#not all of the vessels have been named rip

[lynx-doodles-indie-games]

i know i already have a bunch of series so far, but this one's a good one to quickly whip together when the ferretbrain or life kicks me in the teeth. little vessels! back in july, i sketched forty-three vessels based off almost every charm and most items in hollow knight, so here are the results of listening to a lot of long and boring lectures XD

so meet kindle and lyre! they're not proper OCs in the sense that they've got tons of enthusiasm or a role in a story behind them, but i can pencil out a history and trajectory for them.

links to everything below the cut:

wandering compass + map & quill; gathering swarm; stalwart shell; soul catcher, shaman stone, & soul eater; dashmaster + sprintmaster; grubsong + grubberfly's elegy; spell twister; steady body, heavy blow, quick slash, & longnail; mark of pride; fury of the fallen; thorns of agony + shape of unn; baldur shell; defender's crest; glowing womb; quick focus + deep focus; lifeblood heart + joni's blessing; lifeblood core + sharp shadow; hiveblood; spore shroom; nailmaster's glory; weaversong; dream wielder + dreamshield; grimmchild + carefree melody (here!); kingsoul and void heart; tram pass; lumafly lantern; hunter's mark; delicate flower

[drgnflyteabox]

cw noncon, injuries, forced orgasm, slapping (all kinds), kidnapping, mean!simon // simon riley x fem!reader // freak loner neighbour simon // reader can be dragged (but simon is big but yeah you get dragged yeouch)

You should've known better than to be on his driveway.

It's just that it's so spacious, so flat, so perfect for practicing.

You'd been sucked into the trend by all the cute girls flouncing around on their new wheels. The ones dancing backwards down the street through the screen had you ordering a nice pair of nylon plated rollerskates.

Purple, your favourite. Sturdy. Bedazzled.

The only issue is how hard it is to practice on your driveway - it's at the very end of the street, beside Simon's - you'd learned his name unwillingly from a neighbour - and slanted.

You try, to your credit, earning yourself a myriad of bumps, scrapes, aches and pains.

Your hip is an amalgamation of broken blood vessels and raised skin, your shins have never felt worse, and you've never been so miffed at a neighbour.

What's his problem, anyway? He's always been rude, glaring, like an old man shaking his fist at rowdy kids.

The most you'd done to him was bring over a tupperware of brown butter chocolate cookies, but he'd slammed the door in your face.

Asshole. Now he glares through the window if you edge too close while practicing, opening his blinds like he'd been just waiting for you to get a toe too close.

Sue me, you think, the day you don't see his motorcycle collecting dust in his driveway.

Your confidence builds when you step one foot onto the concrete of his property and the blinds stay put.

Further still, when you make it halfway across and still no movement.

It evaporates the second his front door opens and he thunders out. You're so startled you try to scurry away, forgetting the stupid rollerskates weighing your feet down and your utter lack of coordination in them.

You go down hard, right on your sore hip, yelping like an injured dog when you do.

"S'what you get," he grunts, approaching you quicker than you can process, "stupid fucking cunt. Come here."

He practically snarls the last part. Your blood turns to ice when his massive hand wraps around your ankle and starts to drag you.

Right over the concrete.

Your thigh and your lower back get scratched like hell, something almost like road burn, and it hurts so badly you forget to scream until he's got you banging into every one of his front steps, and-

Nothing happens. Nobody seems to hear.

The little purple jewels on your skates shine in the sunlight, glinting cruelly into your eyes.

You shriek, help me, help me! and though it's broad daylight, there's not a peep other than you. Not even a bird.

Your head tilts back, frantically scanning the houses, when you see - your more distant neighbour.

Help! you think you scream, you can hear it but nothing changes. He watches you with his head tilted down, boonie hat obscuring his eyes.

The last thing you see when the door shuts is his cigar come up to his mout and his head nodding - not towards you, but to Simon.

You kick your legs out, thinking maybe the added weight of your godforsaken rollerskates will help you, but Simon only folds your legs backwards as easily as origami and everything becomes very real very quickly.

Your heart jackrabbits in your chest, pressure mounting from panic and from the weight of him bearing down on you.

"Too fucking stupid for your own good," his voice is strong, echoing through your head as he uses a hand to hold the backs of your knees, "guess you can be either pretty or smart, eh," he laughs, cruel, raucous.

His other hand comes towards you, making you scream again until he slaps your mouth one, two, three times hard. Simon lowers it, tugging hard on your t shirt until it rips, pinching a nipple through your sports bra and shaking your breast painfully up and down.

He pushes it up, then, slapping your tits, laughing.

"Please!" you shout, your nervous system desperately flitting between frozen terror and pleading and the need to run, "please- I'll never-"

"Never what?" he interrupts. He pulls your cotton bike shorts over your ass, down to your thighs, "never step foot on my property again? Little late for that."

There's nothing for you to bargain with. Your mind races as he tears your panties the way he did your shirt, breath coming in wheezes hands dead weight beside you.

Simon stuffs two fat fingers in your cunt, making you gasp, tense, something strangled coming out of your throat. He pushes them deeper even though you aren't quite ready, aren't wet enough.

"Playin' hard to get," he grunts, but it's low, like he's talking to himself.

He roots around like he's looking for something, forceful and too rough and scraping against you.

You struggle again, lifting your arms, but Simon put's a stop to it by pulling his thick fingers out and slapping you on your pussy.

Fuck, his hand is so meaty, so heavy, you shriek again, twisting, until he does it again. Then again, and you freeze because you don't want him to hurt you anymore.

"Y'gonna make me give you another?" he snaps.

"No!" you squeak before you can stop yourself. Your mind turns to fawning, to self preservation, playing dead to escape a predator's jaws around your throat.

"Was gonna be nice to you, but you decided to be ungrateful," he looks at you with angry eyes, still holding your knees, pulling his heavy cock out with the other hand.

"I'm sorry- please-" you try, tears burning your eyes. He's fucking huge.

"Too late," he nudges the tip against your hole, making you sit there in agonized terror for another moment before he pushes in.

"I can't!" the sound comes out of you like a deflating animal, "please, you're too big-"

"You can," he pushes further in. It burns, both because you aren't wet enough and because he's the size of a metal baseball bat, "just relax."

Easy for him to say. The very breath from your lungs is getting punched out of you the further in he goes.

The pain is sharp, hot barbs, like a medieval torture tool heated with flame.

You try to relax, looking up at the ceiling with eyes that are starting to glaze over, vision swimming, before he slaps your mouth again and startles you back into reality.

"Look at me," he snaps his hips, shocking you, making you cry.

His cock is long, poking you in places that feel wrong wrong wrong, that feel like you're gonna really freak the fuck out until he pushes his thumb against your clit and rubs in tight circles.

The sound that comes out of your mouth is a strangled, lilting sort of keen. You're humiliated by it, by the way your pussy squeezes around him.

"That's right," he keeps going, picking up speed, "you're gonna come on my cock when I fucking tell you to."

Your world narrows down to the aching pain in your cunt, to the sparks of pleasure from your clit, to the mix of sensation that has blood rushing through your head.

Simon fucks you like that until you start to tighten, until you're gasping and arching and trying to twist away again.

Long, deep strokes now, in and out, seesawing, driving you insane. He doesn't have to hit you to make you stay put - no, now your body turns useless and begins to come.

"Yeah, that's it," he sounds strained, "come on my cock."

You do, though it takes you by surprise. Your eyes fucking roll back, trembling helplessly below him.

You don't even feel him come, but when you come to he's looking down at you with a little glint in his eye and come leaking from your pussy.

As he stands, leaving you empty and dragging you again by your limp ankle, you're struck by the absurdity of it all. The neighbour, just watching you be taken.

You don't fight until he tugs you to the open basement door, pulling you down the stairs, letting you hit each step on the way down.

But by then it's too late - he's prepared for this, you see that now. The little cot and chain at the far corner of the room is testament to that.

So's the collar he picks up from the cotside table.

[solxamber]

hello here for the valentine event!!

Jade, Romantic, Suffering by Jorge Rivera-Herrans

first epic song of the event let's gooo

"Jump in the water" || Jade Leech

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Suffering by Jorge Rivera-Herrans

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 940

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Siren!Jade x Sailor!Reader

You are lost at sea.

The wind has betrayed you, the stars offer no guidance, and the waves push you further from home. It’s been days—weeks?—adrift on endless waters, and all you know is that if you don’t find land soon, the ocean will claim you for itself.

Then, you see them.

Ships. Empty ships.

Abandoned vessels dot the horizon, their sails limp, their decks silent. A graveyard of those who have sailed these waters before you, of those who heard it and did not resist.

Sirens.

You do not hesitate.

With swift, practiced hands, you rip strips of cloth from your shirt and stuff them into your ears. The world dulls instantly. The ocean is quieter, your own heartbeat louder. You grip the wheel and steel yourself as you push forward.

And just as you expected—

He is waiting.

A siren, perched upon jagged rocks, half-shrouded in mist. He is beautiful—unearthly and elegant, with scales that shimmer like pearls. His long, webbed fingers trace idly over the stone as he watches you, his expression calm, patient.

His lips move. You can’t hear him, but you already know the words.

"Come to me."

You shake your head, firm.

The siren tilts his head, undeterred. He speaks again.

You pretend to consider it, then say, “I can’t swim.”

The siren blinks. His lips curl, amused. “I will teach you.”

You shake your head again. “I’m scared of the water.”

His laughter is silent, but you can see it in the way his shoulders shake.

Then, he leans forward, fingers grazing the surface of the waves. “Then I will hold you.”

Your lips twitch, just a little. Persistent. You’ll give him that.

Then, just to see his reaction, you grin and say, “I don’t want my feet wet. Why don’t you come up here instead?”

It’s meant to be a joke. A final attempt to frustrate him, to force him to give up on you.

But to your utter shock—

The siren reaches out to you.

His webbed hand extends, open and waiting, his mismatched eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t.

And yet—

Before you can think, your fingers are wrapping around his, and you’re pulling him aboard.

He lands on the deck, water cascading off his tail, hands braced against the wood. He blinks up at you, utterly unreadable, before slowly shifting, his body morphing—legs, now, instead of a tail, seawater dripping from his skin, but still otherworldly, still not quite human.

You take a step back, breath heavy.

“You’re a siren.” It isn’t a question.

The siren smiles, slow and knowing. “And yet,” he hums, tilting his head, “you still pulled me in.”

You have no answer for that.

Maybe you did fall for his song, after all.

Jade—he says his name is Jade—does not devour you.

In fact, he does something even stranger.

He helps you.

He moves like he’s been aboard a ship before, like he knows the ocean better than any human sailor ever could. He studies the maps, adjusts the sails, tells you which direction to follow.

“Why?” you ask him, cautious.

Jade only smiles, pressing a finger to his lips.

You should be more wary. You should be scared.

But you aren’t.

Not when you catch him watching you, gaze unreadable. Not when he tilts his head, just slightly, as if trying to understand you.

Not when, after long days at sea together, you finally see land on the horizon.

Your homeland.

You exhale, relief flooding through you. “We made it,” you breathe, turning to him. “Jade—”

But when you look at him, he is not celebrating.

He is watching you.

Like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s already preparing to disappear beneath the waves before the ship reaches the shore.

The thought makes your stomach twist.

Before you can stop yourself, you reach for him. “Come with me.”

Jade stills.

His lips part, caught off guard, the first time you’ve truly seen him surprised.

Then, slowly—slowly—he leans in.

His breath is cool against your skin, the scent of saltwater clinging to him. His eyes sharp, flicker to your lips, then back to your gaze.

His voice is softer this time, curious.

“…What makes you think I won’t drown you now?”

You meet his gaze, steady and sure. "You won't," you say, voice unwavering.

Jade’s expression flickers—something fragile, something hesitant, something almost human beneath the inhuman beauty of his mismatched eyes. He has spent his life luring sailors into the depths, pulling them under, watching them sink.

But you—you pulled him up instead.

His fingers brush against yours, tentative at first, before they lace together, webbed skin cool against your warmth. He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the dampness of his borrowed clothes, the scent of the ocean clinging to him.

Then, finally—finally—he closes the distance.

His lips meet yours, soft and searching, like the tide pulling against the shore. His hand cups the back of your neck, tilting you to him, holding you as if afraid you’ll slip away like seawater through his fingers. But you don’t. You stay, leaning into him, letting yourself fall into the moment.

For the first time in his life, Jade Leech is not the one luring someone in

For the first time, he is the one being caught.

When he pulls away, his lips are curved in something softer than his usual smirk. "Well," he murmurs, tilting his head, "perhaps I will join you on land, just for a little while."

You laugh, tugging him in for another kiss, already knowing—he’s never going to leave.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[keferon]

Titan LL!

Heavens, I love Titan LL.

...You know, since nobody's doing anything, I think I'll try something. Dibs!

.*.*.*.

Lost Light is named after a day of mourning.

He doesn't feel like it.

Perhaps it was a wish made upon the smallest of the youngest batch of Titans, brought online shortly before fires of revolution blazed across Cybertron and it's domains. For the mourning to be the least in the coming times. Perhaps they succeeded, but joke's on them. Lost Light may have been online through the times of grief, but grief does not touch his spark. It's another element of his surrounding, like floating rocks, clouds of solid something, solar winds, the works.

Well, for a given definition of "online", because, he, his batch and some older Titans were moored in random spots in the system, just away from Cybertron itself.

The new batch was mostly stationed in the shadows of Cybertron, in vain hopes of civil war going away quickly. But sometimes, when the fighting peaked and threatened to reach the moons, they were herded away and over to the system's edge, near the border of termination shock. There were a lot of visible stars here. And Primus, there was nothing more Lost Light liked more than those beautiful, beautiful stars.

The first Titans were sparked to carry their Cybertronian brethren beyond the embrace of their homeworld to the stars and defend them on the way. Not all Titans functioned as deep-space transport nowadays, but that was the original idea behind their frametype. Wayfarers.

And just when Lost Light started to go mad between moorings and itched to stretch his warp drive, because Primus and Unicron conspired to punish him specifically for his hubris, the Quintessons struck.

And Titans of Cybertron, eternal guardians they are, stood as the first line. While the little ones below scrambled around and got their priorities and slag-all in order, they stood. And together they withstood successfully. Neither Cybertron nor any planet in it's system fell to the Quintessons. It was not a clean victory, and Quints broke the lines to land incursions, but the Titans weathered enough that the little ones on the grounds were not overwhelmed. They endured the first of storms.

In the end of the beginning, the home system was safe, the civil war was over, and the Titans under the newly united Cybertronian High Command were partially reassigned to the outer fronts.

Now, Lost Light is a tiny Titan. An unusually tiny Titan by Titan standarts. He heard it was because there was a mix-up of vessels for reforging into Titanframes, and his was made from a late shipment two classes below specification.

His largest configuration houses in theory a thousand crewmembers. He prefers his smallest, which should hold above a dozen, but he does not have even a dozen of a crew anyway. He is still a Titan, and can comfortably rip into one, two, three Quint ships, but he cannot withstand a dozen, and Primus below, Quint ships in outer space come in waves and swarm like the squids they are. Instead, in this war he does he does best of what he does - he runs. He is small, his warp drives and bridge generators are the best among his batchmates, and he is fast. So he runs.

There's no Quint blockade that can stop him. Perhaps his cargo hold is not the largest, but if he is given a delivery, he will deliver it as soon as possible, come Pit or high tides. There's no escort craft that can keep up with him (and let's be honest, they are already understaffed enough that they simply can't find proper escort for his size), so he runs alone. If the Prime himself needs an express delivery, Lost Light is the Titan for the job.

He sees a lot of stars on his runs. He is pretty sure some of them are at least unclaimed, and some may be uncharted at all, so he marks them all on his maps. For later! Once the war ends, the beautiful, beautiful stars are his! He amasses a lot of maps, colors and marks them in the brightest hues his software comes with.

And some little ones even ask after the maps. Not like he hides them or something.

So, when the Prime calls, he comes.

Prime waits for him in the hanger personally. Together with the usual retinue, very much less usual very large pile of maps, boards and documents, a Perceptor hidden behind the pile of stuff (Xanthium talks about her favorite gunner a lot, when they have time to catch up), some twitchy engineer and his frequent passenger of express ferry Head Tactician Prowl.

Who has something very tiny enthusiastically crawling on him. Something so tiny, he has to recalibrate his inner and outer sensors for recordicon contact. His optics were hit in bot mode by rocks larger! Which were sometimes crawling with assorted space crustaceans! Come to think of it, thos crustaceans moved similarly...

And, because he is better at acceleration than braking, first thing Lost Light does is voice this observation.

"Prowl, sir, you've got crabs"

...

That was a start of a wonderful working relationship. Once they calm the tiny organic down from laughing, that is. It's name is Jazz, and it needs a ride home. Home which is besieged by Quintessons, and likely is near a fortified outpost, if not a starbase.

Strictly speaking, usually Titans are kept apart from organics, because they are usually very small, and tend to rot and fossilize. But since Lost Light is also very small, he got a direct invitation to an organic planet and immediately engaged his internal environmental system to produce enough oxygen. This is a chance of a lifetime!

Which brings him to his current... Problem?

The thing is, Jazz apparently has comrades. They pilot simulacrum frames specialized in Quint killing, which is very much respectable. And Lost Light's alt-mode's hangar bay may be a little tight in this configuration, but still compatible with them.

The issue is, one of those simulacrums which Lost Light got to shelter, a pleasantly painted one (flame patterns are always in vogue! No matter what anybody says!), appears to have broken down. Which made the organic inside very upset. At least he thinks it's upset, he is not very good at reading organics. Those "humans" do have fields, but they are very dull in comparison to Cybertronian ones.

The little organic with great taste is shouting what appears to be obscenities at unresponsive frame and alternates this with begging. Lost Light is floundering in his processor. The organic performs some indecipherable actions towards a fuel line of some sort with a tiny wrench. He's been at it for hours. None of the others from Jazz's makeshift warband returned yet.

