. "I love you," she mumbles, her voice soft like silk. Kirara pulls you down against her again, wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her head in your shoulder. She clings to you like a lifeline, letting out a little sigh of content.
"Can we stay like this for a while?" She murmurs, her voice muffled against your skin. "Just like this. With you."
Kokomi
She moans softly against your lips, her arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer against her. “I love you,” she whispers in between each kiss, each one a prayer, a plea for you to never leave her again. Her body melts against you, desperate to feel the warmth in your touch. Kokomi’s hands slowly travel across your body, exploring the planes of your skin in delicate, reverent movements. Each touch is deliberate, as if she’s mapping your body for the first time, desperate to memorize every inch of you.
She moans softly against your neck as she moves along your body, the sound a mixture of desire and pure adoration. Her breathing becomes more labored as she whispers your name, her arms enveloping you, pulling you closer still. Kokomi buries her face in your hair, the soft scent of you making her shiver. She presses the length of her body against you, savoring the way your warmth envelopes her. She closes her eyes, relishing the feeling for a moment before slowly trailing kisses along your neck, her breath hot against your skin.
“I want…” she mumbles, her words trailing off as she struggles to find the right words. “I want… you. I need you.” Kokomi’s breath stutters as she continues her trail of kisses, moving down your throat, along your collarbone, and down to the hollow of your collarbone. Her hands begin to wander, her touch growing desperate as they move across your body. She lets out a quiet, ragged whisper, the sound more gasp than words. “Please…”
Layla
Layla melts into the kiss, eyelashes fluttering shut. A content, quiet noise escapes her throat and into your mouth, a soft sigh of breath as she leans into you. Her knees buckle a little, and she’s forced to grab your shoulders to steady herself against you. “Careful,” Layla mutters as she pulls away from the kiss, her face flushed a soft pink that makes her skin glow. She’s panting just a little, her head spinning, your taste still on her tongue. “I feel dizzy…”
Layla is clinging to you fiercely now, using your shoulders to keep herself upright. Her legs are still unsteady, and she can’t quite keep the breathlessness from her voice. “You make me weak,” she murmurs, her voice a quiet moan. “Stay awake,” you murmur as you feel Layla start to doze off against your lips. Her eyes are so heavy, her body still so dizzy… you can’t help a smile.
“You can’t fall asleep on me yet, can you?” Layla closes her eyes as she leans against you, inhaling deeply. The effort to even stay standing right now feels tremendous; she clings to you with a desperation that surprises her, her fingers clenching the fabric of your clothes. “You’re too much… too much for me.”
Lisa
A soft noise leaves Lisas mouth— half gasp, half breathless whine— and her eyelids flutter shut.
She is completely helpless against you. She presses herself harder against you, her breathing growing harsher against your skin with every moment that passes. Her fingers twist in the fabric of your clothes and her head tips back to expose the pale skin of her neck. Her breaths come in quick, shallow gasps. She is drowning, falling, sinking in whatever it is you're doing to her. She can't think beyond your touch, the press of your lips against her neck, the feeling of your hands on her body. Her grip on your clothes tightens. One of her hands slides up to clutch at your sleeve, the other fisting in the collar of your shirt while she trembles against you. Her head tilts back even further, her neck and chest bared completely. Her breaths falter, each inhale catching in her chest before she can speak. She manages a single word, spoken like a gasp of pain.
"Please." She can't beg. She can't speak. She can barely even think. A few more seconds pass before she manages to rasp out another single word.
"Gimme more cutie."
Lynette
Lynettes lips are soft and eager, her tongue hot when it brushes against yours. She kisses with a passion that could set the world ablaze. Her breath is hot on your face, her skin like fire when she pulls you against her body. It is unusual for Lynette. Normally she's more reserved, composed. But right now, it's as though there is some hidden part of her that is being set free, brought to the surface by your touch. She is wild, unrestrained, needy as she pulls you closer against her.
