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greycaelum · 1 year

Note

imagine past/young gojo and reader go into the future and meet the future gojo and reader with the kids and shi

Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds and Mochi Chapters: { Sweet Things }

—Gojo Satoru X Wife Reader

𑁍 Synopsis:

2016... The paycheck you got yesterday was dated 2010. "This is crazy..." Is this even possible? Your knees faltered, staggering back as you reread the paper. You have fallen into the wrong timeline. Did the curse have so much power to send you far to the present? How are you gonna go back?

𑁍 Genre: fluff, time-leap

𑁍 WC/CW/TW: (1.4k)—/ glimpse of teen Satoru, teen reader, the reader got sucked in a curse's domain, clingy Satoru—/

𑁍 A/N: For some reason, there seems to be a number that likes this trope (I have two more of the same request in the inbox). This is not my forte, so sorry for the very long wait dear. I'll post the next part in Satoru's POV. This will be a three-shot I guess.

"Neh, can you fight?" A 19-year-old Satoru held his breath as he asks the girl he's been wanting to talk to for years now. "I can train you," he added.

"No, but if you do that stunt again I'm gonna knee you where the sun doesn't shine." You smiled sweetly at the male, contrasting with the blank look in your eyes.

Satoru's heart only shivered. Please, you have to stop being so adorable it's making his heart go batshit pounding.

"Yaga-san, I'm going. Please wire my payment to the usual account." You bowed at the older male chanting to let down a curtain. You move to get out before the partition touched the ground.

"Oi!" Satoru almost choked on himself watching you turn your back on him. Not so fast pretty girl. Not when he's spent years looking at you from afar. He stopped you and handed over the blue folding umbrella.

"Sorry about that, I'm Gojo Satoru, and take this. It's going to rain," Satoru smiled and reach for your hand, depositing the umbrella before you could reply, and ran back into the curtain. He bit his lips, grinning to himself so badly he feels like he wants to roll on the ground. Damn it! You're just so cute. Seconds later small droplets started to fall.

That was how you "first" met the annoying but thoughtful menace. But little did you know...

Little by little he meets you more frequently in the missions, being a window, you're the first in the scene before the managers and sorcerers arrive. And it was supposed to be a normal mission and the sorcerers were just a bit late when you got entangled in the domain, with no way out. Just when your eyes are fully engulfed in the bottomless pit, a dash of white hair rushes forward and a shout called you.

"Y/n! Wake up, hey grab on me!" A crisp profanity flew out of the rude mouth. You swam into consciousness and gasped for oxygen.

You thought you're gonna die. That wasn't the first time you put down a curtain for a special grade curse but it sure will be the closest you get to dying. The curse messes up space and time. After regaining your breath, your eyes fluttered open and met the thick foliage of trees staring back at you.

The sound of loud children nearby occupied your hearing as you swam into full consciousness. This is Jujutsu Tech's grounds, the scenery is familiar but you don't know where it will lead since Master Tengen's barrier changes every day leading to different kinds of places to keep intruders from invading the school.

You started walking until you find yourself at the door of the mountain, towards the city. You look down at your dirty clothes and sighed. Perhaps getting a shower first makes sense. You hailed a cab and gave your address.

"!?"

The three-story building you're living in is nowhere and it was replaced by a fancy-looking cafe.

Les Sucreries

"What is going on?" You remember walking up and going out of your apartment this morning. You can't be in the wrong place since the ice cream parlor you love is right in front and a few blocks is the cafe you are working on part-time.

"Ah, Miss. If you'd like please check out this flier it's time-limited so make sure to drop your entry!" A lad skip up to you and extended a flier then ran away.

Free Bouquet for the first three visitors... Fleur-de-Lis Bouquets. Only until July 27, 2016...

2016...

The paycheck you got yesterday was dated 2010.

"This is crazy..." Is this even possible?

Your knees faltered, staggering back as you reread the paper. You have fallen into the wrong timeline. Did the curse have so much power to send you far to the present? How are you gonna go back?

If in 2016 your apartment is not there anymore... Does that mean you finally got to buy your own house? What course did you take in college? Did you finally get a decent boyfriend?

A blush rose to your face. Why of all things did you have to think of that? You should first find a way home before worrying about that. Maybe going back to Jujutsu Tech will help. You started walking in the direction of the college.

The cafe door opened and a lady in a barista's apron peeked outside. The baby she's carrying on her hip calmed down when she walked out of the cafe.

"Did you see someone we know Kou-chan?" The lady chuckled as she tickled her baby boy with striking white hair while he tried to babble and pointed his chubby finger at the lady walking away.

"Mama..."

