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darkenedurge · 6 months

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𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐭.

A/N : i’ve been wanting to write rolan for so long idk why it took me forever but AGH here we are i <3 tieflings

Rolan's head is reeling. Thoughts, realisations, spinning within the cavern of his skull. Lorroakan, gone. And, he owes thanks yet again to his 'valiant' hero. To which, he raises his head – lips, parting to speak.

Yet, not even a breath escapes him – not before he's barrelling backward into a bookshelf, hands grasping at his robes, and lips upon his own. Her lips. The lips he'd dreamed of for so long, lips he'd yearned for – yet so painfully denied himself.

Her tongue isn't patient, as impatient as she, winding its way into his mouth with a soft noise of satisfaction. In turn, he whines, hands reaching to grapple at any part of her he could blindly reach – clawing at her hips, drawing her nearer.

She rolls her hips into his, arousal coiling within his abdomen, and he has to muster all that he has to break for air – instantaneous in his mourning at the loss of her lips, her taste.

"What are you.. doing..?" Is all he can manage, in a panted breath, a string of saliva still connecting them – his gaze, hazy with desire, as he peers at her through half-lidded eyes.

"Something I should've done a long time ago," She replies, blunt, simple. Her hand brushes a strand of hair back, away from his face, touch uncharacteristically gentle in comparison to what he'd just witnessed – "I really like you, Rolan."

He almost laughs. In fact, no, he does laugh – a small, quiet huff of amusement. "I think we've established that," He quips, snarky as ever, "But for what it's worth, I like you too. A lot."

A brief pause. His eyes dart from corner to corner. Flitting between bloodshed, books and..

Her companions are nowhere to be found. To that, he internally, mentally, breathes a loud, genuine sigh of relief. She notices, a coy smile playing at her lips, her fingers dipping beneath his robes – fingertips cold, against the harshness of his warmth, bumping over the ridges that decorated his skin. Rolan feels a shiver crawl up his spine, eyes fluttering to a momentary close, as a shaking, uneven breath ghosts past his lips.

“So, are we going to finish what we started?” Comes her voice, Gods her voice, once more – the words purred against his ear, her teeth grazing his skin. He’s unable to swallow the whimper that fights its way out, chest notably heaving, “My ears are s– ahh.. sensitive..”

She hums, hand seeking purchase in his underwear, but lingering just above the waistband – awaiting consent. “I assumed as much,” She murmurs, “Elven ears are only the same..”

“So, I’m your first tiefling?” He asks, voice dipping to a low, rasping hum, as he guides her hand to his cock – hips stuttering as her hand began teasing, languid strokes, thumb paying mind to the ridges that adorned his shaft – alongside bitterly teasing the tip with clear intent. He moans. Pitched, and unrestrained.

“First, and last.” Is her reply, brows knitted in concentration as she peers down at her own working hand, wrist expertly twisting, earning further, mewling whines from Rolan’s mouth.

Rolan’s own, fickle, fantasies paled in comparison to the reality that had now so graciously dawned upon him, his thighs tensing with every pump of her fist.

“So sensitive,” She muses, and his hands grapple for the bookshelf behind him, “I wonder if your tail is the same..”

“Don’t–!” Rolan gasps, but his fragile warning is cast upon deaf ears, her spare hand already pinching the tip of his tail between her thumb and forefinger. He yelps, spilling over her hand with trembling of his thighs.

“Oh,” Her tongue swipes over her fingers, before they sink into her mouth, tasting his seed – “Very sensitive.”

The after-shock of Rolan’s orgasm blurs his vision, whirls his head. So much so that he hardly, if at all, processes her movements – the disappearing of his tail, within the caverns of her mouth, slick with saliva. It’s not until her cheeks hollow, and a spasm of pleasure writhes through him, earning a waned whimper from the back of his throat. “Don’t– I can’t, I– too sss–sensitive..”

Rolan tugs, his tail pleading for exit – her jaw falls slack, brows arched in question. He has to catch his breath, and he does so; though, incredibly unsteadily. Meekly.

“I’m sorry,” His hands, without forewarning, toy with her armour – a silent begging for her to be rid of it, bloodshed and all, “I can’t cum again, not unless it’s inside of you.” She blinks, still and unprepared for the first time since the mere moments ago that their encounter started. Her senses, however, are swift in their return – and she peels off piece after piece, revealing every curve; every freckle, every shred of skin that Rolan could only have ever dreamed of touching, tasting.

Rolan’s robes are much less hassle, and to a silent God he offers his thanks for it. Stripped bare in front of one another, silence offers it’s blanket. It’s her, who moves first, fingertips dancing from his shoulders, right down to his knuckles. He notices the faintest of smiles playing at her lips, adoring in its nature. With a swallowed breath, Rolan outlines her waist, her hips, thighs, ass, with his hands.

“You’re warm,” She states, softly. He hums, and with a sharp pull on his behalf – their bodies are pressed flush. Wordlessly, she’s lead backward – thighs hitting the edge of something hard, sharp, earning an expel of air from her mouth. A desk. Lorroakan’s desk.

With a grunt of effort, she was splayed before him – upon the wood of the desk, his tail wound around her leg, spreading her open with gentle encouragement. His fingers press to her lips, and she understands – tongue swirling, wetting them. With a ‘pop!’, the digits are released – sinking impatiently into her pleading, begging cunt. Rolan gasps, her cunt hot, and tight around his fingers, as they slid, in, out, in, out. He curls them, and her head is thrown back. Thumb, paying mind to her neglected bud, circling it.

“So wet,” He murmurs, not toward her in particular – more so, a thought that had accidentally been uttered aloud. Regardless, he doesn’t regret it. No, her reply only makes him wish he’d said more.

“Because it’s you, Rolan.” She whines.

Gods, he couldn’t wait anymore. She groans, at the absence of his fingers, and he shushes her. “So greedy,” He mewls, “Even when you’re about to get exactly what you want.”

The inside of her greets his cock far differently in comparison to that of his fingers. She clenches, near immediately, and blissfully so. His hips are steady at first, cautious. Until they’re not, her hands finding his in an act of desperation, as his hips piston at an impossible pace – her hips rolling in tandem with his harsh, needy thrusts. Lewd sounds encapsulate the room, skin against skin, raw noises ripped equally from both of their throats. It’s heaven, if such a place truly exists.

Delirious, Rolan barely registers, notices, the premature arrival of his orgasm crawling up his spine, strumming his nerves. A guttural, cracked moan is yanked from his mouth, and he spills inside of her – eyes blown wide. “I’m sorry,” His nose, buries in the crook of her neck, “M’sorry.”

He feels the shaking of her head, light and affectionate, against him. “It’s alright,” A kiss, tender as its pressed to his hair, “I wanted you to.. I’m yours now.”

“Mine.” The word, singular, is spoken through a hidden smile.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate iii #rolan x tav #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #rolan #tav x rolan #bg3 smut #bg3 x reader #rolan x reader #elf tav

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satoruhour · 7 months

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POCKET P*SSY!

a/n: idk where this came from. tagging @nc-vb @papersirens @crysugu

wc: 2.8k

warnings: fem!reader, m! masturbation (two scenes), use of fleshlight, unspoken feelings, reader listening in on nanami, f! masturbation, brief clit stimulation & fingering, pet names, ambiguous ending, n*sfw under the cut

nanami kento was an organised, work-oriented man. he submits his sorcerer reports on time, he reports to work right at nine in the morning and clocks out at six o’ clock sharp, his office is prim and proper with all things where they should be and his (various) suits are always pressed and clean, smelling like sandalwood.

so why was the sight of you so compelling and striking that he swears he can hear his heartbeat through the freshly ironed blue button-up shirt? when you’d come to his office in the school to pass him his morning coffee — which wasn’t forced, you did find yourself heading to the café more and more — and the times when you’d engage in simple conversation with him about bread and gojo (negatively).