"Calm do-" "No." Lynette breaks the kiss, but immediately moves to bury her face against your neck, pressing kisses against your skin. Her breath is hot against the crook of your collarbone.
"More," she breathes, the word ragged and needy. "Don't tell me to calm down." Her lips trail up your neck, up to your ear. She nips, gently, at your earlobe, before sucking the skin between her teeth. "I need you," she gasps, and you can feel her tremble against you. Her hands are already pulling at your clothing, desperate to expose more of your skin to her. Her lips leave a hot trail against your throat as they work their way back down your collarbones to your chest, then lower.
"If you dare tell Lyney about this...I might just kill you."
Lyney
Lyney deepens the kiss, his arms wrapping around your body. He pulls you impossibly closer, closing any gap between the two of you. His hands trail across your back, caressing your body slowly, gently. The kiss only breaks so he can draw breath, but it never lasts. His lips brush against your jawline, his breath hot against your ear. "May I show you something?" His voice is a deep murmur, spoken as if the words are a secret. His hands are on your hips as he gently pushes you back to the bed, his lips brushing against the skin of your neck. With a single, fluid movement Lyney pushes you onto the soft material and pins you beneath him, resting his body against yours. The weight of him is pleasant, grounding, and he gives a soft smile as he looks down at you.
His eyes are full of promise, mischief, and he runs a hand over your waist. "Stay still for me," he murmurs, his words a whisper on your skin. Lyney's fingers find the hem of your shirt, gently gripping the fabric. He rolls it up, revealing a little more of your skin. Slowly, gently, he lifts the shirt over your body, only stopping when your torso is exposed. He takes a moment to look at you, drinking in the sight before him. His eyes move over every inch of your form, memorizing it as if you were a work of art. Then, quietly, he lowers his head to your exposed skin, kissing a trail down your body. His lips move over your flesh like a prayer, his tongue occasionally flicking out to taste it. He doesn’t stop until he reaches your stomach, before giving a soft bite.
Mika - aged up
As soon as you speak, Mika obediently relaxes his shoulders. His eyes close for a brief moment, a light shiver running down his spine as you tell him to. His hands are no longer curled into nervous fists at his sides, instead laying limply in his lap. When he looks up at you again, his heart is pounding a nervous tattoo against his ribcage.
He's so easily affected by you. It would make him laugh if he weren't too flustered. Mika lets out a soft huff when he feels your hands brush against his, but he doesn't move. He wants you to touch him. He wants you to hold him and caress his skin, to run your hands through his hair. He wants to feel you, to be touched by you, but he's far too nervous to do it himself.
Just the lightest brush of your skin against his feels like an electric shock to his entire form. Another soft sigh leaves Mika as your lips meet his again. He wants. He wants to take, to touch you. Every time your mouths meet, he gets tempted to move his hands to your body. To touch you the way he wants to touch you.
But he doesn't. Mika is far too nervous to do anything but obey you. He's content with you taking control of this situation. Mika parts his lips as you kiss him, inviting you to enter and explore his mouth. He wants to taste you, and he wants you to taste him, but he holds himself back from doing anything except letting you do it to him.
He's trembling again, every nerve in his body on fire at your touch.
Mona
Mona lets out a sharp gasp as your lips meet hers. Her eyes widen, and for a moment she is frozen in place. She blinks, and her eyes flutter shut as she leans closer, reaching out a trembling hand to rest on your waist, holding you close, almost as if she was terrified of you disappearing. Her kiss is slow, almost tentative. You are a deity, and she is nothing, and yet-
There is a kind of desperation in her movements. Her hands tangle in your hair, her fingers trembling as they graze your skin. She has been patient; she has been pining for years in silence.
Now that she has you, now that she feels the softness of your lips against hers, she will not let go so easily. Monas kiss deepens. A low moan escapes her throat, and a shiver runs through her as her tongue brushes against yours. She pulls you closer, pressing against you, her fingers gripping tightly in your hair. She can't get close enough. Her lips move with a hunger she can't suppress. Her tongue slips into your mouth, deepening the kiss as her hands rove over your body, her touch both needy and gentle at the same time.
