#lemonparty

Then came the second meeting. Liurnia was beautiful, but of course, he was there. Like a fungus, or that one dark hair you couldn’t rid yourself of. He’d given you a task, like you were his errand boy! Not you. And yet, when you saw her lying there, at the Chapel of Anticipation, you soaked the small white cloth. Why you did it was beyond you. However, perhaps you will be rewarded for your hard work—the honor of meeting and being in service to Mohg.

Your reward for all your hard work? A needle under your nail, and scolding for expressing your pain. On your knees before Varre, staring at a trembling hand before he speaks. “You have the sweetest scream. My lambkin.” Your eyes dart up, and you are greeted by a bulge. Varre is hard at this. Obscenely so. You know something was wrong with him, that he was twisted. And now you've found it. He enjoyed your pain.

But surely, something was twisted in you, too, since you couldn't stop staring. You knew exactly what was going to happen between you two.

Trained StyleGAN2-ADA on a pitiful selection of Jojo faces and blended it with FFHQ to make Jojo but Real.

Obessive!Creighton loves you, he really does. He thinks that's what this is, anyway.

WC: 𖹭 art creds: unsure 𖹭 18+ MDNI.

cw: kidnapping, Stockholm, mild knife play, dubious consent.

Obessive!Creighton who becomes immediately infatuated with you when you first free him. He knows there's something unique about you. And it's all for him.

Obessive!Creighton silently stalks your journey, making note of everything you do. Who you talk to, how you fight and hold yourself. How fast you look when he snaps a twig, how your breath catches, and pupils dilate at the mere threat of something. He eats it all up like a man starved. He has no issue harming those you talked to, but he wouldn't want you getting suspicious now.

Obessive!Creighton eventually gets you. Sound asleep, he watched you for a little over an hour before he'd made a move. Simple rope did the job perfectly for him, binding your wrists and legs so prettily, a knot gagging you. It was another half hour before he ended up moving you, held over his shoulder like a sack.

Obessive!Creighton insists he had to chain you up in the snow like he'd done after you tried to run. He makes sure to remind you how fragile you are, holding your face in a steel grip; "Can't 'ave my new birdie dying on me so soon, can I?"

Obessive!Creighton reveres you. He stares for hours, coming off more unnerving than like he's admiring. He touches, slow and careful at first. Letting the image of you now sink in. He takes his time, being patient with you, despite making it know how much he hates it.

Obessive!Creighton is beyond eager when you two first make love. He's surprisingly tame at first, listening to whatever you whisper to him. Until he hears that first little sound slip from your lips. He becomes a man possessed, slamming your hips together. He watches your face the whole time, eyes never leaving yours, drinking in every little twitch and sound.

Obessive!Creighton isn't really a vocal man. He speaks to scold you, or the occasional gruff comment. He grunts in your ear, hot against your neck. A filthy comment slips from him sometimes, lost in the heat of you. "Depraved slut. This is your real purpose, isn't it?" He does get physical, holding at you. His gauntlets sink into your flesh, and leave behind dark marks. His axe sometimes is involved, pressed close to your throat, a crazed look in Obessive!Creighton's eyes. A reminder of his power. He loved watching the wounds slowly heal, just to make some more.

Obessive!Creighton would kill for you. He would kill you. You are his. No one will change that, no one but him.

A well muscled, scarred eye candy of a veteran who lives far off now, in the middle of nowhere, who you get to stare at whenever he comes into town. And he eagerly returns the stares, though his are an intense eye fucking that always makes you look away first.

You swear up and down you’re just admiring. You wouldn’t go after him. Everyone admits Creighton looks a little like a serial killer, but that’s weirdly a part of the appeal? He seems experienced too; you doubt a man of his age or history wouldn’t be. But he shows you in other ways, like how he fiddles with small things while staring.

And the rare treat is it when you can see him chopping wood. You would probably be labelled as creepy for this, but who cares. Who cares, when you get to stare at 5'8 of pure, sweaty muscle. Nothing is sweeter than a practically see-through A-Shirt, stuck to Creighton's chest and abdomen.

