#I am a weapon and weapons do not weep | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mphountitled · 3 months

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞

Farleigh Start x Fem!Reader

Summary: Hating Farleigh had never stopped him from using you

Content Warnings: Language, Fwb, Forbidden Relationship, Unedited, Dark Fic, Dark Humor, Coarse Jokes, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Smoking, Weaponizing!Ollie, Smut (+18), Minors DNI, Slight CNC, Breeding, Neediness, Exhibition Kink, Grinding, Extreme Degradation, Humiliation Kink, Praise Kink, Hate Sex, Hair Pulling, Rough sex, Messy Sex, Spitting, Orgasm Control, Dirty Talk, Choking

He'd definitely bully me if he was real, and I'd be in love with him

"It's not like we're actually going to eat anything. Mother only insists we all make use of the furniture," Venetia's rambling is incessant as she walks briskly into the dining hall. You know her irritation is the by-product of the undiagnosed anxiety that comes with being forced into an uncomfortable Dior slip on such short notice.

In all fairness, you weren't doing so well either. The dress you are currently wearing is just as suffocating and Venetia's Saint Laurent heels dig into your bone. Your outfit is a velvety, laced up nightmare.

A torture chamber.

You wholeheartedly wanted to crawl into your own bed and forget about everyone and everything. In fact, the only thing keeping you mildly excited for dinner with The Henrys happens to be-

"Gentlemen!" You exclaim, before cleverly adding, "And you've brought Farleigh with you."

You all congregate at the left side of the dinner table, while the Henrys and The Henrys wives all mill about the dinner party. There are'nt any rules to things like this. It's all so self explantory.

What was not all too self explantory was your seating positions. Venetia forces you to sit in between herself and a very vexed Farleigh.

"How interesting," Farleigh barely addresses you in his tired monotonous lilt, "You're almost, nearly, just about, decently dressed." You bristle as you lower your behind to your chair, all while Farleigh shoots you a tight-lipped smile.

"Wow!" Your words drip with sarcasm, promptly halting Farleigh from flirting with the man to his immediate left - one of the Henrys closeted sons, no doubt. "That almost, nearly, just about sounded like a compliment!" You exclaim before leaning over beside him in a daring display of confidence. You place your hand tentatively on his thigh before whispering, "Am I going to have to use my rape whistle?"

Farleigh's scoff sends a string of lightning shooting down your spine.

"You're such a slut, I think you'd enjoy probably enjoy it." His breath is hot against your cheek and would be considered vile.

It should be vile.

Why can't you bring yourself to find Farleigh as vile?

With his elbows lowered underneath the table like a good little gentleman, Farleigh lets his fingers crawl tentatively over your thigh.

The games are on.

Your heart is beating at a million miles an hour with your mind reeling at not only Farleigh's large warm palm finding its home on your ample thigh but his words.

They are in complete contrast to everything you two have experienced together thus far on your stay in Saltburn.

As his fingers inch their way towards your inner thigh you're absolutely breathless. All you can think about is your escapade in the pool the evening before.

Both Catton siblings had been immersed in a very Catton argument, leaving you and Farleigh to your own devices on the banks of the stone pool.

With both your arms leaning over the ledge of the pool and Farleigh pressed to your side, no one could barely tell that Farleigh already had two digits dipped inside your weeping cunt. His hand moved slowly and deftly, so as not to cause too much of a stir in the water and give you two away. And he did it all while leaning his free hand out of the pool, cradling his copy of Jane Eyre with his eyes glued on the pages.

"F-Fuck Farleigh, can I cum?" He sighed at your agitated state.

"Not until I'm finished with Chapter 18." He mumbled almost distractedly, as if your needy voice was something akin to a pesky fly interrupting his reading.

Chapter 18, as you'd probably guessed, had never ended.

His cousins were back from their argument and his fingers left your cunt just as quickly. You had both went back to pretending to hate each other and you were left to 'rub one out' in the safety of your room like some hormonal teenager.

You truly are furious with him.

"What's this I'm hearing about a rape whistle?" Felix pipes up from the other side of Farleigh, equally dressed up all spiffy for the Henry's "You didn't rape anyone, did you?"

Farleigh's response is more of a hiss, "Of course I didn't-"

"Surely there must be more savory topics of discussion at the dinner table other than rape?" Comes the quick mediation of Elsbeth, who sits at the head of the table, clutching her string of expensive pearls as if they weilded the power to rid her of all these insolent little kids.

"Of course there is," you exclaim before turning your head to smile at the presence beside Ventia, nestled quietly in his seat like a little pauper.

Farleigh's manicured fingernails sink half moons into the skin of your thigh, peeking up from the slit of your dress as you lean away from him and say, "You must be Oliver! It's a relief to see another commoner around here." It was so undeniably petty to weaponize Farleigh's greatest foe, but the vexation of not being made to cum the night before still hangs heavily on your shoulder. And at the end of the day, you really just were a petty bitch.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ollie!" Slightly leaning over Venetia, the boy looks pale. As if he was biting down on his words. God, his tongue must be riddled in scars.

"Pleasure to meet you." Oliver cooly mirrors the warm and inviting smile stretched across your face.

"Don't lean over me," Venetia mumbles, "I'm not a child."

Meanwhile, Farleigh scoffs once again. While he injects himself in your conversation, his hands move swiftly to cup your vagina, nearly raking a gasp out of your throat in the process. "She won't sleep with you, mate." his brown eyes are trained on Oliver's. "She's a slut but not that big of a slut."

The extreme degradation laced in Farleigh's voice is enough to have you nearly moan out in front of all your friends, their family, and all the bloody Henrys.

Farleigh knew exactly which buttons to push to have you melting catastrophically against his fingers. He knew what words could have you slipping into subspace and he knew how to get your cunt weeping.

"Jesus Christ, could we not do this right now?" Venetia asks, staring pointedly at her cousin, and not at the sight of your legs parting to further accomdate his lazy rubbing against your cunt.

"I'm sorry, Cousin," Farleigh replies, "but it's not my fault your best friend is a raging bitch."

A breathless chuckle escapes your clenched teeth, "I-I'm not a-"

"Yeah, I am so completely done with this conversation," Venitia says, before strangling the stem of her wine glass and chugging it down as if it was nothing but water.

You turn back to hiss into Farleigh's ear, "You're such an a-asshole-"

"Say that again but don't sound like you're on the verge of squirting on my fingers in the middle of dinner." His grin is shadowed by the dimness of crystal chandlier and all the little candles posted along the table. "This is what you get for being a bitch," he says, socasually it makes you break your resolve by shifting in your seat, to better grind your cunt against his fingers, even for a mere second.

It's almost enough to make you cum right then and there.

"Oh-ho!" He aims a guffaw at the sky, "You really are a needy little slut-"

"This dress is shit," you suddenly push yourself out of your chair, creating the minimal noise of wood scraping against the floors. Most eyes are on you and Farleigh slyly removes his hands from in between your thigh. He leans over the table, bringing his fingers to his lips before spreading them over his gums like you would cocaine.

"I have to go change." You say to Venetia, before promptly (and very rudely) bowing out of the dinner.

A few seconds later, you hear Farleigh mumble something about needing a smoke and your heart rattles wildly in its cage. His footsteps are brisk behind yours, and you can feel his eyes sinking into your figure.

While your feet carry you to your destination and you let your brain catch on, you're already sneaking into Farleigh's room.

"Ah! Trespasser!" He exclaims excitedly behind you, with his hands stuffed in his pocket.

"You're so fucking annoying!" Your complains barely escape your throat before he's attacking you in a sloppy, open mouth kiss. He steals the air right out of your lungs, until he's breathing for the both of you. Farleigh slips out of his Abercrombie suit blazer, discarding the material as if it truly meant nothing to him.

His hands are everywhere, with special interests in your breasts compressed tightly by the uncomfortable stitching of your dress.

"This dress..." you mumble distractedly.