it was always a breeze to be around you, a fresh air from the intricacies of being a sorcerer. the violence, the bloodshed, the fatigue. but it’s so much of fresh air that sometimes he wonders why he chokes on his words and feels out of breath whenever he talks to you.

nanami has unwillingly checked his phone for the umpteenth time whilst doing his report, glancing over ever so often just to make sure you wouldn’t cancel on that friday drinking outing you proposed to go on with shoko. gojo was undeniably left out of the picture because of his tolerance and the two were the best drinkers in town, but he just wished he could work out the courage to ask you to be alone with you.

but nanami valued his sanity and heart. he wouldn’t know what he would do if he ever lost you to a curse even though you could hold your own, and the amount of sorcerers who are sent out just to die never deserved any of it. but if they didn’t do it, who will?

it’s question after question that’s mixed in with thoughts of you as he stays focused on the blinking cursor of the word document. appear. disappear. appear. disappear. nanami finds that he can’t think of anything else to say in this dumb report, staring blankly yet again at the annoying flickering cursor that reminds him that this was far from done. he glances down to the first drawer of his office table, the brass lock drawing him in. he thinks that he’s not ready.

just as he wants to type his next word with newfound determination, you’re barging through the door with a loud “nanami!”, a big grin plastered on your face with shoko under your arm, trying not to fall under your intoxicating happiness. god knows why you’re so happy, and if he didn’t know better he would think you were already drunk.

“she just got news that her holiday was approved,” shoko nods as she takes a drag from her cig, blowing the smoke into the office.

“please do not blow secondhand smoke into this room, shoko.” nanami’s monotonous voice cuts through the air like a knife and you would think it’s a reprimand, but both of you know the 7:3 sorcerer is just like that.

“why so boring . .” you tsk, a skip to your step when you round the table and peek at the work, and nanami has to ignore the bounce of your breasts under your outfit and the proximity in which you lowered yourself to. he tries to subtly take in your scent, not listening to your question under you wave a hand in front of him and nanami has to break away from his fantasy of you riding him while your tits bounced in his face. filthy.

“nanami? it’s already 6:02, i thought you violently rejected overtime?”

he clears his throat, catching the brief, sly glance of shoko before he turns to you, “y-yes. i do. just give me half n’ hour, ladies, and we can head over to the bar right after.” he didn’t even realise the clock had already striked 6.

shoko puffs out more smoke to nanami’s dismay, “what the hell do you need half n’ hour for?”

“just to clean up this report, promise.” he mutters, pushing up his reading glasses, “i’ll get it done as soon as possible.”

“oh? the great nanami kento doing overtime?” you giggle, reaching over to type a little cheeky “:)” into the word document before waving goodbye a little dazedly as you walk out behind shoko. the pace at which your heart raced matches the man inside at seeing him in his clear, dad glasses.

“you are down bad, girl.”

“shush!” you swat at her arm and all she responds is with smoke in your face that she laughs and you just huff, heading off back to the morgue where she felt most at home.

nanami never did submit the report on time. he was given a reluctant extension. what was he doing? anything but the report, instead locking the door to his office and lying awkwardly on his office sofa, that was cleverly placed behind a partition wall. it took a bit of discipline — he typed a few words, deleted them, typed some more and realised they didn’t make sense and by now it’s 6:15. he takes one glance to the locked door and to the partition and down to his hard-on with that familiar feeling in his stomach. it’s been long since he’s jerked off, and sure, he has done it mindlessly just to calm the morning wood but it’s been long since he’s gotten aroused by someone.

the man palms himself through his pants, imagining it was your dainty hands instead, a soft groan leaving his lips at the feeling. his pants have never felt this tight, throbbing and just begging to be released as he slowly fishes it out. nanami was big, a pretty little curve to his cock with a tip that’s leaking pre-cum, and he strokes at it, a shaky breath leaving his mouth that it sounds pathetic. here he was, in his own office sofa fully clothed, with one leg digging into the floor and the other propped onto the armrest.

“f-fuck . .” he swears lowly and starts setting a pace, conjuring up your face as you bob your head over his length while you play with yourself. “right there—”

nanami whines, unintelligible words muttered out as he pumped his cock. he spits into his palm and continues his ministrations with the most lewd noises that have never graced his office before. so many thoughts of you occupy his mind, you fucking yourself back onto him, how sweet your pussy would taste, the sort of sounds you’d make, how you’d feel around him — nanami cums with a quiet, strained groan, hips lifting off the sofa as he spurts his cum all over his suit, and he doesn’t care, too lost in the feeling as he squeezes his eyes shut. the idea of giving you a creampie sounds too good at the moment, how much cum he’d shoot into you, how he’ll watch it drip out—

“fuck my life.” he simply murmurs when he sees the translucent liquid settle in, and yet nanami doesn’t regret it one bit.

the next week is torment. it was particularly difficult, especially after the moodiness you possessed after getting one worded answers from nanami at the bar. he couldn’t even hold eye contact with you, how rude! he was also gone for quite a bit once, coming out of the bathroom all sweaty and out of breath and you wondered if he found a cursed spirit in the sketchy, dingy restroom of the club.

“relax. a thousand yen he’s just stressed out by . . external factors at the moment.”

“but he’s nanami! if anything, that man is internalising all that’s stressing him out,” you groaned into your hands, “also why are we betting on my love life?”

“it’s fun.” shoko defends herself with two hands when you point a finger at her; you go back to your sulking stage soon enough. she merely settles for a hand on your back. “but you’re not wrong. this is just, a little different.”

you only can sink further into your hands when you recall how nanami pulls uncomfortably at his tie, a distraught expression on his face when you asked if he wanted another round of drinks. the avoided eye contact, the conversation mainly existing between them, it was all you needed to know about his feelings of you. the coffees and hangouts meant nothing, and yet you were so clueless at how you’ve awoken something entirely new for nanami that he’s cumming thrice a day just at the thought of you.

another day, another report to fill in. he had dealt with a first-grade curse this time, the casualties, brutal and infrastructure was severely destroyed. it was going to be a hell of a word count, he notes, but what he doesn’t want happening, or rather, the unavoidable, happens. his mind drifts back to you again and everything that you stood for, of your blinding smile and kind gestures. you knew how he liked the right amount of sugar in his coffees and the right place to massage when his upper back was hurting. there was many times he was sure you both had crossed the line of co-workers and lovers, but it was never spoken or defined.

it was a grey area, he admits. tethering along the lines that he wasn’t even sure was there any more: a gaze held longer than usual, a brush of your hand on his, the not-so-secretive glance at your ass, the quick gaze from his eyes to his crotch when gojo makes a dirty joke. it was already between the lines, yet none of you wanted to act on it.

nanami groans into his hands, taking one more look to that locked drawer, thinking it would magically unlock itself and he wouldn’t have to go though the torture of submitting to his desires and unlocking it like a sex-crazed man in the victorian era after seeing a woman’s ankles. it was humbling. but his mind seems to have a different plan, descending into fantasies that he would rather take to the grave than let gojo pry out of him and he shoots up, fumbling for the key hidden under his documents.

within a second, nanami unlocks it and lets out a breath and takes out a box — a hilarious (at the time) but stupid, stupid thing (it was a fleshlight) he let gojo talk him into buying while they were both drunk. but the more he looks at it, the more he wishes to feel your walls around him and his bulge is not going down. he takes out the fleshlight eagerly, looking at it with wide eyes before he swallows and nanami feels like a teenager again.

his heart pounds when he removes his pants. his laptop, open with his undone report and him standing wide-stanced in front of his desk like a loser and his underwear pulled down just enough for his cock to spring up, you would think he was an alien from another planet. nanami does away with all rationale when he slaps his tip along the pocket pussy, thinking it was yours before his tip slips in and he gasps. the sorcerer stumbles forward and he has to rest a hand on his office chair.

“gojo, you fucking dick,” nanami hates that he’s enjoying it. “haah . . shit—”

he pushes it down his shaft and the instant pleasure is prominent. soon, nanami is moving the fleshlight over his cock, walking with unplanned steps to the sofa. he falls into it easily, hands still pumping the device along his dick and he already wants to cum from the tightness.

