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abyssruler · 1 year

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5 SUNDAYS OF KINKTOBER

5TH MASS ♱ scaramouche x fem!reader

homily — you look good when you cry in the middle of the hall after he deliberately humiliates you in front of everyone. but he thinks you look best when you look up at him through teary eyes as you choked on his fingers in the school’s public restroom.

communion — comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist!

modern au, college au, bully scara, possessive scara, noncon, manipulation, blackmail, degradation, humiliation, dacryphilia, oral m-receiving, semi-public sex, nonconsensual filming, spit kink, warning you now: scara is an asshole

5 sundays of kinktober

Scaramouche could be so pleasant when he wanted to, donning a fake smile that worked on your parents like a charm, talking and laughing with them over breakfast like he hadn’t just been pounding his cock into you last night, your cries and moans muffled by the forceful way he shoved his fingers into your mouth.

He got off of seeing your face twist with pain, tears flowing down your cheeks as you gagged around his fingers knuckles deep in your throat.

It was a wonder your parents never suspected anything of your childhood friend, not raising the slightest question whenever he invites himself to your home for a ‘sleepover,’ as he likes to call it. But a sleepover doesn’t involve him lying next to you as he grinded his hardness over your ass, arms circling around your torso possessively as his hands grabbed and tweaked at your nipples, ignoring your silent protests and the way you futilely tried to move away from his reach.

He never fails to lean in, breaths hot against the shell of your ear, and whisper in a tone that’s so falsely pleasant it makes your stomach churn with fear, “Stop moving. You don’t want those videos getting leaked, do you?”

And like a dog that’s been trained to obey its master, you do whatever he asks of you, whether it’s opening your legs for him or getting on your knees to have your throat abused by him.

Now, he smiles like the friend he pretends he is to you when you’re with your parents, complimenting your mother over the delicious breakfast she made and making conversation with your dad about the latest project at his company.

You know what your parents think of him, that he’s such a sweet boy, so smart and charming, he’d be such a good boyfriend, don’t you think?

It always makes your throat close up, fighting the nausea that threatens to overtake your senses. They don’t know just how wrong they are, how much he’s violated your body and privacy, the blackmail he owns is a constant thing that hangs over your head in shame. The person you thought you could trust most in the entire world ended up being the person to betray you first.

Kunikuzushi was so sweet when you were children, but now you barely recognize him anymore. Not since he got involved with the wrong crowd when you were in high school, not since he started going by the name Scaramouche.

“I better go now, I promised my friends I’d meet with them later,” he tells your parents, pretending to look forlorn at the prospect of leaving. Your parents ate it all up, assuring him that he’s always welcome to return, that he can visit whenever he likes. All the while you’re sitting beside him, twisting your fingers on your lap and trying not to flinch with each word that comes out of your parents’ mouth.

A hand lands on your shoulder. It takes all you have not to rip it away.

You turn your head up to see Scaramouche standing from his seat, looking down at you with something you could almost describe as soft—still all for show. The moment you’re out of your parents’ eyesight, he’ll go back to being his cruel self.

“Will you come see me off?” He asks, but the brief tightening of his grip on your shoulder says enough. It wasn’t a request.

“Y-Yeah, of course, Kuni.” The old nickname slips off your tongue, as familiar to you as your own name. He likes to pretend it bothers him, especially when you call him that in front of others, but you know how much he likes hearing it from you. He always comes undone when you moan his name, on the few times when his hand isn’t covering your mouth or his fingers aren’t choking you.

You walk him to the front door, your parents staying seated at the table. He turns to you when he reaches the door, the smile on his lips gone, replaced with a familiar scowl that continues to haunt your dreams.

His hand closes around your jaw, fingers digging almost painfully to your cheeks. He leans in, eyes narrowed on your frightful face.

“Open your mouth.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You already know what he means to do, so you part your lips, sticking out your tongue for good measure. He likes it when he doesn’t have to say something to make you do it.

He looms over you, opening his mouth and spitting a glob of saliva directly over your tongue. It takes all you have not to shudder in disgust. Even after going through such a thing for what feels like hundreds of time, his twisted perversion never fails to make tears well in your eyes at the humiliation.

“Swallow.”

Your throat nearly protests the action. You have to force yourself not to heave after it goes smoothly down your throat.

Scaramouche’s eyes are focused intently on you, pupils blown wide and his lips stretching into a mocking smile. You jolt when he suddenly reaches down and cups your clothed cunt, having easier access to it due to the skirt that he always forces you to wear.

He steps close, and you still in order to stop any involuntary reactions from you should your movement cause his hand to produce friction against the sensitive spot between your legs.

His eyes bore into you, nearly making you shrink back from his gaze. “Don’t even think about touching yourself while I’m not there. This fucking cunt is mine.”

As if to emphasize his words, his hand applies the slightest pressure, grazing against your clit and evoking a whimper from your lips.

You nod shakily. “Yes, I-I won’t touch myself, Kuni.”

He smiles, pouring all his false saccharine sweetness into that one gesture, loosening his hold on your jaw and retracting his hand from beneath your skirt to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. It would have seemed like a gentle act — if you didn’t know any better.

“Good girl.”

✧

His friends all think you’re his little pet.

Dottore leers at you from across the table, playing with the butter knife in his hand as he twists his lips to show razor-sharp teeth. You avert your gaze hastily, a combination of fear and disgust bubbling in your gut. An amused puff of laughter is all you hear before you feel a hand tug at a lock of your hair.

“Now, who let Scaramouche’s little bitch sit with us at the table?” Comes his mocking drawl, a hint of that twisted sense of amusement in his voice. You try your best to keep your gaze fixed to the table, knowing they’ll see it as defiance should you raise your head to meet their eyes. “Don’t you know dogs belong in the kennels?“ He pulls at your hair, hard enough to make you wince. “Why don’t you—”

A hand slaps away the hand holding a strand of your hair.

“Who do you think you are to touch what’s mine?”

You risk a glance at Scaramouche sitting by your side to find him glaring at Dottore, the fork in his hand gripped so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

Dottore grins unrepentantly, retracting his hands and raising them in the air as a sign of peace. “You should teach your little pet better manners.”

“And you should learn how to mind your own business,” he sneers, stabbing his fork straight into his steak.

Dottore smirks, utterly entertained by Scaramouche’s temper, but ultimately deciding that toying with you must not be worth it.

You reach up to fix your hair, still keeping your gaze on the table. Tugging on the hem of his shirt to get his attention, you murmur when he deigns to turn his head to you, “Thank you, Kuni.”

Though it seems you weren’t as quiet as you’d hoped to be.

Tartaglia, who was sitting on your other side, snorts at the nickname.

You freeze up just as Scaramouche beside you goes still. Heart beating out of your chest, palms beginning to turn clammy, and tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, you dare to look up and see what expression he has.

Your heart drops.

He’s looking down at you, face frozen in a mask of fury, eyes wide with a promise to do unspeakable things to you later.

“Pft. You let her call you Kuni?” Tartaglia fans the flames, knowing how much trouble it’d get you. You feel his hand slither near your side, and you shrink away from his touch. You’ve always thought that if Scaramouche weren’t so terrifying, all his other friends would have forced themselves upon you by now.