"Fuck this dress." He says, and you wholeheartedly agree. Perhaps it was desperate of you to turn in haste. Lifting the ends of your hair to present the zipper to him.

"You look fucking ravenous." He admits in a grave whisper, with his lips grazing the side of your neck, "I wanna fucking eat you." He says, "I wanna be inside you."

"You have such a dirty mouth, Farleigh," the groan that escapes his throat as he zips down your dress lets you know that you may have found your way in.

As the dress spills around your heeled feet, followed by your lacey underwear, Farleigh reattaches his full lips to the skin of your back. "What did you say?" His voice is like the rough gravel encircling Saltburn and you let your eyes roll to the back of your head as you arch backwards against him. His hardness presses against your ass and your fingers weave their way into his curls.

"I said youre a dirty boy, Farleigh." He ruts against you, almost as a second thought. "A dirty fucking boy,"

"Fuck," his hands dig into your hips, rubbing you against him. All as he pleases. "Fucking, fuck. I'm not gonna cum like this-" He says suddenly before spinning you back around.

It is few and sparse moments when you're reminded just how much taller Farleigh is than you and eventide it happens, the wind is knocked out of you. Farleigh advances on you like a literal predator until you're forced to fall backwards on his bed.

He barely undoes the bowtie, and only a few buttons go loose enough to showcase the beautiful expanse of his chest.

"You're absolutely soaked aren't you?" He asks, hovering on the bed above you.

"I need to cum, Farleigh, please-" You knew it was the only way to get what you wanted. You had unashamedly resorted to begging for a man who hooked his nails into your hair, forcing you to sit upright as he parted your legs.

"Look at you," he whispers before cackling maniacally. "You're so stupidly wet, you filthy fucking girl-"

"O-oh fuck, Fuck Farleigh," Your try by all means to grind your cunt into the mattress but is doesn't happen.

"When are you going to learn that I own your orgasms?" He whispers, with his other hand furiously undoing the belt of his fitted pants. "You don't cum until I say. You don't touch yourself until I say. You don't even fucking think about cumming until I say-"

"You're such a big little baby," you spit back, "A big needy, little b-"

You're once again pushed backwards and Farleigh's mounting you with his leaking cock locked tight in his fist.

You automatically lift your legs to present your cunt to him and he groans at the sight.

"I'm going to cum inside of you." He promises.

"I want you too."

Farleigh's eyes are heavy as he slides himself inside you. He looks down at you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. A treasure trove.

"Fuck- I need you to carry on talking." Farleigh says before shutting his eyes tightly. "Fuck you feel so good-"

"You're doing so well, baby," his hips rut inside you, accidentally pushing his cock in way too deep, way too fast and you both hiss and moan. "Such a good boy," you say with your hair finding his own curls, "You're being such a good fucking boy, Farleigh-"

"Open your mouth," you comply robotically. Farleigh places his hands on the underside of your chin before tipping your head backwards. His chains dangle above you as you stick your tongue out and he spits directly into your mouth. "Such a slut," he says, "Such a filthy fucking good girl." His words have you grinding your cunt against his cock until soon, you're both on the precipice of cumming.

"F-Fuck-"

"Such a good girl," he whispers, with his breath ghosting yoir face and the sound of skin slapping against skin only grows louder and louder. "S-So fucking good-" He whispers over and over again until your cunt clenches around his cock, promting Farleigh's orgasm with a quickness.

His cum spilling inside you has you slipping unceremoniously into your own orgasm and Farleigh wails in both the pleasure of your cunt milking him dry, or your fingers still pulling his hair like crazy.

"Fuck!" He exclaims before slumping on the bed beside you, "Get your fingers out of my hair, you psycho-"

"You love it, though," there's a teasing lilt in your voice, and all Farleigh does is scoff before patting down the pockets of his pants.

"You give me endless reasons to smoke," he says, before tipping his head back, unknwongly leaning into your embrace as your fingers coil through his soft curls.

"You'd smoke anyway."

#saltburn #saltburn x reader #saltburn smut #saltburn x you #farleigh start #farleigh saltburn #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start smut #oliver quick x reader

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silkscream · 6 months

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HEAVEN SURROUNDS US

ੈ✩ summary: gojo likes that you make him feel human. admittedly, he also likes that sometimes, you make him feel like a god. ੈ✩ warnings: smut (18+), fingering, unprotected sex, slight dacryphilia, begging, soft dom!gojo, kind of mean gojo lol, workplace relations, reader can see curses but that's it, gojo has a god complex, dirty talk, not proofread bc i do not give a fuck ੈ✩ wc: 3.1k ੈ✩ a/n: i am having intense gojo brainrot. i was thinking about 'i'm your man' by mitski the entire time i was writing this btw. ALSO I LITERALLY HAD A GRAPHIC AND DIVIDERS FOR THIS BUT EVERY TIME I INCLUDE THEM this shit doesn't show up in the tags. i've given up!

Gojo Satoru has the smell of death burned into his senses to the point of complete apathy. He’s sure that Shoko feels similarly, though as a healer and a doctor, she’s often only met with the aftermath – the quiet decaying, the dried blood.

Gojo has encountered it all. The stench, the last pleas for salvation, the battered and torn-apart limbs. Even when the dying beings are cursed spirits suffering from the carnage created beneath Gojo’s hands, sometimes he wonders if an angel is nearby that weeps for them.

He has held grief inside his core to use as a weapon ever since he lost Geto. Nothing fazes him anymore. After the tragedies of his late teens, Gojo chooses to devote himself to his students rather than ruminating in sanctimonious thought loops. Gojo Satoru knows he isn’t a god, but sometimes, when he levitates in the sky with blood on his hands, he certainly feels like one. It’s safe to say that he may be the closest thing to one in the world of Jujutsu sorcery. It’s nothing that he despises – he’s known since his powers took shape in the awkwardness of his child-body.

Gojo likes to think he isn’t as cruel and indifferent as a god should be because of how protective he is. The warmth he’s had in his heart for Megumi alone confirms this as such, and now for Yuuji. Despite toying with the idea of divinity, he likes to remember that he’s human.

You are the only thing that reminds him of this.

Ever since Gojo had laid his eyes on you, he figured you were a delicate thing. He’s not completely wrong – although you can see curses, you lack any techniques. After becoming an assistant at Jujutsu Tech, he had taken more than a liking to you, more than he would be willing to admit to anyone else. He also never thought that the girl who was so quick to sardonic banter with him would be so vulnerable.

When you’re underneath him, maybe he does consider himself a god, just for a second. And then he feels the silky touch of your skin and he can’t help but wish for a life of mundanity with you until the earth stops spinning.

He likes that he can feel how fast your heart is beating. He likes that you become so pliant just from having his hand on your thigh.

It’s not like he exploits the little affair you have. It’s not that he wants to exploit you either, but the power trip that surges through him when you preen to his touch feels better than winning any battle. It’s those big eyes of yours. It’s a miracle you had reciprocated your attraction to him – he doesn’t know what he’d do to any other man who happened to pursue you. The thought of that kind of violence doesn’t make him feel any guilt. He’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant that he could have you forever, unconditionally.

Within the few months you’ve been working at Jujutsu Tech, you learn a few things about Gojo Satoru. He has an incredible sweet tooth. He cares about his students. He likes the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair. Lives for it, even, but he could never tell you that.

That’s how you ended up here, you suppose. Writhing and wet and oh so obedient for him.

You like that a man that is worshipped by all enjoys worshipping you.

“Satoru,” you whisper. The sound of your voice makes him fucking melt.

God, it’s so much worse when you beg. Satoru wants to be gentle with you, careful, because he knows that if all of his morals were thrown out the window, he would devour you completely, leaving bruises in your wake. But he waits, titillatingly, smirking as his long fingers grasp the flesh above your hips.

“Please,” you whine. Your lower half bucks up into him, squirming just a little, but he grounds you with his large hands once again.

