itoshi rin

rin's whole sex drive is built around eye contact. he cannot get off properly if you're looking away from him. it's not romantic, it's territorial. he wants to watch the exact moment your expression breaks, wants to see you go from composed to absolutely wrecked, wants that evidence pinned to him specifically. he will grip your jaw and tilt your face back toward his if you turn away.

"look at me." not a suggestion. never a suggestion with rin.

rin also has an obsession with your hands. the way they grip the sheets. the way they press against his chest when he's too deep. the way they shake when he's got you too close to the edge to think straight. he watches your hands like they're telling him everything you won't say out loud, and he'll pin them above your head not just to dominate you (that too though), but because he wants them where he can see them. he wants to know what your body is doing to cope with him.

if you scratch down his back he will make a feral sound. low and sharp and involuntary. it surprises him more than it surprises you, and he will absolutely punish you for it by slowing down to an agonising pace until you're begging and crying and promising things you're not sure you can actually deliver.

size fixation goes both ways with rin. he wants to feel how much bigger he is than you, wants to wrap his whole hand around your wrist and feel the overlap, wants to crowd you into a wall and notice how you have to tilt your head back just to see his face. but he also wants you to feel it. wants to hear you say it's too much. wants you gasping you're too big, rin, it's too much, i can't, because something feral in him responds to that confirmation.

"s'too much?" he'll ask, voice calm, jaw tight, hips not stopping. "you'll take it."

michael kaiser

this guy presents as the most obvious dom in any room he enters and that's exactly what he wants you to think. he is loud, he is dramatic, he loves performing power, and it's not a lie, he is dominant, but what you don't clock until you're actually in bed with him is the service kink buried underneath all of it.

he wants to wreck you so thoroughly that you are completely non-functional. that's the goal. your pleasure isn't a vehicle for his ego, it's the actual destination. he will spend 45 minutes between your thighs with his fingers and his mouth, cataloguing exactly what makes you sob, and he will look like he's winning a championship the entire time. chin wet. completely satisfied with himself in a way that has nothing to do with his own orgasm.

"you're close, aren't you, schatz. look at you. so desperate for it." smug as hell. when you finally cum he looks at you like he just scored a hat trick.

kaiser cannot handle silence. he needs noise, specifically your noise. moans, whimpers, broken little syllables of his name, even just the sound of you breathing too hard. if you go quiet while he's fucking you he will take it personally and do something about it immediately, angle differently, press his thumb somewhere devastating, lean down and talk filth directly into your ear just to pull a reaction out of you. silence feels like losing. he refuses to lose.

despite all the ego there's definitely an underlying praise kink. if you call him perfect at the right moment, if you look up at him with glossy eyes and say you feel so good, michael, you're perfect, something in his chest does something embarrassing and his thrusts go from controlled to desperate in about four seconds.

he will immediately do something to reset the power balance. but both of you definitely aint forgetting that.

seishiro nagi

nagi basically functions like a sleeper agent. you'll assume he's lazy in bed because he's lazy everywhere else. ironically bed is one of the few things in life that has managed to hold his genuine attention, and the calculation changes completely.

nagi has a breeding kink. not the performed, dirty-talk version. the quiet, unsettling, completely sincere version where he wraps his arms around your waist from behind and presses himself inside you slow and deep and tells you in that flat, half-asleep voice that you should stay just like this. something about the way he says it makes it clear he's not joking.

he doesn't dirty talk much but when he does it comes out calm and matter-of-fact in a way that is somehow ten times more devastating than if he'd shouted it. "you feel so good. want to stay inside you." said with the same energy as commenting on the weather.

he also has an oral fixation that extends to you specifically. he will put your fingers in his mouth, press his lips to your shoulder, the curve of your neck, the inside of your wrist. not aggressively, not biting hard, just, he likes having something in his mouth, and apparently that's you now. he'll suck lazy marks into your skin while you're trying to have a normal conversation and seem completely unbothered by your reaction.