Your tongue twists on itself, bottom lip trembling the way it always does whenever you so much as get a hint of his anger. “I-I’m sorry—”

“Shut up,” Scaramouche says icily, whether it’s for you or Tartaglia, you didn’t know.

He doesn’t like it when you call him Kuni in front of others. For all that he gets off of hearing your once-innocent nickname for him be said in such debauched tones accompanied by the squelching sounds of your walls squeezing around him and the slap of skin against skin, he abhors it when you call him that in front of others.

He grabs your jaw harshly with one hand, forcing you to look him in the eye and ignoring the way you whimper at how hard his grip is. From your periphery, you can see that the rest of his friends have stopped their conversation to watch your impending humiliation with a sick sense of delight.

“I thought I told you to keep that mouth shut.” He pulls you close, his mouth a hairsbreadth away from yours, breath warm against your lips. But then he leans away, roughly pushing your face away as he lets go, leaving your jaw aching and eyes watery. “Get out of my sight.”

You scramble to do as you’re told, ignoring the jeers of his friends and the pitying looks from nearby tables, nearly toppling your chair from the haste with which you stand up. You don’t see the leg that stretches out beneath you.

Your knees ache, palms red from the force as you fell to the floor. You’re sure you’ll be sporting gashes and bruises on your knees tomorrow, but it isn’t the pain that opens the dam of your tears, lips wobbling in an attempt to smother the hiccup that threatens to rise from you.

It’s the sound of laughter that echoes in your ears.

You all but run out of the cafeteria and into the restroom you always hide out in, practically feeling his gaze on your back the whole way. If you close your eyes, you can almost imagine what sort of look he would have had as you tripped. Eyes leering at you, mouth twisted in a cruel mockery of a smile, and perhaps a hint of pink at his cheeks—the only sign of his arousal, proof of how much he enjoys seeing you get hurt and humiliated.

The door to an empty cubicle locks shut behind you, falling to the closed seat of the toilet and placing your hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs. Even that one simple act reminded you of him, of the way he likes seeing you gag and choke around him and the way he’d push your face over the mattress to silence you, palms heavy against your lips whenever he fucked you in a public space, “You don’t want us to get caught, do you? So be quiet.”

✧

He finds you, just like he always does whenever you run away to have your little tantrums, as he calls it.

“Get out.”

You opened the door of the cubicle, ever the obedient little pet his friends like to taunt at. He’s leaning by the sink with his arms crossed, a frown fixed on his deceptively angelic face, eyes narrowing once he sees you.

Fidgeting with your fingers, you try to apologize again as sincerely as you can muster, “Kuni, I’m sorry.”

Scaramouche is at you in an instand, a hand around your neck and a dangerous look on his face, not quite squeezing but still tight enough to be threatening. Your knees lock in place, hands trembling with fear as you fought the urge to cry again with the way he’s looking at you.

“Get on your knees.”

Your eyes dart to the unlocked door, heart rate rising. Anyone could enter at any moment. He liked the thrill of defiling you on public spaces—fitting rooms, cubicles of public restrooms, the janitor’s closet—but always with an added precaution, always with the door locked.

“Someone might come in and see—”

“So what?” He rudely interrupts, squeezing his fingers around your throat just enough to be uncomfortable. Then he snickers, watching the way your eyes begin to water again. “You’re such a crybaby.”

“Kuni, please. I don’t want—”

His mouth roughly lands against yours, swallowing whatever protests you had as he roved his tongue inside your mouth, taking and taking and taking without consideration. It hurts, the way he’s pressing his lips over yours and the way his teeth bites onto your bottom lip, tongue roving over your own, making sure you taste all of him. It leaves you lightheaded and out of breath by the time he pulls away, a trail of saliva hanging between you that he doesn’t bother wiping away. Just as he likes it. Rough, messy, and filthy.

He likes seeing you covered in his own cum from head to toe, dribbling from your mouth, running down the valley of your breasts, and your pussy so stuffed full that it drips down your thighs and makes a mess beneath your feet.

You think if he could, he would keep you locked up in his room, never stepping out and only there to be used as a cum dump and admired as you lay on top of his bed with your eyes crossed in the wake of an orgasm, legs spread, cum oozing out of your hole and slipping between your ass, utterly making a mess of the sheets below.

Scaramouche laughs at your dazed look, loosening his hold on your neck, enough that you can break out should you wish it. You don’t.

“Are you actually scared?” He taunts, a grin on his lips that managed to show how truly deplorable of a person he is. “Scared that someone would walk in and see how much of a slut you really are?”

You place both palms on his wrist, looking at him imploringly through glassy eyes. “Please—”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” He steps close, close enough that you can feel his breath fan across your face. Then, in a whisper that is nothing short of threatening, he tells you, “Everyone knows I’m fucking you like the little whore you are, they only need proof. Now, should I send them the video, or are you gonna get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness?”

He delights at the way your eyes dim in understanding. You can feel his hardness throb against you when you bite your lips to stop the rush of tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

You hate yourself for being so easy to be reduced to tears, but mostly you hate yourself for being unable to truly deny him anything.

His hands release their hold on your neck just as you obediently fall to your knees, looking up at him in despair. He raises a brow, gesturing to the growing hardness in his pants with a humorless smile.

Your fingers fumble to undo his zipper, pulling down his waistband and taking him in your hand. Shuddering as you began moving your hand up and down his shaft, he impatiently grabs the back of your head, fingers intertwining with your hair as he forced you to look up at him.

“Open your mouth.”

With only the slightest hesitation, you part your lips for him, taking care to open them wide enough that your teeth won’t graze him. (Your jaw still aches with the memory of being forced to have him inside your mouth until your jaw nearly locked in place and you were crying, pleading with your eyes to please, please make it stop.)

Scaramouche slips inside your mouth with ease, groaning in pleasure as his cock is enveloped with a heat that only your cunt could top. He pushes all the way inside until your nose is brushing against soft tufts of hair and the tip of his length hits the back of your throat. You gag, but no amount of pushing against his thighs has him moving, watching you with pupils blown wide, his cheeks pink and breaths shaky.

“Hah… look at you, all on your knees for me. You’re probably secretly into this, being used like a toy. You’ve always been so hard-to-get, but inside you’re nothing but a slut who likes feeling my cock anywhere inside you.” He laughs, tugging at your hair and pushing himself even deeper than before.

It isn’t until a tear falls from your eye that he retracts himself, giving you only a moment’s respite before pushing your head forward, keeping a harsh but steady pace as he fucks into your mouth, bruising the back of your throat the same way he constantly abuses your insides. Thick spurts of pre-cum escape the slit of his cock, dragging across your mouth and dripping from the corners of your lips. It mixes with your drool, flowing down your chin and onto the floor, slathering his length in a transparent sheen that gathers along the base of cock as he repeatedly slams himself hilt deep into your throat.

You find it difficult to breathe, difficult to swallow, difficult to think as he continues to thrust into your mouth without abandon, his pace becoming erratic, harsh puffs of breath escaping him, and from the familiar twitch of his cock, you can tell he’s close. So you flatten your tongue along his shaft, hollowing your cheeks as best as you can, and closing your eyes to stop the tears from breaking out.