Satoru knows better than to toy with his prey, but the flush on your cheeks is so fucking cute that he wonders what you would look like with tears rolling down the soft blush of your skin.

“Be patient, baby,” he rasps. “Just like lookin’ at you.”

“You look at me all day.”

“Someone’s got quite the attitude.”

You’re about to protest until you feel his knuckle brush against the peak of your clit, teasingly. A nasty grin spreads across his face as he grazes his fingertips along your slit, marveling at how wet you are when he’d barely touched you.

“So pretty for me,” he muses, mostly to himself.

“Should see how pretty I am when you’re inside me.”

Satoru scoffs. Despite being so human, you have quite the mouth, so much confidence in the way you move and speak that he often forgets how easy it would be to lose you. To break you. Though, of course, that privilege is for him and him only.

He kisses you to shut you up, but not nearly for long enough. You can’t even get your tongue inside his mouth. You whine pitifully as he pulls back.

“Poor baby,” he coos. “So on edge today. What’s got you so desperate like this, huh?”

“Just want you,” your voice is meek, which is an anomaly. The honey-sweet cadence of your words is barely above a whisper.

“You have me.” Unbeknownst to you, you always will, whether you tire of him or not.

He makes his point by circling the pad of his thumb to your clit while his other hand claws at your chest underneath your dress shirt. The sound of your gasp has him reeling already, has his cock rock-hard in his slacks.

“More,” you whimper. “S-Satoru, please.”

You’re surprised when you feel the palm of his hand over your mouth. You whine against his hand, soft gasps dissipating underneath his touch as your eyes roll back. You feel two fingers enter your sopping cunt and it renders you brainless, docile just how he likes you.

The rhythmic ministrations of his fingers touch upon the spot inside your core that makes your legs shake. You like being smothered by him despite your personality. You don’t even have to tell him – he knows already, he’s known ever since he noticed your reactions to him touching you casually during the working day.

The more you crave his touch, the more you become dependent on him, even when you don’t realize it. You always pride yourself on being an independent soul, refusing his insistence to pay for your meals, the way you express to him quietly that you want to be able to fight back one day. You could perfect a certain violence in between your fingers just like he can if you put your mind to it. But you have too much dignity to request his guidance as a mentor or teacher.

He thinks about it now as he touches you. The idea of him training you to use cursed techniques. The idea of him making you in his image, shaping you like he had created you himself.

If anyone truly knew the extent of how you are the object of Satoru’s affection, of his obsession, one would render him pathetic. But he knows he’s too powerful. He knows it’s easy to make you seem like the pathetic one. You’re already begging for his cock, after all.

“I‘m gonna… I’m–”

There’s a squelching sound when he retracts. His fingers are wet with your slick and you’re on the verge of tears when you feel the loss. You’re already falling apart without his touch. It doesn’t help when you watch him lick your wetness off of his own fingers.

“Why are you being so mean to me today?”

“‘m not,” Satoru purrs, licking a stripe from your collarbone to your earlobe. You try to kiss him since his face is so close to yours, but again, he restricts you. His long, slender fingers squeeze the base of your neck. “I could be a lot meaner to you, y’know. You’re lucky. This is mild compared to what I’ve thought about doing to you.”

“Wanna cum,” you whisper. You don’t even realize that there are tears falling because you’re too focused on Satoru. It isn’t fair, the way he’s toying with you. The moment he relinquishes his grip, just barely, you reach over to palm his cheek. He lets you pull the blindfold from his eyes.

“Dunno if I can let you. You’re being so greedy. Such a selfish fucking girl.” He pinches your nipple as he says it. His voice is smooth, dripping like honey, dulcet in the way his words manage to make your eyelashes flutter despite how filthy the subject matter is. He’d ruin you if he could. Perhaps, he’d ruined you the moment he touched you.

He’s touching your clit again, but not rhythmically. You feel a sense of loss every few seconds. He’s fucking teasing you now, but you’re smart enough to not snap at him despite how much you want to.

So you say his name instead. Like a hymn or a prayer. Like it’s the sweetest thing to come from your tongue. From the way your voice sounds, Satoru is convinced that his own name is a blessing just because it comes from your lips. He can’t get enough of it.

You make Satoru feel human, but the way you react to him at the moment makes him want to pretend he’s a god.

“S-Sat–Satoru. Oh.”

“You cryin’ already, baby? Thought you liked it when I played with you.”

His voice is low, raspy. Almost cruel.

Your brain is so foggy that it feels like he’s been doing this to you for hours. You can’t even form words, can’t bitch to him or dominate him the way you often attempt to. There’s a secret part of you, deep inside, that is unlocked by the way Satoru handles you. As much as he loves control, he still doesn’t know the extent of what you would let him do to you. How you wished he’d wrap a silk ribbon around your neck and collar you like a puppy. How you think you would do anything for him if he asked.

You don’t even know that he would do the exact same for you.

Now, you’re at your peak again. Your legs are wobbly, senses so heightened by the way he plays with your pussy that it takes you a few moments to notice that his cock is prodding against you, bare and pink and fucking leaking.

Maybe if you tell him you’re close, he’ll stop. You can’t stand the thought of it. So, naturally, you cry instead, and the sight makes him want to keep you for as long as he’s alive. Satoru would make sure nothing slights you, and that nothing out of his control could possibly vex you. This desire usually scares him. At the moment, it doesn’t. At the moment, he feels drunk with it.

He knows when you cum because he has you memorized. It’s a little death, truly, because when your legs tremble and your moans fade into a sharp gasp, Satoru knows for sure that your brain has turned to mush. Your body melts against his. Maybe you’d melt right into his mattress if he didn’t have more energy to play with you.

Gojo Satoru does not believe in a higher power, but he thinks that if one existed, one that was more powerful than him, he would thank them. He would thank them for you, the creation of you, the very essence of you living and breathing in the same wretched world as him. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, you were made just for him.

You recover in a succession of exhales. Blinking rapidly through blurry vision as you feel Satoru’s face nuzzling your neck, almost too domestic and sweet to bear. You had never thought of anything serious with him because of his reputation, but every time he has you like this, underneath him, you often wish that he would reassure you that he wants to keep you.

And he does. He is devoted to you in a way that feels holy. He just doesn’t know how to tell you that. Satoru hopes you can figure it out just from the way he touches you.

And maybe, like him, you’re just above human. An angel, he thinks. A set of wings would suit you.

“I– I– please–” you strain. You feel embarrassed from the tears, but Satoru cherishes you. He kisses and licks them right off your face.

“I know, baby. I won’t make you beg any more than you have,” he sneers.

You’re fucking doe-eyed, angelic when he enters you. Just the tip, for now, just so he can see how you react. It isn’t the first time but you are certainly acting the part from the way your whole face screws up. Your perfect mouth parts and he touches your bottom lip with his thumb.

You whimper like a wounded thing. Like you should be begging for mercy. He hasn’t dipped too far into his God-complex yet to coax that reaction for you.

And without a warning, he pushes himself into you completely, bottoming out. He groans at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. So warm. So fucking wet.

“Fucked you enough to mold the shape of your pussy to my cock, huh? Feels so fucking– fuck,” he exhales, rutting into you with eyes shut.

You whine his name, clutching at him, scraping your nails across his pale back. He loves the way you need him. He wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything else in the world.

Made for me. God made you for me.

You slur your words against his neck and his chest as he thrusts into you – cries of his name, of begging for more, of your usual expletives. He grins like a predator. He bends you in half and thinks briefly about breaking your limbs for the sake of his pleasure. (He doesn’t. You’re too delicate, too human.)

In reality, you’re sarcastic and sometimes brash. When Satoru has you writhing underneath him, you’re a little more shy. He wants to tease the desire from you, whatever filth that permeates in your brain.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want– I want– aah!”

“Feels so good for you, I know. Use your words for me. I know you can,” Satoru taunts.