during sex nagi goes slow and deep rather than fast. he grinds. slowly. absolutely maddening. and he watches your face with those heavy-lidded eyes like he has nowhere else to be and nowhere he'd rather look, and the combination of his total unhurried attention and how full you feel is enough to make your vision blur at the edges.

he will not stop until you've cum at least twice. not out of performance, not out of ego. purely because he finds your orgasms interesting and wants to keep watching them happen.

reo mikage

reo reads as soft and romantic and perfectly gentle, and he is genuinely all of those things, but underneath all the silk and decorum there is something that has been held tightly for too long, and the moment he's in private with someone he trusts, it needs to come loose.

reo responds to being edged like nothing else. if you bring him close and pull back, close and pull back, his composure cracks layer by layer in a way that is almost uncomfortable to witness. by the third time he's crying without meaning to, hands fisted in the sheets, his whole carefully constructed version of himself just gone.

"please." reo begging. reo, who has never needed anything in his material life, saying please with his face wet and his cock flushed and his whole body shaking. it does something irreversible to you.

reo loves scent. not in a strange way, in a completely obsessive territorial way. he wants to smell like you and he wants you to smell like him. he'll pull you against his chest after sex and press his face into your hair and just breathe, and if you're wearing a piece of his clothing he will short-circuit quietly in a way he is absolutely not equipped to put into words.

the caretaking runs both ways. he wants to take care of you, feed you, run your bath, wrap you in something warm. but he also crumbles if you take care of him. if you hold his face in your hands and tell him he's done enough, something that has been held very tightly for a very long time just lets go.

yoichi isagi

isagi's whole energy is earnest and trying-hard and slightly overwhelmed by his own feelings, and that carries into the bedroom in the most endearing and then immediately not-endearing way. he will look at you like you're a puzzle he is devoted to solving, and then solve it very, very thoroughly.

as we all know he has a thigh fixation and nobody quite clocks how specific it gets in practice. he will push your thighs together around his cock before he's even inside you and grind against the pressure with his eyes rolled back, one hand splayed across your hip to keep the angle, and the sounds he makes during this are the most embarrassing thing about him. entirely involuntary. no composure whatsoever.

if you're wearing shorts or a skirt he will lose track of what he was saying mid-sentence. he will put his hand on your thigh during completely non-sexual situations and have to excuse himself from the conversation.

isagi responds to being watched, not in a performative exhibitionist way, but specifically he wants you to watch his face. he wants to know you're paying attention to what he looks like when he lets go. he doesn't understand why this matters to him so much but if you cup his face in your hands while he's fucking you and just look at him, his thrusts go sloppy and his voice goes soft and he sounds genuinely wrecked in a way he never planned for.

"is it… does it feel…" he'll ask, halfway through, needing the verbal confirmation that this is good, that you're here, that he's doing well. that you see him.

and then there's the competitive edge, which ironically isnt that surprising. if he thinks you're not fully undone yet he will take it as a personal challenge. eyes sharp, jaw set, the same expression he gets when he's losing a match and decides he's going to fix it. he will not stop. whatever you need to get there, he is committed.

an: first multi character post ts was so hard but also kinda fun idk man. uhh yeah thats all i got. PLEASE FLOOD MY INBOX </3

Taglist: @inu1gf @143-ilyuu @irethepotato @mikemsmm @bbladie @sky-casino @thetwinkims @elemayooooooo

dragon!sylus

what is a dragon if not power incarnated? as such their mate needs to hold that same fire within them.

as it gets closer to the rare season when dragons can actually mate, you find that your little arguments and snappy comebacks make sylus pause, wings twitching as he simply watches you with a crooked, fanged smile. a worthy mate snarls, pushes back, bares their teeth despite knowing they are smaller. a good sign indeed.

sylus brings back larger and larger kills, watching you roast them over the fire as he looms behind you, purring in contentment when you lean back against him, nestled perfectly underneath his bulky, scaled form. 

you have been saying yes for months. your raised chin. your easy sleep against his warmth. Your exposed throat, your racing pulse, the way you reach for him without thinking, the way your heart rate climbs in his presence and you do not run from it. he knows your body is not deceiving him, he knows that you are ready.