“Fuck, fuck. Look at me,” he orders, voice one pitch away from becoming breathy.

You open your eyes and gaze up at him, unable to stop the wetness that’s gathered in your eyes from falling. His hips falter, his hold on your hair tightening to the point that it makes you cry out from the pain. It only serves to pleasure him more, the vibrations from your throat sending him to the edge as he pushes himself in as far as he can go.

Thick, warm spurts of cum shoot into your mouth, a taste so familiar you barely gag as it gathers in the back of your throat. Scaramouche thrusts himself into you, once, twice, until he’s sure your mouth has finished milking him dry.

He pulls out, not bothering to tuck himself in as he moves his hand from the back of your head to your cheek, tilting your head up. And you already know what he wants you to do, so you open your mouth, let him see his cum mixed with your saliva. Your mouth is too full to keep them all in, flowing down your chin in excess and staining your shirt.

You’re unprepared for the two fingers he shoves into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag and involuntarily swallow his cum.

“That’s right, swallow it all like the cum-thirsty whore that you are,” he laughs at you, at the pathetic look you must sport — red eyes, puffy lips, and dried tear tracks on your cheeks.

He retracts his fingers from your mouth, not bothering to wipe them clean.

“Get up,” he orders, stepping away from you and approaching the sink. You stand on shaky legs, knees sore not only from the hard tiles, but also from the fall earlier.

Scaramouche gestures to the counter, his lips pulled up in a leer, roving his eyes over your figure, lingering on the stain on your chest from the cum you failed to keep in your mouth earlier. You nearly collapse by the sink, arms supporting you as you leaned your top over the counter.

His hands push the hem of your skirt up, palms lingering on the swell of your ass, before he unceremoniously pulls your panties down to your knees. You unconsciously clench down on nothing as your pussy is exposed to the cold air.

He runs a finger up and down your folds, gathering your slick and raising his hand to examine them. You finally raise your head, meeting his eyes on the mirror.

“You’re all wet. I bet you enjoyed it, didn’t you? Being used like a ragdoll. Tell me, do you touch yourself when I’m not there?” He delivers it in a nonchalant tone, but from the tightness of his fingers around your hips, you know he’s serious.

Quickly shaking your head, you try to plead that he’s the only one who’d ever touched you, voice scratchy from his earlier abuse of your throat. “I-I promise, Kuni. I’ve never—”

“Liar,” he hisses.

The only warning you have is the way he shifts, and then his cock slips inside you, far too thick and far too big, pushing through your walls and splitting you in half. The vein that runs along his shaft rubs against your insides in a way that has you clenching down at him with pleasure, even as you cry out in shock and pain at being entered without preparation.

“Fuck,” he groans, the tip of his cock touching the entrance of your womb, and you know without a doubt that he’ll continue hitting that spot later, if only to see the way you squirm and cry in a mix of pain and pleasure. “Still so fucking tight even after I’ve fucked that hole of yours so many times. Hah… if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a virgin.”

Slowly, he pulls out, relishing in the way your walls clench down on him, trying to suck him back into your heat. And when only the tip of his cock remains inside, he rams his hips into you with a force that has you choking out a sob as he hits your cervix, over and over and over again, until you can no longer distinguish between pain and pleasure. Only an endless motion of him fucking his length into you, fingers digging into your hips in a bruising grip that will no doubt show on your skin tomorrow.

“Kuni—Kuni, please… slow down—” A particularly harsh thrust has you slurring your words, arms losing balance. Your top falls onto the counter, the coolness of the cheap marble against your cheek doing nothing to chase away the heat that’s bubbling inside you, gathering in your belly and threatening to snap with every drag of his length against your cunt.

“Shut up,” he snarls, biting back a moan at how you clench down on him at the harsh order. “I can feel your sloppy little pussy sucking me in. You’re like a bitch in heat, taking my cock in like that. If you even think about letting anyone else use this fucking cunt, I’ll kill them.”

You can do nothing but nod to his words, sobbing on top of the counter as Scaramouche uses you like you’re nothing but a hole for him to fuck himself into, unrepentantly slamming his hips into your ass, blunt nails digging into your skin.

Moans and whines fill the restroom, the air smelling of sex as you cried out his name with every thrust he takes. Your mind is far away, lost in a haze of pleasure, uncaring whether your voice will be heard by any passing teacher or student, uncaring of the unlocked door and the fact that if even one person hears your cries, the whole campus will know it by tomorrow.

So lost in your thoughts as you were, you failed to notice when Scaramouche pulled out his phone and started filming, angling the camera into the sight of his cock pushing in and out of you, a ring of cream gathered at the base, the squelching sound caught by the microphone. He moans, a guttural sound that he doesn’t even try to hide, pace stuttering and hips jerking into you in short, fast thrusts.

You’re unable to hide the way tears run down your cheeks, stopping yourself from reaching your climax until he allows you to, breaths fogging against the counter and toes curling inside your shoes, legs shaking from the effort of keeping your lower half upright, along with your impending release.

“Kuni, I wanna—I wanna—” You sob, unable to form the words and resorting to incoherent babbles.

“Fuck, fuck. You’re so fucking—” Scaramouche lets go of your hip and reaches for your clit, rubbing harsh circles into the sensitive little nub that has you wailing, your hands futilely trying to muffle the loud sounds. “Go.”

Your legs spasm, walls clenching down on him so tight, he has to stop for a moment as you reach your release. Your lips part to let out a scream the way you always do when the thread snaps and your orgasm hits you, and without fail, he reaches out to cover your mouth with his palm, fingers digging into your cheeks.

He lets out a few quick jerks of his hips before he releases inside you, biting down his lip to keep himself quiet, pushing himself deep inside and making sure not a drop of his cum is wasted.

Warmth explodes inside you, as familiar as the feeling of him pulling out, feeling his cum begin to flow out of your hole.

He remains silent, breathing heavy puffs of air before he leans in, pulling your hair back and pressing an impossibly soft kiss to your temple. He holds you steady as you wobble to a stand, arms sore and knees feeling like jelly, eyes red and drool slipping over your chin.

He holds your waist in a steady grip, his arm over your stomach to support you as he helps you pull your panties up and adjust the skirt of your uniform, smoothing out any wrinkles using the palm of his hand.

You watch him do all this with half-lidded eyes, mind still hazy from your climax. Your hands are tight over his arm, trying to keep yourself upright as you lean your back on his chest, trying to catch your breath. You spy his phone lying on the counter but think nothing of it, much too focused on the familiar script of Scaramouche’s quiet aftercare.

He could be so gentle during these times. In the aftermath of his rough fucking, when all that repressed anger has been spent on you, melting away and leaving a hollow shape in his chest. You think he doesn’t know what to do when he isn’t feeling anger or satisfaction — rather, he’s forgotten how to handle feelings that he might call shallow, such as happiness and love.

Quietly, he murmurs, a stark contrast to himself just minutes ago, “I’ll buy us dinner later, just the two of us. I’ll even drive you home after.”

It’s times like these that lets you see a glimpse of his old self, the Kunikuzushi you once loved.