"Mnn? Mama's right here sweetheart."

Ahhh, this is crazy. The Tokyo of 2010 and Tokyo of 2016 look so alike and not at the same time.

You walked and walked and stopped.

That striking white hair that stands out of the crowd, lanky figure, and cool minty scent. The man is walking on the other side of the road and stopped on the red lights.

"Gojo?"

Your hands immediately flew to cover your mouth. He's wearing a weird white bandage over his eyes and his hair is fluffed up by the constricting cloth. But it's him! He looks just a 'bit' more handsome and mature...

Shit! You smacked your head. This is not the time for those thoughts.

And you'd never admit it to him or else his ego will gloat and you won't hear the end of it. Sometimes you wonder if ever someone has duct taped his mouth because he's so noisy and annoying.

Anyways, you can't help but trail after Gojo. Surely he'll help you if you just approach him. Everyone says he has a bad personality but when you first met him, he may sound condescending yet he ran after you to give you an umbrella because it was going to rain. That was thoughtful of him.

He's not that so bad... You thought and sighed. He may have the answer on how you could come back home. But at the same time, you're a little curious about how he turned out 6 years later. Just a little curious. After you're satisfied you'll approach him!

Come to think of it... Is he married? He should be 24 right now... It's quite young to be married yet but knowing that he came from the Gojo Clan and on top he's the heir it's not surprising if he already has an arranged marriage partner.

What does she look like? She must have a very unique curse technique and be from a prestigious clan.

Argh! Stop thinking about that Y/n. I need to go home. You steeled your thoughts.

Mustering up your courage you ran to the nearest pedestrian line and ran after Gojo but he walks damn fast.

"Damn, those lanky legs." You panted and look around only to realize you're back to where you were before.

Les Sucreries

That's French... The name fits Gojo very much.

What is he doing here? Overcame by curiosity, you entered the cafe and sat on the farthest table. Will he recognize you?

That was when a woman came down the stairs, wearing a plain brown apron. She didn't notice you because she was focused on the man leaning on the stairs. The man was Gojo.

And the woman... was you...?

Your jaw dropped and took another look at the woman's face. It's definitely you!

It's just that your hair is longer and your body is more mature. And there's the palpable wedding band on your left ring finger.

But that's definitely "you" standing beside the strongest sorcerer, with his hands wrapped around "your" waist as he tries to sneak a kiss.

W-What happened?

Your heart was pounding and slowly regretted entering the cafe. Not in your wildest dreams did you think this would even be a possibility. I-Is he your h-husband?

So you got married. And not just married!

You're married to Gojo.

What were you thinking?! Ahhhhh! You felt your heart like a dying fish removed from the water. This isn't real... You could feel your soul escaping from your body.

You looked up and blue eyes met you. The same arrogant smirk on his lips and he whispered something to "your" ear and kissed her temples before walking towards your direction. The future "you" went up the stairs, still uninformed that her six years younger self is here.

"You blushing Y/n-chan?" He chimed and sat on the chair across from you, flashing a devilish grin.��"So... how did my lil' teen crush get here?"

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey @lexiene @nevermoresworld

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fuctacles · 3 months

Text

The first one of many

for @stevieweek Day 4: Special Outfit + first dress + fantasy and for @steddiemicrofic "one" G | 1111 | no cw | ren-faire, pre-relationship, transfem Stevie, smitten Eddie | Ao3 Stevie Week: Day 1 | Day 2 (art) | Day 3 (art) | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

"Do you like this one?"

Eddie appears by her side so abruptly, she jumps out of her skin. He smiles apologetically.

"Sorry," he says, but doesn't let himself be distracted. He reaches out to touch the sleeve of the dress Stevie's been eyeing.

It's yellow and white, with a floral pattern and a square neckline. The sleeves are slightly puffy, and the corset can be laced on the front for adjustment. It's one of the flashier ones at the stall, but Eddie wouldn't expect anything less from the girl standing next to him.

He's still surprised she agreed to come with them, to for a few days taste and touch the world her friends love so much. She told him earlier, that she liked everyone's costumes, but it's the first time anything has captured her attention like this.

"Do you want to try it on?" he asks.

"No, that's okay." She shakes her head immediately, but he won't be having it.

"Come on, we're here to have fun, all of us. And if trying on dresses is fun for you, then let's do it!" he encourages her, putting his infectious enthusiasm into the words.

She's still hesitant, but he can tell the garment in front of them is like a siren's call.

"I don't know..."

Dustin bumps into them while eyeing some of the leatherwork displayed nearby, and Eddie holds his breath, hoping it's one of these times his lack of filter is helpful. The boy looks at his friends and the garment they're facing.