This means Lost Light is responsible as the hosting Titan. Lost Light is usually alone. He does not quite know how to host other Cybertronians for prolonged periods of time, let alone organics. He hopes he maintains a nice oxygenated atmosphere.

He cannot watch this anymore. He has to gather all his confidence in his circuits and do something. Like talk to an organic without Prowl or the twitchy engineer (Swear? Swole? Swire? Swalter?) present. And, well, he'll figure how to decelerate later!

"Little one, do you require any assistance? I do have an internal welder somewhere..."

The organic startles, almost falling from it's precarious perch at the simulacrum's locked elbow joint, catches itself in time, and glances around. Then it glances up. And around again.

"I haven't hit my head that hard, yes? Is there someone here?"

"Well, yes? I mean no offence, but you're inside me"

Silence answers him, quickly broken by laughter. He remembers Jazz laughing. It is a similar laugh. He thinks he likes this laugh more.

"Well, I did not expect the ship to be speaking too. I really should not be surprised after this whole month"

At least the organic isn't despairing anymore? Lost Light thinks he can see a smile on it's face if he strains the camera.

"Technically, I'm a Titan. I'm a ship in the same way Deadlock is a,,, what you call small ground vehicle... Car? If I want to, I can be a building."

"Wait, but if you're the ship... How big do you guys come?!"

"Very. Now, little one, do you want my welder or not?"

Another wave of laughter follows.

"I do have a name!"

"You did not introduce myself"

"Cheeky. And yet, you did not introduce yourself either, big ship"

"My designation is Lost Light, and I'm the best Titan Courier this side of the galaxy"

The organic seems to finally locate his internal camera and so it points at it with it tiny wrench. Lost Light thinks it likes it's smile too.

"Well, nice to meet'cha, Lost Light. Name's Hot Rod. Now, about that welder..."

Lost Light rummages in his inventory for his favorite welder, mountable on a cargo manipulator. It is surprisingly elusive.

"I have it, I have it.... somewhere. It's been a long time since I patched up myself."

"...You patch yourself up often?"

"Nowadays not much, I'm a very good runner, and... Aha! There it is!"

Hot Rod look very, very happy to see the welder-wielding cargo manipulator. He is so much smaller than the tiniest little ones he carried. He reminds Lost Light of something that escapes his processor.

"Thanks, big ship. I hate ruptured lines. God knows when Ratch and that Swerve guy will be back"

"I'm not that big, you know. And I'm glad to be of assistance"

Despite pointed critique from the organic called Ratchet later on, Lost Light considers his skills with a welder in his internal cargo manipulator arms to be above average.

Hot Rod thinks so too, and ire of a medic shared is misery halved in Lost Light's books.

And then it hits him.

He reminds Lost Light of those beautiful, beautiful distant stars.

Lost Light prepares a very tiny datapad for a very big map.

.*.*.*.

...And here it is. I got possessed. Guest-starring my basic knowledge of astrophysics and bad jokes.

OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH I LOVE THIS TAKE ON THEM SO MUCH

[really-burnt-toast]

Redesigning my COTL cast pt.1

HAHA I'm finally done! I only made busts tho bc Im lazy and Im not putting myself through drawing a size chart... YET.

It WILL come, just so I can show pretty outfits and show how ridiculous Leshy's hight is LOL

If you see any spelling mistakes, please ignore them <3

(more info and rambling under cut)

Here I'll write some more things relating to each character;

Lamb

Born in Darkwood to a single mother, their mom had named them Mellia after the flowers that grow there, since they had aided in striving off an illness she had during the pregnancy.

The Lamb grew up pretty happily despite being on the run. Their mother was eventually caught whilst they made an escape. During their years of hiding, they broke their leg during one particularly risky escape and were caught not long after.

Their number is 1.600.666 because I keep making a connection between Darkwood and Germany's Schwartzwald - there are 1.6 million sheep in Germany - so I decided to have that be the approximate number. 666 was just added for fun.

Their ear was tagged to keep track of how many sheep were caught in which realm. They just so happened to be the last to be executed. By mere coincidence.

They were born without horns and kinda made the crown shape into a set. It has the benefit that they can rip em off and use them as impromptu weapons.

Due to centuries of being treated as a tool for a prophecy and merely a vessel, their self esteem is downright horrid. Whilst they don't condone followers speaking ill of them, they pretty much let Narinder trample on their feelings up until they had snapped one day. In the end it did help them both, but it wasn't great it had to be taken to that point.

Extra: I added the vitiligo because when I imagine a human version, I couldn't help but see them as having Vitiligo. Their leg limp was made after I thought it would make them look more imposing seeing someone "weak" suddenly pull out a giant hammer.

Narinder

Found within a burning village under rubble, clutching a crown as war raged around them. He was found by Shamura and taken in.

He was the first to create resurrection and back then it was an EXTREMELY taxing ritual. It would require his own godly flesh to beckon people back to life - thus it would literally cause his skin and flesh to melt off his bones. Now that's not needed anymore but his body is still weak to it, meaning during certain stress factors, he can still become skeletal. He doesn't have scarring from it, but gained some cool markings.

He was bound by his arms, torso and neck - all of which are scarred. In the afterlife he was perpetually sitting, causing him to be paralyzed from the waist down. Once he was usurped he had to regain his ability to walk and was taken care of by the Lamb.

He was in a catatonic state for many years and it only got better gradually with many setbacks. For years he never left the bed and by the time his Siblings had been rescued, he had barely started going outside. He was also suffering from chronic pains which wasn't really helpful.

He's also very... Temperamental. It took him just as long to say anything nice to the Lamb and it took him extra long to see them as more than his vessel.

Extra: I changed his markings to be more like I had imagined them. The catatonic trait and chronic pain was added after the update and I remember how horrible it was having tendonitis and I wanted to channel my distaste into Narinder.

Shamura

Found and raised by the last gods, they weren't the greatest sibling. They may have taken in the others but it took them a long time to be anything other than cold. With Kallamar, Shamura was distant and strict - then with Narinder they attempted to be less harsh after the kid started crying himself to sleep. With Heket and Leshy they got less and less cold. They tried their best, they'd argue.

They got carried away by their feelings as they had feared at the start and that's when the first prophecy came to them. They had kept it hidden for way too long until the balance of the crown's powers were ripping at the seams due to Narinder's pursuit in power - and they made a decision. They had told Kallamar first. Then Heket and Leshy were brought in.

Stuff happened. Now they are barely coherent and at most have an hour or two at a time where they seem to make sense. Leshy stays with them the most. Kallamar takes care of them. Heket takes care of the rest. Their skull is caved in, they lost an eye and limbs - some of the damages can't be hidden by bandages.

There's also this thing that their crown keeps getting out of control whilst trying to keep their mind stable - sometimes they'll get startled - attempt to form a weapon and instead end up with their arm speared through. They have scarring all over their body from it.

Upon recruitment they are pretty overwhelmed. Their crown can't stop them from breaking anymore and they have gotten so used to godhood that mortality now feels like they are literally rotting alive. They can feel their body wasting away.

Only after getting their relic back do they start becoming more independent and stable. They nowadays go through some sort of rehab to try and regain their sense of self.

Extra: Not much was added. I wanted to give them Glasses but I can't for the life of me draw them with a pair... So Ill just say they have them but not show them LOL

Kallamar

His past is basically forgotten. It sorta slipped away since he hadn't deemed it fit to be remembered. At first he had MANY fights with Shamura, then it ceased after a confrontation turned violent which left him with a bad scar.

He had to take care of his younger siblings whilst coming to terms with godhood - filling in whenever Shamura wasn't physically or mostly emotionally unavailable. For a long time he was the only one that could comfort his ailing siblings. Dealing with that sort of made him pretty easily agitated.

When Shamura proposed the plan, he had been hesitant - but ultimately didn't say anything.

Now he takes care of his siblings medically. He hates himself more than he hates anyone else and as much as he is quick to condemn and betray Shamura - he is also quick to condemn himself. Though maybe not as enthusiastically or openly.

He likes to compensate. Giving gifts to request forgiveness - grand displays of favoritism or mainly decking himself and his multiple spouses out with Jewels. He still keeps his wedding rings around his neck and his earring references his siblings.

Funnily enough, he caused the least troubles to the Lamb. They could argue he even seemed relieved after a short while of staying in the cult.

Extra: Added Jewelry and two tentacles because he looked naked without them.

Heket

Loudmouth frog that when found with her crown, she started trying to fight Shamura - insulting whatever parent they had. She kept threatening to poison them too.

In the lineup of her siblings, she was often the one who took the sidelines. If she was happy, she was left alone. If she was displeased, she'd let herself known. The most uncomplicated of the siblings.

You'd almost miss how every other bishop would seek her out when help was needed. While Shamura helped with godhood and Kallamar with emotional needs - Heket was a good person to pester with anything else. She'd handle it - just let big sis do it. Even if she was the second youngest - it's funny how even Kallamar and Narinder would occasionally use the nickname.

Then when everyone else was dealing with their wounds, she picked up the pace and kept their respective cults from falling apart. She handled Silk cradle until Shamura could - helped with Darkwood and took over Anchordeep when Kallamar was tending to the others. No problem.

She was still loud when entering the cult. Not as much as her brother - but she loved to cause scenes. Her muteness didn't seem to hinder her at all with that. She's not allowed near knives but somehow can handle axes?

Her temper problems don't get better. She just stops being an asshole about it.

She prefers having scarfs covering her neck bandages whilst they're all bloody and disgusting.

Extra: Nothing because Heket is already perfect.

Leshy

Literally a weird insect that kept clinging to the crown until it grew big enough to hold in one hand. It bit anything that got close and by the time Shamura found it - he had started eating small critters.

And god, he kept growing and growing until he wasn't a small worm in Shamura's hand but literally too big to fit through most doors. They suspected he'd grow until the end of time. Or well, now since his crown is gone.

He never listens. He screams for fun and overshares the worst details to the point he manages to break his siblings into just accepting anything he talks about. They can't even scold him or punish him since Leshy always finds a way to make things worse for anyone else but himself.

He also copies everyone. First it was Heket's tone. Then it was Narinder's behavior - now he started growing flowers and vine braids to make fun of Kallamar and his antlers were at first a crude mimic of Shamura's pedipalps and now they grow vines to be similar to the jewels hanging from them. He refuses to acknowledge doing so.

He's very clingy. After locking away Narinder, he stayed with Shamura every day until they were out of bed rest. He follows his siblings around and when he does give them a second to breathe - hes probably laying around in Darkwood instead of doing anything productive. He does tends to plants occasionally, but he prefers "to let chaos do its thing" - as if that means anything.

He makes for a great gardener after he stopped trying to break everything upon recruitment. And once he got over growling at every living thing - he actually became one of the most well liked people living there.

Leshy knows exactly what someone needs and somehow finds a way to achieve that with the littlest of efforts. It's the thought that counts.

Extra: Braid and vines because I thought Leshy would look cute with it.

Special: The 4 bishops all wear old faith themed robes, but Shamura got the elder clothes for comfort and Leshy kept tearing his clothes apart so he is not permanently excluded from having any special outfits as punishment. Narinder wears fancy robes (who happen to be loose and warm while being special - otherwise he'd complain)

The Lamb wears one of the leaked fleeces since I loved the red riding hood aesthetic.

In the end this turned more into biographies than actual explanations but its 3:30am, Im sleep deprived and I wanted to get my thoughts out because I start having memory problems again YIPPEE

[ultravi0lence14]

Roslyn

sam winchester x angel!reader

2.6k | slight angst, fluff, fem pronouns

summary: after sam and dean find themselves acquainted with another angel, sam finds himself more drawn to her than he imagined.

sam and dean thought that after cas, no more angels would be vying to join their little group. both agreeing that the angel spot on the team had already been taken by their trench coat wearing friend

though as life goes, nothing ever happens as planned. that came as a soft spoken, timid angel that happened to be you. a beacon of hope that sam and dean didn’t even know they needed at the time.

sam winchester had recently gotten out of hell, and there were rumours going around that he wasn’t acting like he usually did. you sat back and observed, not wanting to intrude at a wrong time, and only by that did you realize he’d been ripped out of hell without a soul. he was a man walking around with no human morals — or emotions for that matter, and you could tell it was taking a toll on his older brother.

when your brother castiel had managed to get the winchesters soul back, you knew it was time for you to descend down to earth. castiel wasn’t acting like himself, and with the war raging on in heaven, you knew that a little down time out of the sky would be helpful for you.

the only problem was you didn’t have a vessel. you never liked the idea of completely taking over someone’s body. you’d only done it once and it wasn’t fun, even though you had the woman’s full permission and she remained in perfect condition after your endeavours.

so you spent your time picking out the perfect person to merge into. when you came across a young, twenty something year old woman named roslyn, you couldn’t help but conclude that she was the one.

a very faithful girl, she had been struggling with a rare disease for the past couple of years. roslyn was in pain, and the only way you could think of helping her was allowing her soul to go into heaven and for you to take over her body. it was awful timing, you knew it. but her soul would be free, and you communicated with her in the special ways that you angels did, and she was more then happy to lend her body over to your essence.

when you finally took control over her body, your first course of action was to find the winchester brothers. they needed help, and as much as they didn’t want to admit it you knew they knew it too.

the mother of all was out of purgatory and running a muck, someone was trying to open purgatory’s gates on top of that, and cas being completely MIA as the icing on the cake was definitely not helping the two men. with sam’s soul being freshly back in his body you knew they were distraught. you knew castiel’s suspicious behaviour wasn’t helping and you just wanted to be of service.

the winchester’s weren’t hard to find. they’d been praying to your brother for some time, and without him answering, their prayers started seeping in to yours and other angels wave lengths.

you found them in a motel right in the middle of chicago, working on a case to take a break on the whole purgatory debacle. your wings flapped in the wind as you found yourself in front of the building, senses running ramped as you tried to figure out which room was there’s.

as you walked up to their door, you wondered how you were going to address the brothers. what would you say to them? would you flat out mention castiel’s weird behaviour? you weren’t really sure, but you knew that your main goal was to let the winchester’s know you were on their side.

your knuckles softly tapped onto the wooden door, fiddling with your fingers as you waited for an answer. what you didn’t expect though, was a behemoth of a man to answer it, so tall that you had to crane your neck to look beyond his middle.

you’d assumed that the man who opened the door was either sam or dean. while the stories of the winchester brothers didn’t leave out their attractiveness, but you didn’t expect for one of them to look this good. his sharp facial features and longish hair pulled you in. though, it was his soft, hazel eyes that had you mesmerized. they held such a soft aura to them, making you melt into their vernal appearance and long for his comfort.

sam was confused. neither him or dean was expecting someone, and he would’ve known if his brother was bringing a girl to their room. the look in her face was scared and timid, a shy smile lighting up her bright eyes. sam wanted to believe she bared good intentions, but knowing him and his brothers luck she’d be another problem they had to handle.

“hello.” the word slipped from your lips in a low alto, almost like you were trying to remain unseen. “are you either sam or dean winchester?”

the question caught sam of guard. “yeah i’m sam. my brothers just inside.” he didn’t want to alert dean to the strange woman at their door, but he still wanted to be careful. “who are you?”

tilting the corner of your lip into a delicate smile, you brought your hand out from sam to shake. “i’m Y/N.” you spoke as sam took your hand, holding lightly as he felt the smoothness of it’s ridges. “i am an angel of the lord, one of castiel’s companions actually.” you thought that maybe mentioning castiel would soften their immediate aggression towards your unknown presence, but the look on sam’s face was deterring you in the other direction.

turning his head to look over at dean, sam gave him a look of ‘we’ve got an issue’, instantly alerting the older winchester to prepare for any harm that would come to either him or sam.

without really thinking, you brushed past sam into the room and inspected it further. you saw who you assumed to be dean stood by a bed, gun hung by his hips but hands placed at the ready if you did anything that rubbed him the wrong way.

placing your hands behind your back, you immediately got into business. “as you are both aware, eve is out of purgatory. i’m also sure you’re aware that my brother castiel has been a bit off lately. i’ve just come down to assist you both, make sure that everything is in order and that purgatory will remain as it always has.” the brothers watched you in slight awe, almost like they didn’t expect for you to know what was happening down on earth. just because there was a gruesome war going on in your home doesn’t mean you weren’t completely out of the loop.

dean was the first to speak, looking at you skeptically as he gave your face a once over. “you seem lovely, sweetheart but how do we know you’re telling the truth?” his question was valid, but you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the winchester’s classic style of not being easily trusting.

“here,” you spoke, moving so you could be in the middle of the room. “let me show you.” in an instant you flapped your wings and disappeared, shocking sam and dean and having the younger brother almost knocking back into the motel rooms desk.

in a couple of short minutes you were back, wind tossed hair with a pie in hand. you handed it over to dean, brushing your hair back as you straightened your back. “i flew to the nearest diner to get you some pie. cas tells me you really enjoy apple.”

if someone’s eyes could become actual saucers than dean winchester accomplished it. he looked like a kid in a candy shop who’s mom allowed him to get his favourite treat. “you might just be my favourite member of the god squad.” dean mumbled through a mouthful of pie, smiling contently to himself as he took another bite.

sam was still a little on the fence, not really sure on one thing. “why aren’t you alerting the other angles if you’re so concerned? i thought you guys rarely came down to earth.”

“believe me,” you spoke, shifting on your feet so you could look at dean more clearly. “if i didn’t have to be down here i wouldn’t. but heaven has been run amuck, and i’m starting to get worried about cas.” the look on sam’s face after you voiced your worry on your brother confused you. the angel was acting different, sketchy even. why weren’t sam and dean jumping at the opportunity to help you get to the bottom of his behaviour?