“Want you to make me cum on your cock. Please,” you beg. “Need it deeper, ‘Toru. Need you.”

“Need me, don’t you? Say it again so I can hear it.”

“Nngh– Need– Fuck, I can’t–”

He slows the speed of his thrusts and rubs the length of your jaw softly with his palm. His other hand rubs your clit gently, making your body spasm. He tucks the hair sticking to your forehead behind your ear so he can see all of you. You and your swollen mouth and glassy eyes.

“Don’t do that,” you whine.

“Do what, baby?”

“Teasing me like this. Wan’ it rough.”

“What else?” he breathes into your neck, palming your breast as he thrusts into you deeper.

“Want everything. Want it to hurt.”

And with that, he gives it to you. He gives you all of it.

You drape your arms around his body so that you’re closer than ever, both of your bodies ready to mesh into one if they could. Satoru pushes your legs up, knees bent and ankles near your ears, and he basks in the sound of your pathetic mewls.

“Such a good… fucking girl,” he groans. “‘m so close.”

“Me too,” you reply in a hushed tone. “Right– right there.”

Satoru has fucked you plenty of times. He’s called you a slut, a greedy whore – but he can’t bring himself to degrade you like that even though he knows you like it. You’re splayed out for him, limbs limp and grateful for his embrace. You’re too fucking precious for him.

You’re too dazed to think about the moral implications of your affair. It's a miracle you can't enter his mind so deeply when you're fucked out like this. Where his thoughts flash from lecherous to monstrous, yours are rendered sluggish. There’s almost nothing in your brain, save for him and his blue eyes and the feeling of his cock. It consumes the best of you. You welcome it with open arms.

Another kiss. It’s mostly Satoru working his tongue into your mouth and you dissolving under his tongue. He tastes so sweet, so fresh all the time. His lips are so fucking soft it drives you insane.

“Pleasemakemecum,” you cry out in a jagged mumble. “Please. Need it so bad. Please!”

He groans in response. You’re begging more than usual. You are frantic and desperate and welcoming his hand to shape you in his image.

The way he grinds into your cunt becomes more aggressive, which is easy for him. There’s no resistance – your pussy is so fucking wet for him in that way. The cloying heat in his pelvis spreads to the rest of his body, warmth enveloping him like hot water in a bath.

You whine his name again and it dissipates into his mouth.

“Cum with me, fuck, I can feel you–” he moans. Both of you reach your peak in the way he grasps your body, calloused hands worshipping the length of your waist until his fingertips bruise your thighs.

His hips stutter as he indulges in his pleasure. In the sound of your hushed whimpers. In the way your nails claw across his back.

Both of your labored breaths fill the silence. Even in the dark, you admire the brightness of his blue eyes. They could replace the divinity of the stars themselves, you muse.

Both of you are hazy, intoxicated on the touch of each others’ skin. You shiver in your skin. You’re only soothed when he buries his face into your neck, long limbs splayed over your smaller frame.

“I should fuckin’ marry you,” he breathes into your skin.

“What was that?” you raise a brow.

He clears his throat. Despite the daze, he’s able to give you one of his signature cocky grins. Something flashes in his blue eyes, you think.

“I think I wanna keep you.”

If he was god, you were his seraphim, he’s decided. He almost tells this to you, out loud, because your big eyes drink him in. He knows better.

“You have me,” you reply softly, echoing him from earlier in the night. The way he smiles reminds you of the sun.

Gojo Satoru knows it’s an affirmation from you, maybe even pillow talk. But he knows that sentiment to be truer than anything he’s ever known. He is yours and you are his.

For now, you don’t know the half of it. Maybe someday you will.

#gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jjk

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yourfatherlucifer · 6 months

Text

Young God (PSH)

Angel!Seonghwa x afab!reader

Summary: "Y'know my tongue is a weapon. There's a light in the crack that's separating your thighs and if you wanna go to heaven, you should fuck me tonight."

Warnings: MDNI, oral (fem rec.), innocence corruption, overstim, crying, rough sex, dom!seonghwa, becoming a fallen angel, cursing, mentions of going to hell, biblical mentions.

AU: Angel

Genre: Smut

WC: 778

Rating; R

Nets: @wonderlandnet @kflixnet @cultofdionysusnet @k-labels @pirateeznet

Taglist: @k-hotchoisan @wooyoungqueen @stardragongalaxy

Song: Young God by Halsey

(this is the filthiest thing ive ever written omg)

PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

"Oh, my pretty thing. My God created you perfectly, so perfect." His hand trailed down your face as you trembled beneath him, becoming to hot in your own clothes.

"Too bad I must corrupt you, for I have fallen for you." Seonghwa smirked, sitting up, removing himself from straddling your thighs.

"Seonghwa..what are you gonna do?" your own voice betrayed you as it cracked.

He smiled, "Well, if you wanna go to heaven, my pretty, you should fuck me tonight." His wings fluttered behind him, "though, I have a feeling, after I'm done with you, I'm sure neither of us will return to heaven. I am going to corrupt your pure soul."

Seonghwa leaned forward and ripped your shirt in half, staring at your still covered breasts, "tsk. such an annoying thing."

You gasped as he ripping your bra off as well, he wore a smirk the whole time.

How did you not see something as beautiful as Seonghwa, an angel, be so filthy, so corrupting? Something sculpted by God himself, but with the personality of a sex devil. Something whose white wings were huge and blinding.

Seonghwa could see the tears in your eyes building up, "My dear, do you not want this?" He leaned forward to wipe away your tears.

"I do, Seonghwa, I just - I've never done anything like this."

Seonghwa sighed, "I figured as much, darling, that is why I want it to be me who corrupts you. Not a human, not anyone or anything else. Me." His voice became authoritative, it was frightening but oh-so-hot.

He stopped caressing your face and moved down to your waist, pulling down your bottoms with the underwear.

You became nervous, what was was he going to do?

You could feel his hot breath hovering over your wet cunt, 'Y'know, Y/N, my tongue is my weapon after all. I'd say its like the serpent who corrupted Eve."

His two hands placed a strong grip on your thighs to keep them from moving, he was about to feast and didn't want you stopping him with them.

Seonghwa's nose brushed along your clit as his tongue tested the waters of your weeping hole.

You couldn't help but moan and arch your back at this feeling that is foreign, something you've never felt. Pleasure they called it. A new experience for you.

His tongue darted in and out of your hole, dragging itself along the rubbery walls, tears were pouring down your face, "Seonghwa!" You cried out.

He simply ignored you, wanting to stay with his meal. He let your hand fly to his hair, his wings flapping in response.

Seonghwa removed himself before you could ever cum, he wants to feel it around him.

You had whined in response when he moved away, "Why?"

"Patience."

He removed his white robe, letting it fall to ground below your bed.

His hard cock stood proudly, its tip already leaking in excitement, he was definitely well endowed.

Your eyes widened as you sat up, "Seonghwa, I- is that even gonna fit?"

He cackled, "Of course it will."

Seonghwa climbed back onto the bed, a smirk on his face, his black hair dangling in front of his eyes, which were now hooded and filled with pure lust. Something you should never see on a regular angel.

He stroked his cock in front of you, letting low moans fall from his mouth, "Fuck, I cannot wait to be inside of you, my pretty thing."

You waiting eagerly as he poked the tip to your entrance, pain began to spread throughout as his pushed his way in slowly.

The tears became a waterfall, "Seonghwa!"

"It's alright, I promise it'll be okay."

He waited until he could hear moans from you before he began to thrust into you, "Ah fuck!" Seonghwa pushed your legs to your chest as he arched his back to watch his fat cock disappear in and out of your hole.

His pace became faster, his rhythm much harder.

Your moans only encouraged him as he snapped his hips against the back of your thighs, "Fuck, you're squeezing me." He hissed.

"Seonghwa, something weird is happening!"

"That's it, baby, you're cumming, just for me. Cum around my angelic fat cock." He laughed, sticking his tongue out as his concentrated on his rhythm.