She would give you anything, she would submit to any command you gave her. All her thoughts and hopes are pinned on you - she can't lose this.
Mualani
Mualani can't breathe. Everything feels like too much. The sensation of your skin- she needs to touch more, needs to feel more, needs to press against you until all that is left is your scent, your warmth, your taste. Her hands run up your arms until they find purchase in your hair, tangling it between her fingers. She pulls, and her lips crash against yours. Mualani's thoughts are lost in you. All she wants is more. She can't get enough of the taste and the smell of you.
She pulls you against her with a surprising amount of strength, as if nothing else matters but the way you feel as if your touch were the most important thing in the world. Her fingers run along your spine and down your back, pulling you even closer, pressing kisses against your neck and shoulders. Mualani is dizzy with desire. Her body is a slave to your touch, every movement, every caress sparking white hot need through her veins. "I- " she moans, her voice breaking with desire. "Please- please-"
She can't even finish the request because all she can think of is how badly she wants you.
"Chill out." You chuckle at her eagerness. Mualani tries to take a deep breath, but the scent of your skin drives her to distraction and she lets out a shuddering gasp instead. She's still pressed against you, her fingertips still tracing absent circles on, her eyes locked on your neck like a lioness with her next meal. "I can't." She admits after a moment. "I can't chill out when you're so close to me."
Navia
Navias cheeks flush deeply. Her body tenses at your words, her hands gripping the fabric of her skirt so tightly it nearly tears. "You... think I taste sweet?" She asks, sounding genuinely surprised. She hadn't expected to hear such an intimate remark from you. "It's probably from all the sweets we just ate." You figure. She blinks. Oh.
A breath escapes her that's somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, her expression changing from wide-eyed surprise to a smile. "I guess you're right, huh?" She muses, taking one of her hands and wiping at a corner of her mouth with her thumb. "So, how's the taste?" "Sweet, and...a bit salty?" The words make Navia's breath catch, and her heart quicken. She pulls back for a moment, to look at you, her eyes slightly dazed. She brings one hand up to brush against your cheek, thumb sliding across your skin. You can feel the slight tremble of her fingers.
"Did I surprise you?" she asks quietly, half-whispering as if fearing your answer. Her eyes search your face, trying to read your reaction. "Perhaps a little." You admit. Navia's hand moves up to the back of your head, fingers slipping into your hair to tangle in the strands. Then, she closes the small space between you, her lips meeting yours in a soft kiss. It's short, and it doesn't go beyond a lingering press and the soft brush of her mouth against yours, only meant for you.
The kiss is chaste.
Neuvillette
Neuvillette is the embodiment of a gentleman. He takes your face carefully in his hands, thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones. He presses his lips to your brow, your cheeks, even your nose and chin. Then he finally finds your mouth with his.
The kiss is soft and gentle, with every trace of reverence behind every movement. Neuvillette is like a worshiper in the temple, reverent and gentle as he presses his mouth to yours. His touch is slow, like he's trying to etch himself on every corner of you. Neuvillette pulls you against himself, one arm wrapping around your waist and holding you as if he never intends to let you go.
His forehead presses against your own, his other hand still tracing across your face, caressing your skin like he's trying to commit every bit of you to memory. His lips part slightly, the kiss growing deeper, more intense with the passing of each second. He's drinking deep of you. The kiss is almost desperate. Neuvillette presses you close, the hand on your waist holding you firm against his body. His breaths start coming faster, his touch growing a touch more needy. His hand drifts from your face to the back of your head, gently cupping it and holding you close. His tongue slides over your lips, gently pressing and trying for entry. A soft moan rolls from his mouth.