“fuuck . . baby,” there are soft pants that leave his mouth, the device already filling up with all of his pre-cum. the slick noises that dominate the room is loud. nanami is too far gone in this, hips thrusting up into the fleshlight with all his might as he imagines it’s you straddling him instead. biting down on his fist does little, sure he was drawing blood from how hard he was sinking his teeth into the skin there. the way he slips inside feels so much better than his hand, and yet there was something missing — your sounds, the sight of your pussy. he needed to know he’s making you feel good. he cums with a cry of your name and mixed in profanities, pelvis basically rutting into the pussy as he shoots his load deep inside.

and it doesn’t end there for nanami — like a deranged man, he’s grabbing his cushions and stuffing the pocket pussy in between it and the sofa, dragging his tip along the silicone clit. this shit was embarrassing, fucking something fake just so he can simulate the fantasy of being in you, but it felt fucking divine, so much so that the soft “nanami?” doesn’t even reach his ears. he reenters the pocket pussy, body hunched over the sofa as he presses down on the couch cushion and wishing it was your lower back.

the long, loud groan nanami lets out sends a straight chill to your core and you hear it before you see it. you think maybe your chances are ruined, he has someone else and the dancing around each other was done just for fun, but you think a little peek wouldn’t help. your self care sessions are getting a little boring anyway.

the gasp doesn’t reach his ears either when you glance around the partition and you get the sight of your life: nanami thrusting into the sofa while still fully clothed, eyes closed and expression pulled into pleasure. you’re torn between arousal, modesty and relief and despite all that you still listen out for how turned on he was, the gross, dirty sounds of him rutting into something and yet you don’t know what. but you decide to play it safe, flipping back around to rest your back against the walled partition, hand reaching up your skirt and into your panties.

“(y/n) . . baby, g’na cum—”

your eyes widen, your jaw drops but your hand on your clit never stops, rubbing in time with his thrusts as your other hand is probably making marks on your face by how hard you were trying to stop your moans from coming out. you’re already so wet that your ministrations are all messy and smeared, drawing haphazard circles just for a taste of that high as you soak and soak your panties.

“baby, baby, baby . . o-oh—” you swear under your breath, because who knew nanami kento could sound so damn good? you’re continuing the assault on your pussy, going past your clit and into your entrance and you wish it was his cock instead, but instead he’s fucking a pocket pussy imagining it’s you. too bad you don’t know that. “gonna cum in y-you—”

there’s a little crack in his voice and you involuntarily let out a soft moan and the movements are halted all of a sudden. in your panic, your foot spreads and the bottom of your shoe grazes against the wooden floor and your presence is fully made known, now.

“hello?” man, what the fuck? now they’re really not going to answer. nanami sifts through the possibilities: it couldn’t be any of the men, they know not to interrupt nanami when he’s working. shoko would only for alcohol . . you? you dig a deeper grave by making an incoherent noise in your throat and that’s when nanami’s fear really settles in. he wasn’t hallucinating anything — there really was someone calling out to him the first time and the gasp and now the little moan? but nanami has anything but luck, not being able to catch the person because you’re booking it out of there immediately, not exactly quiet due to the clicks of your heels and you want to go back into that exact grave to die.

you can hear and feel your heart in your throat, back lined with sweat more than it would be when fighting a curse. whilst, there was only one thing on your mind that slowly induces you into a downward spiral; he called your name, your name, your god-given name, the people address you by, he called—

standing by the little zen garden of the tokyo school, you can feel your clit throb and the breath taken out of you as the vision replays again and again in your head and you think yourself stupid for running out of there. but before you can turn back, gojo’s approaching with a big, shit-eating grin on his face and waves to you (“yaga told me to come get you, you’re not busy, are you?”).

swallowing, all you can do is shake your head, but not before you spare a last glance to nanami’s door which is now closed shut. you hear a click.

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento x you #jjk thirsts #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen x you #nanami headcanons #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami smut #jjk nanami smut

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spdrwdw · 2 months

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hi! I saw ur post abt accidentally deleting reqs and was scared since mine wasn’t answered yet (im not complaining bc ur other work is so so delicious to read 😍) anyways here it is. Ok imagine Miguel ohara being the heir to the mafia ‘throne(?)’ ima be so fr idk what they call it 💀 anyways and he’s in an arranged marriage w/ a girl from a diff mafia family as a way to make peace between the two families, except neither he or the girl are happy abt it. Enemies to lovers would just be majestic for the plot in my opinion 🤭. Anywaysssss thank u sm and remember to drink water 🫶🏻

Art by: Kimmy_art0912 Pairing: Mob Boss Miguel x Wife reader Warnings: Mentions of blood, very mild violence, no use of y/n Summary: You and Miguel come from different mafia families, forced to be married in order to form an alliance as threat from an outside. However, you and Miguel can only tolerate each other, at best. A/N: I swear I scratched and rewrote this like five different times.I am sorry it took so long. I am slowly making my way back into writing. I do thank anon and everyone else for their patience as I slowly make my way back to life and I will be writing more Miguel fics soon. I may do a part two to this, depending on interest recieved. I have been getting into mafia books so I am going to be looking into those for inspo if I do make more parts to this. Also, very very light editing was done. Word Count: 4.6k

Your family and the O’Hara’s have been enemies since your ancestors set foot into this country. Both immigrating from nothing but the clothes on their backs and pennies to their name.

Your family started working in the food industry. Working in restaurants, bakeries, etc. Anything that had to do with food. Seven days a week. Working from twelve to fourteen hour shifts just to make ends meet. Your great great grandfather worked at the local deli as well as a restaurant. When he wasn’t cutting up meat, he was in the kitchen making food. Your great great grandmother worked at the neighborhood bakery as well as the tailors. Her dream was to make clothes- dresses. She wanted to be a fashion designer. She started taking classes at the local college once they saved up enough money to invest in her studies.

Eventually, with their hard work and sacrifices, their dreams came true. Your family soon owned several restaurants as well as luxury boutiques. Everyone did their part in keeping the family businesses growing and going.

At first, it was all simply honest work. Your family stayed humble and grateful for their dedication. Then, with your great grandfather, things took a slight turn. He wanted to expand and turn into construction. Nueva York continued to go and grow, with more people coming to try to make a living and a name for themselves. And in that mix, people with bad intentions also tagged along. The family businesses were in jeopardy of being taken over or shut down completely by these power-hungry thugs. He did not want that. So, he and the rest of the family banded together and began hiring people who would be willing to work for them and protect them, whether they were military vets, criminals, or even cops. Anyone who was willing to protect the family.

Allyship with other mafia families also aided in the growth and protection. However, there was one family that yours always butted heads with.

The O’Haras. They immigrated from Ireland around the same time your great great grandparents did. They built their own businesses, casinos, hotels, and clubs- and wanted their own power and a spot with the elites of the criminal world.

At first, things were neutral between the two families. At one point, the two families were almost allies. However, one night, there was commotion going on at one of the O’Hara nightclubs. Members of your family got into a tussle with the O’Hara group and ended up being a blood bath, with both sides losing men.

Ever since then, things were tense, and the bloodshed continued to grow as oppositions rose.

No one really knew what it was that started the feud that night. Some suspected it had been over a woman. Others thought it was simply because some members were drunk and careless words were exchanged.

Either way, the rivalry continued on. Until a new threat entered the city. And there was no choice but to come together.

—

It’s been six months since you moved into his house. Six months since you lost your freedom. Six months since you got married. To Miguel O’Hara.

It all happened in an instant. First, you were out abroad, having recently gotten your first major job as a fashion designer in a luxury clothing company, wanting to be as successful as your great great grandmother, and now you were out on a little vacation to celebrate, when you received a call from your father, ordering you to come back home.