But then he sighs, an annoyed furrow to his brows, and the tender moment is broken.

“Get off. Can’t you stand on your own? Or are you that stupid that you can’t even function without me?”

You take a step out of his hold, legs shaky but managing to support you regardless. From the corner of your eye, you spy him swiping his phone into his pocket, far too quickly for someone attempting to be inconspicuous.

Your heart sinks at the realization of what he’s done — again — but you only have yourself to blame for being so spineless.

Scaramouche turns to you, a considering look in his eye before he reaches out to smooth your hair into something that resembles less of a bird’s nest. He sneers at you, “Don’t go around looking like an imbecile.”

His hand clamps around yours, but despite the harsh look on his face, his touch is soft. He drags you out of the restroom, not even bothering to clean up the mess you’d made in the form of a few splotches of cum mixed with drool on the floor as well as the counters. But neither do you. All that’s on your mind is his hand on yours as he pulls you through the halls.

Like this, with only the back of his head facing you, you could almost pretend you’re back to being those naive children, giggling to each other as he promised to marry you someday back in the summer of your tenth birthday.

Perhaps that’s why you continue to stay, why you’ve never told your parents about the things he’d done to you, why you suffer through humiliation after humiliation just to continue being with him. And it’s unhealthy, you know that much, and maybe you should have turned your back on him when he knocked on your bedroom window with blood on his hands and a terrified look on his sixteen year old face — the beginning of the end, that one turning point in his life that made him the way he is now.

And maybe you do blame yourself for it, for not knowing how to help him, for being so lost and young and utterly ignorant of what was brewing in his head. Maybe that’s why you continue to stay beside him, the guilt of failing him, of failing Kunikuzushi.

His hand tightens around yours when you pass by a gaggle of male students, all of them looking at you with a smirk that soon dies when they see the expression on Scaramouche’s face.

And maybe you can continue deluding and comforting yourself with the thought that you’re here with him willingly, that it’s guilt and a sense of responsibility that makes you stay — even though you know the true reason is that he has a tight leash on your neck in the form of a video he took during the first time he had you, back when he still had bright eyes and a genuine smile, back when you still believed you loved him.

5 sundays of kinktober

word count — 5.1k

taglist — @pardofeliscalico @monicahar @monikidk @sunhareskies @thearcanafan @kaeyats @luvrsthrist @xinii @w9vyy @ineedavirtualboyfriend @holynix @myheartneverbe @karasuneo @rei-vi @shuvvs @miss-fantazmagoria @bunnlatte @shironakuronatasa @leleforpresident @scaranaris-lil-niko @holy365

#not sfw #this is the spiciest fic i’ve ever written #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche x reader smut #fem reader #5th mass #5 sundays #kinktober #genshin kinktober

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kamurocho-confessional · 11 months

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"They need to bring crow feet back why the fuck do Kiryu and Majima look younger on 7 than they looked back in 3??

Just look at Kashiwagi and Adachi...... we need old men looking like hags"

#rgg #ryu ga gotoku #ryu ga gotoku 7 #yakuza series #yakuza 7 #yakuza like a dragon #ryu ga gotoku 3 #yakuza 3 #kazuma kiryu #goro majima #osamu kashiwagi #koichi adachi #confession #sfw #039 #i was gonna post this on sunday but its fathers day and i wanna post dad-exclusive confessions that day #ill make a proper post bout that eventually tho

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latinotiktok · 6 months

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#videos #jueves de hannibal #on sunday #KSJFKDJGM #cada vez mas desorganizado help #not sfw

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merakiui · 1 year

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I just... I just want to indulge Riddle's breeding kink. I want to tell him how much I want him to fill me up and how I want him to make a baby with me. How good dad he'd make and how my fertile womb is ready to create life. Please impregnate me mr Riddle, you can do it as often as you'd like, even after you succeed <3

orz this is the dream life!!!! Why should I think of anything else when I can just be Riddle's devoted wifey who he fills every single night instead!!!!

Tell him all of those things and he's gone. Ascended. Roll end credits. orz sometimes he's so predictable because you know those lines are like the finishing moves to slay the final boss, so all you need to do is give him bedroom eyes, whine so salaciously about how you want him to knock you up, breed you like an animal, make you a mommy, stuff you full with lots of cum, etc and it gets him every single time hehe. >:D

And since he's not the best at cooking, maybe you can cook lots of delicious things for him!!! Wear nothing but an apron while you're pregnant and it is a sight that sends blood rushing to his face and his dick all at once!!!! Counter sex with him!!!!! UUUUUUWUWUWAAWAAAA..... orz I think he gets really good at eating you out the more times he does it. And I also think he loves to role-play. >:)

Riddle is so beloved. T_T <3 just imagine he takes you to the NRC reunion years later and everyone sees how very pregnant you are and !!!!!!! I know Azul is seething knowing Riddle has such a cute lover while he is still alone and sad and a loser and so pathetic and has no maidens on land or in the sea and no fish and nothing and is still a scummy, sleazy tako with no one in his life and he's always a loser!!!!!!! (really cutting into Azuzu with that one;;;;;; forgive me, tako. >_<) but Riddle loves you so much and he's so proud of you and I think he secretly likes showing you off at these gatherings so everyone knows that your pregnant belly is his work and he did that to you and no one else could ever have you in the ways he's had you!!!!!! aaaaaaaaaaa orz I'm down so bad for Mr. Riddle.

#meraki thirsts #scaranya #n/sfw #tw: breeding #tw: pregnancy #i see riddle and it's over for me </3 #knock me up six ways to sunday please!!!! >v<#AND JADE OOOOO JADE JADE JADE OTL #he hits so different #with floyd he's cute and sometimes you want the occasional filthy depraved sex #but jade... only the most rough gross filthy sex please orz something about him just incites lust >:(#i need to ride him until he's crying!!!! i need to see him on his knees so desperate and pathetic wipe that annoying smirk off his face #by sitting on it!!!!!! <3 #anyways ^^;;;; hi hello i am so normal about these men

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lemonzestywrites · 2 months

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several sentence sunday

tagged by the bestest @devirnis ty!!!

as always a little bit from ch.4!! a la the phone sex chapter

(mentions of nudity and sexual content below the cut!!)