And then one day, all the stars align, and your car breaks down near Creighton's house. Stranded, and a little frightened, seeing and hearing a familiar voice is comforting. Especially his And he offers you to spend the night at his, but you can barely focus on his words, more focused on how his big his biceps look with his arms crossed. A mumbled agreement is all he needs for you.

His hands are big and rough and perfect on you. Seated in his lap, legs held up and together by one beefy arm and his fingers bullying into your weeping hole, fat, rough thumb pressed to your most sensitive part. It’s heavenly, everything about him makes you greedy. Creighton can barely fit, and ignores your whimpers and stammered protests, stuffing himself all into you. He pulls you back when you try to wiggle away from overstimulation, and bends you into every which position. “You like it? Yea you fucking do. She loves it.” He talks about and to your hole like it's separate from you.

And so what if weird things happen occasionally? Like that tourist going missing after flirting with you. He probably just went home. All you want to think about is your next time with Creighton, and the next time you can watch him chop wood.

Saving a hollowed was not in Sir Alonne's plans of travel.

WC: 618 𖹭 art creds: Shimhaq on insta 𖹭 gn reader/m pairing

cw: none!

Alonne hadn't meant to walk this far out. He'd been traveling for a while now, going down many paths. Enjoying his freedom after a long service to the Iron King, alone. He'd met and killed too many to count, letting each one strike the first blow. He'd recently traveled through a castle, only to spend a few days there. This land was rich in history and culture, which he was unaware of. He'd been on guard in this new place, deep down, with water dripping down, and small islands of land. No enemies meant someone or something else was here, already culling. His hand rested on the hilt of his Nagamaki, twitching slightly. He turned around a wall carefully, only to see 2 Amana Priestesses and a lizard man, surrounding a small dwelling of some kind. Singing echoed from it, and Alonne unsheathed his blade. He made all too easy work of the enemies, striking first. A life could be in danger.  When they all fell, his blade sheathed with a soft *click!*. He turned slightly towards the dwelling, but now there was someone there. A Hollow. You. Head high, eyes wide, staring up at the towering man. You weren't afraid, hand reaching for your blade, hesitant. Sure, he helped you, but nothing here was free. That was a harsh lesson to learn here; kindness is few and far between. A long silence stretched on before a deep exhale came from Alonne, his body finally moving. A gradual bow. "Sir Alonne." His husky voice rang low, echoing a little. The song still rang out clearly. You repeated his action, your own name said in a smooth voice. Alonne memorized it, all the eyes on his helmet boring into you. He looked ahead, calculating. You stayed observing Alonne, still suspicious. There was no reason to trust him; helping once did not make him an ally. Alonne tilted his head back towards you, gesturing. "Come. I'll.. escort you." You didn't understand why he'd offer such a thing, but a clipped "Thank you" came out anyway. 

You trudged through the water behind Alonne, still helping to fight. You were not a helpless damsel in distress that someone could save to feel good. But Alonne didn't treat you as such, as you fought. He let you fight your own battles and win. By the time you arrived at the bonfire, tucked away in a tunnel, you were worse for wear. You lit the fire, flames cascading up before calming into the normal flickering and cracking. Weary and injured, you rested by the fire. Alonne was slower, more deliberate. He didn't look hurt like you, but still sat with you, facing the fire. A small spark started, a soft question from you about who Alonne was. "Traveling warrior," was his simple, stern answer. 

Talk was small and quiet, but it was talk. A rare pleasure for a hollow like yourself, lest you go back to The Far Fire. But all too soon, it felt, Alonne was standing to leave, making you stand and question him if you might see him again. "Hmph." Alonne paused, a finger tapping on the hilt of his katana, pondering. It was only a few seconds before he'd knelt before you, one hand slipping his helmet up, and the other grasping yours, pulling it forward. A soft warmth pressed against your hand, something unfamiliar, making warmth coil in your body. His face, you could feel, was smooth, well taken care of. It only lasted a few seconds before his helmet was back down, and he was back at full height. "We'll see." He mumbled, taking a few seconds to tear his gaze away from you. 

Alonne would certainly find you again.

Ahh thank you so much!! I do have some favorites, like The Doll, Recluse, love Creighton ( obviously ), Blaidd, Wylder and everyone’s favorite is Solaire ofc <3 and my mean Carim men ( Eygon and Lautrec ) are a few!