“why are you so concerned about castiel?” sam questioned, leaning forward so he could be closer to you. “last we saw of him he seemed to be fine.”

oh. so the winchester’s didn’t know about their angel friends strange behaviour. with all the stuff on their plate you weren’t surprised; but you started to think of the severity of castiel’s actions if he didn’t think to have sam and dean in the mix with him.

brushing off any worry on your face, you plastered on your best smile and tried to comfort sam and dean. “heaven just hasn’t seen him in a while that’s all. i just wanted to come down and be of help when castiel is away.” dean’s face showed some skepticism, but sam seemed more open to your help, and gave his brother a look that screamed ‘give her a chance’.

sighing to himself, dean turned and looked over at you with defeat. “alright, you can help.” his head perked up a second after, seemingly thinking of something. “why did your think we needed your help anyway? this is a simple demon case.”

oh the winchester’s. they were very bright in some areas, yet when it came to looking at the bigger picture, they fell a little flat. “eve is here that’s why.” you spoke, watching as both brothers faces fell. “she’s the one orchestrating all of this.” the look on both sam and dean’s faces showed they weren’t aware of this, even though it made the most sense.

“well, that’s good enough for me. let’s go find ourselves some demons.” dean enthused, getting up and grabbing his weapons and jacket. as sam and his brother went around grabbing their belongings, sam noticed how you just stood still, eyes darting around the room like everything was new and fresh to you. in hindsight, it was, for this was your first time on earth. sam was just so enthralled with the look on your face, how the smallest thing interested you.

even when you followed behind the two brothers on the way to the impala, your eyes caught on everything. cars, people, shops, and especially the flowers and greenery that danced along the buildings and ground.

as you three pulled up to the abandoned warehouse, you could sense the demonic presence from outside. this allowed you to sneakily walk sam and dean right to where the demons were, garnering them the moment of surprise which gave them time to whip out three out the six demons.

while sam and dean fought two demons, you watched as another tried to escape. transporting right in front of the man you watched as his face turned into a snarl. “looks like they’ve got another angel on their side.” he sneered, attempting to move past you but failed as you kicked his legs in and pinned him down to the ground.

“where’s eve.” you asked calmly, not wanting to talk to this demon longer than you should. he just smirked at you, spitting up onto your face to get his point across.

gosh they really were abominations. you were disgusted and really sick of having to be in his presence, so with a slight crush of his windpipe and a foot on his rib he was sputtering out her whereabouts. “thank you.” you responded in a nonchalant manner, putting two fingers on his forehead and smiting him into nothing.

standing up and brushing some dust from your coat, you turned and noticed sam and dean standing a little ways behind you, shock covering their faces.

“wow” dean breathed, putting his gun into his coat. “didn’t realize angels were so brutal.” sam seemed more star struck, like the simple notion of what you just did astounded him. you didn’t say anything to either of the two men, casually shrugging your shoulders and walking back to the impala.

sam didn’t move for a second, garnering dean to whack him on the back and snicker to himself. “got some drool there on your cheek, sammy.” the younger winchester just huffed, mumbling about how dean was an ass while he got into the passenger seat with the strange yet attractive angel sitting behind him.

the ride back to the motel was quite, the only sound being the hum of the car and the soft rock music dean was playing over his radio. you knew your work here was done, that when you three pulled to a stop that you’d have to leave. something inside of you didn’t want you to go. it wanted you to see what castiel saw in the winchester’s. elaborate on the feeling of peaceful energy that being around sam gave you for the first time.

when the time came for you to bid your farewell, the atmosphere seemed to change. dean was very cordial. a simple goodbye and a slight wave of his hand was all he could muster up before retreating back into his room.

sam on the other hand, he lingered for a bit.

his eyes raked over the form of your vessel. he knew that this wasn’t what you truly looked like. somehow, that didn’t phase him. the aura and emotion you executed was enough for him to get a feel of who you truly were.

the somber look behind vast irises was enough for sam to understand that you truly didn’t want to leave. you had to, you didn’t want to. that was enough for sam to feel a sprinkle of hope that him and dean would be seeing you again.

releasing a puff of air, you were the one to break the looming silence. “please look out for castiel. something’s off with him, i just don’t know what.” sam also could tell that you wanted to stay to help your brother, but that inner turmoil which had been deeply in rooted from the angels wouldn’t let you.

the man wanted you to feel a sliver of comfort. so he agreed, giving you a slight nod as he watched the wind tousle your hair around.

you looked beautiful under the moonlight. sam truly could understand why you were an angel. your kindness and true devotion to the ones you loved barred proudly on your chest. sam swore you glowed, but that was just his imagination talking.

“i better go.” you whispered, walking over to sam and placing your hands on his shoulders. the younger winchester was frozen, not knowing how to react at your blatant actions. with a swift turn of your head, you pressed a delicate kiss to sam’s cheek. the lingering feeling of your lips on his skin had sam reeling.

he couldn’t react. a whoosh of wings and a slight gust of air alerted him to your departure. you hadn’t even been gone a minute and sam deeply down already missed you.

sam winchester was in too deep already and it seemed like he couldn’t give a care in the world.

[lessi-lover]

don't break me when i let you in II barcelona femení x teen!reader

this is the longest i've ever written and i'm so proud thank you all for sending ideas to help me keep this draft alive x

warnings: mention of suicide, implied self harm, self hate, spanish federation.

don't break me when i let you in II barcelona femení x teen!reader

"you don't have to be strong all the time, you know?" it was an ignorant affair to believe, something only somebody with a slight sliver of saved up hope might trust. not you. not the broken shell of a person that can only believe you are the only thing keeping yourself together.

the glue to a cracked vase. in which the vase was you and you were slowly breaking under pressure that had been following you for years. if you hadn't hit rock bottom a couple months ago, you were certainly scraping the edge with your bare teeth now.

you had been one of their strongest forwards available to select from. a top forward in your league, it would be silly for them not to call you up with the titles next to your name at such a young age. it was inevitable that you would be called up for the world cup squad selection and there was nothing you could have done about it even if you tried.

you were just so helpless weren't you?

there was nobody to tell that you didn't want to travel to australia to play for a team that had ripped you inside out before you were even first national tournament debut, nobody that would understand how badly you wanted to represent your country and how willing you were to put your body on the line for it even for a single minute in spanish colours.

is that why you stayed quiet?

you stared towards yourself in the mirror, wondering if maybe your eyes had ever truly been as light as they used to tell you. that the light in your eyes you had been promised was always there had just seemingly disappeared. the eyes that they still talk about that seem so foreign to you now as you look back at yourself through shattered glass. wondering if maybe it was all just a lie.

maybe it was all just a lie.

a black and white faceless lie that everything you would go through for a ruthless tournament was for the better of you. or worse. a binary promise that everything would be okay, that all the suffering would end in good for you. or not.

but you look back through the same eyes that you were meant to be able to trust, the eyes that let everything just happen without looking back, and you still don't understand how you could be so easily deceived, taken apart from top to bottom like a neglected toy.

a useless, discardable toy. was it all a lie?

maybe the people who were meant to protect you and care for you were actually abusing you to wits' ends. maybe it wasn't that you needed the further training they made you endure after your previous training, but that you were so young and fresh and all too easy to manipulate.

maybe it was those you trusted and who sent you away with the assurance that you would be the next spanish legacy that isolated you from the world and treated you as a vessel to secure gold for spain.

but you were to blind and powerless to seek help.

you had been the silent one. the one too shattered to even bear the trial that came with the aftermath of the events following your world cup win. you knew the federation would come after you. you were the one who wanted so badly to sign the document that your teammates had but you couldn't bring yourself to look at the people who had broken you from the inside out for even just a second to speak your mind.

you were just a shell of a once strong force now weren't you?

you knew they would try and rip away each and every title you had ever worked for and your playing rights along with it. you were a world cup, champions league, copa de la reina, nations league and liga f winner. but maybe you were just a vulnerable, small cog in a relentless system that wouldn't stop until you broke down and they would throw you away like the others.

the fear of losing everything you had worked for since you were a small child paralyzed you for months. the mere thought of speaking out, of seeking help, seemed as impossible as how you got into the situation in the first place.

the federation had an iron grip on your life, they could control you whether you were defenseless to it or not and any caught wind of saying something felt like signing your own demise.

it would end you surely? don't you think that maybe speaking out for help would become the end of your career? one that had barely started as you were only freshly twenty years old? staying quiet was the better option. you had thought you could escape unscathed, but your reality was far from it.

nobody had your best interest and those who did didn't make it clear enough until you finally broke down from the denied pressure. it felt like a void sometimes. as if you were screaming and nobody could hear you, or maybe nobody cared?

no they care. didn't they?

did they care when you were forced out of bed early in the morning to complete extra practice before the day even started? did they care when you were just a young teenager illegally moving up into the senior divisions of international football to cover for seniors who had denied their call up's and was made to exhaust your body more than you ever should? did they care when the private meetings you were obligated to attend turned into time to yell at you, to break you down as if you hadn't given your entire life to the federation.

but then again, if not football what else did you have to live for?

you asked yourself these questions over and over again. each time just hoping that the harsh reminder of your situation would lessen. it never did. it never would. it would be stuck with you no matter how hard you tried to block it out, no matter how hard you tried to ignore who and what made you shrink a million times over.

the fear, the abuse, the meal plans, the body exhaustion, the denied freedom, the stolen happiness, a cruel reminder of the bottomless hole you had found yourself falling deeper and deeper and there was nothing you could do to get out.

you were truly and utterly stuck.

~

the office is cold, its white walls a stark contrast to the warmth in the hallway you had been waiting in for the past half hour. the thick carpet muffles your footsteps as you walk toward the large desk in the center of the room, the air you're walking into a harsh wind of tension that couldn't be cut with a blade if you tried.

you swallow hard, your throat dry despite the countless bottles of water you’ve consumed throughout the day. but your hydration doesn't matter now, whatever it said to you in the next twenty minutes does.

the glare of the desk lamp catches your eye, reflecting the same harsh light that seems to spotlight you everywhere, waiting for you to make your next mistake. you glance at the stern faces of the officials seated behind the desk, their expressions unreadable as they read through what looks like your performance reports.

“please, take a seat,” the head of the federation says, his voice clipped as he places his hand predatorily on your lower back and guides you to sit down. you lower yourself into the chair, the thin material of your club shorts rubbing uncomfortably against the velvet furniture.

the head official adjusts his collar, peering over them at you with a sharp look almost as though you had done something to personally offend him. but those aren't anything close to his next words.

“you’ve been doing exceptionally well, tesoro.” he begins, but his tone is far from genuine and you feel that something else is coming. “your performance has been impressive, especially considering your age and the closeness of the tournament.”

you nod, though his praise feels hollow, almost as if you're falling into a set trap made just for you. your heart races and you grip your hands on the chair. you want to speak up, to voice your concerns about the overwhelming training schedules and the strain it’s putting on your body, but the words get lost in your throat.

“we’ve decided to integrate you into the senior squad for the upcoming world cup. it’s a great opportunity, but it also means you’ll need to do far more than what you're currently putting in.”

your chest tightens. you’ve been waiting for this for a long time, but when he finally tells you it feels overwhelming and you don't understand why a moment you have been prepping for years of your life makes you feel uneasy. you push it off as nerves.

the world cup is a chance to showcase your skills on a global stage, this is your moment, don't stare it in the face and back down.

another official at the side of the room glances at you with a fleeting look of concern before turning back to his notes. he seems to recognize the strain you’re currently feeling, but his words are lost just like yours as the head continues to talk to you.

“your development is crucial to our success,” the head official says, his voice cutting through your thoughts. “we expect you to handle this responsibility with the utmost professionalism. this is an opportunity for you to prove yourself and secure your place on the national team.”

"and who knows, i have spots emptied by débiles that need filling. this is your shot don't blow it. tesoro." there is something about the way he talks to you and speaks about you over your head that makes you shiver right down to your core.

you nod again, feeling the weight of their words drop into the palm of your hand and the room seems to close in on you as they continue discussing your role to each other and the intense training you will need to undergo in the upcoming months.

the meeting ends with a firm handshake and a curt nod from yourself and as you leave the office, the clear expectations settle heavily on your shoulders, the fear of failing and the pressure to succeed feeling almost insurmountable. yourself unaware of the danger you have just put yourself in.

~

you're not even sure when it all started. you can't pinpoint when the abuse started, if you could even call it that, or if it was there the whole time and you normalised it for yourself because that was the better option instead of speaking out in your mind.

it was enough of the lack of players available that caused them to attempt to burn you out as much as they could. it was enough for the federation to take one look at you and decide that the weight of the world relied on your shoulder whether you liked it or not.

that was your purpose. it was your job to lead the team to victory without a second mistake. without a setback, through injury, responsible for the good and the bad, amidst an internal battle with yourself that was dragging you down, and most importantly with a smile on your face even if you were shattered from the inside.

a smile on your face. nobody would notice would they?

~

“siéntate, tesoro,” he commands, his tone carrying an edge of impatience and you feel yourself move quickly into his office at his voice. you sink into the chair, its firm surface a harsh contrast to how had felt in the chair only mere months ago.

“you’re here because you’ve been selected for the world cup squad,” he begins, his voice cold and he digs his hand into the desk as he leans close to you. “but let’s be clear, tesoro. being selected was only the first challenge. we expect more from you.”

you nod, but the weight of his words feel heavy and you can't help but notice that the official who had given you the sorry look was missing from his spot behind the desk.

“we’ve noticed that you’re not quite fitting the ideal player we had in mind,” he continues, and you shake off any thoughts of the past official when your eyes meet his. “you’re not fast enough, not agile enough. you’re not meeting the physical standards we expect from you.”

his words sting, each critique like a hard blow to your self-esteem that wasn't really there in the first place. “your performance has been adequate,” he says, “but adequate isn’t enough. we need you to be exceptional and above all competition. and right now, you’re neither of those.”

he leans forward, his breath fanning over you as you look down at the floor in fear. “your weight is one concern of our team, but it’s not just about being heavier or lighter. it’s about how you present yourself. we need you to be leaner, faster and even more dynamic. you’re not the perfect image we want for the team right now.”

the room seems to close in around you as he continues. “we’ve seen some players who didn’t meet our expectations and they were dropped. you need to understand that if you don’t shape up, you will be next to not enter through doors again. comprendido?"

he gestures to a pile of strawn documents on his desk and you look up from the concrete fall at the harsh snap of his fingers in your face.

“we have reports here, tesoro, that detail everything we need from you. and it’s not just about physical performance. it’s about how you look, how you’re perceived by the public. you need to be more endearing, more marketable. if you can’t fulfill that role, then we'll find another.”

his gaze is relentless and he talks to you like you're a faceless object that he can discard at his will, throw away when he feels you're not complying with his demands. he can take you off this squad the moment you defend yourself.

“you’re not here just to play; you’re here to be the face of the team. the face of spain. and right now, you’re not cutting it for us. we need you to be a star, not just another player in this tournament. and if you’re not willing to meet those expectations, then you’re in the wrong place i'm afraid.”

“now, we’re going to do something,” he continued, his voice carrying a coldness that made your stomach curl inwards as you sat fearfully in your chair. “i need you to repeat after me. ‘i am not good enough. i need to be better."

you hesitate, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak as you blinked harshly to try and to stop the tears that threatened to fall. “i am not good enough. i need to be better,” you say quietly, looking down shamefully at the floor like a small child being scolded by their parent.

“louder.” he demands, his voice cutting through the room like a whip and you try not to flinch at the volume of his words. “i need to hear you say it with conviction. you are lying through your teeth pequeña. don't lie to me, i hate liars."

“again,” he insists. “and this time, say it as if you truly believe it. i am not good enough. i need to be better." you force yourself to repeat the phrase, the words make you feel as if you're stripping away everything you ever built yourself to believe. every title, every trophy, every medal, every goal. erased.

“i am not good enough. i need to be better,” you say louder, the humiliation of his cruel exercise making your stomach lurch and you struggled to keep yourself together.

“very good,” the official says, his tone carrying a note of being pleased and you hated that you loved the feeling of his approval. “you should understand that just because you’re going to australia doesn’t mean you get to enjoy it. you’re there for work, not to have fun.”

his manipulation is chilling to the bone, designed to strip away any sense of accomplishment you had ever felt. “you’re not meant to enjoy australia, it’s not a vacation. you’re there to prove yourself, not to sightsee. you need to focus solely on the tournament, on meeting the expectations we’ve set for you. or we won't hesitate to send you home.”

“this is a serious commitment. if you let yourself get distracted, you’re failing in your duty. you’re expected to perform at your peak, and that means putting aside any thoughts of leisure or enjoyment. this isn’t about you enjoying yourself; it’s about you meeting the standards we've set for you.”

“if you allow yourself to get comfortable or take things lightly,” he warns, “you’re showing weakness. and weakness is unacceptable. you need to stay sharp, stay focused, and remember why you’re here.”

his manipulation is subtle yet even then you could tell that he knew you wouldn't fight back, he had designed it to make you feel guilty for even considering enjoying the tournament.

“this is a test of your worth,” he says. “if you can’t handle the pressure and keep your focus, you’re not fit for the team. we need you performing to the highest standards that we expect from everybody else. including you. if you can’t handle the pressure, then you’re not worthy of the position. we expect you to rise to the challenge without complaint.”