sylus doesn’t want to scare his poor human mate, but if you’re to take his clutch and raise his brood, then you’ll need to be prepped. no worries, he’s more than happy to make sure your body is able to withstand the mating ritual, even if you haven’t realized what you’ve agreed to. but surely you want this right? all of your preening, your increased heart rate around him, you willingness to show him your neck and exposed belly. you want this.

during the late hours of the night when you’re already half asleep you’ll sometimes feel his fangs bite—ever so gently, just enough to leave an indent for now—into the crook of your shoulder or plush of your hips or thighs, something deep and ancient rumbling in sylus’ chest as he pulls away, letting his rough, forked tongue lave over the raw marks.

not even a week after it turns possessive, sylus pinning your sleeping body to the floor of your shared nest as his massive wings surround the two of you, rutting the swollen heads of both his cocks between your ass as you whine in your sleep, unaware of the way sylus begins to lick and nip at the back of your neck, practically drooling at the thought of finally sinking his teeth there. soon.

he’s not as careful as he could have been, sloppy in his desperation, and one night you wake to him above you, his clawed hand pinning down the small of your back as the other is four knuckles deep in your soaked pussy.

“sy-” a moan, and you thrash despite yourself, completely immobile under his weight. “sylus, what the fuck are y-oooh- you doing?” 

you’re gasping, keening as you’re feeling yourself regain consciousness and rise towards another orgasm. 

sylus doesn’t even act like he’s noticed you’ve awoken, narrow-slitted gaze completely focused on the stretch of your cunt as he forces his clawed thumb in as well, spreading you wide despite your protests. 

god, you have no idea how long he’s been at this, but you’re soaked enough to have already cum twice, pussy throbbing and sore from his relentless ministrations. 

in a flash of anger and embarrassment, you blindly kick out behind you. your heel strikes sylus’ shoulder, and he freezes with a low, thunderous growl, glowing red eyes locking with yours. he doesnt budge.

his tongue briefly flashes across the wide expanse of his fangs.

“again.”

his nose drags along the back of your neck, inhaling deeply, the pinpricks of his teeth gliding against the delicate skin making your skin crawl. “my feisty little human, always fighting back, always demanding.”

a pleased growl vibrates through him.

“good mate.”

before you can even question what he means, his fingers pry you apart with more force than before, allowing your juices to trickle down his scaled arm as they stretch you out just enough so he can lean down, licking a long, wet strip up your pussy. Circling your clit once, twice, before dragging all the way up until his draconic tongue curls inside your cunt. 

You buck against sylus’ face despite yourself, sleep drained from you as your back arches violently at the intrusion, screaming at the delicious press of the long, long muscle writhing against your gummy, sensitive walls. too much, too much!

too bad the sight of you fighting him only makes it worse.

the dragon’s instincts completely take over, and your refusal to take sylus’ eggs unless he proves himself worthy isn't the resistance you think it is. it speaks to the fire raging in every dragon’s heart, a wordless acceptance of his ritual as you challenge him, and you force him to show you he deserves it.

and he will show you. 

sylus’ wings spread. his fanged smile does too.

the clawed apex of his wings comes to your shoulder blades, pushing your upper body against the floor as he drags your ass further up, giving him even easier access as he rips the rest of your nightgown, burying his face into your open, sloppy pussy. your struggle is futile against your dragon, and as soon as your whines turn into moans sylus knows you are ready.

his fingers thrust back in, careful so his claws don't scratch you even as all five spread you out, knuckle deep, tongue now flicking against the entrance of your cervix, leaving his saliva's natural relaxant until he feels your cunt loosen around him. your poor pussy is drooling around his tongue, sylus greedily swallowing everything he can as his claws force you into a deeper arch, tongue somehow getting longer as you babble incoherently into the floor.

"good girl," sylus purrs, the low sound humming from his lips and into you, deep and loud enough to echo up your spine as you sob from the vibrations. "good mate, accepting me. accepting my brood, my eggs."

you panic despite yourself, shaking your head and bucking your hips even though you could barely feel anything between your thighs except for overwhelming, numbing pleasure. "e-eggs? no, no..."