Nilou
She feels her pulse quicken at the closeness of you, and the feel of your lips. Her tongue slips against yours, and she moans at the sensation. Her hands travel up and down the arms, chest, and back of your tunic. She doesn't speak, but she can't help but whimper softly against your ear. She wants you so badly. The feeling of your tongue against her tongue has a shudder running through her body, and she can't help but gasp in anticipation at the kiss. Her hands are already touching you and more of you is what she wants.
She is completely enraptured by you, her fingers dancing down your back. She wants to be closer to you, closer. Close enough to be a part of your skin.
Her fingers curl into your clothes, tightening, and she wants to pull you closer. As the kiss continues, Nilous tongue slips against yours, wanting—desiring—more. Your taste is everything she wants, and when you pull away, for a heartbeat only, she lets out a faint whine of disappointment. "I want more," she murmurs against your lips. "Please." "You will." You whisper. Nilou doesn't need to hear more than that in order to understand.
She pulls you closer, her body pressing flush against yours. Her tongue slips back against yours, and she makes a low moan at the sensation of you against her. The feel of your lips is like nothing she has ever experienced, like a drug.
She wants more.
Ningguang
Ningguang lets out a soft gasp at the feel of your lips against hers, her mind reeling. Her heart is thundering in her chest and her breath is caught in her throat. Her everything.
Her arms come up to hug around your waist, pulling herself closer. She moans softly against your lips, a faint whimper escaping her as she melts into the kiss. Ningguang gently pushes you back, slowly, until you are flat on your back.
She positions herself on top of you, straddling your hips. She's breathing heavily, her breaths shallow and shaky as she stares down into your eyes. "You are mine," she pants softly, a shudder running through her form at her own words. Ningguang reaches a hand down to cup your jaw, a shiver going through her at your skin against her touch.
"Mine," she repeats, eyes roaming over you with a possessive gaze that borders on adoration. Her lips find your neck, leaving a trail of kisses on the soft, delicate flesh. She nips gently at your skin as she speaks. "You're mine. All mine." Ningguangs hands are fumbling against your chest, fingers desperately trying to unbutton your shirt.
"All mine," The words are almost a growl. She's breathing into the hollow of your coller, hot breaths against your skin. Her body is hot against yours, desperate as her hands go lower and lower.
NEVER FINISHED BUT I POST IT FOR NOW ♡
Hope yall are hungry cause maybe i finish this all lol
Noelle Ororon (newly added) Pantalone Pierro Pulcinella Raiden Razor Rosaria Sandrone Sara Scaramouche Sethos Shenhe Shinobu Succrose Thoma Tighnari Venti Wriothesley Xiangling Xiao Xianyun Xilonen (newly added so pls dont ask why she isn't green lol) Xinyan Xingqiu Yae Miko Yanfei Yelan Yoimiya Yun Jin Zhongli
a/n: btw i don’t know shit about water boy but he always looks like he’s on the verge of cry or cumming and definitely has hyperspermia…right.
your bed is drenched from how wet he is, i mean, his name is waterboy. but it’s a puddle underneath you both because he’s balls deep inside you, shaking almost violently as his weakly thrust into you tight cunt. his height showed in how huge his dick was, he was deep. and the poor guys just learned how to use it properly thanks to your teaching. and he’s gasping stuttering mess as he fucks you. babble who fucking knows. whimpering, moaning, sobs. he’s so close and you can tell. you wanna milk him for everything he’s got, so you praise him and degrade him in same smooth sentence, play with damp hair, and clench around his and it gets him. he throws him straight of the edge of pure ecstasy. his ropes of cum shoot deep inside you, you swear you could feel it inside your womb…but it doesn’t stop. he keeps cumming. and he’s apologizing profusely as he makes such a mess. his skin is bright red as he fills you up. “gosh—i don’t—i. it won’t s-stop. i can’t…i can’t s-stop it!”
when you were a kid and the adults around you got sick of you sitting with them and listening to them talk so they banish you to play with the other children but the children don’t want to play with you so you sit in the corner alone with your thoughts and the pain in your chest of knowing you’re not wanted by anyone
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