~

you were far too gone to allow somebody else to take your spot. guilty and far too gone to let yourself slip through the cracks you had been told others had fallen through. somebody wouldn't be able to deal with the kind of pain you had been trained to believe as normal.

somebody else definitely wasn't as strong as the fake front you had built up to deal with it all, or at least that's what you told yourself, it made you feel better even if you didn't believe it.

you felt like nothing.

was it the pressure? was it the memories? was it the unhealable bruises that littered you from head to toe? or was it the feeling that you gave your whole existence to people who threw you away like you were just dirt on the bottom of a shoe?

you were numb.

you couldn't even remember the last time you had felt truly happy, truly yourself. the facade of a charming female footballer you put on for the world was crumbling and you were scared that people would finally see the pain that lied underneath.

the mirror showed a person trapped between who they once were and the brokenness of who they had become, drowning in a sea of your own helplessness.

you wondered if there was any way back to the person you used to be, or if that person was gone forever, if she had fallen through but ignored by who you had been built to be. this is what rock bottom feels like. rock bottom is not knowing who you are anymore, not recognising any of the memories of the person you were before.

it's the lostness of knowing that you can't find yourself again, seeing your old self in the distance but not knowing how to reach it with the strength you so clearly do not have.

it's the painful acknowledgement that the once vibrant and full of life person who was here before has been replaced by a shadow and you're struggling to fight the dark.

had the darkness swallowed you yet?

your phone rings loudly in your ear. it's more harsh this time than the previous sounds that had escaped the device. you know who's calling you because there wasn't exactly anybody in your life that would reach out to you so religiously and determindly.

you bit down on your lip. a similar memory of you lying on the floor answering the man who had made you the emotionless person that couldn't bear to even think about the game you used to live for.

you miss the person you were. that man gutted her from the inside.

the sound pierces into the thick silence of the room, demanding you to answer as it broke through the barrier of quiet you had built up. the screen of your phone lights up and you let your eyes flicker down towards it, your phone displaying the name of the person you dreaded to see you how you are now.

a feeling you couldn't quite place as dread or relief washed over you as your phone vibrated against the cold floor. dark purple bruises forming on your legs and arms from the time you had spent laying on the bathroom floor.

you slowly reach for your phone, drops of blood dripping off your skin and onto the glass as tears make their way down your face from the dark circles that countless nights of lost sleep had created for you.

your fingers tremble as you swipe to answer the call as if they are carrying the burden you've been feeling for months, and the screen lights up with the caller's name again. you can't turn back now, you've answered the one person you would hate to see you like this.

you contemplate hanging up the phone, staying silent on your end of the call as if magically the situation would disappear and you could leave like you so badly wanted to.

you sound nothing like the person you were a year ago.

"hola amorcito. are you there?" the voice on the other end of the line breaks through your thoughts, the term of endearment so familiar yet painful almost making you burst into another set of tears but you stay strong for her because that's what he would have wanted.

"ale?" you reply, your voice steady but still shaking as you lift your phone to your ear to hear better. "i'm here." there's a soft sigh on alexia's side of the phone and you can almost picture her sitting with her girlfriend on the couch, the older woman had tried to call you throughout the week but you hadn't answered and she'd been waiting for you to call her back.

"you don't have to be strong all the time, you know?"

[candycandy00]

Character: Sukuna

Theme: Pirate Ship

Spice: NSFW (I wanna SMELL the smut)

Mood: Dark with flickers of ligt

Kinks: Beautiful shy virgin reader, size difference, a bit of pain, bondage, a bit of spanking, a sprinkle of non-con

Please and Thank you

The Maiden’s Voyage - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. AU. Sukuna as a Pirate Captain. Noncon/Rape! Very rough sex! Bondage. Violence. Blood. Mentions of suicide. Sukuna is a cruel, sadistic monster here! You’ve been warned! 

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! There will be two (possibly three) parts because I got really attached to this idea and it was getting too long. Any feedback, comments, reblogs, etc. will make my day sunny and bright! 💖 Dividers by @benkeibear!

Relentless cannon fire from above leaves your ears ringing as you cower below deck with the other passengers. This was supposed to be an uneventful trip to the island, where you intended to take a job as a maid for a rich noble. The voyage should have lasted four days, but two days in, this happens. 

This being a pirate attack. The crew of the ship you’re on commanded all the passengers to hide below deck while they tried to outrun the pirate ship that was rapidly approaching, last you saw. In the dark of night, the pitch black sails of the massive ship were terrifying in the flashes of light from the cannons. 

Now you can only tremble as you and the others cling to each other, listening to the sounds of men shouting and cursing above. Cannon fire gives way to rifle and pistol fire, and that can only mean one thing: the pirates have boarded. 

A fight breaks out. You can hear bodies falling, people screaming. The woman beside you is crying. “It’ll be alright,” you tell her, trying to force a smile onto your face. “They might just take our money and belongings and leave.” It certainly isn’t unheard of. 

She gives you a pitying stare. “They’ll kill us all. Well, maybe not you, with your looks. But you’ll probably wish you were dead.”

You’re not stupid. You know how this will most likely play out. But you were trying to comfort her, to give her a little bit of hope. You wish she’d done the same for you. Maybe then your hands would stop shaking. 

The door leading up to the deck is suddenly ripped open, making several passengers scream in alarm. Two unfamiliar men with guns climb down.

“All of you, get up there,” one of them says, waving his rifle around and pointing toward the deck. 

Like lambs marching off to be slaughtered, you and the other passengers grimly climb the rickety wooden steps to reach the deck. What you find is a nightmare come to life. 

Bodies litter the whole ship. Blood has splattered everywhere. The captain of your vessel is being held by two brawny pirates, their swords at his throat. He’s covered in bloody gashes and has a black eye, his regal looking coat ripped and dirty. 

Many of the pirates are holding torches, so many that the deck is well lit. You look around in stunned silence, your eyes shifting from one horror show to the next until you and the rest of the passengers are all lined up single file. Then several pirates step behind the line and begin tying everyone’s wrists behind their backs. The man tying yours gropes your ass through your dress, making you squirm. 

Once everyone is tied up, one of the pirates yells out, “All ready for you, Capn’!” 

Another man, standing close to the passengers, says, “Look lively! Captain Sukuna’s boarding the ship!”

At the sound of the captain’s name, you feel your heart sink down your body, settling somewhere in your feet. Some of your fellow passengers cry out in despair. One woman, in a panic, breaks the line. She runs straight to the side of the ship and throws herself overboard. You understand why she did it. 

Captain Ryomen Sukuna is notorious for his cruelty, for his complete lack of mercy when it comes to women, whom he treats just as (if not more) brutally as he does men. You’re still haunted by stories you’ve heard about the bodies found on ships he’s plundered. Women and men alike stripped and skewered, cut into chunks, ripped apart. There were even rumors that he ate some of his victims! 

Naturally, you’ve never seen him before. His wanted posters only have his name and a vague description: a tall, muscular man with black tattoos all over his body. That could describe a lot of pirates. 

But now, you’re about to get a crystal clear image of him. You hear heavy footsteps walking across the deck from behind you, and then he finally steps around the line of passengers and comes into view. 

The words “tall” and “muscular” do not do him justice. He’s huge, with broad shoulders and a chiseled torso visible beneath the white shirt unbuttoned to his waist. You can also see the lines of black tattoos, on his face and chest, drawing your eye toward his toned abdomen. He has pink hair, slicked back away from his face, and intense red eyes. 

Something about his appearance captivates you, makes it impossible for you to tear your eyes away. He’s objectively handsome, in a rugged, masculine way. But he’s also terrifying. You can almost feel the bloodlust radiating off him. 

He begins walking down the line, stopping in front of a pretty young woman to look her over. “This one,” he says, and another pirate pulls her out of the line, dragging her off to the side to wait. Sukuna continues, occasionally pausing to regard a woman. “This one,” he says again, and another lady is dragged over to stand beside the first one. 

When he reaches you, he stops and faces you, his eyes roaming up and down your form. Your heart is racing, your breaths coming fast and shallow. There’s a hunger in his expression as his gaze burns into you, lingering on your heaving chest. “This one,” he says, red eyes glinting in the light of the torches, a grin on his face. 

A pirate pulls you from the line and shoves you over to stand with the other two women as Sukuna continues his walk. In the end, you and six other women are chosen. You all huddle together, still bound, while Sukuna turns to his crew. “Take care of the rest!”

At those words, a frenzy of violence begins. You can only watch in horror as the rest of the passengers are stripped of all clothing and belongings, the women screaming at the indignity, and then systematically murdered by the pirates. Most are stabbed with swords or daggers, some have their throats slit, and a few are simply thrown overboard. 

The woman you spoke to below deck cries out as a pirate stabs her repeatedly in the stomach. You close your eyes, no longer able to bear the sight of so much spilled blood. 

It’s almost as if you’re in a daze as you and the other six women are taken over to Sukuna’s ship. There’s no fight in you, no hope. Your arms are tied behind you and you’re totally surrounded by large, armed pirates. There’s no chance of escape. You can guess why you seven were chosen, and you’re starting to wonder if you should throw yourself overboard like the desperate woman you saw earlier. Death by drowning would be preferable to the fate that awaits you. 

Sukuna walks over to the group of terrified women and points directly at you. “Take her to my quarters. You men can share the others.”

The men cheer and the women scream. You look over at Sukuna, and your eyes meet his. Again, he gives you a grin, and the look on his face says it all: this man is going to enjoy destroying you. 

You’re dragged down a small set of stairs and through a heavy wooden door. You find yourself in a lavish cabin, full of rich furnishings like a glossy wooden dresser and deep red velvet blankets on a huge bed. There are lanterns lit all around the room, giving it an opulent atmosphere. It smells of fresh wood and sea breeze and some sort of incense. 

You only have a few minutes alone before the door swings open and the captain walks in. He closes the door behind him, sealing your fate, then shrugs off his long black coat. He’s left in black leather pants that fit him a little too well and the thin white shirt that’s mostly unbuttoned. You’ve never seen a man with such a well built body before, and it almost distracts you from the terror you feel at being alone in a room with this monster. 

He looks at you, eyes freely drinking in your entire body. “I’m sure you know what’s going to happen to you,” he says, standing a few feet away, “but just in case you’re stupid, I’ll make it clear. We’ve got a two week voyage ahead of us, and you’re going to be my entertainment. If you don’t please me, I’ll toss you to the crew to be passed around until you die.”

You shiver, tears welling up in your eyes. How are you supposed to keep him pleased? You’ve never even touched a man in a sexual way before. 

He steps closer, and you step further back, shying away from him. He looks slightly annoyed. “Did you understand what I said, woman?”

You sniffle, trying to hold back your tears. With your hands behind your back, you can’t even wipe your eyes. You’ve truly never been so helpless. “I… I understand,” you finally say, afraid of angering him. “It’s just… I’ve never…”

His eyes seem to glow with excitement. “Oh? An innocent maiden? In my quarters? You’re like a baby lamb that’s been thrown to the wolves.” He laughs and moves closer. You’re frozen to the spot, remembering his annoyed expression when you stepped back before. When he’s right in front of you, you’re again struck by just how tall he is. He completely dwarfs you. This close, you can feel his body heat, can smell the heady mix of blood and sea water on his skin. 

You’re terrified. You want nothing more than to flee, even though you have no idea where you could possibly flee to. But your eyes keep being drawn to those tattoos trailing down his torso, disappearing below his belt. “Please,” you say in a small quivering voice, “if only the first time… please don’t hurt me.”

That frightening grin spreads over his mouth again as one large hand moves up to touch your teary face. “My poor little maiden, I’m going to hurt you. And I’m going to enjoy hurting you.”

You draw in quick shuddering breaths as tears streak your face, drizzling over his fingers, your eyes large and glassy as you stare up at him. 

His hand moves down to your neck as his other hand rests on your shoulder. “I’m going to thoroughly break you, split you in two on my cock, make you scream until your throat is raw and bloody. Well, more than just your throat will be raw and bloody.”

Your body is shaking with held back sobs. How could he be so cruel? But you don’t have time to think more on it, because his hands are suddenly on the front of your dress. In one savage motion, he rips it completely open with his bare hands, totally exposing you down to your waist. 

******************

Sukuna laughs as the sweet little maiden shrieks and draws back away from him, trying to turn her body to hide her nakedness. With her arms bound, she can’t even try to cover herself. He grabs her shoulder and forces her to face him, drinking in the sight of her bare, heaving breasts. It’s been a while since he’s had a woman so shapely, so perfectly formed to his taste. He can’t wait to see the rest of her. 

Wasting no time, he tears the rest of her dress off, as well as her thin undergarments. She’s left cowering before him, trembling, trying to clamp her legs shut. How adorable. 

Ah, such a lovely, delicate little flower, just ripe enough for him to pluck. But he doesn’t just want to pluck her. He wants to take this beautiful, tender blossom and grind it into powder. 

With one hand he grips her chin and lifts her face up, forcing her to look at him. Nothing arouses him more than a pretty face wet with tears, terrified eyes peering up at him, quivering lips unable to even form words. 

The thought of destroying this pure, innocent creature has him rock hard. 

His hand moves to the side of her face, his thumb tracing over her plump lips. Her eyes shift down, and he realizes this has happened multiple times since he entered the room. What does she keep looking at? What could be so distracting in a moment like this? He follows her gaze, and it leads to his chest, the tattoos clearly visible beneath his unbuttoned shirt. 

Is she… staring at his body? A virgin that’s about to be violated is distracted by his tattoos? Oh, this is delicious! 

He releases his hold on her and steps back, then pulls off his shirt and tosses it aside. As he suspected, her eyes widen as they roam over the black ink lining his torso. Her lips part and the fear on her face gradually shifts to something else. 

“See something that interests you?” he asks, smirking at her. 

She shakes her head, looking embarrassed. “N-no!”

His hands move to his belt, and she watches as he unbuckles it, then opens his pants. He hears her breath hitch slightly when she sees that the tattoos continue down, and when he pulls his fully erect cock out, she lets out a small scream. 

Sukuna grins to himself. He’s certainly used to women screaming when they see it for the first time. He’s very aware of the fact that his cock is unusually large. To her virgin eyes, it probably looks like a beast ready to attack her. 

The fear has returned to her face, and it makes him want to ravage her immediately. He looks at her lovely mouth, at her lips as soft as rose petals, and pushes her down to her knees in front of him. 

********************

You’re so scared you can’t even speak as Captain Sukuna forces you to your knees, his monstrously huge rod right in front of your face. It terrifies you, but even it has two black lines tattooed around the base of it, demanding your attention. 

“Open your mouth,” he commands, and you hesitantly obey. 

The tip of his meaty cock touches your tongue. “If you bite,” he says, staring down into your eyes, “I’ll rip every tooth out of your head and then fill your bloody mouth with my cum. Do you understand?”

You’re afraid to nod your head, afraid to move at all, so you murmur out, “Mmhmm.”

That’s all he needs to hear before he shoves himself into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, making you gag and choke. He pulls out slightly, then shoves in again, going partially down your now sore throat. He repeats this, in and out, mercilessly fucking your mouth as tears flood your eyes. You barely get a chance to breathe when he pulls back, and at some point he grips your hair, holding your head steady.

“You’re not trying to please me at all,” he says, frowning down at you. “Use your tongue, your lips, your whole mouth. I’m not stopping until you make me cum.”

Fresh tears sting your eyes. This torment will keep going? You look up at him pleadingly, hoping he’ll have mercy on you. He has to know you’ve never done this before. But he just keeps thrusting ruthlessly into your throat. 

When he pulls back again, you press your lips tightly around his shaft, slowing his motion. This gives you the chance to lap at his tip with your tongue. You taste a salty, sticky fluid, and feel it smear around the inside of your mouth. His grip on your hair tightens, and you whimper around his cock as he continues thrusting, just a little slower so that he can rub your tongue with his leaking tip. 

Your jaw is aching, your throat raw, but you keep your tongue moving, trying your best to please him. It feels like it goes on forever before he finally pulls out most of the way, leaving only the tip inside. Then he shoots his hot, gooey load onto your tongue, filling your mouth. Your first instinct is to spit it out, you’re already gagging after all. But you know that would anger him, so you force it down, letting the thick gobs slide down your throat. 

When done, he finally removes his cock from your mouth, leaving you panting for air, your lips bruised and trembling. You look up to find him grinning down at you. “So?” He asks, his tone mocking. “Ready for me to shove this into that little virgin pussy of yours?”

“No, please! You’ll break me!” you cry, trying to scurry away from him.

He grabs one of your bound arms and jerks you to your feet, not caring how much he hurts you. He pulls you to him, forcing your bare body against his. He’s so very firm, so rock solid. His appearance is so alluring to you, his self assured attitude so attractive, if you had met him under different circumstances, you would have slept with him willingly. 

“I’m going to shatter you,” he says, crimson eyes shimmering, “tear you apart, crush you into dust. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you alive until I’ve had my fill of you.”

You shudder in his arms, your eyes still full of tears. He steps toward his bed, dragging you with him by the arm. He throws you onto it, on your back. With your hands still tied behind you, the position is highly uncomfortable. He pulls off his pants, kicking them aside and standing beside the bed for a moment, giving you a clear view of how the black lines circle his muscular thighs. Once again, they almost distract you from your terror. 

But it returns full force when he climbs onto the bed and shoves your quivering legs apart. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your head to the side, feeling your whole body heat up with embarrassment. No man has looked upon you this way before. 

“It’s no fun fucking sandpaper,” he tells you. “So let’s get this pussy wet.”

Your eyes snap open in alarm when you feel his large, warm hands on your spread open inner thighs, rubbing upward. His thumbs reach your soft folds and part your flesh, the cool air of the room hitting your most private place. You hear him chuckle, and you glance at his face. He’s smiling so smugly. “Are you sure you’re a virgin? You’re already dripping.”

You feel shame immediately fall over you. In a panic, you try to rise up. “What? No! I’m not! I-“

Suddenly his thumb rubs over your clit, and you forget how to form words. You inhale a sharp breath, trying vainly to scoot away from his touch. He keeps rubbing, and you can feel your own wetness smearing around. Your body has betrayed you.  

Humiliated, you close your eyes again, wishing you could at least wipe your tears. The motion of his thumb intensifies, his nail scraping over your delicate nub, and your body jerks. You’ve never felt this way before, never felt such electric pleasure. 

You hear his smooth voice. “Already a whore for me before I even make you my woman.”

A pitiful sob escapes you. Reflexively, your legs try to close, but he’s between them, holding them far apart. The shameful pleasure builds and builds, your body shaking, and just when it feels like something is about to break loose, he suddenly stops. 