"And this, this is where you corrupt me, my dear." Seonghwa felt himself cumming, so he sped up, his cum splashing your walls.

He fell on top of you, but you noticed his once white wings were slowly turning black and disheveled, "Seonghwa, your wings.."

He chuckled in your ears, "You made me fall, looks like we're both going to hell."

#cultofdionysusnet #pirateeznet #klabels #kflixnet #wonderlandnet #ateez #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez x reader smut #seonghwa #park seonghwa #park seonghwa smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x reader smut #seonghwa smut #ateez hard thoughts #ateez scenarios #angel au

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perfaede · 2 years

Text

you know me, new tags and all.

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https-genesis · 1 year

Text

deserving child | dad!jake x daughter!reader

Sypnosis; Whatever had your father done before you were born had nothing to do with you today, but Quaritch didn't care. Children or not, you were Jake's.

Contents; angst little comfort, typical avatar violence, drabble? extreme depictions of gore?? Jake's pov, no use of y/n,

Dictionary; sempul - dad/daddy, sa'nok - mother, tsurak - skimwing, kuru - queue, uturu - sanctuary

A/N; I hate this but anyway

Jake Sully. Failed life on Earth, dead brother. Paralyzed from the waist down, out of service. Sent to replace his brother on a military mission, Pandora. Falling for the forrest, the culture, the people... Neytiri. Even though he had taken everything from her, her sister, her father, her ikran, her people... Neytiri had faith. She fought with him. His beautiful mate... His children. His firstborn son, Neteyam, and his twin, you. Oh, how life had betrayed him. Or had he betrayed life? After all, he betrayed an entire race. Was it unfair? Had he done the good thing, or was he selfish?

Jake still remembers a quote from the Bible he had read years before his 20th birthday. Before his brother was killed on the field.

"For am I seeking the approval of man or of God? And if I am seeking the approval of man, will I still be a servant of grace?"

As Jake sat still onto the back of his tamed tsurak within the seas of the reefs, hundreds of vengeful Na'vi in the same position behind him, he thought back to fifteen years ago. He could've left with Quaritch. Be could've surrendered. Saved thousands of innocent lives and give his own. But he didn't. He chose to stay and fight, but for what?

He could clearly see your distressed faces kneeling and facing him on the Demon Ship. Quaritch and his men held you and your siblings tighly in place and the gun pressed to your temple that digged into your skin harshly.

Jake chose to stay and fight. It brought him here. His children about to get executed right in front of his helpless eyes, unable to do anything but to weep to himself like a coward.

The sound of Neytiri's distressed pleas in his ears made them ring, but he couldn't hear a single word.

Jake could see in his head the faded image of your brains splattered onto the pavement of the ship and for a brief moment he pondered if this was all a dream. It wasn't, however, you were still alive. The choice was his, he knew it well. Would Neytiri even forgive him? Would you? Would Tuk be able to pass her own Iknimaya without her father?

☆

The freezing cold metal pressed firmly against the side of your head burned like dry ice. You had seen your father use similar machinery on the field, but you had never seen it be pointed at someone else. Even less had you thought you'd be the one in this kind of situation. Quaritch had your kuru thigh in his unoccupied hand, pulling whenever your kneeling stance faltered. You could see the outline of Jake, Ronal and Tonowari from your place on the ship and the way your father's eyes drifted from you and your siblings to his weapon. Was he really considering letting himself get captured for you?

Whatever Jake was thinking was passing fast. He had no plan and you knew it. The simple look of despair on Tonowari's face told you everything. You knew not to scream out because the Avatar had warned you when your brother tried.

"One noise and I'll shoot ya', kid."

Kid. You were just a kid. Your brother and sister were just kids. And Jake stared at you like it would be the last time he'd ever do. It was ironic, really. You came to Awa'atlu seeking uturu and had to end up murdering the entirety of its residents.

Jake felt the cold breeze against his damp skin, the breathlessness of Ronal on his right. His children are about to die. You, their big sister, dying to protect them. His babygirl. The one that lit up his life when he felt he was no Olo'eyktan, no Toruk Makto.

Right. Toruk Makto. Jake is Toruk Makto. The sixth rider of Last Shadow, the one who brought the clans victory against the Sky People. He killed Quaritch once. Can he really do it twice?

It's strange to think about it now, but in this situation he wishes he was more of a father and less of a marine. Lo'ak would never forgive him. The way he treated his children like soldiers... The pain he brought upon Neytiri and the people.

Quaritch's voice brings him back.

"Clock's ticking, colonel. What's it gonna be?"

The hand that rested on his gun lowered and Jake instructed his tsurak to swim forward slowly. He doesn't want to die, but he was ready to give his life up for you.

Quaritch did too.

Payakan thought otherwise. The large beast had felt Lo'ak's anger throughout their bond. Payakan had forgotten all about friendship, but Lo'ak had brought him a sense of serenity he had just about never felt before. Seeing red as he threw itself onto the ship, Jake saw the opportunity.

should I do a part two? seems opportunistic tbh

#x reader #avatar #avatar twow #avatar twow x reader #avatar x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #platonic sullys x reader

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dullweapons · 3 months

Text

ray doesnt understand banananananas

"I have questions, but I am not sure I want the answer to said questions." - @puxrlunae " both . both is good . i'll roast them a bit before anyway . " - @volcania Blinks and stares. "Crust….?? They don’t have—- do you…. Mean the PEEL?!" - @mightiestbanana

❝ why are you confused . why is he yelling . i just asked a question . is it a crime to ask ? ⸻ at least the dragon answered . sounds nice .❞

#puxrlunae #volcania #mightiestbanana #⸻ ray : dash comm. ✦ do i look conveniently human ? ˎˊ˗#⸻ RAY : in character ✦ i am a weapon & weapons don’t weep ˎˊ˗

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jaskiercommabard · 8 months

Note

Hi can I request “Let me do this, please.” for geraskier please and thanks 💛

I'm sorry this took so long! I am a slow writer on a good day, and I was planning on doing like a 300 word drabble but Geralt said NO. 2500 words or I feed you to Roach

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Geralt, help me, please,” Jaskier screams.

Not Jaskier.

It is not Jaskier, but that doesn’t keep the blood from rushing in Geralt’s ears as he hunts the thing that has his voice.

Jaskier is safe, back at the inn - probably sleeping by now, or else terrorizing the pretty barmaid Geralt had left him flirting with. He’s safe, far away from this barren, gore-filled clearing, unless-

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have followed you.”

The voice is thick with tears, wobbling pitifully. The cries continue, ricocheting mercilessly through the forest.

“I’m afraid.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“Geralt, Geralt. I’m here.”

He is not here. The only trace of Jaskier comes from the strip of thick linen blocking Geralt’s vision, the barest memory of lemongrass and cinnamon hitting the air when he tugs the fabric more securely over his eyes. Beneath it, only rot.

Geralt turns in a slow circle, blade raised and ready to strike. He’s spent all day tracking the location of a nightwraith that has been calling young men to their deaths in the forest, and now the moon is high. Geralt is not a young man, so he is relieved to find - in a stroke of his peculiar sort of luck - that the nightwraith isn’t overly particular about which hearts it rips out and leaves at the edge of town.

“There you are,” it coos, the tone familiar and melodic. “I tried so hard to find you.”

It’s a perfect mockery of relief and exhaustion, the same sigh that greets him after a long day riding or a long night performing, and it’s close. Its feet fall just like Jaskier’s, a little heavier on his right side where his hip is starting to give him trouble - Geralt can almost see the unevenly worn soles of his boots crunching toward him through the blanket of leaves on the ground.

It's late enough in autumn that Jaskier would be grousing about the cold, and as soon as the thought crosses his mind, the creature's teeth begin to chatter.

“There’s something out here. I’m frightened. Why won’t you help me?”