"shhh, fight and i'll make it hurt more than you want it to."

sylus' tongue finally curls out of you and you moan, the rough length tracing the sweat-slicked arch of your spine as he mounts you, wings cocooning the two of you in as you feel the unmistakable pressure of both his cock heads press against your numb entrance.

his fangs bite into the back of your neck, claiming you as he breaks skin, feeling the sweet scent of your blood coat his fangs as he purrs.

"you've fought well, now take everything I give you."

merman!rafayel

rafayel is the storm, all tempest and raging waters, ancient as the ocean itself, so his choice in bride is not one he’s taken lightly. after all, that would make you a goddess, and your heirs next to rule the sea. 

he’s already brought you to lemuria in preparation for your betrothal ceremony, merfolk blessing this brave human vessel who will bear their future, all while you laughed and swam among them with a smile rafayel will paint again and again in reverence. the merfolk never ask if you’re staying. they ask what you need, what you’d like, as if the staying is already settled and only the comfort remains to be arranged.

there’s no need to worry you with the specifics of the ceremony. after all, he is now your god, your mate, it is his duty to worry about the specifics of consummation while you simply enjoy connecting with his world, his people. your people now. 

it complicates things when you begin asking to go back to the surface, but rafayel is always gentle with you, taking you back to your old world when you ask, never quite letting you out of his sight before coaxing you back into the ocean. 

and when you hesitate? he sings. a siren song, his webbed hand outstretched as he draws you to the beach again, cold water splashing at your ankles but your body unaffected as the lullaby weaves into your brain, soothing, loving, drawing you closer and closer still. you walk into the water smiling and he is already there, waiting, like he knew the exact moment your feet would find the shore.

after all, rafayel can’t have you running away again. you are lemuria’s queen now. you were their goddess the moment he decided you were, which was long before this ceremony, which was perhaps before you were born, which is the sort of thing he will tell you gently, later, when the permanence of it has had time to feel like home.

you don’t remember swimming out to the middle of the ocean. the waves are calm, a deep endless blue all around you as your kicking limbs all disappear into their depths. something brushes up against you. first, a scrape on your calf, circling you, but there is nowhere to hide. scales, rough and cold, wind against your legs, an even colder pair of arms wrapping around your waist as your body is completely ensnared in his tail. “shhh, I won’t hurt you cutie.” and then the song starts, and you forget once again.

you awake with sand under your skin and the soft lapping of waves, but there is no beach in sight. 

no, it is just you and jagged rocks surrounding you. the waves are only the calm lapping of the pool in the center of the gilded cave, the one and only exit leading deep into the water, and lemurian territory. 

your mating cove has been in preparation for months. the merfolk decorate it as they would a temple, soft things dragged in from shipwrecks, sea glass worn smooth, bioluminescent moss cultivated specifically for warmth and light. every piece chosen with the future queen in mind, and their future heirs. for your stay here is mandatory until the sea god’s brood takes. but surely you already knew this when you agreed to be his mate?

“what do you think, cutie?” a splash, and rafayel surfaces into your cove, razor-thin fangs gleaming up at you as he takes in the sight of you kneeling before the altar of his people. “not bad for a species of artists.”

“rafayel,” your voice is trembling, and he immediately coos at you. “please, take me back to shore. to land.”

you keep pleading, but the sea god ignores your cries. that isn’t what you want anymore silly, can’t you see? you’re the bride of the sea god, the next mother of tides, what your body and mind crave now is him. fully, completely. your poor human biology wants to stop you from fulfilling your role, but it’s okay. rafayel is more than happy to mate you as many times as you need for it to take.

he sings, hauling himself up to the sandy bank of the cave as his voice coaxes you into the water, bare legs splashing into the pool beside him as the first few feet of his enormous tail drag up onto the sand. soft, pillowy, a good bed to take you without risk of injury. 

rafayel has done all your human rites of marriage, now it is time for you to do his. 

once again you find yourself restrained underneath his powerful tail, your upper body still thankfully resting on the solid ground, but hips and under dragged into the pool as rafayel looms above you, squeezing and coiling his tail around your legs.