You lie there panting, not knowing if you’re thankful or disappointed that he moved his hand away.  But then his hands slide under your hips, and pull your lower body into his lap. You can feel the weight of his heavy cock on your pussy, can feel its heat. 

He moves it so that it’s pointing directly at your entrance. You rise up as best you can to look him in the eyes. “Please… don’t!”

But he grins again, enjoying your fear, your desperation. You were foolish to think this monster has any mercy within him. He doesn’t give you a chance to prepare, even to take a deep breath, before he ruthlessly shoves his entire cock inside you. 

You scream, the pain blinding as he tears into you, slamming into your cervix on the first thrust. It feels like he’s ripping you apart. You feel something warm and wet coming out of you, and realize it must be blood. At that moment, you genuinely fear he’s going to kill you. 

He quickly begins moving, thrusting in and out, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise them. You look at his face, at the pleasure evident in his eyes, and it horrifies you. Turning your face to the side, you try to block it all out, his cock invading your body, his hands upon you, his toned, tattooed body hovering over yours. 

All you can do is whimper and cry as he takes you, trying your best to hold back your sobs so that he doesn’t enjoy this even more. Your body feels like it’s on fire, but you’re completely helpless to stop him. 

“Hey,” you hear him say, his fingers squeezing your hip harshly, “don’t fade out. Stay focused. You’re under me right now, my cock is inside you.”

This cruel beast won’t even allow you the luxury of blocking this all out! He’s keeping you in the moment, making sure you’re aware of everything that’s happening. 

One of his hands moves down between your legs, his fingers finding your clit. Your body spasms with pleasure as he rubs circles into it, bringing you back to the edge you were on earlier. 

You shake your head. “No, please… stop!”

He ignores your pleas, rubbing relentlessly, making your breath hitch and your legs tremble. You look down, your eyes drawn to the way his muscles flex and move beneath his skin, the way his strong hands hold you, and you can’t resist any longer. 

The pleasure explodes within you, spreading from your core out to the ends of your limbs, leaving you gasping. Above you, Sukuna laughs. 

“A virgin cumming while being raped? I made an excellent choice tonight!”

You try to ignore his cruel taunts, just feeling the pleasure of your orgasm. It’s the only thing dulling the pain. Because Sukuna keeps fucking you, hard and rough, until your pleasure fades and you finally feel him stiffen inside you. He presses in deep enough to make you see stars, and then you feel his hot cum filling your womb. 

****************

Sukuna eventually pulls out of the maiden, leaving her sprawled out in his bed, too exhausted and sore to even close her legs. She pants, her lovely breasts heaving, as blood and cum leak out of her. She’s crying softly, turning her face away from him. 

She’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on, like a rare jewel. So soft and fragile, it only makes him want to defile her even more, to ruin her even more. 

Fortunately for her, that was the best fuck he’s had in years. The way her pussy clenched his cock when she came, the way her body trembled against him… it was exquisite.  He’ll definitely keep her alive for a while longer. 

[skyahri]

Soul |Ryomen Sukuna X Reader| HC

Summary: Sukuna meets the reincarnation of the only person he's ever loved.

Warnings: Implications of sex? Female pronouns. Reincarnation. Fear and anxiety.

- - - - -

"Rin..."

It came out like word vomit before Yuuji could even process what he was saying.

You looked at him, confused. Your name wasn't Rin and you'd never met this man before. Who did he think you were?

He slapped a hand over his mouth. Sukuna had forced his way to the surface just to ramble out a name? In all these years as his vessel, he'd never done something so trivial.

Sensing the flicker of cursed energy, Gojo, Megumi, and Nobara prepared themselves. It'd been a while since Sukuna had tried anything. Some sort of pact he'd formed with Yuuji kept him mostly content, although they weren't sure what it entailed.

It happened in the blink of an eye; Sukuna had taken over and stood directly in front of you, one hand flat on your chest and the other on your face.

"Rin... I could never forget the feel of your soul."

Your heartbeat fastened. An overwhelming feeling of fear fell onto you, rendering you unable to move.

What would you be able to do anyway? He's a God, and you had no abilities outside of actually seeing the damn things.

You had no idea what he was talking about. Your name isn't Rin and you'd never had any kind of encounter with either men until just now.

Megumi tried to move forward, but Gojo stuck an arm out in front of him. Something was off about the way Sukuna was acting, and he didn't think it was threatening.

It would be best to see how this played out instead of possibly starting a war that was never meant to begin in the first place.

"What are you doing? We can't let her-"

"Hold on."

They watched as Sukuna looked you up and down, inspecting your robes, hair, and face with a certain softness. His face was still hard and his movements still confident, but there was just that feeling.

"You look so different, but thats to be expected. Are you fairing well?"

You swallowed hard. His delicate touch did nothing to soothe your nerves. If anything, it only confused you more. He was tucking your hair behind your ear, giving you some sort of smile, and yet you feared he was going to rip your heart right out of your body.

"Um..."

Really, how were you supposed to respond? What sort of answer was he expecting? What were the consequences if you were to answer incorrectly?

Were you meant to comment on how you supposedly looked different? Was it your features? Your clothes? Your haircut?

"I'm scared."

Sukuna paused. You were horrified to have answered wrong, and now you could only hope he wouldn't kill you.

But he did something unexpected; he laughed. A thick, hardy chuckle that made your blood run cold.

Was this the end? How pitiful. Slain on a random Tuesday afternoon all because you wanted to meet up with an old friend. That's not a proper death.

"A thousand years and countless reincarnations, yet you still know how to make me laugh."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead. You only had a moment to panic before a lifetime of memories filled your mind.

You remember the time before modern civilization when you relied on hunting in the woods and crops from the neighbor's farm.

You remembered your parents, siblings, friends, and other villagers. You remember your home on the outskirts of town just against the forest line.

But most importantly, you remember Sukuna.

You remember meeting him as a human, and then several years later as a curse. You faced off against him, and although you couldn't beat him in the end, you'd come close enough to earn his respect.

He stood above you, two arms crossed, one on his hip, and the other outstretched to offer you a hand up.

Who were you to refuse such a gesture from the king of curses?

He allowed you to join his temple alongside other followers of his with the condition you devoted yourself to him entirely. The offer was presented as a choice, but the alternative was death, so any reservations you had were null.

You wanted to go with him anyway, but that's beside the point.

From the very beginning of your journey with him, it was made clear to everyone that you were 'special' and not to be bothered.

This fact didn't hold up too well with some of the others, but what were they to do about it? Argue with Sukuna? Tell him they were more deserving of his attention? How pathetic.

He allowed you privileges that would only ever be known to you, like dining with him or joining him on trips. These small pleasantries became grand ones, like sharing his bed and allowing him to claim you.

Your relationship was equal from then on. You were not just a follower of his anymore. He was just as devoted to you as you are to him, and he ensured you knew it.

He'd always make sure to tell you how special you were, that he was taking his time with you and granting you pleasure. How you were his favorite, and no one else could even compare. How others had not been so lucky in the past.

He'd escort you to and from the hot springs, have humans bring you flowers and jewelry, and allow you to see the most vulnerable aspects of him.

He promised his love for you would never die, and here he is a millennia later proving true to his words.

Once the unrelenting onslaught of memories subsided, your hands met his- one still on your chest feeling your heartbeat, and the other slid partway into your hair- and all you could do was appreciate his presence.

You stared up at him. His face was different, but that intense look in his eyes was all the proof you needed that he was still the same man from all those years ago.

Tears beaded up in your eyes and quickly dripped down your cheeks. Crying had never been your thing in the past, but you didn't care to stuff the feelings down. Such a reunion was an occasion enough.

"My love," you whispered.

He leaned his forehead down to meet yours.

"My Queen."

[midnightarcheress]

and they said speak now

we’re meant to combine. to heat each other up, to become one. pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader cw: angst. no comfort. angry yearning simon. mentions of cheating. reader is part of tf141. no use of y/n. part 1 | part 2

you and Ghost have never been friends.

sure, you are acquaintances, colleagues, teammates. but friends? no. it's more of that weird position where you'd take a bullet for each other if necessary, but would never, ever, stand in the same room without a dense fog of tension circling your bodies, limbs trembling with pent-up unjustified fury.

it's been like this ever since you joined the task force. when Price announced a new member to the group, Ghost silently protested; in his head, four was more than enough people to cover their intricate missions, so making it an odd number would only throw off their balance - in and out of the field.

the first few days were surprisingly easy. being the new member was already hard, so you just kept to yourself, did as you were told, and stood out of everyone's way. but soon enough, you and Ghost started clashing. snarky comments evolved into name-calling, finger-pointing, and complete disregard for decorum. for any poor bystander that got caught in the cross-fire, it'd seem like two petty children throwing tantrums at one another, not two well seasoned soldiers of a special ops task force.

years passed, and it never got better. the hatred between the two of you was intense. palpable. frustrating. arousing. full of unspoken words that could never dream of coming out of your lips. even when you're spitting venom at each other and barking death threats - unfunded, in most cases - there was an undeniable spark underneath it all, simmering its way to the surface at every stolen glance during briefing, a pub visit, or a blood-filled battle ground.

he didn't want to admit it, but you worked well together. the minute you'd step in the field, a switch would flip in your minds and there wouldn't be any traces of hostility left, only a deep connection the transcended the need for talking. you'd understand what he needed just by looking in his eyes. his beautiful brown eyes. usually unreadable, but in action, they were the vessel for an obscure language you were oddly fluent on.

in missions alongside you, despite the constant pump of adrenaline coursing through his veins, he felt peaceful. the emotional turmoil in his brain regarding your existence would quiet down, being overruled by a sense of admiration and a strange vulnerability. he knew the range of your skills, but he couldn't help being amazed by your stance, your swift yet precise moves, your mindset. how could a person be graceful while stabbing another?

it was conflicting. the push and pull, the tiring tango that would go on and on with a song that never reached the end. a dynamic that drained the both of you but a dynamic that neither had the will to change. it was something. something that filled your dull lives, a flesh-eating flame that licked your skin every time your arms brushed, that somehow just kept burning brighter.

Simon could feel it. he felt it when you were stranded in a ruinous safe house during a snowstorm and had to cling into his chest to not freeze to death. he felt it when he saw your eyes sparkling as you gasped for air after hearing one of Soap's terrible jokes. he felt it when your blood stained his hands and your consciousness almost slipped out of his reach forever.

you could feel it too.

that's why the news of your engagement ripped his heart out of his chest. the heart he kept hidden behind a fortified wall, stranded in an island not even the bravest sailors dared to reach. but you, with all your stubbornness, got inside. maneuvered in the labyrinth of cracks of his heart and made yourself a little spot. a spot you were oblivious to.

for some delirious reason, you invited Ghost to the wedding. maybe you wanted all of your trusted teammates with you. maybe you wanted to be a little smug about your happiness. either way, you're a civil person, so handing him the invite was the sensible decision; giving him at least a choice.

he didn't like your fiancé. in fact, he despised the guy. it didn't matter that he was a well-known officer, full of achievements and medals, beloved by many, respected by all. in his eyes, the bloke was no more than a frail bastard looking for a doll to show off. how could you get married to that selfish prick? how could you subject yourself to the wishes of a man who only saw you as a prize? why does he care?

for an even more delirious reason, Simon decided to go. worst fucking idea.

his nerves were through the roof. fighting with the necktie like he was the one about to get married, but ultimately tossing it aside. he didn't want to go, he didn't need to go. but he also didn't want to give you the satisfaction of winning the round, he wanted to be the so-called bigger person and show you how he can put differences aside. celebrate your happiness. so he took a seat on the bench, waiting for the inevitable death march.

it was a small event. a few friends, barely any family. he watched as you floated down the aisle, draped in white satin and bearing the brightest smile he has ever seen. he was so accustumed to seeing the harsh expressions you would make at him, that he couldn't help standing in awe as the final fleckes on sunlight danced on your skin, shining on your face and nearly casting a halo over your head. all for the stupid dumbfuck standing at the altar.

Simon couldn't pay attention to the ceremonialist; his mind was too consumed by the disorientation of seeing you. seeing you as a bride. seeing you as a bride in the altar. seeing you ready to live the rest of your life with someone who's not worth one second of your time. he just sat there, transfixed by the scene and only concentrating on you. your beaming eyes, your plump lips, your soft hair, your fingers intertwined with your fiancé's.

the type of focus that made him not register the involuntary movement of his feet to the corridor after the priest said "...speak now or forever hold your peace."

"don't do it." Simon's gruff voice echoed in the small chapel, reverberating on your eardrum like a violent outburst.

confusion shaped the faces of your loved ones. everywhere you looked you saw grimaces, wide-eyes, and parted lips. the sound gasps followed by murmurs of disbelief, the atmosphere thickening by the second, making it impossible to breathe. but for you the room was quiet. too quiet.

"please, you can't-"

"Ghost." you interrupt, dropping your fiancé's hand and glaring at the man who had the nerve to taint your wedding. your mind was racing with a million thoughts. it must be a cruel joke on his side, creating a spectacle out of this, you think.

before you realize it, your hands are dragging Ghost by the arm to the back of the church, stuffing him inside of what looks like a storage room, full of antique paintings and candles.

"have you lost your mind?"

"i think i have," he answers, taking a deep breath, "i must be batshit crazy, i know. but you can't marry him." your eyes narrow, looking for any indication of it being a bluff. why is your half-colleague-half-enemy objecting at your wedding?

"this isn't you. him," he scoffs, gesturing to the man on the other side of the door, "isn't who you are. you're not the type to be controlled by a man, giving in into his act, calling it love.

"what?" you ask, utterly thunderstruck by his words, "calling it- i'm not being controlled, Ghost. i know you're not familiar with the idea, but people can actually love and respect each other."

he dismisses your comment. "do you truly love him?" Simon knows what love is, knows it a little too much and that's what keeps him distant from people. it never ends well. "can you seriously tell me that this isn't a desperate attempt to fill the void in your heart? you're not happy with him."

"i'm not getting married out of necessity, Ghost. and who are you to say that i'm not happy?"

Simon paces in the room, footsteps creaking the hardwood floor. he knew that he was only digging himself a deeper grave, but he couldn't back down now. he won't allow you to commit such a terrible mistake. "i know you. i've watched you ever since you started dating that mutt," he says, studying your face, "you look different around him. almost small. frail."

his words are sharp, cutting through the air like a scathing blade. you feel the anger in his tone, but there's something else beneath the surface. he's almost... tender?

"you reduce yourself beside him," he adds in a matter-of-fact way, taking a step closer to you, "you're a force of nature, a beast, a goddamn hurricane, not-" he glares you up and down "this."

"i don't reduce myself!" you suddenly shout, eyes boring into his skull, "you think that because i'm getting married i'm throwing myself away? i'm a fucking soldier!"

"i know that!" he shouts back, taking a towering stance over you, "does he know that? you know damn well that the minute you sign those papers he's gonna begin persuading you into retiring, into being a perfect little trophy wife he can parade to his buddies."

you laugh. a dry, dull, hollow laugh. you don't know if it's due the absurdity of his statement or the shocking concern laced in each word escaping his mouth. it's one of those moments you're certain you dipped into a parallel universe, because the reality of it all seems too insane to believe. you stand in front of him with arms crossed, pondering your next move in this godforsaken argument. of course he wouldn't give you a break, not even in your wedding day.

"come on, be serious with me for one moment. he doesn't care about you. the real you," Ghost grits his teeth, "he cares about having your warm body by his side, but he doesn't see the vulnerability hidden behind your eyes. the part you keep a secret, tucked away from the world."

you clench your fists, battling against the desire to punch his gut. you're too proud to ever confess, but his words are slowly getting to you, clouding your brain with doubt. "i'll admit, it's not entirely his fault. he's too shallow for his own good, only knows what you show him. but i see what you try to hide." he says in a quieter tone. luring you in, trying to dissipate the tension.

"it has crossed your mind, hasn't it?" you tilt your head, confused by his question, "us. you've wondered about it."

you scoff, "no, i haven't." lie.

"don't lie now, darling." the pet name should make your skin crawl. but it doesn't. he didn't say it in his usual condescending mode, the one he employs whenever he's mocking you. there's no poison in his tongue, it's... sugary. drips like honey over you.

"you feel the heat between us, the suppressed fire itching to make us combust," he steps closer, still lingering a few inches from your body but too close for comfort, "you know how good we are together. everybody sees our synchrony in the field, how perfect we work," his gaze remains unwavering on your eyes, "tell me truth."

"the truth? the truth is that you're a lunatic-"

his fingertips dig in your skin, burning a hole to your bicep. your breath hitches on your throat, startled by the unexpected use of force. his jaw tightens at the sight, muscle twitching and threatening the remnants of self-control that prevents him from kissing you.

your head spins. his face is close. his scent fills your nostrils to the point of dizziness, intoxicating your lungs and sending shockwaves through your nervous system. "fine!" you blurt, "i might have thought of it, but it doesn't mean anything. just because we work well together it doesn't mean we're made for each other, Ghost."

"but it means something."

the air is full of anticipation, tension, energy. it's the moment before a lightning struck. as the space between you decreases, the shield insulating your opposing charges falters, resulting in a rapid electrical discharge that jolts your heart to life. he pulls you into a kiss, daring you to push him away.

your lips meet with a boiling intensity, the fusion of desire, rage, and something more. time stands still as his tongue finds yours, softly massaging it with both tenderness and passion. his touch is eager yet deliberate, the loud thumping of your heart fades into a ringing on your ear as his hand moves from your arm to your waist, pressing you even closer to his body.

"no, stop!" you push him, catching your breath as he stumbles back into the wall, "what's wrong with you?! what's wrong with me? i have a fiancé waiting as i waste my time here with you!"

"god, you don't get it, do you?!" he yells, "he doesn't deserve you! you put him in a pedestal, and while i'm stuck dreaming about you every fucking night he's out there-" he stops himself, giving you a unfamiliar deer in the headlights look.

"he's what?"

silence.

"Simon, finish your sentence."