You should’ve relished that Mediterranean breeze as long as you could, because once you got on that flight back home, your world was about to be flipped on its head.

“I’m sorry…WHAT?!” You screeched at your father, you only looked at you with his calm, cool, distant, expression as he inhaled into his cigar.

“You’re getting married to Miguel O’Hara,” he repeated.

“I heard what you said! But, why?!”

“The O’Haras had agreed to a truce. Kingpin is gaining on both of our families. We are losing men and traction left and right. We agreed by aligning our families together, we will gain strength in numbers and influence.”

“And you are shipping me off into an arranged marriage! This isn’t the medieval age or whatever!

Plus, with Miguel?! At least have me marry Gabriel. He’s not an asshole like his brother.”

“Miguel is to become head of the O’Hara family as he is the first born. Plus, his determination has been promising.”

You let out a groan. You could not believe this was happening. You never wanted to get sucked into this life. That’s why you went off to college. To try to get away and make a life of your own. Your efforts were proven to be futile as you felt the rug be pulled from under you and you were being dragged along with it to the same life you were trying to escape.

Your father’s eyes softened. A hint of sorrow filled them.

“I know, sweetheart. This isn’t what I was hoping for you, either. But, it is the only way. We are running out of options. I am sure Miguel will take care of you, and you will be able to fulfill your dream of following your great great grandmother’s footsteps. I am sure she would be proud to have someone actively expanding her fashion legacy..”

You still shook your head. It was just too much for you to take in. Plus, wasn’t Miguel in a relationship with someone? Xina? No..they broke up months ago. That’s right. But, wait..he was seeing someone else? Ugh. The guy has a new girlfriend every other day.

Besides, you two did have a thing going on in the past. It wasn’t serious. Mainly the occasional hookups. You two were of rivaling families, after all. You both did have your reasons for disliking each other. So, the sex was pretty much hate sex? If that made sense. It wasn’t out of passion. Unless you could call hatred a passion.

Never did you think you’d actually be getting married to him.

After the news broke out that you and Miguel were to be wedded, everything went by in such a blur. Preparations for the wedding. The actual wedding. The honeymoon- which was hardly a honeymoon because neither of you actually spent any time together. It was just too awkward, and you knew that he wasn’t happy with this arrangement as much as you were.

When you first moved into his house, you wanted to sleep in a separate room from him, and he agreed. However, when both of your parents found out about this, they were all livid.

“How will you two get to know each other more and become intimate with each other if you are sleeping in separate beds?” Your mom cried one day when she came to visit you. You assured her there would be other situations where you and your husband would bond. Public situations where you’d be surrounded by other people and talking to those people rather than each other.

You two simply avoided each other as much as possible. And during the times when you two were together, your company was either met with silence or bickering. And sometimes even being at each other’s throats.

He would call you names like ‘immature’ ‘wild’ ‘rowdy’ and so on, simply because you refused to listen to him whenever he demanded something from you.

You’d retaliate and tell him that he was controlling and a perfectionist. Because well, he was. He had to have things done a certain way or it would ensue chaos. And while he was right about you being a little more rowdy and wild, it was simply because you had the luxury of growing somewhat more normal. Your parents did not drill the life of the mafia into your head the same way it was drilled into Miguel’s. Which is why you both clashed when trying to communicate with each other.

Right now, you were at home in the library. You spend a lot of time there, and while Miguel’s taste in reading wasn’t usually to your taste, you’d sometimes find yourself reading some of the novels that he was currently reading, as well as reading some that you’ve been purchasing and adding to the collection.

Which reminded you, you had to head over to the mall and purchase the next book of a spicy romance series you’d been reading. As well as look for an outfit to wear at the next charity event you and Miguel would be attending.

One of the few things you liked about Miguel was that he was very generous and active in the community, helping those less fortunate.

Placing the book down, you rubbed your bag and keys and decided to head out for a bit. Saying goodbye to the house staff as you walked past them, you made your way to the garage, which housed Miguel’s collection of cars, ranging from vintage to sporty and modern to big black suvs that you’d use whenever a bodyguard was transporting you somewhere, like parties. You never understood why someone needed so many cars but, whatever, as long as it wasn’t your money being spent.

You made your way over to your car, glad that you were able to bring it with you when you got married. It was your baby. One of the few things you were able to bring with you.

Glancing over at the clock on the dashboard, you bit your bottom lip. You should have enough time to purchase some books before heading off to your parents for a bit. You did promise them you would show up. They were planning lunch for you. It was your birthday today, after all.

—

Miguel stood in front of the battered man that kneeled before him, hearing the groaning of pain coming from their mouth as blood pooled around the cement floor.

Miguel’s knuckles were bleeding. But, it wasn’t his own blood, but the blood of the poor bastard that withered before him. Miguel didn’t like to use violence. He thought it was a primitive way of negotiating with his enemies. However, there were times when a little violence was necessary to get his point across. And to send a message.

Why was this man being battered like a sack of potatoes?

The man spat blood, a tooth or two flying out with the glob of blood as he remained strapped to his chair. His face was covered in blood. Beat up and mangled by the hands of the tall, brooding man before him.

Miguel slowly knelt down before the man, taking a fistful of his hair, forcing him to look up into his almost amber eyes.

“ Eres un demonio! (You're a demon). Not even the devil himself will want you!” the man spat, a glob of blood landing on Miguel’s cheek.

Miguel let out a hum of disinterest. His eyes lacked any life in them. However, this was when he felt the most alive, seeing his enemies cowering and crumbling before him.

He took out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and cleaned the blood from his cheek before tossing the now soiled material at the man’s feet.

“I take that as a compliment, you know. Maybe I want the devil himself to fear me.”

Miguel took out a cigar from his coat pocket and lit it before giving it a deep inhale and exhaled a heavy cloud of smoke at the man’s face. He couldn't believe that one of Kingpin's goons had infiltrated his circle and posed himself as someone who could've been trusted. Miguel was definitely going to send that fat son of a bitch a message, by killing this guy and sending his corpse back to Kingpin's front door.

Not only that, but it also meant that they were going to have to redo background checks on everyone working for the O’Haras. That was going to be a pain in the ass.

"Gabriel! Hand me my gun," Miguel called out to his brother.

Gabriel, Peter, and Ben were all standing several feet behind Miguel, all watching as their boss beat and battered the man before them.

Gabriel was Miguel’s right hand now that their father had stepped down as head of the O’Hara family. Many thought Gabriel was going to take charge, however, Miguel was much more brutal and cut-throat than Gabriel. It made sense for Miguel to take up the mantle, despite him being an illegitimate son.

Plus, Gabriel preferred being on the sidelines instead of making the decisions.

Gabriel made his way over to his older brother, handing him the gun before stepping back to his original spot.

“Now. We can do this the easy way. Where I ask you a couple of questions and answer them. Or, we can do this the hard way, when I ask you said questions and if you refuse to answer them, I get to shoot you anywhere I want.”

”I would rather you just shoot me! I will never answer to you!” The man croaked.

“You never got shot before, have you?” Miguel hummed as he removed the safety from the gun and cocked it before pulling the trigger, shooting the man on the foot.

The man let out a screeching howl as he thrashed on the chair, letting out a series of curses.

Miguel simply nodded his head. “That’s what I thought. So..shall we begin?”

The whole ordeal took only a matter of minutes, as Miguel wasted no time in trying to get his questions answered. The man was not sitting lifeless on the chair as bullet holes decorated his body.

Kingpin had sent a lower ranked grunt to spy on them, trying to scope up any valuable information to report back to his true boss. Unfortunately for Kingpin, those in the lower ranks didn’t really get to be part of the action and behind-closed door discussions, so, this man’s life was unnecessarily wasted.

“Send his body back to Kingpin. Just leave him on his doorstep,” Miguel said as he examined his suit, letting out a grunt when he saw small splatters of blood. He was going to have to go home and change. “Will do. You should start heading back home. I am sure you wife is waiting for you,” Gabriel said as Peter and Ben began placing the body into a black body bag and carried him out to the waiting pick-up truck.