Closer, now. Close enough for Geralt to lunge at it, and the gasp that falls into the quiet air when his sword finds the creature’s flesh belongs to Jaskier, too.

The strike falls short of a killing blow, thrust out blindly as it is, and does little more than confuse and enrage it. Soon the voices are overlapping, shrieking above him, losing their soft edge. Vicious wind tears around him and he’s caught in a squall of Jaskier weeping, Jaskier laughing, Jaskier howling in pain. It is behind him and before him, above him and around him, oppressive, inescapable. He has no choice but to rip the fabric from his eyes and-

And there is Jaskier, where Geralt knew he would be, kneeling in the dirt with trembling hands pressed into his side. A gruesome stain slips out from beneath his fingers, so similar to the red of his doublet that it only makes the fabric darker, and a matching ribbon of it falls from his mouth.

It’s a nightmare Geralt has woken from a thousand times, Jaskier all blue and pink and red, too red at the end of his own sword.

"Why?" the thing mouths, but it's lost, crackling out somewhere in the air instead of falling from his lips. The creature wields his voice like a weapon as it loses control, twisting that sweet tenor into something that stings his ears.

The taste of blood coats Geralt’s mouth and fills his nose, real and hot and nauseating. It's a strong illusion, built from grief and malice, and it has to end, now, before he cracks beneath the weight of it. He has no choice but to sprint past Jaskier to reach the corpse on the other side of the clearing, but even his enhanced speed is no match for a wraith this powerful. Fingers colder than ice wrap around his ankle and he is flung like a doll to the ground, knees singing with pain as they crash into the earth.

“Let me do this,” he shouts over the roaring wind, twisting back to face the wraith. He’s foolish for it, maybe, but it’s easier to argue with a monster when it wears a face he squabbles with a hundred times before breakfast most days. “Please. Let me help you!”

For a moment, the frigid hand on him only tightens. It’s enough to make his bones creak, but then Jaskier’s face softens, rippling out from the center. That familiar mop of messy hair turns golden, tumbling easily over a set of round, narrow shoulders. Finally, blue eyes turn maple brown - upturned and mournful, a perfect match to the farmer who had begged Geralt to find his missing daughter.

They had looked just like hers, watery and wide, when the man chased him down outside the alderman's hut. Find my girl, he had pleaded, pressing a stack of old coins into Geralt’s palm. Bring her home, however you can.

The flickery image of the girl nods once, just the barest dip of her chin as she releases his ankle. It’s enough for Geralt to lurch away, extending his hand to cast Igni over the too-small body decaying in the dry grass beside them. For a moment, above the rot and char and heat, the air is washed out with a breeze of sweet hay and lilies, and then she is gone.

What’s left behind is a maelstrom of untamed rage and malice, once more with Jaskier’s face, flickering now as the illusion struggles to hold itself together. Something sick and sharp blooms in Geralt’s throat, but he raises his sword anyway. He wavers, and the wraith smiles with his friend’s mouth. It’s all wrong - all sharp, dripping teeth jutting out from endless black, and that is just enough to snap Geralt back to focus.

The wraith shrieks, the witcher springs. It still has Jaskier’s tears and Jaskier’s hands and Jaskier’s sweet, wide eyes when it dies on Geralt’s sword.

The pleasant hum coming from the warmly lit hall of the Merry Magpie rises when Geralt stalks in the front door, its patrons ruffling like rattled hens at the sight of him. He forgoes the bar entirely - he’ll collect his coin from the alderman and deliver it along with a box of ashes to the farmer in the morning. Tonight, he’ll tend to the cold spike of grief and guilt settled in his own chest.

He can’t shake his unease as he climbs the stairs to the shadowy upper floor of the inn - it rolls around in his gut, sends his shoulders bunched halfway to his ears. It’s irrational, he knows, but the feeling only winds itself more tightly around his spine when he shoves open the door to their shared room and finds it empty.

Geralt swallows around the sharp thing creeping higher into his throat. The bard isn’t far, not with his lute and songsheets strewn about the bed. He’s just as likely to be in a room around the corner with that freckled barmaid, or out behind the inn with the stableman he’d been making eyes at all day, or-

“In here, Geralt!”

In his panic, he’d missed the thick humidity of the room and the scent of Jaskier’s soap, missed the familiar tick of his heart beating quarter-time against Geralt’s own.

“That is you, Geralt?” he continues, calling from behind the dressing screen in the corner of the room. “You’d better be Geralt, or you’ll have some explaining to do to my outrageously large and occasionally violent very best friend in the whole wide world-”

His voice swings up an octave when he turns to find the witcher only a few paces from him.

“Merciful gods, witcher, you really have to stop doing that. It’s…unnerving. I am unnerved. Has anyone ever told you you’re unnerving?”

Jaskier has. Frequently, but Geralt is so caught up in staring at his throat working, whole and unhurt, that he doesn’t answer.

“Fuck. Are you alright?” Jaskier asks as he rounds the steaming basin in the center of the room to close the space between them. His tone is tempered now, low and even, the way it is when he soothes Roach while Geralt picks pebbles out of her shoes. Geralt wets his lips but only nods, and careful hands rise up to pet him over anyway.

There’s a peculiar crease in his brow, a dimple beside his frowning mouth that, surely, no creature could ever mimic. It only deepens as he works away the armor to uncover Geralt piece by piece, unable to find any visible injury. The help only slows him down, really, but Jaskier is warm and real and his waist fits neatly into Geralt’s palm where his hand has drifted, so he lets himself be fussed over.

The bard is chirping away as he always is when the thorns start to prick at Geralt’s stomach again.

“Jaskier,” he tries to command, but it comes out strangled, “I need you to stop talking.”

The bard squawks indignantly, swatting at his shoulder where he’s masterfully knocking loose a pauldron that needs its latch replaced.

“You are so rude, do you know? You’re terrible to me.”

“Jask. Stop.”

Either Jaskier hears the plea he’s trying to swallow, or Geralt is bleeding out on the forest floor and hallucinating, because he snaps his mouth shut obediently and steps back. That’s wrong, that’s worse, so Geralt tightens the hand on his waist to draw him back into the circle of his arms.

He presses his face into the space beneath Jaskier’s jaw, because he wants to, and because he can’t help himself. His other hand drifts into the gently curling hair at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, damp with sweat and steam from the bath slowly cooling beside them. He startles slightly at the touch, but Geralt only noses in further.

After what has been only a moment for Geralt but certainly a small eternity for the bard, he speaks softly into the top of Geralt’s head.

“Just tell me what’s wrong, dear. Please.”

“It had your voice,” he whispers. Jaskier scoffs indignantly, but it’s missing some of his usual bluster.

“I can assure you, nothing and no one on this Continent has my-”

He cuts himself off, tensing in Geralt’s hold as the words hang above them.

Luring our men into the forest, the innkeeper's wife had said. They all heard it - their wives, lovers, calling to them in the night. It drove them mad, ripped their hearts out.

“It had my voice.”

He understands, and the meaning is cutting through the air like an arrow let loose too soon, flying outside Geralt's control.

“And you had to…?” Jaskier grimaces, all blunt teeth, and leans back to drag a thumb across his throat. Geralt nods tightly, follows the motion with his eyes and then with the tips of his own fingers. That familiar sparrow-heart pulse jumps up to meet his touch in the same soft and perfect spot where Geralt had plunged his sword.

“Oh, love,” he breathes, and it twists in Geralt's stomach like a fist. He slides his eyes away to track a bead of sweat falling from Jaskier's temple, and he can smell it - lemongrass and cinnamon, salt-sweet skin. No copper, no decay.

Though his blood moves too slowly for it to show, Geralt feels the flush high in his cheeks anyway, where it might blossom on a human's face - where it does begin to blossom on Jaskier's. It pricks strangely beneath his eyes, makes his tongue slow and clumsy.

“Did you know?”