"look, i," for the first time in the whole exchange, Simon is stumped. he didn't want to bring up the topic. he curses his mouth for flowing with his anger and talking too much, "i didn't want to tell you, i wanted you to see with your own eyes how much of a dipshit he is, but," he gulps, "he's a fucking cheater. i've seen him at the pub a few times with different girls, hands all over, drunk kisses-"

"you're lying," you retort, holding back the tears that start creeping up the corners of your eyes, "he wouldn't do that."

"i really wish i was lying. i'm so sorry."

you lean back on a chair, trembling as your breathing quickens. you don't wanna believe what he says, he's just letting his jealousy speak. but deep down, you know. all the times he came home with a smudged red mark on his neck, a wrinkled phone number in his pocket he rapidly dismisses. it's so typical, isn't it? no matter how devoted you are to a man, they will always search for more. the insatiable need to desire.

Simon frowns at your quivering figure. his heart aches when the small tears make their way down your cheek, staining your white dress. he crouches in front of you, a hand on your knee trying to convey his support, his guilt for being the bearer of the fact, his love. give me your pain. i can handle it. you're not alone, my darling.

"don't touch me." you hiss, raising your watery eyes to his. the look of hurt in your gaze pierces through him like a sword. he wants to say the right words, to protect you, to give you a new reason to love, but his mind is incapable of forming a remotely comforting phrase.

the tears on your face are hot. the salt streams sting on your skin, but nothing compares to the sorrow that filled your ventricles. you can't stay like this, you can't let him win. you're stronger than this. you're stronger than him.

Ghost jumps when you suddenly stand up. the pain in your irises are now accompanied by the unmistakable wrath he's used to deal. only now, you don't direct it at him; instead, you open the door and stomp your way to the altar again, followed quickly by Simon, worried about what you're going to do.

"it's over."

"babe? what?" the fiancé looks down at you, bearing a disgustingly sly smile, not quite believing your words, "you're kidding, right?"

you don't weaver. despite your tear-stained face and obvious hurt state, your resolve is clear. he truly doesn't care about you. he never even went to check on you after you disappeared in a room with Simon, never felt a ting of threat because he believes the control he has on your soul is enough to keep you tight on the leash. "i said, it's over."

the grin in his face fades when he realizes your certainty. he glances at the tall figure in the back, ready to throw hands if he ever so slightly thinks about laying a finger on you. "of course. you." the man says, rolling his sleeves and making his way to Simon.

only to be stopped by you.

"he has nothing to do with this," you state, blocking his path and pushing his chest with a strength you didn't know you had, "this is between your cheating ass and me. i'm not gonna play into your game anymore. there's no wedding, it's over."

the glare he gives you is bone-chilling, and for a second you see his will to pounce at your throat. without any doubt, Ghost moves you aside and shields your body with his, eyes making all the communication. try me. one step closer and i'll kill you.

even with his conceited persona, he knows better than to actually pick a fight with Ghost. he wouldn't hesitate to snap his spine bare-handed, not even inside a church, so he backs off. it really is over.

in the meantime, you're already halfway out the door, breathing in a deeply needed huff of fresh air. it's the classical movie scene with a runaway bride after the big climax - but in this film, the bride is alone. not with the pining romantic counterpart that just poured his heart out.

your name falling from Simon's lips lead your soul back to your earthly form, the reality dawning on your head one more time.

"leave me alone, Simon."

"but," he stops in his tracks, taking in your scorched-earth appearance, "i don't want you to be alone, please, let me-"

"no," you cut him, "i don't need you near me right now. or ever, for that matter."

straight to the core. a gunshot would hurt less, he thinks. "you don't have to do this on your own. i know that our history prompts you to not trust me," he sighs, pondering for a moment if he should really speak what his spirit desperately long for, "i wanna change that. let me prove how much i love you."

his words find their way to your bleeding heart, contaminating your mind with the possibility of being loved by him. for someone who maintains his feelings at bay, kept under lock and key, he sounds sincere.

"love?" your scoff intercuts the rhetorical question, "the Ghost i met doesn't know love. he knows anger, knows disgust, disdain."

he watches your lips quivering, tears threatening the edges of your waterline once again. he wants nothing more but to reach for you, wrap his burly arms around your body and never let go. whisper comfort into your ears, sweet promises of devotion, and give the solace you yearn for.

"i need... time."

Simon looks up to your eyes, locking his gaze and quietly nodding. he understands. he isn't fond of leaving you in this state, but he knows you won't have a change of heart minutes after a love confession. not when he spent years showing you nothing but hate.

it pains him to see your sorrowful grim. pupils following attentively as each of your steps put more distance between your bodies, planting new cracks in his heart. it's only for a while, he repeats to himself as a mantra, cursing silently for treating you with such a freezing-cold demeanor, when all you did was warm his soul.

it was true. Ghost only knows the bad, dreadful emotions. only served you hate and didn't bother to change.

but the thing is, Simon has never hated you.

it's my first time writing like this so i'm a little self-conscious, but i'm also proud of myself <3 hope you like it! i wanna make a part 2, but idk.

little note - i had to edit it on my phone so it was kinda awful lol sorry for any mistakes

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Bowser's UFO

Debut: Super Mario Galaxy

Remember Bowser's UFO? I rarely do! He has all these grand vehicles that tend to appear, do something, and then slink away forever. Remember his submarine? We all know his submarine. We get to go on it once! And then never again. Weird! Good thing his Cool Car ended up being marketable, or he would need to keep making even more!

At least, I assume the UFO is Bowser's. He uses it, and he SUMMONS it, with his Electricity Hands. Everyone loves Bowser Magic! He can discharge lighting just like King Dedede in Kirby's Pinball Land! The thing this moment confirms is that the UFO is not PILOTED by Bowser... Maybe it's a goon. Hired goon.

There could be ANYONE in that UFO! There could be anyTHING! A species the likes of which we've never seen! And an individual character, or characters, of this species. It wouldn't just be any old Alien letting some guy use its ship for evil. Perhaps even Tatanga...?

To save ourselves from disappointment, we can also choose to believe that it is simply piloted by some random Koopa. Perhaps a UFO Control Panel Bro, who throws UFO control panels and then uses them. You must admit, that would be a convenient fellow to have if you need a UFO! Just maybe have him throw it onto a mattress first to avoid damage.

I've been focusing on what could be inside of the UFO, but it's what's on the outside that counts: its three boobs. It seems it's Super Mario Galaxy tradition to have massive machines with three boobs! This is why we don't have Super Mario Galaxy 3. That's the Number of the Boob. If they can't make the perfect metal boobs for the occasion, they will make none at all, and that's fair.

I'm not even saying this to be cheeky! These just look so much like boobs! It's not like Megahammer where they're POSITIONED like boobs, but in this case the details are all there. And what does it lactate? Laser beams! Forget unsweetened vanilla oat milk, this is my new milk substitute of choice!

The UFO uses its nefarious nipples to kickstart the big conflict, allowing Peach's entire castle to be ripped out of the ground and taken away... and then it does nothing. We get to see it briefly while flying toward the final level, and it's just there. No last ditch attack, no climactic battle against it, no venturing within it. Whoever's piloting this vessel was paid for one particular job, and they did it, and now they're getting out of here! Good on them, really. Bad on them for doing some big evil ultimately leading to the destruction of the universe, but you have to respect the independent contractor grind!

[pastlivesxpastlie]

so I can have you to myself...for once

summary: new boyfriend!virgin!vessel thinks the world of you and can't think of a better way to show it than giving himself to you completely

vessel x fem!reader 𐙚

head's up/tags: switchy desperate lovesick vessel, sweet gone feral, smut with feelings, loss of virginity (lots of checking in and sensitivity), new established relationship, vessel is touch starved and simping, pet names (craziest one is puppy-girl tbh), p in v, dirty talk

Something Vessel didn’t tell you when you first matched on Tinder was that he was…well…how would he have even put it? Touch starved? Desperate? Needy? But you seemed to understand that. You were always holding hands while walking, or in a tight embrace if you were waiting at a crosswalk, or your legs and feet were touching while you sat. You get the idea. As much as he enjoyed the affection, he needed more. While he didn’t out himself as being, well, completely desperate for any kind of physical affection, he was upfront about being a virgin. Sure, he’d fooled around. He’d been blown plenty of times backstage and at parties…and yes he knows where the clitiros AND g-spot are, thank you for asking. But it never led to intercourse. In fact, it didn’t always lead to a relationship or a text back. A lot of times the timing was just off or the person was wrong for him or neither party wanted to. Which was completely understandable, but he had started to wonder if something was wrong with him. That was until he met you.

You were witty, kind, fun. Easy to talk to. And deeply into him. Vessel understood the allure of him. His aura and what came with it physically but otherwise he couldn't understand why you would want to stick around for more. Yeah sure he put himself out there on Tinder during a break from tour and he wanted the attention, but you…you were an angel. You made him take a step back and really consider what he’d been doing all this time. The drive to feel someone and something from others was strong for him. The sex he’d had wasn’t “consummating” by the wider society’s standards, and he was at peace with that, but he finally saw some truth in “saving yourself for the right person.” And it all came from a very sweet genuine place. He thought the world of you! But the other drive... To taste. To ravish. To fuck. That was very much running in the background.

When you two started having serious conversations about your histories and preferences, he was nervous. When he admitted that he’d never actually fucked someone, you chuckled just the tiniest bit, making him blush. 

 “What’s so funny?”

You just shook your head and looked past him, trying to keep a level head.  “I’m not laughing at you. Just myself.”

“Oh. Why…at you?”

“Because I could have really fucked things up. Do you know how hard it is to be good around you? To not just…rip your clothes off every time you come over? To not immediately drop to my knees with my tongue out like a greedy little puppy-girl?” You paused and met his gaze. Poor guy was blushing and breathing like he’d been out in the heat. “I don’t want to scare you. It’s not like I would push you or anything, but I’m glad I know. If you’d ever like to…you know…do something with me. Just let me know. I think we could have a lot of fun together.”

And that’s when Vessel started loving you and simultaneously cursing you. Loving you because you were so sweet, and patient, and gorgeous, and fun, and thoughtful and and and(at this point whoever was listening would pat his shoulder and say, “we get it, mate, you’re whipped”). But he cursed the day he mentioned being a virgin to you because he couldn’t get that image out of his head: you on your knees, begging for his cock. You saw all his scars and flaws and still wanted him in the rawest, most basic way. That blew his mind.

…

On the night you two finally slept together, you stayed out later than usual. Probably past midnight. But you don’t care. He clung to you all night at that stupid party and tried to make out with you in the Uber like a horny teenager. It was adorable. He was adorable. Back at your place, you fiddle for your keys on the darkened porch, which was quite difficult with a giggly man clinging to you. 

“Use your phone light,” Vessel says as he holds your waist and kisses your neck.

You let out a playful, exasperated sigh. “You use your phone light! My hands are full!” Finally the front door opens, and you both clamber in. Vessel’s hands find your waist again and pull you in for a frantic kiss. His hands can’t stay still as he clutches your plush ass but then trails all the way back up to grasp your hair. With a moan he pulls away.

“I think… I want to try it tonight.”

The giddiness and giggliness doesn’t stop once you fall onto your bed, making out and attempting to undress each other. Vessel kicks off his shoes and hesitantly moves away from you so he can take off his jeans. You lean back on your elbows, shaking your head softly. “So eager for me,” you chuckle.

He stands before you in his boxer briefs after he’s taken his shirt off, just taking in the sight of you. His fingers twitch by his side…and so does his cock. You like what you see and feel yourself propelled forward. Onto your knees. “Gonna take care of me, babe?” he asks with a shaky breath. He whimpers softly and bites his lip as you smirk up at him with a little smirk as your fingers lightly trace the waistband of his underwear and his happy trail. On the inside, he’s a mess. He feels the need to claim you as his. He doesn’t even really care about losing his virginity. Vessel just wants to know he’s been with you. The thought of screwing up tonight and not fucking you makes him cringe. He can’t take another night of fucking his stupid little fleshlight and sucking his own fingers pretending both holes are yours. When you ask if you can take his boxers off, he nods dumbly and bites his lip. He thinks he must have blacked out because suddenly your tongue glides from base to tip. Such a pretty smile on your face, too.

“Take your dress off. Please. Please, baby,” he pleads.You shake your head “no” with a little wink as you take his cock deeper into your mouth, nose almost touching him. “Fuck. My girl is talented,” he says as his chest starts to heave a little, “mmm please I…I want to see you.” He can barely get the words out as you let your tongue drag up the underside of his cock. As your lips pass over the head, Vessel’s panting turns into little whimpery moans. “Please.” You gaze up at him through half lidded eyes and see that he’s chewing on his lip and shaking…he wants to manhandle you. He needs to act out. “Fuck it.” Vessel takes your jaw in his hand and holds you so that you’re looking up at him.

“I am done begging. This is me telling you. Take your fucking dress off for me.”

His voice is firm. Dark. Lustful. 

“Yes sir,” is all you can manage before pulling the straps down. You stand up and let the satin-y material pool around your tummy. Vessel curses and growls under his breath as his eyes trail down your bare chest, his hands then pulling your dress further down your plush waist and hips. The feeling of his thumbs hooking the waistband of your panties makes you gasp a little. Vessel just shakes his head and chuckles as he undresses you. 

“You’ve already sucked my cock like it was nothing and yet me undressing you embarrasses you? And here…I thought you would be bossing me around tonight. You’ve folded, hm?”

“I uhm…heh.” You can’t even finish your thought as he pulls your hair back so you look straight up at him. “Got…got too excited I guess.”

“Hm,” he hums with amusement, “like a greedy puppy-girl. All bark…but you have any bite for me? Hmm?”

You stammer as he pushes you back on the bed. There’s something in how he maneuvers you that feels calculated. Practiced. “Ves…babe…? Are you sure you’ve never done this?”

He laughs as he lays atop you, his cock rubbing against your tummy. You can feel him quivering as your nude bodies touch for the first time. Vessel steadies his breath and whispers into your neck, “baby, if you had kept sucking me any longer I was going to lose it…but just because I’ve never been fucked doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.” His cock twitches between you both. “I know what I’m doing. And…dammit I know I’m going to just absolutely…” he pauses as his fingers mash against your clit “…drain myself so fast once I’m inside you. My pretty girl.” He trails wet, sucking kisses down your shoulder, breathing heavily as he poses a question. “I know you think about this. Has it made you cum?” You grit your teeth and whimper as his middle finger enters you and starts to fuck you. 

“Veeeeessssss fuck, baby…s’not nice to ask me something…while you…fuck.” He’s relishing in you trying to answer as he adds a second finger. Your hips buck against his fingers as he kisses your forehead and coos about what a sexy little thing you are. You can’t help the whines coming from you as he pulls his fingers from your needy pussy. All sense in your head flies out the window when he sucks his fingers clean and tastes you for the very first time. “What happened to my sweet, timid boyfriend?” you ask breathlessly.

Vessel plants a soft, deep kiss on your lips as he nudges the head of his cock against your entrance. You find yourself giggling breathlessly as he peppers your face with kisses before he rubs his nose against yours and whispers. “Still him. Just taking what you’ve so very kindly offered me…fuck…you gonna let me in, love?”

You nod softly and whimper as he pushes in. A pathetic, throaty moan ripples through him as he bottoms out. You’d never been someone’s first. It was a bit surprising but very endearing to see him go from feral and touch starved to blushy and pussy-drunk. Vessel wants to move. To feel your hot body against his…to hear you…to kiss you…to have any simultaneous feedback. His lust reciprocated. 

The instinct to care for him kicks in. You hold his face and whisper. “You feel so good inside me…you do baby…I want you so bad… Do you feel good?” His eyebrows knit together and he whimpers softly, wincing like he’s in pain. But he nods. “Do you want me to take care of you?” He nods again and buries his face in your neck. God his cock is throbbing hard inside you. Your hips buck sensually against him, riding from beneath. 

“Oh…fuck…you’re actually…you’re fucking me…you’re fucking me…” he whimpers pathetically. He winces and bites his lip. “Stop, baby.” 

“Are you ok?”

Vessel looks down at you with hazy, dreamy eyes and nods. “This is heaven. You are heaven.” His mouth goes to your nipple while he maneuvers one of your legs over his arm. “What did I do to deserve this…hm? Smart, beautiful girl with a perfect pussy…you shouldn’t have been single,” he whispers as he moves to kiss your lips. You both moan into the kiss, which makes his hips twitch. You feel the first tentative little thrusts and make sure to nod and “mhm” throughout the kiss to encourage him. He breaks the kiss, panting and quivering. You’re about to ask if he wants a break but he looks you dead in the eyes and gulps. “I love you, but I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. You’re driving me crazy. I’ve…I’ve wanted this for so long…and doing it with you I just…darling….” He trails off, thrusting slowly, making your eyes roll back from the stretch and feeling of his pubic bone meeting yours. You can tell he’s holding back. Holding his breath.

“Ves…Ves, babe…breathe with me. You’re ok…you feel so fucking good.”

“I can’t stand it…I have to…I need to…”

The look in his eyes betrays the sweet pout of his lips. He wants to claim you. Shape your insides to him. “Do it. I can take it.” 

He growls in your ear with a little chuckle, “you’re not one of my toys. I don’t want to hurt you…” He takes a shaky breath and cups your breast with his free hand, his other resting above your head.

“I trust you. And love you. You look sexy up there, ya know?” You say with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. He responds with another chuckle and kisses you deeply. You both get lost in each other and then he finds his rhythm again. You have no concept of how long he actually lasts. And you don’t care. When he cums he keeps fucking it into you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he cries out your name…little curses…broken moans. 

The next morning, he spoons you. Pressing his morning wood against you and whining about how you didn’t cum last night. “I know I don’t know everything yet, babes, but maybe I could just poke around…play a little? Please?” 

[starqueensthings]

We need to talk about Echo (and by talk I mean screm). S3 E13 + 14 Spoilers!