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t hate you, but he knew that you hated him. And you had every right. You got married to him out of force, and while that wasn’t necessarily his fault, he didn’t blame you for holding a grudge on him.

“Keep me posted on any activity. I need updated background checks on everyone working for us. We can’t let anyone else slip through the cracks,” Miguel stated as he made his way over to his car, with his brother following behind him. Gabriel nodded his head as he watched his brother leave.

He had to make sure no on in his inner circle was actually working for Kingpin. Is someone indeed was, might as well just shut everything down then and there.

No. Miguel wouldn’t give up just like that. He would just have to work harder and steer Kingpin off track.

But, for the time being, his main goal was to get back home and get to his wife. It was your birthday, after all.

–

You spent the majority of the day with your parents. You had gone over to your former home- which you still miss deeply. It was such a stark contrast from where you lived now. There was just so much character, so much history in this house. It was the same house your great great grandfather had bought as a gift to his lovely wife, your great great grandmother, once their businesses were booming.

It had twelve bedrooms and sixteen bathrooms. A library where your mother would take you to read. When you were young, you’d pick out a book for your mother to read to you in bed. Mainly a fairy tale story.

You always thought your life would be a fairy tale. You always imagined yourself as the princess or heroine, going on adventures and falling in love. However, the universe was not like those in the stories. Maybe in an alternate universe. But, not in this one.

Instead, you were forced to marry the enemy in hopes of forming an alliance. Which, depending on how you looked at it, could’ve been seen as a fairytale. It didn’t feel like it. You weren’t in love with Miguel. You tolerated each other at best. Plus, you guys had shared history which made things pretty awkward at times.

—-

You were back home, waiting for your darling husband to come home and wish you a Happy Birthday. He also supposedly promised to take you out to dinner. It was really an attempt for you two to get somewhat closer together. But, you weren’t sure how well that would play out. You both liked to push each other’s buttons. You were sure it would occur tonight. And honestly, you wouldn’t want to have it any other way. You wanted to be a thorn on his side. He was always so full of himself. Always thought himself to be this bigshot. Untouchable. Unweavered. You loved proving him wrong.

You continued to wait and wait. The house staff had left for the night, including Miss Cheryl, your personally favorite housekeeper. She was an older woman, possibly in her mid-fifties. You never cared to ask her- mainly because you didn’t want to be rude and you actually liked her.

Looking up at the clock in Miguel’s office, you saw that it was already seven thirty in the evening. Reservations were supposedly made for eight. Miguel had thirty minutes to get there.

A part of you didn’t really care if he had forgotten or just waved it off. You didn’t want to force yourself to be nice with him, because who knew, you might just throw a glass of wine at him just as you did during your wedding reception.

You could hear a chime coming from the Alexa that rested on Miguel’s desk, signaling that someone had entered the house.

Finally. You honestly thought he wasn’t going to come.

Raising from his chair, you decided to go ahead and greet your husband.

He was making his way upstairs as you made your way down the hallway, both of you making eye contact.

“You’re late. I thought you weren’t going to come,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

As Miguel stepped closer, you could notice blood splattered on his white shirt.

“I know. Let me get changed real quick,” he replied as he walked past you.

You knew Miguel had a way of dealing with those who wronged him. You have seen his blood-stained knuckles, bloodied shirts and a dangerous look in his eyes. It’s pretty much like in the movies. Some poor unlucky soul gets tortured to death by the boss or someone higher up. You’d like to think that Miguel isn’t simply killing people just because of blood-lust. While it wasn’t your business to judge, you didn’t want to be married to someone who is a little too eager to get blood on his hands.

You made your way to his room, standing by the door as you watched Miguel slip on a fresh pair of pants and button-up shirt, something more suitable for dinner. Once he was finished, he took another look at you, furrowing his brows a bit.

“What?” You questioned.

“What are you wearing?”

“What do you mean ‘what are you wearing’?” You asked, looking down at your dress.

“Don’t you think that’s too revealing?” He asked.

“What? Revealing? Where? Don’t tell me showing a little leg and shoulder is prohibited. Come on! This is the height of fashion right now, as well as demonstrating body positivity.” Miguel simply gave you a look as if in disgust. Not for the body positivity part. But rather your fashion choices. He was aware of your family’s success in the fashion industry. He even applauded it. But, he was also a man with much simpler tastes. Tastes that you would sometimes groan over.

“Well, I’m not changing, so let’s just get going,” you said as you grabbed a shawl to compliment your dress, and to shut Miguel up.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet, save for the music that was playing on the radio. You two had very different music tastes. Not surprising. Sometimes you’d change the station or hook up your phone to Bluetooth. But, you tried to sit back and let him listen to his music this time.

When you two managed to get there, Miguel stopped in front of the valet and got out. The valet driver in-waiting opened the car door for you to help you get out as Miguel rounded the car, handing the keys over to the young man who then took the sleek black suv to the parking garage.

He gave you his arm to take. It had become routine. Show some sort of display of affection while in public. You never knew who could be watching. Sometimes cameras would pop out in front of you two.

The proposal was rushed. The engagement. The wedding. People grew suspicious, and rightfully so. Your families quickly came up with a story of how you and Miguel were seeing each other in secret despite the rivalry of the families. The alleged secrecy of romance and hurried marriage gave you two the the title of Romeo and Juliet. Two star-crossed lovers who went against all odds just to be together despite your families and their differences. But, unlike the story, your ending didn’t result in a double-suicide, but rather acceptance, wedding bells, and peace between the two families. Everyone bought it. Well..almost everyone.

As you two made your way inside and were greeted by the hostess, you were taken to a more secluded area of the restaurant. There, the table had been set up especially for you. A bottle of wine rested over a bed of ice, candles were lit on the table, as well as around the perimeter of your area. It would have been romantic, had you actually had romantic feelings for Miguel.

Still, he was a gentleman and he did go out of his way to reserve a nice place for you.

He pulled a chair out for you to sit and scooted you in before taking his seat across from you. The music from a live pianist in the main dining hall still reached your private area. Had it not been for them, the room would’ve been dead silent as you and Miguel silently looked through your menus.

“Can I pour you a glass of your wine?” A waitress asked onceshe approached your table. She was young. Tall and thin with big blue eyes and blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. And wearing way too much makeup. At least for your tastes.

You could see how she was looking at Miguel, batting her fake eyelashes. You thought they were either going to fall off or send her flying away. Either way, you simply rolled your eyes. You didn’t care if Miguel got hit on, but come on, at least not while you were right there to see.

“Yes, thank you,” Miguel said, giving her a charming smile. It made you roll our eyes again. Yes, he was being polite and all, but you could see right through him.

“Can I offer you both an appetizer to start?” She then asked, still looking over at Miguel.

Miguel then looked over to you, giving you a nod. “Would you like something to start with?”

”Yes, actually. Some bread for the table. they usually bring it out at the beginning,” you started. Which was true. You were just trying to be a little petty.

“And how about some crab cakes and a salad for the table?”

The waitress nodded her head, her smile now a straight line. So straight, you could swipe your card through it like a card reader.

“Yes, of course. I will put those in for you and bring you your bread,” she said before leaving the table.

You simply rolled your eyes once again as you settled back against your seat.

“How was lunch with your family?” Miguel then asked, trying to make conversation.

“It was fine,” you responded. Usually, your responses would be short, and Miguel wouldn’t entertain the topic further. You knew you should at least try to get along with him, giving that you are married and that you will be spending the rest of your life with him. You simply assumed that it just hadn’t kicked in yet. You were going to try, though.

One day.

“Ah, Mr. O’Hara! Mrs. O’Hara! A pleasure to see you two here tonight!” Someone behind you exclaimed. You could hear their heavy footsteps before turning around and seeing the owner and head chef of the restaurant. “Javier. A pleasure to see you,” Miguel said. “We were just celebrating my wife’s birthday.” “Ah! Of course! Happy birthday, Mrs. O’Hara. You look as stunning as ever,” Javier exclaimed. The man was five foot three, a mix of tan to sunburned skin, and all round. He kind of reminded you of the Pillsbury mascot. He looked so squishable and jolly.