“B-Buck, I…” A low moan reverberates from the other line. Buck feels himself beam at the sound. “Use your words, Eddie,” he smiles. Teasing. Hungry. Relishing every moment offered right now. Eddie groans, eagerness bleeding through alongside a desperation Buck can’t really get enough of. Seeing him let go is one thing, but hearing Eddie get vocal? What a fucking gift. “Can…Can I please touch myself?” The image sears itself into Buck’s mind. Eddie’s desperate hard cock, hanging untouched between his legs. Leaking and making a mess of his thighs and the towel below him. Aching- begging to be touched. All because Buck hasn’t told him he could yet. The thought alone sends a burning shiver across Buck’s chest, one manifested from pride and glowing satisfaction. The visual in his head itself is enough to have Buck’s own cock throb in desperation. But this is about Eddie’s pleasure, not his.

edit - i keep forgettting to FUCKING TAG PEOPLE (im so sorry yall)

tagging - also it is late so no pressure tagging!! @eddiebabygirldiaz @jeeyuns @hippolotamus @wildlife4life @aroeddiediaz @kitteneddiediaz

#911 #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #zestywrites #afotalwcs #not sfw #seven sentence sunday

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trolley-ageres · 4 months

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Desolation rabbit stimboard

🌸 🌸 🌸

💕 🐇 💕

🍼 🍼 🍼

#agere #agere blog #sfw age regression #sfw agere #age regression #agere stimboard #stimboard #sfw littlespace #fandom agere #yes from sundays desolation

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guarddogbutch · 3 months

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shoutout to butches who are being men about the super bowl rn (me)

#yelling at the tv etc #happy super bowl sunday!#sfw #butch4femme #butch4butch

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abyssruler · 2 years

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5 SUNDAYS OF KINKTOBER

1ST MASS ♱ zhongli x fem!reader x raiden ei

homily — you’ve been the most devoted servant of the anemo archon since the end of the war, not noticing the heated looks by two gods that have followed you for millennia. in your moment of loss at the sudden slumber of barbatos after the battle with durin, they don’t hesitate to take the opportunity to convert you to their religion.

communion — comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist!

fem afab reader, dubcon, power imbalance, sub reader, praise, subtle manipulation, fingering, oral f-receiving, dom ei and zhongli, implied venti x reader

5 sundays of kinktober

Lingering stares, stolen glances, and every excuse taken to see even a single glimpse of you.

If Morax and Beelzebub’s affections for the Anemo Archon’s priestess could be summed up into a few measly words, it would be that. Were Barbatos a more sharing god, perhaps he wouldn’t have left his two good acquaintances to pine hopelessly for his most devout follower for the better part of two thousand or so years.

He is not someone who lacks empathy, nor someone who could even be called possessive, but there is something so delightful about the idea of depraving two gods of your attention, that which only he is permitted to have.

Alas, such greed and mischief will be his undoing.

“Sleep well, My Lord. I shall await your awakening however many centuries it may take.”

(Barbatos wakes up five hundred years later to his friend corrupted by the Abyss and the knowledge that his once-devoted priestess is now the wife of two Archons. He hears the tale of how two nations nearly went to war for your hand, but the only thing on his mind is how it would have been three had he been there.)

✧

In the aftermath of the Cataclysm, you are left adrift.

There is no room for you in Mondstadt, where people will gawk and bow in reverence for the mythical figure of Barbatos’ High Priestess in the flesh. Dvalin is to be left to heal in peace and recuperate from his fight. Your Archon has fallen into a deep slumber, and while you are happy to wait for him to wake up, your mind seeks to find something else to occupy it.

Much like the wind your god favors, you wander across the land sculpted by your god aimlessly.

That is, until the winds come bearing news of the death of Baal.

✧

Beelzebub startles when you appear before her in a flash of golden leaves, bearing the scent of your homeland and something else that is entirely unique to yourself.

It isn’t your place to comfort gods, but she is a dear friend and not simply the shadow she always insists on being.

“Ei,” it’s the first time you use her true name (it won’t be the last), “I am sorry for your loss.”

And so much more than that. She has lost her sister, her companions, and has suddenly been thrust into the role of an Archon whilst her nation suffers the aftermath of the destruction that Khaenri’ah’s monsters left.

It is a heavy burden, even for a god. You would know — Barbatos had often lamented to you in the past few millennia how difficult being an Archon was, let alone being an Archon in the fallout of a war.

She approaches cautiously as first, as if unable to believe that you are truly here and not guarding Mondstadt as you so often are found to be doing. You take the initiative and offer your hand.

Her fingers close around your palm tightly. She’s shaking, you realize, so you offer your other hand with the promise of comfort.

She takes it and never lets go.

✧

Ei, you find, is a very clingy friend.

She insists you hold her hand and accompany her to every little outing and event that she needs to attend as the god of Inazuma. At night, she asks you to hold her while she pretends to fall into a deep slumber. You let her arms wrap around you, unable to say that you know she’s not asleep. She is grieving in her own way, you tell yourself, let her have this. Even if her touches linger a moment too long and her hands roam places they shouldn’t.

Your soft heart and the principles engrained into you by your god tells you of kindness and the need to help others even at the cost of yourself.

Her hand brushes against the swell of your breasts.

Let her have this.

✧

A letter bearing the seal of Liyue comes during the fifth month of your stay in Inazuma.

Ei looks up from where she nestled her face into your shoulder, shifting to get a better look at the letter and, in turn, shifting you as well from your place on her lap.

It is a thing close friends do, you tell yourself and ignore the intimate connotations such actions would bring up.

“Morax is inviting me for tea. He says he has missed my company terribly in the past few years we haven’t seen each other.”

Her grip on your waist tightens for an infinitesimal moment.

She is reluctant to let you go.

✧

With Liyue comes spring and the Lantern Rite Festival that will be celebrated for the first time since the end of the Cataclysm.

Morax is as imposing as ever in his white robes and the majestic golden horns that rests at the top of his head like a crown. He welcomes you to his side with a smile, guiding you to your seat with a hand on the small of your back that lingers for a second too long to be appropriate.

You let it slide, just as you’ve let many of his and Ei’s accidents over the past.

He makes for pleasant company, but the winds in the mountain have been strangely upset. One particular strong gust of wind tips the dainty cup of tea over, liquid spilling and dripping down the table and onto the dress you had saw fit to wear on your trip to the land of contracts.

Morax apologizes for the state of the weather today, but you reassure him that all is well.

“I suppose this was my Lord’s way of telling me to wash away the dirt of my travels. I apologize, Morax, but it seems we shall have to cut our tea session short.”

He tells you that it’s alright, suggesting a place for you to bathe in and hinting at a meeting between the two of you again tomorrow. “Perhaps, since Barbatos is no longer looking over your shoulder, I might give you a tour around Liyue?”

“That would be lovely!”

✧

You feel eyes resting on your naked form as you immerse yourself in the cold river water.

You tell yourself that you are in the wilderness, there are bound to be animals and all kinds of avian out and about, curious what the new scent of dandelions and sakura blossoms are.

Gold flashes upon your periphery, but when you turn to look, there is nothing but shrubs and trees within sight.

✧

You spend more time in Liyue than you did in Inazuma.

And when it was time to leave to return to your nation, he refuses you.

✧

Morax, unlike Ei, is a different sort of clingy.

Where Ei was soft, hesitant touches that lingered but never stayed, hidden stares and roaming hands when she thinks you aren’t paying attention; Morax is as hard and unmoving as the element he rules over.

“Please, Morax, I hardly think this is appropriate...”

And it is telling how much gravity those words hold, given how you never spoke such words to Ei no matter how much her hands swept over your breasts and thighs and lingered dangerously close to that one spot between your legs.

“Is it?” he asks, breath ghosting over the skin of your neck, sharp teeth brushing over the sensitive spot but never clamping down—yet. “I should think this constitutes as a simple activity between friends. Or was Beelzebub wrong in her assumptions when she mentioned how close the two of you have gotten in the last few months?”

“No, but—ahh...” Your voice veers off into a mere whimper when he presses his tongue to your pulse and licks a long stripe from the junction of your shoulder all the way to the underside of your jaw.