A startled noise bubbles out of Jaskier as he meets Geralt’s gaze, but his eyes are fond and soft, wide with something that looks like wonder. Geralt leans into the tender brush of knuckles across his cheek, forgetting for a moment why he ever stopped himself before.

“That you love me?” He laughs, high and soft and musical. It's unbearable. “I suspected. Did you?”

The answer sits on his tongue like the last bite of an apple tart, lives in his throat like a shared skin of good wine, scratches at his chest like an ancient shirt stitched together by a musician's cautious hands.

“I must have. I-” he shakes his head as if the right words might tumble out of him. Jaskier only sighs, an easy smile stuck on his face as he raises his palm to Geralt's cheek. It's the same look he has when they meet each other on the road after a season apart.

He can’t reconcile the smile and the screaming, the image of the wraith still exploding like a bomb behind his eyelids.

"I'm sorry," he says, nonsensically. His thumb is back at the hollow of Jaskier's throat.

"For what?"

"I hurt you."

I cut you down as you begged me not to. As you cried out for me to help you. What does that make me?

"Show me," he whispers, just loud enough to hear over the peculiar tangle of their heartbeats. There is an unfamiliar look on his face, something curious and patient, something that makes him sweat even as the room is cooling.

Geralt swallows hard, presses his thumb into the top of Jaskier's throat, dragging it down until it meets the loosely gathered laces of his chemise. Jaskier's hands fly up to untie them, slowly exposing each precious inch of skin that had been rent and torn by the blade. Instead of steel, Geralt pulls gooseflesh along in his wake. It blooms along with the sweetly creeping flush that spreads across Jaskier's collarbones - blood brought to surface by his hand, again, so different this time.

Geralt continues his path over Jaskier's breastbone, across the dip between his ribs, until he reaches the spot above Jaskier's navel where his sword had struck its final blow. He follows the path again with the flat of his hand, up over a rabbiting heart until his palm rests in its place against Jaskier's neck. His breaths have gone thin and quick, the way they did when he was dying.

He's not dying, now - no, Jaskier is very much alive when he closes the meager space between them. He's alive when he tips their foreheads together, and Geralt wonders how he could ever have been fooled, seeing this face without the crinkles near his eyes and the easy flush in his cheeks. He’s so alive when their lips brush and it’s all sweet and hot, no ash left in the breath they share.

Geralt knows what Jaskier sounds like with steel in his throat, now, what he sounds like drowning in his own blood. He’ll never unlearn it. It's only fair, he decides, that he should know what Jaskier sounds like when his lips find that same place, when his tongue follows.

#Soooo this for sure got away from me lolol #Thank you so much for the prompt I hope this is okay!!!!!#Geralt x Jaskier #geraskier #geraskier fic #witcher fic #little fics #fic prompt #my brain does weird things when I ask it to write

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save-the-villainous-cat · 11 months

Note

Haiiii Cat, its your favorite anon here with an idea for youuuu~~~

Villain had been noticing it all day. Something was off with Hero. They kept stopping to catch their breath, flinching away from even the slightest of touches to their torso, and kept avoiding fights where they could. So of course what does any good villain do when they notice their hero is hurting? FIGURE OUT WHAT HAPPENED OF COURSE.

Also, how you been, I've been offline for a bit and wanted to check in but then my brain fired off the idea as well so two birds one stone.

~FWP

“When did we stop talking to each other?” the villain asked and even the villain themselves could hear the hesitancy in their voice. “When did we become such strangers?”

A long time ago, they’d been lovers. But the villain supposed that was over, they supposed this was their present and their future. People who used to know each other, becoming strangers, becoming enemies, becoming nightmares.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” The hero’s words were hard, almost as painful as a pipe being smashed against the villain’s throat. And still, the hero held their side and hissed in pain. Not exactly knowing what to do, the villain eyed them. They were sure there was a solution to this that didn’t end in a fight.

But the hero, exhausted and out of breath, was still standing and still ready for violence.

“We were in love,” the villain said.

“People change. You don’t fake your own death and expect everything to be normal when you come back.” The hero balanced the weapon in their hand but it was too heavy to control for someone in their physical state. “How am I supposed to ever forgive you?”

“If you don’t accept my apology, then please accept my help. Just this once.” The villain had noticed it a few hours ago. The hero was out of breath easily. But problems with breathing wasn’t the only thing. Limping, avoiding fights, hissing.

“How am I supposed to trust you? You lied to me for months. I grieved, I turned my whole life around…” The hero was crying now. “You have no idea how much suffering you put me through. You were my everything.”

The villain stared at them and couldn’t help but think of themselves as the fool. Dumb, to think this would actually go well. Of course they had expected the hero to be mad when they had pulled off their mask to reveal that they were alive and well. They had expected the hero to slap them and then kiss them happily. But this…this had going on for months and the hero wasn’t one bit happier than before.

“I’m sorry. I keep telling you and I keep showing you. I am sorry.”

“Sometimes ‘sorry’ doesn’t cut it,” the hero said. They wiped tears out of their face, desperate to appear strong, as so often. It slowly occurred to the villain how wrong it was to think the hero would be happy to see them. Losing someone meant suffering. And the hero had suffered enough in their life. If their suffering was for nothing, then what even was the point?

“I love you,” the villain said softly. “I love you. And even if you hate me, I don’t want you to be in pain anymore. I had my reasons to fake my death but I realise that those reasons were not worth more than you. I am here, you are here. We’re both okay and I am not going anywhere.”

They walked up to their enemy and despite the tears and the sobbing, the hero let them take their hand and put one arm around their hips to stabilise them.

“I hate you,” the hero muttered, still weeping. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…”

The villain looked down at them and wiped the tears away with their thumb. Seeing the hero like this pulled at their heartstrings without mercy.

“I know. I’m sorry, my love. I know I hurt you. I don’t ask for your forgiveness, I only ask for your well-being.”

Gentle fingers ghosted over the hero’s ribs, pressing into the flesh softly until the hero had to sob. The villain pulled their hand back quickly and their conclusion was drawn.

“Your ribs are broken,” they said but the hero didn’t seem to listen. Instead, they put their head on the villain’s shoulder, sobbing quietly as they twisted the fabric of the villain’s suit in their hand. “I’m sorry.”

The villain’s voice was soft but they knew they would start crying soon as well. God, they had messed up. They had been so stupid and so incredibly foolish…

“My love, what else hurts?”

The hero shook their head.

“Who did this to you?”

Shaking, again.

“Can we talk about this at your place?” It used to be their place. Their place together.

The hero nodded weakly.

#writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request

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isa-ghost · 1 month

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amfmn missa.. p please.. please mother … feed us

I'M BEING ENABLED PPOVERHEAT

He's an actual grim reaper. That's where he's disappeared to so often in canon, reaper duties. It's a very demanding job, you know.

Doesn't stop him from feeling terrible about being gone so often though. He misses his husband and kids and hates how often he's out of the loop :(

Fr though Phil and the kids make him so so happy after spending countless hours working such a sad job. It's also partially why he sings and makes art. That brand of fun is catharsis for the soul.

He has all his canon weapons but I ALSO gave him a reaper deathscythe. And boy is he gonna use it. Fucking AWOOGA MissaSinfonia when he's angry.

Btw as a reaper he can FEEL souls. He can see their power, their condition, feel the surface level emotions and personality of its owner. This will come in handy later in the fic. ;)

As per the post I made asking for Missa appreciation so I can characterize him properly: He's undyingly loyal, he fights hard and loves even harder, he's protective, silly, and goddamn can he flirt.

All his wet cat behavior is a result of getting too overwhelmed by The Horrors. He's seen A Lot as a reaper. But somehow Quesadilla Island and all its... Everything. Always manage to show him a new brand of What The Fuck he's never even imagined before. Hence all his screaming and weeping when he's caught up on what he's missed. Like how tf else is he supposed to react??