“Actually, Javier. Would you mind me having a word with you, real quick?” Miguel then asked, scooted his chair back from the table and stood, easily towering over the man.

“O-oh! O-of cours! Of course! Come, come! Let’s step to the side,” Javier stated, now looking a little nervous as he led Miguel out of the room, leaving you alone.

All while Miguel was having his private conversation with Javier, the waitress came back with the bread and appetizers.

“We are going to need a couple of minutes,” you stated as she placed everything onto the tables.

“Of course! I’ll make my way back around in a few minutes,” the waitress said, giving you a tight-lipped smile.

You tried your best to not roll your eyes at her again as she left. Letting out a sigh, you decided to dig into the bread and appetizers. You sure weren’t going to wait for Miguel to come back to start eating. You never waited for him. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you knew you’d be waiting forever for him.

–

Soon enough, you were back home. You were still slightly curious about the conversation Miguel had with Chef Javier. But, you didn’t think you should press Miguel about it. Some things were meant to be kept in private. Besides, you wanted no part of this whole mafia stuff. It had stolen so much of your freedom already. You wanted to remain ignorant of what goes on behind closed doors as much as possible.

You both made your way upstairs, neither of you speaking as you made your way to your rooms for the night.

Tomorrow you were planning on heading over to the boutique. Your cousin was currently operating it and sometimes you’d go to help her out. It helped you get out of the house every once in a while. Plus, you were usually filled with inspiration when you were surrounded by your family’s clothing. You were still working on your portfolio to give out to various companies, in hopes they would hire you.

You were confident that they would. You were talented. Plus, you have your family’s name to back you up. Now, all you had to do was to make sure you get a good night’s rest so you could get up refreshed.

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel spiderman #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o hara #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfic

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raitonsfw · 2 months

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Idk if people usually ask for this or not, but I'd love to see sfw hc of Gojo and reader first falling in love with each other (sort of like love at first sight/meeting for both of them or smthing). It doesn't matter if it's when they're teenagers or adults 💞

synopsis: a sfw requested variety piece of gojo and reader falling in love - in this case teen!gojo and reader.

warnings: gn!reader, teen!gojo, sorcerer!reader, both are high school students, geto suguru mention, love at first sight, slight talk of violence involving curses, gojo's a bit pretentious (I mean...confident?), he's got a hat on cuz he was playing baseball prior, its short mah bad.

a/n: decided to make this a two-three parter just cuz i wanted to write teenage gojo AND adult gojo... and maybe their life after they get together in a small one shot mayhaps? wc: 600ish. m.list

divider credit: @benkeibear & @firefly-graphics

•┈••✦ your teenage years were nothing short of good luck– the white haired boy staring at you from the other side of the hallway as you tried to master your cursed technique. you were stationed out in the garden area when you felt his eyes on you; practically drinking in your every move with his best friend trying to nudge him out of the way as he had stopped walking right in front of him.

•┈••✦ he just found you so beautiful, completely in awe and he nearly bounced off the walls when he found out your name from geto suguru, the best friend who was just trying to walk down the hallway behind him. apparently you were an exchange student, from one of the sister schools– trying to hone their skills through one of the prodigy students who was supposed to be assigned to you soon.

•┈••✦ you didn’t know who was going to be; you just remember being told it was someone who was destined to be one of the greatest sorcerers of all time, so it got you a bit on edge. the classroom was empty as you waited patiently for the other student and of course, who ends up stumbling late with a backwards baseball cap on?

•┈••✦ gojo satoru — the boy who had ogled at you in the hallway in between the glass separating you two from the space you would take up later in life together.

“Oh, it’s you!”

Your face immediately flushed red as Gojo pointed at you, the baseball falling to the floor as his jaw dropped. It bounced towards you and you caught it in your palm in a light bend, an awkward chuckle leaving you as you stood up to hand it back to him. “I beg your pardon?”

His usual facade — the cocky student that crowded the hallways with nothing but pride spilling from his lips — had collapsed as you approached him; his breath was literally pulled from his lungs as he took in your beauty, his words suddenly feeling like lead on his tongue. You were so much prettier up close in the dewy glow that framed you– golden dripped amongst your features and it made your eyes sparkle as you looked at him, waiting for an answer.

Suguru warned him about this– don’t make the mistake of falling in love. Or else the curses would crawl from the corners of the Earth and take what was his, bloodshed within the sharp edges of their teeth– but he was Satoru Gojo. He could handle a million curses with his stained hands if it meant he could get you to love him sincerely– or maybe just go out on a date with him?

You had noticed his eyes were brighter than you mistook through the paneled glass of the school back in the garden and it made you incredibly flustered as he basically stared you down. You knew of his clan, of everything that made him a Gojo– but you didn’t expect his eyes to be almost glowing within the midst of the breaking daylight.

Suddenly his hand wrapped around the baseball, brushing it against your own as he plucked it from you. You swore that the clouds had stopped moving outside as you looked down at your hand absentmindedly, then back to the baseball as he threw it in the air.

You made the mistake of looking back up into his eyes that held you hostage– taking in everything that he had to offer you. His smile had you almost falling to your knees, complete with a coy endeavor as he decided to dodge your empty question, his slick demeanor taunting you because he wasn’t like this seconds ago.

“Your technique needs work. But I’m here to help you.” A flash of his perfect teeth and a wink that shrouded the blue depth of the vividness, you knew right then and there you had to make him yours.

“I’m Satoru. Don’t bother calling me by my surname– it’ll be yours soon.”

a/n: wanna get tagged in future writing posts? join my taglist!

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seancekitsch · 24 days

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Hello! Here’s the fic idea I commented earlier, sorry if I sent it the wrong place the first time 😅.

This is my first time asking but what if you did a fic where Lucifer gets startled by the reader (if you do that sorta thing) while he’s working on a duck or smth and his wings pop out and the reader (again, idk if you do that, maybe another character?) teasingly touches his wings and he gets really flustered because ✨sensitive wing trope✨ and whatever happens after that is purely up to interpretation and yeahhhh, that’s my fic idea! :3

hey dont worry! i know im prone to losing track of things i just wanted to make sure i didnt lose it :)

Curiosity has been killing you all day. It started with the chipper mood Lucifer had walked into his work shop with, and only increased when you started to hear the noise of tinkering tools. He’d cheerfully told you not to let anyone disturb him today, which, was a welcome change from the gloomy way he used to drag himself to this same workshop. With the way you’d have to drag him out to eat, the way you’d have to pretend you couldn’t hear him mumbling to himself through the door. It was easier for Lucifer if you pretended that you didn’t know about what he was going through, so you did just that, and he rewarded you with his loyalty and generosity, and dare you say it: his companionship. Being his assistant for the past few years, you’d seen a change in him the more time he spent with his daughter. It was nice. This is the happiest you’ve seen him in a long time, and the curiosity is killing you.

The sounds of a drill, the sounds of hammering, the sounds of clinking metal drift out from the door to where you’re sat, a plush lounger where you get to turn away any uninvited guests (thought there never are any). This isn’t the typical soundscape you hear when Lucifer has a new duck idea. You stop scrolling Sinstagram, throwing your phone onto the cushion as the nagging thought to check on him finally consumes you.

You push open the door carefully, the sounds of tinkering growing louder.

“Hello?” you ask, “Luce?”

No answer. Then you spot him, his coat haphazardly thrown to the side, working on the table near the window hunched over and in full focus.

“Hey?” you call again, your voice just loud enough to carry across the workshop space.

Lucifer jerks up from the desk he’s hunched over, clearly having not heard your knocking before entering. He knocks his hip into the edge of it, jostling all of his tools, clanking together. Your calling out to him seems to start a chain reaction, one that ends with a carving tool hitting the ground and three sets of wings suddenly sprouting from already designated holes from your boss’ burgundy velvet waistcoat.