“Or did she lie when she said how you spend every night in her bed, letting her touch wherever she pleases without voicing a single complaint?”

“I-It wasn’t like that. I—Morax!” you exclaim when you feel one of his large hands grabs the inside of your thigh, shifting close (far, far too close) to that sensitive place between your legs. “You musn’t—”

He ignores your admonition and uses his other hand to pry your legs apart. “So she lied, then. I shall deal with her when the time comes, but for now...”

His hand starts moving closer. Frantic and much too distressed to use your vision, you weakly grab his wrists to spot the inevitable.

You feel his chuckle reverberate from where your back is pressed to his chest. It is all the more humiliating when he subtly bounces his leg that you’re sitting on to shift you closer to him.

His hand wrenches free from your light grip and clasps both of your wrists in one, utterly dwarfing yours in size. You try to squirm away from his grip, but in doing so, you unintentionally brush your clothed cunt over the hand that had previously been resting on your thigh.

Your mouth parts at the sudden contact, unconsciously clenching at nothing and feeling your face warm at the breathy laugh that escapes Morax’s lips.

“Don’t try to deny this, deny me just as you have done for thousands of years.” His teeth slides tantalizingly slow over your neck. “If the High Priestess of Barbatos didn’t want this, she would have used her power that once cleaved mountains to escape from my grasp.”

His fingers glide over your clothed slit. This time, you let him with only a mild protest that sounds weak even to your own ears.

You feel him smile against your skin.

✧

You awake to the feeling of a knot building up in your stomach and the cool breeze over your naked form.

Golden eyes pin you in place. Only then do you register the soft, squelching sound that’s coming from between your legs.

In your drowsy, sleepy state, you can do nothing but pant at the foreign feeling overtaking your senses. “M-Morax, what...”

Your mind blares in alarm when you feel his fingers curl inside you.

But the alarm is replaced by the sheer, mind numbing pleasure that follows. You involuntarily let out a keen mewl that echoes around your chambers.

Something hard presses against your thigh.

You feel him thrust his fingers in and out of you at a brutal pace that has your head spinning and eyes crossing while Morax leans above you and licks his lips at the sight of you slowly becoming undone.

“M-Morax, I don’t want to... this is... wrong—” His thumb reaches up to rub circles on your neglected clit.

“Hm? But you’re doing so well. Doesn’t it feel good?” He soaks in the sound of your cries. Not stopping the pace of his fingers even when you’re begging with drool coming out of your lips.

“I don’t—please, please, wait—” He silences you by covering your lips with his and swallowing the protest that dies once he bullies his tongue into your mouth.

By the gods, you taste as heavenly as he’s always thought.

His hips begin rutting against the softness of your thigh, his tip leaking precum and smearing it across your skin. And with all the debauchery that a god can posses, he conjures the image of you covered in his seed. Thick, white spurts of his seed dripping down your face and slipping between the valley of your breasts. And he wants it so bad he is willing to burn the world for it.

“Morax,” you cry out, legs shaking and clenching around his fingers as your impeding climax approaches.

He shudders at his name being called out in such a wanton tone, grinding his erection harder against your soft thigh. Suckling at the exposed skin of your neck to mark what is his.

“F-Feels s’ good, I-I’m sorry... I’m sorry...” you mutter intelligibly, fingers clenching the sheets and nails almost tearing through the fabric. You legs start spasming violently, heart racing and breath hitching at the coiling tension threatening to release in your belly.

He watches you with rapt eyes and savors the lewd sounds of your cunt welcoming his thick fingers, your slick running down his wrists that he will make sure to lick clean after.

“L-Lord—” His cock twitches as he imagines you calling out to him with such reverence that was once reserved for a certain god. “Lord Barbatos!”

The coil snaps.

Your back arches, letting out a loud cry as tears spill down your cheeks.

Morax feels his smile turn to stone. A twisted feeling creeping up on him, the kind that makes his want to destroy and be the god of war he was once called millennia ago.

Lord Barbatos. He nearly scoffs. What does that drunkard have that he does not? He will have to make you see sense, but not now, not with this ugly emotion clawing at his chest and threatening to break loose.

He leaves you panting on the bed to reign in his bubbling anger, not confident in his ability to control himself at the state he’s in now.

As your high begins to die down, you nearly become sick with the realization that you had enjoyed coupling with someone who wasn’t your god.

✧

You leave before the sun rises.

Ei welcomes you with a surprised but pleased smile—until she catches sight of your harried state and the bruises beginning to form on your neck and across your collarbones.

“Who did this?” Her voice could be likened to a storm gathering on the horizon. Inescapable and deadly.

You collapse into her arms in relief.

✧

You were hesitant to tell her, but she is insistent, and so you cave.

The only thing that stopped her from marching into Liyue’s borders and declaring the second coming of the archon war was you.

She is gentle with you, comforting you with her embrace and letting you do as you pleased.

(And if she takes advantage of your harried emotions by indulging herself to your addicting scent and running her hands over your velvety skin, well, there is no one there to disapprove of her actions. Much less a certain alcoholic god to snatch you away from her grasp.)

Inside, she is seething. Angry and bitter that Morax got to have a taste of you before she did. To mark your skin with bruises and hear your debauched moans as she pleasured you herself. There shall be no interruption within the halls of Tenshukaku, only you and her and the sounds you will make once she gathers the courage to take you for herself.

“You are always so good to me, Ei.”

Perhaps that time will come soon. Ei would like to cover the unseemly bruises made by Morax on the expanse of your flesh with marks of her own.

✧

She’s more handsy than usual. It’s the first thing you note after laying down the bed beside her and immediately being smothered into her chest.

You feel her hands running down your back, the thin robe she insisted you wear every night leaving nothing to imagination. Her touch leaves a trail of goosebumps in their wake, leaving you shivering but not from the cold.

Ei buries her nose into your hair and inhales like it’s the last time she’ll get to smell your scent — perhaps it is. After what she plans to do tonight, you might just denounce her name as you did Morax’s.

It starts small. Lips trailing over your hairline and fingers ghosting over every inch of exposed skin, light as a feather. You want to say that this is merely her being touch-starved as she always is, but there is something in the air, something heated and coiling with unmistakable tension.

Her hand lands on the soft flesh of your rear.

You pull away from her, hands on her shoulders to keep her at bay.

“Ei, what are you—” She cuts you off with a searing kiss.

Your lips taste as divine as she always imagined them to be.

Her hands are quick to untie the knot of your robe, pulling them away in one swift motion and leaving you naked for her to see.

You flinch away from her kiss when cool air brushes over your nipples. Heat making its way to your face once you realize the state of your undress.

Ei grabs your chin and forces you to look into her vivid purple eyes.

And you finally see what you have been resolutely ignoring these past few months.

There is an unmistakable want in her dilated pupils, gaze lidded with lust and the corners of her eyes crinkled with something you couldn’t hope to discern (is it desire, possessiveness, or—love?)

Her lips find their way to your collarbones, nipping at your skin and teeth biting just hard enough to mark but not draw blood. Your hands land on her shoulders, not knowing whether you should push her away or pull her close.