"You guys buying a dress?"

"No," says Steve.

"Maybe," says Eddie.

Dustin studies the dress with his judgmental eyes, gaze darting from it to Stevie and back again.

"You should at least try it. It's your color," he says, before walking away.

Eddie turns to his friend triumphantly.

"Well?" he grins. He can see in her eyes that she wants to but is having a hard time admitting it.

"I guess?" she says eventually. "I mean, it's just for fun, right?"

"Of course!" Eddie quickly flags down the seller, before she can change her mind. "Excuse me, good sir! Is there somewhere we can try it on?"

Which ends up with them ushered to the back of the stall, with instructions on how to operate all of the dress's clasps and lacings.

"I'll wait here. Tell me if you need any help," Eddie says before pushing his friend behind the partition, dress in her hand.

He can hear the rustle of fabric behind the heavy curtain, Stevie's clothes dropping heavily to the grass beneath while he's doing his best not to think about her undressing. She's cursing and huffing while pulling on the new dress and it helps to quell his nasty thoughts a bit. And then everything goes silent.

"Stevie?" He frowns. "You alright there?"

"Yeah," she answers, but it's so tiny he can barely hear it.

"Can I come in?"

"Uh-huh."

He pushes the edge of the green fabric aside and slips inside the little alcove. In the tight space, Stevie is staring in a full-body mirror, hands smoothing down her hips, pulling her hair forward, pushing up her breasts.

Eddie finds himself enchanted by her, not for the first time.

"You look beautiful," he says.

"You think so?"

"Yeah. Though, your corset lacing needs some practice." She huffs at that. "Can I?"

The way she turns to face him, full of trust, makes his heart melt and slide down his ribs.

Delicately and trying not to touch her chest, like a true gentleman, he unlaces the corset to tighten it at the waist. Her gasp makes him bite his lip painfully.

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine. You can go a bit tighter."

They work together until her waist and hips make a beautiful curve, and her tiny breasts are pushed up in a flattering way. She seems to be especially fixated on them, on the bit of skin peeking out from the low neckline.

Eddie can share that sentiment.

"Thank you," she whispers once she's facing the mirror again, fingers tracing the newfound shape of her body.

"There's nothing to thank me for, you're just naturally beautiful." Eddie smiles, reaching out to tug her hair forward again, so it falls against the bare skin of her collarbones. The sight makes his mouth go dry so he decides to move his thoughts elsewhere. "I think it's the first time I've seen you in a dress."

Stevie hums.

"That's because I don't have one."

"Huh?"

"I've tried on Nancy's or my mother's, but I don't have one of my own," she clarifies with a shrug.

"That's unthinkable," Eddie declares. "We're getting it." The thought that her first dress could be a nerdy, ren-faire one, makes his stomach flip.

"It's too expensive." She shakes her head, but he can see she's sad about it. "I can get a dress at the mall for a third of this price."

Eddie nods along.

"Yes, you could get a cheap, boring rat mall dress," he agrees. "Or you could buy one of a kind, handmade with passion and care, worthy of a princess."

Watching her cheeks flush is worth the risk of exposing his feelings.

"Where would I even wear it?" she keeps digging her heels in the ground. And, while she has a point...

"Here, for starters. And any other ren-faire I'll take you to just so I can show off how pretty you are."

With the way she looks up at him, she might already know.

He just hopes he has enough money. He pulls out his wallet and Stevie frowns.

"You're not getting it for me."

"Oh, I am." He hopes he is, at least. In a rush of bravery, he smiles to add, "Consider it my first courting gift," and leaves before she can protest.

When he's counting his money and wonders who he can beg for a loan, Dustin approaches him with a wad of cash.

"I saw the price earlier and figured you guys could need it." He smiles with that self-satisfied smirk of his, but for once, Eddie doesn't mind.

He hands the money to the merchant and runs back to Stevie.

"Hey, does it count as a courting gift if the twerps pitched in?" he asks through the partition and is promptly pulled inside.

"Are you serious about the courting?" Stevie asks, with her face so close to Eddie's, he has trouble processing her words.

"Deadly," he whispers, hoping they're on the same page.

"Is there, like, a nerdy ritual I have to follow for it?" she asks.

"Uh, a kiss would be nice," he says. Pleads.

She smiles and leans in.

#stevieweek #stevieweek24 #steddie #mine #cj x stevieweek #stevie harrington #stevierything #transfem stevie harrington #steddie fanfiction #steddie microfic #cj x steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficjuly #steddiemicrofic #steddie fluff #transfeminine steve harrington

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yoonkinii · 3 months

Text

First date with Sukuna!