Holy shit. You haven’t seen him like this since… well, extermination day. And sure, other demons have wings, but his are magnificent, in a way that even made you give pause to admire them amongst the bloodshed of that day. You shoulder slump, awestruck at the demon in front of you. Your feet seem to move of their own accord, crossing the space between you and your boss.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Lucifer’s shoulders sag, relaxing as he realizes its just you, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

You shake your head, a smile spreading across your lips.

“I should have been louder,” you offer, and step closer, admiring his wings still not retracted. Lucifer relaxes too, smiling at the welcome intrusion.

“So what brings you into workshop today, huh?” He asks, and then falters, “Not that uh— not that I’m not happy you’re in here it’s just uh— you know, you don’t usually…”

“I got curious,” you answer, cutting off any rambling he’s going to do. Lucifer has been rambling a lot more often lately. So unsure of himself, it’s sweet.

You reach out, fingertips brushing against the tips of crimson red feathers.

“Haven’t seen these in a while,” you muse, rubbing your thumb across the top of one wing. They’re softer than you expected them to be, rich luxe down that you’d expect of the worlds most expensive pillow. Your eyes follow them to where they lead back into his waistcoat, connecting to his back. What would his bare back look like?

A groan interrupts your thoughts, and glancing to Lucifer’s face, his teeth are bared. Oh shit. What a fucking mistake.

“I’m sorry, Sir! I hope I didn’t hurt you I didn’t-” you yank your hand back as if its been burned, fear spreading like ice in your veins that you’d irreconcilably fucked this up and maybe now you’re out of a job and you’d never be able to see him again, stuck finding work with the Vees or even worse.

Lucifer inhales sharply, and then sighs.

“No, no please don’t be sorry,” he reaches out for you, as if he’s scared too. His gloved hands cradle your hand, the one that dared to touch his wing.

“You didn’t hurt me,” he assures you, a sheepish smile spreading across his features, just alabaster cheeks growing red as he keeps talking, “My wings are, well, they’re… sensitive?”

His voice rises as if he’s questioning himself in his own explanation. It takes you a moment, searching the King of Hell’s face for an answer before it hits you, almost taking the wind out of your chest. Oh, you realize. That was not a groan of pain. Fuck, this is awkward.

“Oh I’m,” you pause, are you sorry? “I’m sorry.”

Lucifer searches your face, his mouth falling into a frown.

“No! Please, don’t be. Stop apologizing,” Luficer’s hands start pulling yours, beckoning you closer to him again. You comply, stepping back into his personal space. Lucifer places your hand back onto his wing, smiling again.

“I liked it,” he tells you, smile starting to melt into a smirk. Your hand travels along the top of the wing, smoothing out any feathers out of their spot. Lucifer shudders as your hand moves, a sigh leaving his lips.

Emboldened, you keep going, running your nails along them, down between feathers.

Lucifer reacts… exquisitely. His hands shoot out to grip your hips, fingers digging into you. He starts panting, the blush growing across his skin.

“Been a while since you’ve been touched like this, huh, Sir?” you ask, pushing your luck. Lucifer nods as he lets his forehead fall against your shoulder. He moans into the side of your neck as he wraps himself further around you.

“What were you making?” you ask him, finally remembering what you even came in here for. Though, this seems better than the original reason; With you quickly feeling yourself go weak at the sound of the noices falling from Lucifer’s lips and the feeling of his hot breath fanning out along your neck.

“Fuck,” he pants, “Gift for you.”

His hands start wandering, moving from your hips to your waist and back down, just short of coming around to cup your ass. You would let him if he did.

“For little old me?” you tease him, though internally, you could scream. It touches deep inside of you that he’d think of you like that enough to make you something.

“Mmm, of course,” he hums, nuzzling his face closer into your neck. His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him as your nails rake through his wing, the two of you pressed together in desperate intimacy.

Your breath hitches when his knee knocks between your own.

“Th- thank you, Sir,” you whisper, your voice airy and far away.

Lucifer chuckles against your skin, his grasp on you tightening.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he says, “I’ve got another gift for you if you want it.”

You don’t need to be a genius to read between the lines of what he means. Hell, now you see it. What a charmer.

“Oh yeah?” you challenge him, your free hand coming up to touch the buttons of his waistcoat. Lucifer pulls back, his pupils blown wide as he looks at you like a prize to be won.

"Get on the table and I'll show you," he says.

And then it's like you can't move fast enough.

#lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader

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comfortless · 8 days

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to the anon who was talking about konig and the rule following intention thing: i love you. he seems cheeky like that. BUT i will also climb that big man and start strangling him if he entertained or led on the recruit.

idk, maybe its my rabies, but i would start whacking him grgrgrgrg. wrangle him till he acts right!!!!! (whatever that means)

i also love that anon! 🤭

Being instructed to “act right” for König is more or less the same as following any order at work. “Shoot that target.” is the very same as “Don’t glare at a stranger.” The differences between the König at home and the König on the field are subtle things. No bloodshed and rewards in the form of tenderness and orgasms instead. He’s less rigid, less focused, but still a soldier, the strangest one at that.

Everything is taken as directly as possible, because he’s not going to question any hidden meaning behind words. That’s silly. He always says just what he means, so shouldn’t everyone else?

There’s a lot he just doesn’t get, and your jealousy happens to be one of those things.

He would kill for you, lets you graze your fingertips over his favorite weapons, allows you to hold his face and even pretends that your staring doesn’t make his fingers twitch and sweat bead at his temples. König is loyal and so trusting with you… how dare you accuse him of worshipping some other woman in the same way? How could you even believe that?

Say you, his beloved, put together the pieces, realize that surely this woman is messaging your König during his leave for a reason. There’s an argument to be had, one that’s less of a screaming fit and more of a break down from both sides. You tell him through gritted teeth and tears that you know your intuition isn’t wrong: he’s done something, you just aren’t certain what that something is. There’s no outright accusation spoken, but his face immediately grows red and his eyes narrow.

It’s not that he even cares to question why you would think that way. He just wants to know where he’s failed. What is it that you need that he’s not already providing? He takes an awful picture of his cock each time he’s hard and away from you, even follows it up with one of the aftermath of thinking of you. No other woman makes him feel so starved.

He knows he isn’t very romantic; you would probably prefer actual dates instead of watching him train or following along like a cute accessory at the gym. But he brings you flowers, licks your cunt without hesitation, buys you feminine products and chocolate any time that you’re in need of them. Sure, each picnic date ends with your chest pressed against a sturdy tree or your thighs spread atop the patterned blanket, but the confessions hissed into your hair are true. It’s never just been sex, not to him. It’s love, and that’s one word he never seems to shy away from saying. He’s greedy, wouldn’t want something so simple, not after every moment you’ve spent together.

König might not get why you’re so into some new trend or show, but he listens when you talk about them. Or tries, at least. Really, he had no idea why you would bother explaining to him why you prefer a dress with wiry straps over something cozier when he arrives home, but he’s happy to just listen to your voice and shush you with kisses when he doesn’t know how else to respond.

You’re allowed access to his phone any time you like, even shows you his bank account to prove he hasn’t taken some lady a world away off on some expensive shopping trip or spent a curious amount at a pharmacy. In fact…. He’s barely spent anything while away, all of the transactions are from the last time he was on leave or at that cute little shop he had told you about and brought you home some shiny new gift from. There’s nothing suspicious to be found… except for those messages from the woman he tells you is just a recruit.

So… what if you’re just projecting?

To him, his own jealousy is righteous.

König almost looks scary when he’s upset, not that he would ever lay a hand on you. Maybe the coffee table will be in disarray, cleared entirely when the thought of you leaving proves to be far too much. His shirt suffers a few massive tears when he grips at his chest to show you just where you’re hurting him.