Your breath hitches when her mouth latches on your nipple, her hand moving downwards to a place you know should be reserved for your god only but—

A whine leaves your lips when her fingers begin to rub circles on your clit. Her pace begins to build up, tearing gasps and moans from your throat as she eases you to a painfully quick climax.

Your toes begin to curl against the sheets, hips bucking up to gather more stimulation. Your mouth opens in preparation for a cry—

But then she pulls away.

You hadn’t realized you’d been crying until you look down at her and see only a blur.

“Please, Ei, please I—”

You wail when her tongue lands on your slick folds, lapping at them and grinding the tip of her nose at your abused clit.

She inhales, long and slow, and nearly comes undone from your scent alone. Her hands grab your thighs to pull them further apart, burying her face deeper in your cunt, tongue making obscene noises as she continues to sloppily lap at your slit.

“Feels s’ good... Ei, please... please, I want—” Your pleas turn into incoherent babbles when her tongue begins to fuck into you.

Your slick smears across her face, dripping down her chin and into the wet spot that’s gathering on the bed. Ei will have it remain unwashed for the rest of eternity.

Your hands find purchase in her hair, tangling your fingers in the thin strands and pushing her even closer to your cunt. Loud, shaky breaths escape your lips, thighs closing around her head as the heat in your abdomen begins to build to a crescendo.

Ei feels your thighs shake, so she moves her tongue to your clit and starts suckling at it. One long, slender finger enters you with a wet squelch that she’ll repeat in her head for centuries to come.

You come undone on her face, hot spurts of liquid squirting out of you, and Ei is all too happy to run her tongue over the mess you’ve made and swallow your release.

Silence reigns save for the crude sounds of her lips on your folds.

As you sit in the wake of your high, you cannot even bear to think of your god.

✧

You had thought Morax would come for you as soon as he realized you left. A part of you hopes he had, if only so you can finally sort out the confounding feelings that swirl in your chest, threatening to drown you with their sheer intensity.

Ei busies herself with her nation, working on a project she has yet to tell you about.

“I will reveal it to you at a later date,” is always her reply whenever you broach the topic.

It leaves you feeling a sort of fondness, watching her work in a way she had never been able to when she was still a kagemusha.

On the fourth month after you left Liyue, she presents a puppet to you.

“This is Kuni.”

You stare down at the young looking boy who greatly resembles the former Electro Archon, from the soft swell of his cheek to the smile he greets you with. But there is also a hint of you in the slope of his nose and the shape of his lips.

And you wonder, just for a moment, if she had made him with something else in mind other than the keeper of the gnosis.

That night, in the middle of languid kisses and groping hands, you playfully ask her if this means the two of you are parents now.

She splutters and turns red in the face, but she never denies your question.

✧

With Morax comes the shaking of the earth and Tenshukaku in a frenzy as soldiers frantically begin arming themselves at the threat of the Geo Archon himself.

Thunder rolls across the clouds, threatening to bring unforgiving storms and strike anyone who dares to defy it.

Beelzebub meets him halfway across Inazuma City, a crash of thunder against rock that could be heard even from Seirai Island.

You are left in Tenshukaku with the puppet who has never called you his mother but looks at you like you are. He cries when he sees tall stone spires rising to the sky and flashes of lightning that bring golden pillars to the ground.

You hold him close and press a comforting kiss to the top of his head, this boy who has your lips and your nose and perhaps the crinkle in your eyes when you smile.

✧

It takes two days and two nights for the earth to settle and the skies to clear.

Ei returns with Morax, a compromise between them.

You don’t disapprove of it.

✧

You feel your insides get split apart as Morax sinks into your heat.

His cock is the same girth as two arms and has scales that only a dragon could possess. By the time he buries his whole length inside you, you’re nothing but a drooling, crying mess.

Ei kisses your temple from where she has you on her lap, legs twined with yours to keep them apart and two fingers spreading your folds to let Morax stretch you open.

“You’re doing so well taking me in,” he chuckles when he sees your fucked out state, brushing a hand over your face and wiping away the sweat that had gathered.

He starts pulling out, feeling your walls clench down on him and nearly coming undone at the simple action. Ei toys with your breasts, tweaking your nipples between her fingers as she covers your neck with sloppy, wet kisses.

Morax slams his hips against your so suddenly, it leaves you crying out in both pain and pleasure as the tip of his cock presses against your cervix. He sets a furious pace as he thrusts into you, the ridges of his draconic cock sliding against your clit with every snap of skin against skin that echoes in the room.

“My Lord...” You feel him still. Between the haze of pleasure in your mind and the tight knot building in your stomach, you don’t notice this. “Lord Morax, please—”

A deep, guttural groan reverberates from his throat. With one, quick thrust, he slams himself balls-deep into your cunt and enjoys the way you sob as he keeps hitting the entrance to your womb, leaving you heady and unable to form a single coherent thought.

You register the feeling of a hand snaking down your breasts into the spot between your legs.

Ei rubs circles into your clit, her fingers setting a fast pace that has you seeing stars and babbling wordless pleas. “S’ good, I wanna... Ei—Morax—please, more please, don’ wanna stop—”

He grabs your thighs in a bruising grip and starts pounding into you at a merciless pace that has you crying and drooling, tongue lolling out as you failed to decide whether it’s pleasure or pain that’s making your toes curl and back arch in ways you never would have thought was possible.

A mouth latches on to that sensitive spot beneath your jaw and sucks, leaving you gasping and legs twitching as the knot in your belly tightens until it threatens to unravel before you. Ei licks at the bruise beginning to form on your skin and watches the way your face contorts as you approach your release.

“‘m so close... so close—”

Her fingers press hard against your clit just as Morax hits that spot in you that has you convulsing and creaming around his cock, mouth open in a silent scream and tears running freely down your face.

With a grunt and a choked off gasp, he cums inside you, stuffing you full to the brim, cum leaking out your hole even when he hasn’t finished emptying himself in you.

He pulls out after a few quick thrusts that has you whining from overstimulation and pleasure. As soon as his cock is slips out, his thick, white seed pours out your hole. You clench down on nothing, feeling empty at the absence of him inside you.

Ei scoops his cum into her fingers and pushes them back inside you, a lewd squelching sound reverberating in the room as she fucks his cum back into you with her fingers.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, high pitches pleas for them to stop going unheard. Soon, your legs begin quivering as your second release draws near. Morax’s cum mixed with yours drip down the slit of your ass and into the sheets below, making an utter mess.

It comes quick and just as mind-breaking as before. Harsh puffs of breath escape your lips, a gasp that turns into a sob when Ei shoves her fingers knuckles-deep and curls.

Your walls clench down and clamp violently around her fingers in a vice as your climax reaches its limit.

You’re nothing but a drooling mess, head spinning and eyes lidded and blurry with tears, a fog over your mind after experiencing two consecutive orgasms.

In a daze, you faintly register hands cradling you close and lips brushing against your temple, murmured words of praise and adoration spoken to your skin.

You fall asleep between two bodies, covered in sweat and release but in the most content state you’ve ever felt in thousands of years.

✧

Five hundred years later, Venti appears before you and starts whining about you replacing him with Ei and Zhongli.