Somewhat attached to that, he and Phil rlly were a match made in Federation Heaven bc they both have issues with self-doubt despite being insanely skilled and sharp-witted. Missa is better abt it than Phil though. His only acts up when he messes up a lot or just. Doesn't have a clue how to handle a situation where it's dire that he does. It's more of an insecurity about being unprepared and failing his loved ones than it is a doubt he has skill. He KNOWS he does, he hates when it's not enough. That's how he differs from Phil, who thinks he has none at all.

Btw when you fuck with the people he's protective over, he gets PISSED. We're getting a LOT of pissed off Missa in AMFMN <3 Ofc there'll be a lot of reaper tears too, his husband is suffering and there's little he can do about it. :( But ohohoho when the sad turns into rage. BARK WOOF. Eventually he decides EK is catching these hands and scythe.

He also shakes hands with his husband on being a self-sacrificing little shit. And. Yeah this is gonna happen later in the fic. (He's not dying dw dw)

You have no idea how excited I am that I basically get to build his dynamics with Fit, Etoiles, and Bagi from scratch. I'm so hyped. People are welcome to reply with this with any crumbs we have of their dynamics in canon but afaik they've rarely interacted outside of very minor moments, so AMFMN will largely be a sandbox for me to establish what I THINK they'd be like. Which in my fic plan so far, is largely taking each character's personality and applying how I think they'd react to a situation, and how that would look when two of them are interacting in that situation. Ex: at one point Etoiles has to comfort Missa bc he's just having a ROUGH time with this saving Phil stuff. But Etoiles is NOT a comfort guy. So he does his Etoiles thing: hearing Missa out while also cracking his usual brand of jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

I also have a plot point planned with him and Bagi when shit is hitting the fan the hardest and OUUGHHH. That self-sacrificing shit am I right.

God I'm being so mean to him specifically in AMFMN though. Ender King is a sack of shit, he knows exactly who to harass most using Phil's body >:/

See in my AMFMN Fitza headcanons, I said they're each other's confidants. Which IS true. However, no one in the fic gets the honor of Phil FINALLY communicating with someone about his issues other than his husband. Missa is the person he caves and confesses things to. Missa gets the HC Deity lore and what's been happening to him lately. This is actually what Chapter 3 is :D

Also I am so sorry but I'm sliding a Missa Romantic Love Confession attempt into the fic and it gets interrupted by The Horrors. But yeah Missa is romantically in love with Phil, he just respects that Phil sees things platonically. He still wants to communicate his feelings though.

#qsmp #qsmp pissa #pissa #qsmp philza #qsmp missa #AMFMN things #deathduo #qsmp deathduo

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onskepa · 8 months

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I've watched recently and literally fell in love with the movie.

I was thinking about a neteyam x fem!maleficient!reader. Reader has a broken wing and is found in the forest by neteyam, she's scared by his big frame and tries to runs away (reader and her kind being smaller than the humans) but he catches her and helps her with her wing. Like it would be super cute to see them together.

Helloooooooooo~!! This is a unique idea, and hopefully this turns out as good as I had in my head. Enjoy~!!

Pt2

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Once upon a dream

The forest was unusually quiet, too quiet. Neteyam looks around finding a good target to hunt, but no animal was in sight. No noise was made. It worried neteyam. A bit creeped out.

Slowly making his way, arrow and bow in hand ready to strike any threat. He observes his surroundings, trying to make since of the sudden silence. He doesn't sense any danger but still, anything could happen.

But the deeper he goes, he notices there are many Atokirina floating, many are everywhere. Forming some type of....protection. Protecting what? Following them, in a clearing he sees....something.

in the middle of the grass, what he saw was two giant beautiful black wings. Wings that he has never seen before. One looked to be moving, in a swaying motion but the other looked bad in a awkward angle.

His ears moved at the sounds of weeping. Slowly getting closer, he takes a full view. A young girl, small, possibly smaller than a average sky demon. And two things coming out of her head.

Setting his weapons down, he slowly reaches to the young girl, gently touching her shoulder. The girl in question gasped and backed away in fear. She turns to face neteyam, pain and fear paints her face as tears continue to fall from her eyes.

"I wont hurt you, I promise" neteyam says in english. Raising his hands as means to prove he isn't a danger to the girl. The girl sniffed a bit, carefully observing neteyam. She didn't get closer but calmed down just a tiny bit.

"Do you know what I am saying? Can you speak?" neteyam asks slowly, hoping the girl understands. Nervously, the girl does. "I...I do..b-but please leave me alone!!" she begs as she moves away. But one of her wings was being dragged, making her yell out in pain.

Neteyam gets closer but the girl screams and tries to kick him away. "p-please don't come near me!!", fresh tears fall from her pretty eyes once more. "please, you are injured, let me help you. I promise I only want to help" neteyam looks straight into the girls eyes, feeling nothing but sincere honestly and worry. The girl looks at him, and says "my wing...it hurts so much!!" her voice cracks as she gently touches her injured wing, to show blood seeping out, a few feathers falling.

If there wasn't blood or pain, neteyam would have admired the beauty of her wings. He has never seen anything like it before. Never seen a girl like her before.

Carefully observing the injuring, neteyam takes out his small sack of medical herbs and tools, having a tshahik for a family relative has its benefits.

"I'm going to help you. I will try to treat your injury, it will hurt but if it gets too much tell me. Do you understand?" neteyam says slowly and gently. The girl nods, not saying much anymore.

Using a bit of water from the near by pond, he washes away the blood, making the girl hisses and flinch from the stinging pain. Neteyam wishes to take away her pain, but miracles can only work so much. Using a large leaf and using the paste of the medical herbs, slowly he places it on the wound.

"ow....!! it hurts!" the girl whimpered out, hugging herself for comfort. "I'm sorry, I will try to make this quick" neteyam reassures. "can you tell me your name..?" he asks, trying to distract her from the pain she is feeling. The girl looks at him briefly and asks a question herself.

"Is this forest your home?", she looks around, looking at eat plant and little creatures. Neteyam smiles a bit proudly, "yes, this part of the forest is of omatikaya territory, we are not that far from my village". The girl hums a bit absent mindedly. "So...you have a home?" she asks a bit quietly, sounded a bit hesitant to ask.

Neteyam nods, "do you have one?" he asks as he gently wraps the wound. Again the girl stays silent for a moment. "Once...but its gone" she says with a longing in her sweet voice.

"There, its bandaged, I did my best, I am no healer. Try not to use your...wing so much" the boy informs. Carefully folding the wing to her back, the girls sits up more proper before standing up. "Thank you. For tending to my wound" she says. A slight happiness was hinted.

Dusting off the dirt, she takes a deep breathe. Neteyam looks at her full, taking in her image. She is very pleasing to look at, despite her odd traits and human like features, is very beautiful.

"who...or...what are you? I have never seen anyone like you before" neteyam asks. The girl didn't seem offended, but slightly shrugged. "What I am exactly, the name is long gone but...I am what you can call...a fairy. The name of my clan has disappeared centuries ago".

Netayam understands her, his people was often attacked but they stand strong and never forgotten. To lose a name is to lose a piece of your identity.

Admiring the girls wings, they were truly otherworldly. Black yet so beautiful. His fingers twitch, itching to caress the feathers. To feel the texture and take in the details.

"your wings....they are beautiful" he compliments. The girl blushes, her voice trapped inside, not knowing what to say. "What...are those on your head?" neteyam points out her horns.

"My horns, part of my defense mechanism and helps me detect things from high above or far away" she explains.

With every detail of her, neteyam cant help but be more intrigued. He wants to get to know her, she was like a breathe of fresh air. One he wants to hold on just a bit longer.

"and your name...?" he asks.

The girl smiles softly, and says her name.

Aaaaaaaaaaand that is it for this one! I hope you all liked it! until next time! see ya!

#avatar #avatar the way of water #na'vi x reader #na'vi avatar #avatar 2 #neteyam x oc #neteyam fluff #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam #maleficent #fairy #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you

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