You may not have outright accused him, but König can’t hold his tongue when he asks you about this imaginary other man. Is he handsome? Does he buy you nice things? Does he make you come hard? How did you meet and just where does he live? Do you love him…?

König would try his utmost to hold back tears. He feels weak when he cries, and the last thing he wants is for you to view him as fragile. He’s supposed to protect you.

But it’s all gone in a flash. His entire being seems to relax when you explain to him that there is no other man. The unshed tears are wiped away, a heavy sigh leaves him when he rubs at his face. He feels like the worst idiot just stood there blinking in surprise while you’re still pissed, but at least that scenario proves to be untrue.

You just want to understand why he’s entertaining some other woman’s flirtations. Is that what telling some recruit she’s got sharp aim and allowing her to grasp at his arm and admire his muscles is..? He will admit that maybe he’s allowed her too much closeness, even if he never has and never will return her affections.

It baffles him entirely for a moment, slows his tongue enough to have a grin curl at his lips. It’s the most flattering thing in the entire world to think that you desire him so much that the thought of sharing makes you like this. The realization that maybe you’re just as territorial as he is is impossibly cute, makes him twice as obnoxious and overbearing when you’re pulled into his arms.

His voice takes an amused lilt when he asks you just what you want him to do about it. Cut her off? He’ll avoid her entirely if it appeases you. He doesn’t want to hurt a woman that isn’t an actual enemy, so killing her is certainly out of the question, but he can be scary if you would like that. She wouldn’t like him as much if she saw his face. He would remind you that only a silly thing like yourself could ever be keen on it. Your orders are absolute, so long as he still gets a treat in the end.

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tteodoroki · 1 year

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the dragon’s devotion [zhongli x creator!reader]

cw: obsessive themes, cult themes, religious themes, slight yandere themes I guess, not beta read we die like Makoto

notes: I just love the concept of Zhongli being the Creator’s most devoted follower. Idk why but it gives Gomez Addams in an unhealthy way tbh.

There is an old tale in Liyue, one that parents pass down to their children. It’s a story of love, of a being that tamed a wild beast. One where a proud dragon kneeled before his own God and in return, found love.

The Dragon’s Devotion.

That’s what the Liyue citizens called it, and it’s the name of the play that is put on every year during the Lantern Rite festival. Songs can be heard of this tale from Mt. Aozang all the way to Liyue Harbor, a true testament of the adoration and reverence that blossomed between two ancient beings. It started years before the Archon War, before the seven nations were even created. Morax, the God of Geo, and the [Y/N], the Divine Creator. In his youth, he was arrogant and insatiable, hungry for war and bloodshed. Until you descended Teyvat one day, where the Lord of Geo found you in what is now known as Luhua Pool, bathing in the crystal clear waters. It is said that your beauty and divinity brought him to his knees, where the proud God worshipped you and begged for your forgiveness for his arrogance and brash ways. Being the Divine Creator, you simply smiled and told him that you cherished and loved him. A bond was formed that day, one that soothed the beast inside the young God.

That’s the story that the public knows, anyway. You, however, are familiar with a much different, a more twisted story.

The basis of the story that today’s Liyue citizens are most familiar with is true to some extent. You did meet Morax in Luhua Pool, and he did beg for forgiveness. But you didn’t fall in love with him, at least not in the way everyone believes. That’s the version that the mortals of Teyvat like to believe in. Morax, one of the eldest and strongest Archons to exist. A proud man with an unshakeable faith, has been your most devoted follower ever since he took his first breath in Teyvat. He held you close to his heart. Everything he did, was to honor you. Even the actions he took during the Archon War, in his mind it was all done in your name. Every life taken and drop of blood spilled was for you, his beloved. His Creator.

“My Morax,” You whisper softly, your hand reaching forward to gently caress the Archon’s face. Morax knelt before you, his polearm laying at your feet. It reeked of death, the gold blade stained with the blood of your people. Your heart ached, mourning the countless lives that were lost. “What have you done?” Your voice trembles, eyes full of sorrow. Morax brings his gaze to look at you, his heart shattering at the look in your eyes. Was this not what you wanted? To be worshipped as you rightfully deserved? To be honored?

“This was all for you, my love.” He said, his golden eyes looking up at you with complete adoration. But you can see past that. In his eyes, you can see his true feelings. It’s not reverence or adoration or even love; it’s an obsession. In your naivety, you failed to see the truth in the beginning of your relationship, his growing obsession. The spark in his eyes was no longer there, in its place was a roaring fire that could not be quelled.

“Your obsession is clouding your judgement.” You say, moving your hand from his face. Morax watches your every movement with bated breath. Would you punish him for his transgressions? He will gladly take whatever you decided to do to him. In his mind, he deserved it for upsetting you. You pick up the polearm from the ground, the weight heavy and unfamiliar in your hands. You made this for him, your beloved Morax. It was supposed to protect the mortals of Teyvat, not destroy them. What was supposed to be a symbol of strength was soaked in the blood of your people.

“Punish me however you see fit, my love.” Morax says, golden hues watching you carefully as you look over the weapon you so carefully crafted him. Would you impale him with his own weapon? A fitting punishment, truly.

“No matter what you do, I could never harm you, my dear Morax.” You smile sadly, dropping the polearm to the ground. There was an ache in your chest, something akin to loss and grief. But at the root of it was anger. Not at Morax or any of the other Gods, but at yourself. This could have all been avoided if you didn’t descend to Teyvat. You would never have awoken this darkness inside of your beloved Morax if you stayed out of the mortal world.

“I fear that I have spent too much time here, in Teyvat.” You say, turning your back to the God of Geo in favor of gazing at the scenery below you. Beautiful glazed lilies bloomed around your feet, and you could faintly hear the rush of a nearby stream. You would miss this, you would miss your creations.

“What are you saying, my love?” There was an edge to Morax’s voice, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he sounded almost broken. The irony, really. The great Morax, the God of War, crumbling before you at the mere thought of you no longer gracing him with your presence.

“My time on Teyvat has come to an end. I have spent too much time in the mortal world.” You say, your voice as soft as the petals of the glazed lilies in front of you. You would miss the pleasures of gathering silk flowers and violet grass. Maybe in a few millennia you would visit again, and hopefully all of this could be forgotten.

“My love, please, don’t.” Morax pleads. He’s now standing at his full height, but compared to you he feels minuscule and insignificant. He tenderly grasps your hand with his, moving so he’s standing directly in front of you. His golden eyes, the ones that shine like the brightest cor lapis, stare at you in desperation. It’s a silent plea, begging you to stay in Teyvat, to stay with him.

You look at Morax, giving him a soft yet sad smile. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him, but you knew if you stayed with him, his obsession, his darkness would only consume him even more. If you stayed, you would be the cause of his destruction, and you couldn’t bear to watch your dear Morax destroy himself.

“Whatever it is you wish for, I swear to Celestia I will make it happen. I swear I will see it done, just please, stay with me.” There’s a desperation in his voice, panic, almost. Despite the urge that you have to wrap your arms around your beloved Morax, you hold strong. You have made up your mind, and you will leave the mortal world once more.

“My dear Morax, this is the one thing that you cannot give me.” You say, your fingers reaching out to cup his face one last time. He leans into your touch, golden eyes full of sadness.

“I will descend to Teyvat in the future if Celestia allows it. But for now, I just have but one request.”

“Anything.”

“Use your power to guide the mortals. No more bloodshed, I do not think my heart can take anymore.” You sigh, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“As you wish.” He nods. You give Morax a soft smile before leaning forward and kissing your beloved Morax once more. As painful as it was to leave, you knew you had to. You weren’t all knowing, and you didn’t have the gift of foresight, but you could sense that if you stayed, something sinister would consume your beloved Morax. In the end, this was for his safety and well-being just as it was for the rest of the people of Teyvat.

But little did you forget the main characteristic of a dragon; they never let go of what’s theirs.

#genshin impact #sagau #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #morax #rex lapis #zhongli #zhongli x reader #morax x reader

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