“t-tight, you’re squeezing me raf–” your legs thrash, however in doing so you only end up straddling the thick expanse of his tail, a low chirping sound echoing from deep within rafayel’s throat as he feels your wet, soft heat grind against him. 

as soon as he feels you rub against the slit of his tail he keens, thrusting forward as the weight of all ten feet of him pins you down onto the sand.

“impatient,” rafayel laughs, and you tremble despite yourself at the sudden sharpness of his teeth. “don’t worry cutie, i’m impatient too.”

you feel it then, something protruding out from the slit as he continues to grind against you, the rhythm of the waves helping him forward and back, reaching a webbed hand down as you feel something curve and grow against the entire length of your stomach. 

panic, red-hot and violent, seizes you as you look down to see his cock-no, two of them-lying side by side against your sternum, one already leaking copious amounts of slime-like substance on your skin while the other appears almost barbed, swollen and impossibly heavy at the shaft. 

“shh, it’s okay.” rafayel is already soothing you, voice a melodic lullaby as he gently guides your chin up to look at him, just focus on him, don’t worry your pretty little head about making them fit. that’s his job. “that’s it baby, relax. sweet thing, beautiful mate, you’ll be the perfect host for my clutch, won’t you?”

you can only nod. 

rafayel preps you for one at a time, his bigger cock already drooling relaxant all over your thighs and cunt as he grinds it over your little clit, allowing the head to hit it several times, your body becoming more and more pliant as he spreads the gentle venom. as soon as your soft breaths turn to moans he knows you’re ready, and drags you just a bit further into the water, enough so one powerful thrust is enough to have his first cock rammed right into your sweet spot. 

it’s white-hot pleasure, your cries broken by a sob as rafayel speeds up, restless as he feels you tighten around him, cunt sucking him in further, accepting his first knot, driving him fucking insane with the way your moans sing to him like a mating song.

you’re perfect, already cumming around him as he feels his second knot swell, the pressure of his eggs rising as his instincts beg him to finish claiming you as his own. soon. soon, he can’t rush your poor, delicate human body, he can't risk breaking you.

the slight prick of fangs against your nipple makes you arch off the sand. it’s all too much, the feeling of being so impossibly full, rafayel’s tongue laving and squeezing your chest, his fingers thumbing at your clit and prodding at your already-full entrance, it all has you dizzy with need.

“more,” you’re begging in spite of yourself and your fear. “please, more.”

of course your god will provide. 

the muscle relaxant his first cock has been pumping out has swelled within you, and with his spare hand he can begin to finger you open alongside his knot, curling against all the spots he knows make you sing. he then lines his second cock up with your entrance, and begins to push. 

you whine, fighting it, hips bucking wildly, but the sheer weight of his tail keeps you pinned. the second cock is thicker than the first, rigid as it catches onto your fluttering entrance and squeezes past the first knot, copious amounts of his relaxant and your juices squirting onto your thighs and into the ocean. rafayel hums sweet nothings, petting you to soothe you, lips going back to swirl and bite at your nipples as you cum for him once more. he squeezes your breasts and wonders if you’ll still produce milk if you don’t have human babies. he hopes you do.

“pretty mate,” a low clicking sound, almost like whalesong fills the cave. he’s close. “wife, all mine. mine, all mine again.” rafayel gasps as his cock bullies yet another inch in, his egg sack bloated and heavy, waiting to be given to a worthy mate, and yet stuck until he can force the last few inches of his knot inside you. 

desperate, a powerful slap of his tail drives him forward, slamming his hips into yours as both knots force their way into your cunt. the waves roar, spraying against the cave's walls as your vision whites out.

the pressure and stretch are overwhelming as you sob into the sand, cries turning into moans as rafayel’s fingers never ease up on your clit, numbness seizing your lower half as rafayel’s entire body begins to convulse with the press of the first egg into your womb.