FRIENDS, I'M GOING TO EXPLODE. I need to talk about Echo for a minute. We need to talk about Echo for a minute,  because he has spent the last two episodes in the absolute thralls of complete and total danger, and I personally don't feel like there's been enough of a celebratory uproar for me to be satisfied with the level of appreciation and love that man deserves. (Remember when Hunter ran face first into a colossal exhaust pipe and we all collectively lost our minds because it was so impressive and so sexy? Remember when Tech drove a speeder really fast through a tunnel and we all fainted? I'M A TECH GIRLY. IT WAS ME! I FAINTED!!) but, Y'ALL, Echo deserves that right now!! And for all eternity!!! Because he is wholly submurged in the harrowing potential of torture and execution, and he didn't even bat an eye to put himself there. My awe of him is all-consuming, so please forgive me if this rant reads as nothing but incoherent screaming. 

Echo haters (first of all, we can't be friends....) come on this journey with me! Let's back pedal to the beginning of the last episode (13). He stole an imperial shuttle. Let me repeat, he stole an imperial shuttle. And not just an attack shuttle. Not just a lil one-pilot transport. Bro somehow stole a Rho-class medical transport, which is very large, obscenely conspicuous, and very easily tracked. And, to use his own words, it was "the best he could do on short notice." The man stole a shuttle on short notice. ON SHORT NOTICE? HELLO, HOW DID HE DO THAT. WHY AIN'T WE LOSING OUR COOL ABOUT IT. 

Next stop on this I-love-Echo journey through my mind: not only did he provide his brothers transportation in the complete void of their own (RIP havoc bb), but he also came equipped with intel and clearance codes, and, as Rampart stated, those things change DAILY. Echo somehow procured top secret imperial clearance codes, and a fkn SHIP, within hours of the Batch requesting his help. Not to mention, the ship had yet to be reported missing (which means it was only-freshly commandeered), and the clearance codes worked. Of course they did. Echo never fails. Never doubt Echo. "Echo's on it."  

Choochoo, next stop! Once they arrived on that station orbiting Coruscant, and made their way to the control room (lookin sexy as heck in his armour-au-noir), he broke imperial encryption, hacked into the Imperial database, almost instantly found them the location of a ship departing for the prison that holds their daughter Tantiss, AND THEN DIDN'T EVEN HESITATE TO CLIMB ABOARD AND STOW AWAY.  

He didn't even remotely have a plan, or have time to make a plan. He didn't know who or what else would be on board that mysterious vessel. He didn't know where it was going other than the name of the fkn mountain (which has proven to be nothing but unhelpful thus far). He just ARC-troopered his way through that crowded hangar, dodging aggressive astromech's and inconsiderate loader droids, shirking from the perspective eyes of highly trained commandos, and snuck his way onto a heavily guarded, extremely unknown science vessel. Then, of course, he wasted no time, hacking into the ships control system (may I gently remind- there were at least three pilots and an officer prepping the ship for jump and closely watching all aspects of its controls), disabling the proximity sensors without being detected, and then seamlessly covered the troopers absence by pretending to be him (which we all know is what should have happened on Serenno but... hindsight is 20/20.)  

So... SO.... now we're at Episode 14. Here we at fkn terrified station because HULLO ECHO IS ALONE ON A SCIENCE DIVISION TRANSPORT; we have literally seen them carry around Zilo beasts in that shit. What the heck else could be on there that they don't know about? Literally anything. Because THEY KNEW NOTHING before attaching themselves to it. Echo knew NOTHING before sneaking onto that thing and creepin' around. Thank heck he didnt come across a fkn fresh wave of slither vines ok?  

NEXT, Echo shoots (not stuns- lol) a sassy fkn droid (they had it coming, not sorry), then another trooper. AND THEN discovered his only option for departing the ship once it enters atmosphere is going completely undercover, because (in true "we improvise everything" CF99 fashion that gives me heart burn just thinking about it), they had zero fkn plan to get off the ship. I will repeat: completely undercover. On Tantiss. COMPLETELY UNDERCOVER ON TANTISS. NO COMMS, NO BACK UP, NO RECON, NO PLAN, BARELY ANY GEAR, and I would just like to stress... no neuro brace. He left his neurobrace on that ship. Left it. LEFT IT AND TOOK A HAND INSTEAD. PLEASE FKN SEDATE ME.  

We can't leave this station yet... This I-love-Echo train needs to linger at this point for a sec because I think it's lost on some people how wild this is. Echo without his neurobrace is huge. It's a bigger deal than Echo without his armour. Armour is, in the grand scheme of things, inconsequential (one can find more- see Howzer). Echo's neurobrace is not armour, it's a computer and it's so so so crucial to how his mind processes information and events. Don't forget, the Technounion HIJACKED HIS BRAIN. They took every memory from him and manipulated it for their gain. Pruned it, tweaked it, blanched it, poached it, turned it into scrambled eggs, and then fkn ate it up and used it to defeat their enemies (Echo's family- I'm sobbing). They implanted him with an unfathomable amount of information; they changed the way the neurons in his brain fire in relation to stimuli. That neurobrace is so so critical for him. Now, we know he can operate well enough without it, we saw it in the last episode of the TBB arc in season 7 of Clone Wars, but... please.... to what extent? We don't know what an extended time without that neurobrace looks like for him... especially when all other aspects compliing his surroundings foreign, unknown, and dangerous, and that scares me.

AND NOW HE'S ABOUT TO RUN AMOK IN TANTISS with Emerie who, (I'm sorry) is wishy-washy as heck (who are you loyal to!!!!! What is your history!!! Are you trustworthy and what are you looking to gain!!!), trying to adopt a collection of Jedi children whove spent maker-knows how long playing space tetris, WHILST ALSO ATTEMPTING TO LOCATE AND ESCAPE WITH HIS BROTHERS UNDER THE EYE OF THE GALAXY'S SECOND MOST DANGEROUS MAN. 

So yes, short of d-d-d-di... can't say it... short of THE WORST CASE, Echo has made the ultimate sacrifice to save not only Omega who is literally the only person we've seen able to make him truly laugh, but all the clone brothers that he's been desperately trying to locate and rescue. His bravery and determination are literally unrivalled, and he did it while feasting on nothing but humble pie because that man wouldn't know arrogance if it danced naked under his perfect nose.  

Okay so welcome, we've finally pulled into I-Love-Echo station. Before departing the ride, please stand and do a hip hip hurray for the miracle that is Echo, including but not limited to, everything he's done, is doing, and is willing to do for other people. 

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

corrupt!Satoru refuses to let go of his little sorcerer girlfriend when he becomes a vessel: Sure things have changed a bit.. Okay, a fucking lot. He's been put on a temporary leave by Yuji and the others till they can figure out a reverse. Which unfortunately for you means he's got all that time in the world to focus on your guy's relationship. "Y/n!" The unanticipated shout of your name almost makes you jump out your fuckin skin, quickly scarfing down a scolding hot piece of bacon so you don't choke. Dammit, you thought you could enjoy a nibble of breakfast before having to appease your master boyfriend. You pray to any God with a heart that Satoru wasn't too pissed at you for not being by his side when he awoke. From the goosebumps creeping down your neck and eerily sudden silence surrounding you, it's an obvious useless hopeless wish. "Why the fuck weren't you next to me when I woke up? Did I not say havin you by my side at all time keeps me from becoming.. Murderous?" The sudden presence and growled query compels you to spin around, starin up at him with wide frightened eyes. He's shirtless, gazing back with an unreadable expression as his magnificent morning wood bulges obscenely. "T-toru, I -" His hand damn near teleports to hold you firm around your slender brown neck. "Know what? I don't really feel like hearin whatever pathetic excuse is about to fall from those cute lips, baby. On your knees." He tells you, pushin you down with one hand while pullin his dick from his dark grey joggers with the other. You comply, eyes teary at how he glares down at you menacingly. "Better not disappoint me twice this morning, y/n. No tellin what I might do.." He warns, head falling back as he slips his dick into your mouth with a sinister smile on his pretty face.

corrupt!Gojo monitors the fuck outta who you talk to and where you go: If he can't have you near him 24/7, he NEEDS to know 1. Where you're goin; 2. Who's gonna be there; and 3. When the fuck you're comin home to him. "You're late. Fuck are you, little girl?" You're never gonna get used to the snarl that consistently stains his tone, even when he's not irritated. You're late coming back from what was supposed to be research on a curse, so Satoru calls you. "Just by a few minutes. I'll be there soon." You assure him, pullin your cell from your cheek briefly to check the time. "I didn't ask how late you are; I asked where you were." You don't waste a second droppin a pin. There's a bit of shuffling over the phone before he speaks again. "I'm on my way to pick you up. Stay where you are. Better be alone like you said, y/n." The line clicks dead as you heave a heavy sigh, makin sure not move an inch till you see Satoru pull up.

corrupt!Satoru doesn't do well with anyone besides himself being mean to you: Slamming your front door shut upon entering, you stomp towards your bedroom as tears of frustration leak from your eyes. You don't make it past the couch in the living room before Satoru's sittin down on it, perching you in his lap. "Who fuckin did it, baby? Huh? Tell me! I'll rip their fuckin head off." His gruesome words don't match the soft imploring look in his piercing eyes; you miss that look so much that the truth spills from your lips without a thought. "I thought I'd make it to Grade 2 today.. It didn't happen. They brought in someone new. Some jerk that failed me cause I wouldn't let him touch me." Your hands slap over your mouth, the last sentence accidentally comin out before you can think. That unreadable expression graces his features before you end up face down in the couch, panties swiftly pulled to your thighs as he eats your poor unsuspecting lil puss from the back. "What the fuuuuuck? Toru, ah! S-satoru, wait. Please just- ohmyGod!" Ofcourse he ignores you. Slurps ya cunt so good that you cum in under a minute. Only then do you get a response. "Get the fuck up. We're goin back up there. Gonna have a lil chat with Mr. New Guy." He commands you, landing one more lick up your slit and a harsh slap to your ass. You leveled up that day. And Mr. New Guy was gone by the next. Yuji and the others don't bother standing in Satoru's way.

corrupt!Satoru loves marking your body and staking his claim: He doesn't think a day should pass before he's adding a new one to the collection. So he corners you when you're in the kitchen doin the dishes. "Hey gorgeous. Wanna make you cum real quick.." He mumbles, pressin up behind you. His hard cock humps your backside slow and firm as he fingers you through your itty bitty shorts. The first swipe has you poppin your ass back on his dick, keening Satoru's name like a fuckin banshee. "That the spot, princess? Yeah it is.. Know all your spots. Just like Daddy should, huh?" His tone is so cocky but you know better than to disagree and nod to his question anyway. "Yeeees, only you can make me feel like this. Always make me feel so goood, Toru." He soaks in your praise and at this point it's a givin that you've completely abandoned your task. A damp hand slides to the back of his head for a handful of his soft snowy locks as he nips and sucks at your neck. His sensual lips are one of your weaknesses; never fail to make you whimper like a bitch in heat. "Satoruuuuu.. Daddy please. Want some dick.." He chuckles at you, wonderin if you can even handle it- not like that would stop him. Still, your knees are already so you weak he has to hold you up, arms slung around your waist to plaster your back to his front. "Fuck baby, so pretty when you beg for my cock. Look even prettier when you let me claim you like this." Fine, he'll give you what you want. But first.. He pulls his lengthy dick out, your small shorts down, and slips it between your plushy brown ass cheeks. Your boyfriend's eyes nearly cross at the tight warm hold of you. Satoru pants and huffs, quickly starting off with short strokes that numb his mind. "I'm gonna fuck this perfect fat ass one day, y/n. Thats right, and you're not gonna be able to stop me. You can beg and cry and scream all you want.. Mmmfuck- but Daddy's not gonna listen, baby. Not one bit. I'm gonna keep goin till you squirt all over me from the feelin of it." Precum assists him slidin back and forth with ease, but his filthy words aid the throbbing in your clit and flutter in your gushy cunt. You only moan back in response to his dirty admission. Its okay. Satoru knows you always get like this: speechless when you're about to cum. Goddamn you turn him on so fuckin much. He bites at the sensitive spot on your throat, locking his teeth and groaning like a wild man. It makes you clench around his dick, him in turn pressin his digits with an accuracy that forces you to cum so good. "Good fuckin giiiirl, baby! So proud of you. Takin my mark and cummin on my hand- fuuuuuck. I own you, princess." Your quick wordless whines spur him on, fingers still yanking his hair viciously as your arousal spills to the kitchen floor. The sting of the pull has Satoru howling while he cums buckets in you. He's licking messily at the fresh bite on your neck as he smears his nut all over your plump ass. Fuck, you always make him buss so fuckin so hard! He's breathing fast, eyes flickin between where he paints you, your new bite mark and how fucked out you look even though you haven't had his dick yet. Speaking of, why the hell is he still so goddamn rigid? But you.. "You're so fuckin wet.." Satoru spears you on his cock without a second thought, your loud stunned cry makin a warmth shoot up his spine. He doesn't know when your hand joined the other in his hair, just cherishes how tight you grip at him when he fucks the rest of his cock into you. Appreciates and adores any and everything you have to offer. 'Shit.. Guess its time to put a baby in you.' Satoru thinks as he holds you round your waist and drills your lil puss as you shout out in surprised pleasure. Christ, he loves you so fuckin much and he's never letting you go.

corrupt!Satoru In layman's terms: He shows you that he is very fuckin possesive and owns you in every conceivable way.

[naffeclipse]

Argentate Bullet

Cryptid Hunter!Reader x Cryptid!Eclipse

Commission Info

I'm so excited to share this wonderful fic commissioned by @rosescarletful involving the cryptid hunter, cryptid Eclipse, and a night under the full moon. A monster lurks somewhere close! This is teeming with angst but such things make the hurt/comfort all the sweeter, I promise <3

Content Warning for angst, blood, body horror, and death.

———

In the dense woods outside of a small, rural town, you and your dear friend begin a hunt. A howl echoes and twigs crack. The silver light of the full moon mottles the forest floor as you follow Moon. His pale eyes flash red—he senses another human. The moment you step foot into a sparse clearing of half-dead meadow grass, your heart sinks.

A young man lies groaning in the darkness, curled up and cradling his chewed arm. Blood drips freely from mangled flesh and bitten sinew.

You should have been here sooner. The cryptid sighting suggested the violent nature of the monster as insatiable, senseless. A ceaseless need for bloodshed only spells ruin and grief for anyone caught in its path. You’ve handled werewolves before. They are perfect killers under the lustrous light of night. But they fall to silver.

Together, you and Moon help the young man to his feet. He babbles about a beast with fangs and yellow eyes. A horrible hunger growled within it. The monster snatched him from the road while he was peddling his bike at the late hour, and dragged him into the woods. Before it could finish him with a snap of its maw, it fled. He doesn’t know why. A sob escapes the young man.

You have no doubt the werewolf sensed the demonic cryptid using the animatronic as a vessel. Your dear friend has scared worse monsters.

You’re lucky you two arrived when you did, but you reassure him that he’s safe now. You set your gun loaded with an argentate bullet into the map pocket of your truck door. Leaning him against the driver’s seat, you quickly rummage for a basic first-aid kit—you curse yourself for not bringing more, but rarely do you find victims of cryptids alive after an encounter and you always endure long enough to reach your airstream.

“It’s going to be okay,” you promise. You hold yourself steady, hiding your fear at the blood seeping from the young man’s arm. He cradles it close to himself. “Can you tell me your name?”

Moon looms beside you, his eyes pale and flashing. He twitches. The end of his nightcap jerks slightly with the spasm of his faceplate.

“W-warren.” The young man swallows. His eyes shine wetly. The blood coating his ravaged arm gleams dark under the moonlight. “My wallet. I lost it by my bike. Please, I have pictures of my mom and dad in it. I need it.”

“Okay,” you soothe as you finally rip open a plastic red container. Bandages immediately roll to one side in your anxious search. “I’ll get it for you after we take you to the hospital. You’re bleeding badly.”

“Please, I need it now,” he gives a ragged gasp. He looks at you, desperation filling his shining gaze as his hands tremble, slick with blood.

Your heart squeezes within you at the familiarity of needing comfort in the height of terror. 

“Moon,” you say.

“It’s still out there,” Moon warns, his hand falling to your shoulder. His long silver and blue digits press into your collarbone. “It’s not safe.”

“I know, sweetie,” you face him. Though he stands much taller, you hold his wide, glowing gaze. “His bike can’t be far. Please, will you get it?”

He stares at you. A cool breeze blows before he releases your shoulder. 

“Be careful,” he warns, then slips around the truck and back onto the faded blacktop, disappearing around a bend following the forest’s edge.

You’ll thank him when he returns. Breathing a stabilizing sigh, you face Warren and ask for his arm. His eyes don’t meet yours for a moment. His attention follows the animatronic slipping into the darkness.

“It’s alright,” you say in a low, gentle voice. “Let me get you bandaged, and as soon as Moon returns, we’ll take you to get help.”

“W-who is that,” Warren asks shakily. His fingers writhe as you support his arm. 

“My friend,” you answer softly. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of the scary thing. It won’t hurt you again.”

“Something isn’t right,” he whispers, terrified.

You lift your head. You fear he might pass out from the blood loss but you find his face turned towards the night sky. The moon hangs clearly in the black cosmos, big and looming like an omen.

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” You hurry to tie up the bandage already soaking in crimson.

“No. It hurts.” Warren pushes you away and doubles over, clutching his face and shouting, “It hurts! Stop!”

You step back, hands up, stunned. What did you do? Why is he—

A sickening crack of bone echoes within Warren. You start, horrified, then your mind races.

No, it’s pop culture to believe a werewolf bite transforms another. There has been nothing legitimate within your research to conclude that a bite would be infectious, nor that it would trigger a transformation on the very same night. A human can’t become a cryptid.

He can’t.

Warren groans until his agonized sound slips into a high keen. A vicious growl overtakes him and rattles through your chest despite the distance. Your eyes dart to the Winchester gun stowed away in the map pocket of your truck door.