Warning(s): Minor cursing. Requests open (only for this AU) Masterlist (Check for more AU content!) Note: I apologize for any errors in my writing. I am the only one writing and editing so I may miss a few things that don't belong. Please let me know if you spot any. <3

“You’ve been staring at your phone for like 20 minutes, just text him already.”

Shoko remarked from your bed, flipping through a fashion magazine she found lying around. She had come over for a study session, but it quickly turned into you telling her about getting Sukuna’s number and having no idea how to proceed.

“I can’t.” You whine, cheek pressed against the surface of your low living room table.

Your studio apartment, though compact, was efficiently designed. The entryway doubled as storage, with hidden closets lining the walls and a discreet door on the left revealing the bathroom. The entry all opened into the main living area, where the lines between living room, bedroom, and dining area blurred. A small sofa sat against one wall, accompanied by a flower-shaped coffee table, with a TV hanging on the opposite wall, perfectly positioned for viewing from either the couch or bed.

The right side of the apartment is occupied by your bed, creating a cozy sleeping nook, partially obscured by a tall bookshelf acting as a makeshift partition. The evening sun filtered through the window above the bed, casting gentle shadows on the floor. Sheer curtains adorned the window, more for decoration than privacy since you lived on the fourth floor.

The kitchen, tucked into one corner, was a masterpiece of compact efficiency. It contained the essentials: a stove, microwave, and small fridge. Wooden cabinets above the counter held a few cooking essentials and acted as a pantry.

“What do you even mean by that? You got his number, just text him,” Shoko counters, sitting up from her position on your bed and making her way over to you. She plops down beside and, with a practiced swipe, unlocked your phone.

You hiss, raising your head from the table and narrowing your gaze at her. “I didn’t give you my phone password so you could just go through it whenever.”

“What else am I going to do with your phone?” She replied nonchalantly.

“You are insufferable.”

She hums, her thumb nail lightly grazing her teeth as she deftly types on your phone’s screen. You realize too late what she was doing and lunge for your phone, snatching it out of her grasp.

You gasp, dread filling your insides. “Why did you do that?” you screech, practically flinging your phone back onto the table as if it had burned your hand. You stood up, running your hands through your hair as you pace around the limited space of your apartment. “You just basically screwed me over by sending that text.”

Shoko rolls her eyes, picking up your phone from where you discarded it. “I did not screw you over.” She insisted. “Look, he’s typing.”

Practically tripping over air, you were by Shoko’s side in an instant, staring at the typing bubbles on the screen. A moment later, your phone dinged with a new message- from Sukuna. Shoko grinned, glazing at you. “See? I helped you out.”

“Holy shit,” you muttered, grabbing the phone and staring at the few simple words on your screen.

Your stomach churned with anxiety.

It had taken hours to get ready for this date, even with Shoko’s help. The fact that Sukuna had chosen a three-star Michelin restaurant didn’t ease your nerves- such a place was beyond your wildest dreams. Miraculously, you found something suitable for the occasion buried deep in your closet.

You wore a sleek, off-the-shoulder black dress that hugged your figure perfectly. The sleeves flared slightly at the wrists, adding a touch of elegance without feeling too constricting. The dress’s hemline was on the shorter side, so you paired it with slightly sheer black tights. Completing the outfit were black pumps and a small purse slung over your shoulder, just big enough to hold your phone, wallet, apartment keys, and a few necessities.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm your jittery stomach. The last thing you needed was a bout of nerves ruining your first date with the man of your dreams. Your inexperience with fancy places gnawed on you. What if there were specific forks you had to use? Or a certain way to speak?

Shaking off your nerves as best as you could, you finally stepped into the restaurant. The smooth sounds of jazz- saxophone and piano- immediately enveloped you, creating an atmosphere of refined elegance. The building was bathed in a dim glow, with soft light illuminating from bulbs hanging down from the veiling, reminiscent of a starlit sky.

A hostess appeared before you, exuding an air of professionalism. Dressed in attire reminiscent of a butler’s uniform, complete with white gloves, she greeted you with a polite smile. When you gave her your name, her demeanor shifted slightly; her back tensed, and her eyes widened fractionally before she quickly regained her composure, making you wonder if you had even imagined it.

As you followed the hostess, you took in the restaurant’s decor. White tablecloths covered the tables, each adorned with a lit candle and a bouquet of roses. Booths lined the walls, their half-circle seats echoing the elegance of the freestanding tables. In the center of the room, a dais hosted the musicians whose performance had captivated you to the point that you nearly collided with the hostess when she abruptly stopped.