You laugh and embrace your dearly missed god, telling him that he still holds a special place in your heart and that you’ll always be his Priestess.

5 sundays of kinktober

word count — 4.4k

taglist — @pardofeliscalico @monicahar @monikidk @sunhareskies @thearcanafan @kaeyats @luvrsthrist @xinii @w9vyy @ineedavirtualboyfriend @holynix @karasuneo @rei-vi @shuvvs @miss-fantazmagoria @bunnlatte @shironakuronatasa @leleforpresident @scaranaris-lil-niko

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viejospellejos · 1 year

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#video #sfw #lol #xd #humor #finde #fin de semana #weekend #friday #saturday #sunday #viernes #sabado #domingo

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anxiouspineapple99 · 4 months

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I am here with the SFW Alphabet for Kyla Starsinger.

You all may remember that I have a Fives x OC long fic in the works. And you probably remember Sena, the original OC I had for that fic. Alas, Sena did not work out. I may or may not have accidentally triggered myself with some unresolved trauma while writing her so she’s gone and her new replacement Kyla is here!

Art of Kyla by the magnificent @mythical-illustrator

A -Affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection)

Kyla holds back a lot with affection. She is incredibly guarded. She’s not opposed to affection but she’s been touch starved for so long it takes a while to warm up to that.

She is more of an Acts of Service and Words of Affirmation gal. She is very aware of her partner’s needs and will perform small tasks to take stress off them. She’s also big on showering with compliments and sweet talk. (See: praise kink)

• B -Best friend (how would they be as a best friend? how would the relationship start?)

Kyla warms up pretty quickly in platonic relationships. Once establishing common interests she’s usually set on having a good time. Don’t cross her though. Once a bridge is burned, it’s unlikely you’ll build it back with her.

• C -Cuddles (Do they like cuddles? how do they cuddle)

She’s not opposed to cuddles or physical affection but she has to warm up to it. She’s not the hugging friend. She’s the fist bump friend. But once she gets used to physical affection she, she definitely enjoys it.

• D -Domestic (do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Given the type of work she is in, settling down is a terrifying thought for her. She is a former Separatist Intelligence Officer who, upon discovering some questionable intel, made her way to the Republic. Now she’s an Intelligence Officer with the GAR.

Kyla is meticulous in her cleaning. Everything has a place. And it better go there. Her fastidious nature can be confused for controlling. However it’s more a matter of efficiency. She’s very minimalist and doesn’t own many personal belongings. She can’t cook though. At all. Poor girl burns her toast every morning.

• E -Ending (if they had to break up, how would they do it?)

She comes off pretty cold actually. She’ll end it and not bat an eye.

• F -Fiancee (how do they feel about commitment? how quick do they want to get married?)

Commitment terrifies her. There is a part of her that believes she is wholly unlovable and irredeemable from her time working with the Separatists.

• G -Gentle (how gentle are they? physically, emotionally)

She’s emotionally a marshmallow but does her best to hide it. She is physically gentle behind closed doors.

• H -Hugs (how often do they hug? do they like hugs? what are their hugs like?)

She rarely hugs and when she does they’re a little rigid and awkward. However she secretly enjoys a good hug and never turns them away.

• I -I love you (how fast do they say it)

Surprisingly she’s pretty quick to say it. She believes life is short and there’s no reason to beat around the bush. However the commitment portion that usually follows has her running for the hills.

• J -Jealousy (how jelly do they get? what do they do when they are?)

Kyla is definitely the jealous type, whether romantic or platonic. It’s a result of her insecurities. If she feels like she’s being replaced she lashes out.

• K -Kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss? where do they liked to be kissed?)

Kyla is hot and heavy in her kisses. She pounces on your face. There are teeth, and biting, hands everywhere… she’s kissing mouth, neck, chest, really anywhere.

She loves being kissed on her neck, her inner wrists, mouth, and chest.

• L -Little Ones (how are they around children)

Children make her uncomfortable. She likes them fine. But she has no idea how to interact with them.

• M -Mornings (how are mornings with them?)

She’s a morning person. She practically springs out of bed. She loves reading a book with her caf first thing and taking her time getting ready for the day.

• N -Night (how is the night spent with them?)

She has a full wind down routine. She washes off her makeup, does her face mask depending on if it’s mask day, tone, moisturize, and then a cup of tea as she watches a holofilm or listens to music. Sometimes she sketches in her sketch book.

• O -Open (when do they start revealing about themselves? do they say it all at once or reveal slowly?)

Kyla reveals things slowly. Her fear of rejection keeps her shut up pretty tight. Unless it’s a platonic relationship. She opens up fairly quickly once she thinks you’re friend shaped.

• P -Patience (how quick to anger are they)

Kyla is a hot head. Get her when she’s already in a bad mood? Run for cover!

• Q -Quizzes (how much do they remember about you? do they remember every detail or forget everything?)

She’s an intelligence officer. She can remember damn near everything.

• R -Remember (favourite moment in the relationship)

Her favorite moment in her relationship with Fives is their first kiss. 💋 won’t be spoiling that here!

• S -Security (how protective are they? how would they like to protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

She is so protective of those she loves! She’d burn the galaxy down to save someone she loves.

She doesn’t expect the same in return for her because she doesn’t feel worthy of such love.

• T -Try (how much effort is put into dates/ anniversary/ gifts/ everyday?)

Dates: she puts in the effort she receives. She isn’t going to waste her time otherwise.

Anniversaries: A big deal and she is putting all the effort in and expects the same!

Gifts: she isn’t a big gift person but if it matters to the other person she does try.

Everyday: she gives her 100% in all she does. She’s lost so many people she makes sure the ones remaining know how loved they are.

• U -Ugly (bad habit of theirs)

She bites her nails to the kriffing quick. It’s worse when she’s nervous or anxious.

She’s a little reckless when it comes to her own safety. She tends to get herself into trouble when it could have been avoided with a bit of caution.

She strives to never show weakness. That often includes crying.

Her belief that she is unworthy of love often leads to her sabotaging her relationships.

• V -Vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

She has to have her hair and makeup on point daily! She maintains the colors in her hair religiously. She also has a multi step skincare routine as well as a fitness schedule.

• W Whole (would they feel incomplete without you Fives?)

Yes. And that is terrifying for her. She’s never needed anyone before. Fives changes all of that for her.

• X -Xtra (extra head canon)

She has one brother still in Separatist territory. She is working hard to save him. Their parents died when they were young and she raised him.

She loves glitter and sneakers

• Y -Yuck (what are some things they wouldnt like in general or in partner)

She hates learned incompetence. Drives her nuts.

She can’t stand a partner who isn’t their own person outside of the relationship. She wants them to have friends and hobbies outside of herself.

Any controlling behavior in any relationship, romantic or platonic, and she nopes right out.

• Z -Zzz (sleep habits)

She’s a back sleeper. She also does the mountain climber when she’s on her stomach. She loves total darkness and white noise to help her get to sleep and stay asleep!

#oc: kyla starsinger #sfw #sfw alphabet #blorbo intro #the clone wars #fives x oc #fives x kyla #anxiouspineapple99 writes #tcw #oc sundays

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