“Warren,” you say, holding out a hand and stepping closer, “It’s going to be okay—”

“Get away!” he snarls inhumanly. He swipes at you with his hand, now elongated. It bursts with a coat of fur and bears long, wicked claws. You leap out of his reach but stand weaponless.

No. It can’t be.

Warren crumples to the dirt ground. On his hands and knees, his cries of agony lift into a feral howl while the rest of his body bends and breaks. You watch, rooted in horror, as his clothes rip under the bulking strain of his new form while black fur overruns his flesh. Thick, rugged sinew cords his body. His face snaps as his jaw elongates into a muzzle. A flash of yellow eyes pierces you through the darkness. 

“Warren,” you utter. You start slowly stepping towards the bed of your truck, seeking cover—anything to put between you and the newborn werewolf. Your hands are held out. You glance again at your gun but the young man stops howling. 

He slowly lifts his head, sharp ears pinned back against his skull. Lips pull over fangs. A horrid growl stops your heart.

The werewolf hunches low and slowly pads forward. A glinting maw spills saliva. You stare at the poor young man, your pulse racing in your ears. He straightens, towering upon you with hunger glowing within inhuman eyes upon hound-like legs. The moonlight covers him in pale gray.

He lunges. You dive, throwing yourself behind your truck only to catch a wicked snap of teeth inches from your feet. A sharp inhale. Your veins burn with adrenaline. You twist back to find the werewolf rounding back, widening his jaw. He reaches a long limb forward and hooks his claws on the bummer of your truck. Vicious talons rip down the edge of it. You scramble, kicking your legs and crawling backward in your shock.

Swift footsteps cut through the darkness. The werewolf’s ears swivel before he turns a second too late. A flash of limbs, metallic and dripping black and red, knocks into the creature, sending it careening back towards the road until he rolls to a stop in a heap of furry limbs. 

You gasp in a flood of relief. Moon straightens. A wallet drops into the dirt. From out of his slim animatronic chassis, two arms, inky and clawed, spread out defensively over you.

“Moon,” you push yourself off the ground and onto your feet, “It’s Warren.”

“Get your gun.” Moon spares you a glance of bright red optics. “We shouldn’t have left you.”

There’s nothing you can say now. You breathlessly slip back behind your friend, rushing down the length of your truck. Moon’s many limbs writhe as he stares down the monster rising back to his paws with vicious growls.

Passing the claw marks carved into your bumper, you dart for your weapon. Behind you, a snarl rips across the road’s edge. Your heart leaps into your throat. You crash against the door and frantically pry out the Winchester from the map pocket.

The barrel gleams darkly in the moonlight. The smooth, carved handle holds intricate designs in the wood. You check with hands threatening to tremble that it’s still loaded. Hidden within is a shiny silver bullet.

You turn back to face the cryptid. In a powerful leap off his hind legs, the werewolf attacks. Moon lifts his four arms to catch the monster and hold it off, staggering back under the force. The snap of teeth nearly snags Moon’s nightcap and vicious claws swipe nearly slice through his chassis. You straighten, standing solid on your feet, and aim your gun. Your dear friend and the young man now cursed thrash together in a blend of demonic and lycanthropy. 

The werewolf towers over Moon who remains in his vessel, unable to spare a moment to escape the confines of it while fending off the vicious cryptid. You cry out a warning. 

In a heartbeat, the cryptid unbalances Moon, dropping him to the ground with a powerful blow of his large paw. The sharp clank of metal on the dirt freezes your blood. Red-dipped cryptid arms rake over the werewolf. Tufts of fur and flesh tear away but the monster gives no thought to the slashes as Moon unleashes an unearthly growl.

Your hands clench around the gun, pulse racing. The werewolf rears back under the moonlight, teeth exposed, jaws wide, and strikes for Moon’s spindly neck.

You squeeze the trigger. The echoing blast cuts through the night air, and a small hole within the werewolf bubbles blood, spilling down his chest. The werewolf slumps with a gurgle, then silence.

Moon grunts once before four limbs push the carcass off of him. With a meaty thump, the cryptid lies on the dirt, dead. 

You stare. Slowly lowering the gun, you stare unblinkingly. Tears brim your eyes. A haze of silver light and blood pooling underneath the furred cryptid overtakes you.

“Moon,” you say, your voice sounds strange, strained. “He wasn’t a cryptid. He was just bitten. He didn’t—He’s not—”

How can you shoot this monster when he’s just a person caught in very awful circumstances? All your other hunts were simple. They were only cryptids, not victims. 

You didn’t protect him.

You lower your hands. A hollowed coldness seeps into your chest cavity. The animatronic lies still as black ooze slips from crevices and cracks, accumulating into a lithe, towering figure with four limbs. Eclipse straightens slowly, watching you closely with red eyes glowing in the dark.

“Heart,” a deep rumble touches you, familiar and safe, but you shake. “You protected us.”

The demonic cryptid slips closer. His many hands reach for you, one trailing down your wrist before slipping the gun from your quaking grasp.

“He didn’t ask to become this,” your voice cracks.

“You didn’t know.” Two large, cool hands cup your face. Tilting your head up to meet their wide eyes, Eclipse softly growls, “It’s not your fault. If you didn’t stop him, he would have caused more harm. He would have joined the other monster in hurting people.”

Tears spill down your cheeks. You grasp his wrists, fingernails sinking into their dark red and deep blue being.

“I needed to—I should’ve—” you gasp a ragged sound, fighting a sob. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

“You did what was right, heart,” Eclipse’s wide jaw with razor-thin fangs lower to you. A crown of frills and horns tilt softly as they lightly flick a long, oily tongue to your cheek in comfort. “Please, don’t blame yourself. We shouldn’t have left your side. If we had stayed, we could have subdued him before he attacked.”

You cling tighter to their anchoring hold. A soft sound echoes as they set the gun on the truck seat before returning their lower arms to rest on your waist, gathering you close to cradle you against them. 

They bow over you. Four limbs, clawed and full of strength, keep you from falling. You press your cheek against their cool, slick chest. Weeping, you cave into their comfort while a young man lies dead in a form he never could have wanted for himself.

[teslasucks37]

CW: NSFW under the cut (MDNI), tsundere-ish!Reader, afab!reader (no pronouns tho), dom!Charlie, spanking (Reader Recieving), Canon Divergent, Slight classism from Reader? (If u like really squint and read between the lines (the longing to be touched by a hardworking man))

A/N: Heavily inspired by the beautiful dredge playthrough we’ve been blessed! (I imagined this taking place in the dredge world without any of the past memory stuff cause I came up for this idea before I finished the playthrough afterward…) This is a weird mashup of a headcannon format with actual fic content, while still remaining a little vague for artistic purposes. (Also yes I made a visual depiction of the reader above but their appearance doesn’t come up) This is nearly 2.5k words… I got a little carried away… Also if it’s bad or I missed a typo no I did not it is 5:16 am 🤨

Fisherman!Charlie x Reader

Love and Kisses

When he first came to your small little cottage by the rocks, you were less than happy to see him.

Much less than happy.

All you wanted was to be left alone.

But no, him and his stupid boat had to come bobbing over the horizon.

“What do you want?” You called out to him from the dock in a harsh tone.

He stood up after finishing tying off his boat with insane speed, seeming surprised at your prickly greeting. “Uh, do you need help with anything?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What? No?”

You weren’t like the other people he’d met around this place, instead abrasive and reclusive.

Not jumping at the chance for someone’s help like the rest of them.

“Your dock is looking pretty rough.”

You looked to the planks of wood beneath your feet, practically falling apart from lack of use.

“Well, I don’t need help from the likes of you.” You barked, crossing your arms.

“What, a fisherman?” He cocked his head, glancing down at his attire, his shirt slightly dirty with miscellaneous scales, fins, smears, and stains.

“From anyone!” You shouted, turning to walk back up the stony steps to your cottage. “Just go away!”

He stood there for a moment, taking one more look at the deteriorating dock, before unwrapping his boat and sailing away.

You watched him go from high atop your cottage, hoping that would be the last you saw of him, of anyone for a long time.

But the next time he came back was only a day or so later.

He tied off his boat to your rickety dock, before stepping back onto the deck of his vessel and hauling out armfuls of planks.

You’d been out on your front lawn, basking in the sun, when you glanced below at the dock to see it being ripped up by that same damn fisherman from the day before.

“Hey!” You shouted to him as you raced down your stone steps toward him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He glanced up at you, before turning back to destroying the planks beneath him. “I’m fixing your dock.”

“Well it seems more like you’re breaking it…” You crossed your arms. “I could have you arrested for destruction of property.”

“I’m Charlie.” He stood up, dusting off his hands, then holding one out to you. “Just so you know whose name to put on the police report.”

“You smell like fish.” You glared at his outstretched hand, causing him to retract it with an awkward grin, before he continued his work.

“Well, I do fish for a living.” He joked, a smile etching on his face.

Your frown deepened at his smile, watching as he just kept working. “What if I don’t want it fixed?”

“Well, I think that’s a shame.” Charlie grabbed a nail, hammering it into another board and jostling it all to make sure it stayed in place. “Cause this happens to be a mighty fine spot for a dock.”

Your glare was simply met with a soft smile. “Just… Don’t come past the dock. Or you’re trespassing.”

He nodded in agreement, watching you walk back up the steps into the cottage.

You watched him from your living room window, doing nothing for days but rebuilding your dock for you.

Your disdain for him shrank, if only a little bit.

“I can’t give you any kind of compensation.” You called out to him from the stone steps as he finished hammering down the last plank.

“That’s okay.” Charlie just shrugged, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stood up. “I wasn’t expecting any.”

You narrowed a brow at him.

There was no way that was true.

Everyone always wanted something.

That’s just the way the world was.

You’d accepted that long ago.

But even after he finished the dock, he came back the next day.

It didn’t make any sense.

There was nothing there for him, no trading, no shops, no interesting artifacts.

Just you.

Every time he came, he just wanted to see you.

You two would chat about nothing and everything while sitting on the dock he’d built with his bare hands, despite his jokes that he wasn’t cut out for “rough handed” work, whatever that meant.

It wasn’t until around then that you felt comfortable telling him your name.

One day he asked you how you’d wound up on these rocks, in this cottage.

“It was my grandparents’ before they died. They left the house in my name and… Anywhere was better than living with my parents any longer…” You trailed off, not mentioning anything more on the subject.

He wondered if that was why you were always alone, if that’s why your dock had been so neglected.

You were still stewing in anger.

Charlie wanted to help, obviously.

Perhaps the dock was just the start, maybe the real quest was making you see the world in a better light again.

Not that you were an objective to be completed or something, but the thought of making you believe in humanity again did fill him with a sense of hope.

And so he tried.

He would show up at various times, in the peacefulness of the morning, in the dead of night, and you would wake up for him every time.

Charlie would always honk the horn when he was coming or going, which you complained about, claiming that it was too loud and would wake up the wildlife.

But of course, every time he even hinted at stopping the practice, you backtracked, saying that if he didn’t announce his presence, he might run into a resting animal close to the dock.

You both knew it was a bullshit excuse, but neither of you ever dared to say it.

He would always do it in a special little pattern too.

Hooonk hooonk honk honk honk, honk honk honk hooonk hooonk.

He said that it was Morse code for 73, a way that people would say “best regards” through telegrams and ham radios.

You found it endearing, though you’d never say that to his face.

But then one day he changed it.

Hooonk hooonk hooonk honk honk, hooonk hooonk hooonk honk honk.

You asked him what it meant, and he just shrugged, a sly grin on his face.

You searched your grandparents’ small library for something, anything regarding Morse code, but you found nothing.

Any time you brought it up he would move to a new topic immediately, a shit eating grin on his face.

You would talk to him about the new things you were growing in your garden and he would talk to you about the fish he’d caught that day, even inviting you aboard one time to view the fish in the cooler.

“Is it… Supposed to look like that?”

“Uh… I don’t really know. The fish look kinda different around here.”

“And that one?”

“Oh that one’s actually rotting, let me throw that out.”

“Oh, ew ew ew-“

You didn’t end up going back in there for a while.

It got to the point that he was tying his boat to your dock every other day consistently for nearly three months.

So when he didn’t show up for nearly a week, you were worried.

Insanely worried.

Like stay up all night tossing and turning imagining the worst worried.

One day, at around dinner time, a horn honked out in a pattern you recognized so well across the horizon.

You practically knocked your dining room chair over at how fast you stood up and sprinted out the door, racing down the stone steps to meet him.

Charlie had just finished tying his boat to your dock as you wrapped him in a hug.

He stumbled lightly, not expecting the sudden contact.

“Where were you?” You mumbled into his shoulder, despite the faint fish smell.

Behind it, he smelled like the ocean breeze, salty and warm.

“I’m sorry.” Charlie whispered against the crown of your head, your hair tickling his face as he pulled you closer. “I was helping a friend. It took longer than I thought it would.”

“I thought that you…”

Drowned? Died? Lost interest?

He seemed to understand every thought in your head immediately, pulling away from you just far enough to tilt your chin up with a hooked finger and kiss you.

Your eyes fluttered closed at the touch, even as he pulled away, you struggled to open them again.

“It’ll take more than a few sea beasts to sink me.” He joked with a lopsided smile, even though the prospect wasn’t very funny.

“Don’t do that again.” You mumbled, deadly serious despite the soft look in your eyes.

Charlie pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I won’t, I promise.”

From then on he never left for longer than a day without letting you know ahead of time.

It only took a few more visits for you to finally invite him to come up and see the house.

But that wasn’t your only intention.

“You know, I never did thank you properly for rebuilding my dock… But I think I have a little something that you’d like~”

But first you forced him to hose off the fish smell before he stepped inside.

It didn’t take long before you were on him, to his absolute delight.

After all, you hadn’t had someone in your house for a long time, so you weren’t about to waste it.

It took only moments until he had you face down and ass up on the bed.

You’d been so rude to him when he’d first arrived, he wanted to be a little mean back.

And there was absolutely no way you were thinking of stopping him.

He caressed your waist like he hadn’t touched anyone like this in years.

And being as secluded out at sea as he was, he probably hadn’t.

His fingers kneaded the bare skin on your waist, thighs, ass, everything covering the important bits discarded already on your bedroom floor.

When he slipped inside you for the first time it practically made you see stars.

“Oh, fuck!”

It already reached so fucking deep inside you.

Your eyes rolled back for a moment, before fluttering closed at the sensations zipping through your synapses and corrupting your brain into a hazy state of complete pleasure.

His speed was anything but slow, his desperation obvious in how he stretched you out, not waiting for you at all.

It hurt in just the right way to feel so good, especially when it was Charlie doing it to you.

“Fuck, feels so good…” He slurred out, his mind mush at the sight of your body combined with the feeling of your velvety walls pulsing around him.

You gasped slightly as he landed a light slap on your ass, so soft it couldn’t even be considered a slap, maybe just a harsh motion to make your ass jiggle for him.

Wiggling your ass involuntarily in response led to him grabbing your ass, slapping it again just to make it move.

A moan fell from your lips at the contact, making him grin and slap harder.

“Oh fuck…” He mumbled, busy admiring your reactions to his spanking. “So good for me~”

His voice was breathy, like he was fighting to hold himself back.

“Please~” You weren’t even exactly sure what you were asking for, but it was the only word you managed to choke out before you sobbed in pleasure at his increase in speed.

Charlie pressed your hips into the mattress with his own, the pure force of his thrusts bouncing you back onto his cock. “That’s it, baby~”

God, you were gonna cum.

You were gonna cum on a fisherman’s cock.

You were gonna cum on Charlie’s cock.

You gasped as you squirted around him, dripping all over the bed, running down your thighs and his balls.

His hips ground against you, shoving his cock all the way in to kiss at your cervix, making you groan in pleasured pain at the feeling.

“Yeah? You like that?”

“Uh huh!” You moaned against the mattress, grasping your sheets desperately for some kind of purchase to recover from your orgasm, but he didn’t give you that.

Charlie gripped your ass, pulling you back onto his cock again, making you shout out and arch your back.

“Hah~ Hah~ Hah~” You panted and groaned and shook within his mighty grip, completely helpless.

“I’m gonna come home to you every fucking night…” He mumbled between thrusts, profanities spilling from his mouth under his breath. “And I’m gonna fill you up every fucking night.”

Your walls clenched at the thought of Charlie calling your home his, your body his, you his.

He felt it around him, making him pound harder, faster, if that was even possible.

You could tell he was purely trying to cum, absolutely thrilled at even the notion that it would be inside you, so much so you whispered to him. “Please… Cum inside meee~” You whined, Charlie responding with a light groan and a tighter readjustment of his grip on your ass.

He pounded into you with wild abandon, the wetness from your previous orgasm letting him glide freely in and out of you.

“Fuck~” Charlie moaned headily at the sensation, your walls fluttering around him in overstimulation.

His fingertips gripped your waist hard as he rocked inside you a few more times, slowing to a stop as he twitched and panted, emptying his load inside you.

You both practically collapsed into each other, breathing and shivering, absolutely exhausted.

It wasn’t until you were in his arms and he was playing with your hair, letting the strands fall through his fingers, that he let his big secret slip.

“It’s 88.”

“What?” You asked groggily, glancing up from his chest.

“The Morse code. I changed it to 88.”

You said nothing, waiting for him to continue on his own.

He bit the inside of his flushed cheek, shy for the first time in his life. “It means… Love and kisses.”

You had to hold back a grin.

“Love and kisses?” You repeated back with a teasing smirk.

He nodded triumphantly, as if he had won a game. “I know, I’m a genius.”

You chuckle, smacking him lightly on the chest.

He grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You raised a finger, tapping it rhythmically on his arm.

Press press press tap tap, press press press tap tap.

Charlie smiled, pulling you tighter as he repeated the pattern against your back.

The two of you fell asleep together, pressing “love and kisses” into each others’ skin.