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the real deal

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Fingertips trail up the inside of Mona’s thighs, ticklish and teasing in a way that leaves Mona more desperate than she’d like to admit. There’s a flash of glossy black hair and pale skin, and sharp blue eyes watch her with an arrogant cockiness that makes Mona want to scream. She doesn’t, of course - instead, she lets him push her legs a little wider, lets those soft hands smooth over softer skin until they reach her where she’s open and aching, all for him.

He scoffs, using his thumbs to spread her wide for him. Mona can’t help the way she whimpers at the noise, turning her head into the pillow and squeezing her eyes closed. “Oh, no,” he says, his voice silky smooth. It’s strange - he sounds a little distant, as though he isn’t right there in front of her, but Mona pushes the thought away as he leans in. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Mona doesn’t respond - can’t respond, for some reason - she just lets him pull her head back until she’s facing him, his fingers firm around her jaw until she opens her eyes once more. He hovers above her, his figure hazy in the dim light of the room. She can still make out the expression on his face, though, and he looks at her like she’s prey beneath him.

“Good girl,” he tells her, his voice sweet, but Mona knows he doesn’t really mean it. “Now, let me have my fun, yeah?”

Mona nods, slow as molasses, and watches with hooded eyelids as he settles between her legs. His figure is still a little blurry as he moves, and no matter how much Mona blinks, it still feels oddly impermanent. The thoughts leave her head as he presses his fingers against her mouth, and she opens her lips to let him push his fingers onto her tongue. 

There’s a pressure between her legs as he presses the fat head of his cock against her, coating himself in her wetness, and she moans around his fingers as he pushes inside, stretching her out until it aches a little. It feels so good, so intense, but the pleasure is still dulled by something Mona can’t quite place.

He presses in until he’s so deep Mona is writhing, his hips flush against hers. Mona kicks her hips up a little, trying her best to grind herself against his skin, but he grabs at her hips and holds her down until she’s gyrating her hips fruitlessly in tiny little circles. “Archons, stop,” he gasps, his hips rocking incrementally into her. “Fuck, you’re so desperate, aren’t you?”

Mona doesn’t reply. She just looks up at him, hazy and glowing above her, and sucks a little harder on his fingers, running her tongue along the seam of his knuckles. He groans as he watches her, blue eyes sharp and flashing, and cants his hip against hers. Her reaction is instant - she moans around his fingers, her back arching a little, and grinds her hips against his as best she can while he’s still holding her down.

There’s a laugh from above her, mean in just the way she likes it, and the fingers in her mouth slide out. “I’m going to give it to you so good,” he says, his voice husky and deep. He’s all pink lips and black hair and blue eyes, and Mona fights to keep her eyes open as she looks up at him. It’s getting hazier, a little more distant, and as he leans in, it feels like it’s fading fast, growing darker, until -

Mona wakes up with a jolt to the sound of rain pelting at her windows, sweaty and hot despite the bed sheets kicked to the bottom of the bed. It takes her a minute to come back to her senses as she stares at the ceiling, breathing hard into the pitch black of her room, and the first thing that she notices is the fact that she’s aching .

“Not again,” she groans, covering her eyes with her palms as she turns her head into her pillow. “Ugh, why me?”

This is the third time this week that she’s had one of these dreams. Apparently, meeting a cocky, rude Fatui Harbinger one single time was enough to kick start her brain into a full on obsession that can only be dealt with in the form of near-constant wet dreams. Fantastic.

Still, though, it must be the early hours of the morning, and Mona knows she isn’t going to be able to get to sleep unless she deals with her little problem as quickly as she can. So, her head still buried firmly in her pillow, she slides down her underwear and kicks them off the bed, leaving her bare beneath her nightgown. She spreads her legs apart, shivering as the silk of her nightgown slides against the bare skin of her thighs, and hesitates for just a moment before she lets her fingers wander. 

There’s really no need for foreplay with how wet she is, but she can’t help but play with herself, just a little. One hand cups a breast, her fingers pinching gently at her nipple until her hips are jumping, her breaths uneven and shuddering. Her other hand skims along the inside of her thighs until goosebumps rise, and Mona tries her hardest to not think about Scaramouche doing the same to her in her dream.

Of course, as is the case every time this happens, she fails spectacularly. The memory of her dream is already fading, hazy like gossamer in her mind, but she can still picture the way he’d touched her, his hands soft and warm against the insides of her thighs as he’d spread her legs to slip between. Mona muffles a moan into her pillow, trailing her fingers between her legs until she’s touching herself where she’s hot and wet.

Gently, tenderly, she drags two fingers through her wetness, shivering when her fingertips drag across her clit. It’s so good , teasing herself like this as she imagines Scaramouche doing the same to her, whispering praise into her ear in that cocky, self-assured voice he used on her the last time they met as he presses his fingers against the entrance of her cunt, pushing in so slow that it makes her keen and writhe against him. 

The thought of it pushes her to slide her fingers down to her entrance, to tease herself and dip her fingertips in, the pressure of it making her pant into her pillow. Just like Scaramouche did ,  her treacherous brain supplies, and she can’t help but push a little harder until her fingers slide into her cunt, slick and smooth and so good that she shivers with the sensation of it. 

It’s easy to get lost in it, then - Mona squeezes her eyes shut tighter, massaging her breasts as she fucks herself with her fingers. Her knuckles and the sheets grow wetter as she hooks her fingers up until she finds that little spot that has her choking out a moan into her pillow, but it still doesn’t feel like enough - not compared to the way Scaramouche felt in her dream, stretching her cunt wide as he pushed inside, slow and indulgent. 

Mona whimpers again at the thought of it, pinching her nipple between her fingers as she grinds the heel of her palm against her clit, her hips rocking in tandem against the motion of her fingers. She’s so close, that familiar coil of heat winding tighter in her lower stomach, and she bites hard on her lower lip as she grinds her fingers deep and hard into her cunt, trying her hardest to keep the gyration of her hips steady.

She pants against the pillow, breathing hard as she pictures Scaramouche fucking into her fast and deep, his strong thighs bracketing her own, his hands on her hips to keep her exactly where he wants her. She thinks about how he would look at down at her, his hair falling into his eyes as he watches her, how he’d bend down until his mouth was at her ear, his voice rough and deep and rich like honey as he’d whisper ‘good girl’ right into her ear-

The thought of it is enough to send Mona over the edge, and she chokes out a long, loud moan into her pillow as she comes, her hips grinding hard against her hand. It’s wet and messy and it feels so good as Mona fucks herself through it, her fingers thrusting gently into her cunt. She keeps going until it’s white-hot and a little too much, rocking her hips against her hand until her thighs are shaking too hard to ignore, breathing hard into the fabric of her pillow. 

Her orgasm has her shivering and curling in on herself for a long moment, coming over her like waves. It takes a few long moments until she can think clearly again, and she finally turns her head back, opening her eyes and panting as she stares at the ceiling. The oh-so-familiar feeling of embarrassment is already beginning to linger at the back of her mind, and Mona tries her very hardest to avoid thinking about any more blue eyes or whispered praises.