Stepping back to create some distance, you meet her gaze. She smiles and tilts her head slightly, motioning for you to ascend the staircase you hadn’t noticed before. It was unusual for a restaurant to have a second story, so you didn’t bother paying much attention towards the ceiling. Now, you see a balcony-like area surrounding the walls of the building, offering a view of the first-floor patrons below. Tables similar to those on the ground floor were placed along the second-story banisters.

Ascending the spiral stairs with the hostess following at a respectful distance, you reached the top and the hostess once again took the lead. She guided you past various tables to a secluded booth in a back corner, partially hidden by a sheer black curtain. The dark lighting made the booth hard to spot, adding an air of exclusivity and intimacy to it.

Even in the dim light, you spotted him immediately, his pink hair unmistakable. His back was to you, giving you a few brief moments to take him in before you had to face him. He wore black slack, with the sleeves of his white button-up shirt rolled up to his forearms, revealing more of his intricate tattoos. Two bands of black ink encircled his wrists, their meaning being a mystery to you. You couldn’t dwell on his tattoos any longer as the hostess parted the curtain, gesturing for you to take a seat opposite of Sukuna.

Your palms were sweaty; in fact, you felt a clammy discomfort all over. Biting your bottom lips, you slid into the booth, surprised by how deeply you sank into the cushion.

A low chuckle from across the table snaps you out of your thoughts. Your head jerks up, and you find yourself staring at Sukuna. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone. Your mind goes blank as you take in the exposed skin of his collarbone and chest, revealing a peak of well sculpted muscles.

“You should see the face you’re making right now,” he says, his voice tinged with amusement. He picks up a glass filled with amber liquid, taking a small sip and setting it back down. “I must say, I was quite surprised by how forward you were over text. No greeting or anything, just straight to business.”

Snapping out of your daze, you laugh nervously, your hands fiddling with the hem of your dress under the table. “Sorry about that.” You couldn’t help but apologize, worried that Shoko might have done more harm than good. You barely even knew Sukuna, having only encountered him twice and even those moments were brief.

He hums, leaning back into his seat, his gaze fixed on you. You stare back, wide-eyed and unsure of what to do. His eyes roamed over your body, and he made no effort to hide what was doing. Your skin felt like it was on fire under his scrutiny. A smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

“I never asked, but,” He pauses, his eyes locking onto yours. “How old are you?”

“I’m 25.”

“Oh?” He leans forward, forearms resting on the table. “That’s quite a big age gap between us.”

You couldn’t help the small pout that forms on your lips, your brows knitting together. “If a seven-year age gap is big for you, then I have a few questions. And I thought I made it clear I didn’t care.”

His eyes lit up with something akin to amusement. “So she does have some bite in her.” Sukuna raises a hand, and almost as if he had summoned them, a waiter appeared. Dressed similarly to the hostess, the waiter bowed slightly as Sukuna made a gesture at them. Without a word, a menu was placed before you.

“Thank you,” you offered the waiter as you opened the menu. Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at the prices listed. Everything was outrageously expensive; even a simple salad cost a small fortune. Your heart sank along with your pride.

Guess I’ll have to work overtime for a while, you thought to yourself, your heart breaking slightly at the mere thought of having to work extra hours.

The waiter returned with a glass of water, taking your order after setting down your drink. You cast a curious glance at Sukuna as the waiter took your menu. He never received one and didn’t even look at yours.

“Are you not ordering?” You questioned once the waiter was far enough, worry lacing your tone.

“They already know what I want,” He replied flatly.

Letting out a soft ‘Ah’ of acknowledgment, you settle back against the booth, taking in your surroundings. It’s not every day you find yourself in such an upscale establishment, so you might as well savor the experience.

“I take it this is your first time at a place like this?” His voice draws your attention back to him. His eyes are fixed on you, a brow arched in curiosity.

“God no,” you laugh softly. “I’m in college right now, so there’s no way I could afford places like this.” You admit sheepishly, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What are you studying?”

“Biology.”

“You want to be a doctor?”

You visibly deflate, your hands cradling the chilled glass of water, fingers gently tapping against its surface. “I used to think so, but the deeper I got into my degree, the more I realized how difficult it is. I think I’ll just become a nurse and work for my friend.”

Shoko is determined to become a doctor, claiming she wants to be her own boss and not have to answer to, in her words, ‘stupid old people.’ You wouldn’t mind working under her as one of her nurses. She’s also said she wouldn’t mind it either, so that’s your current goal.

Sukuna hums, nodding thoughtfully.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you study him, taking in his appearance. He arches a brow at your stare, almost daring you to say something. And you do.

“Your piercing.” You begin, pointing to your own eyebrow to mirror his. “Did it hurt really bad?”

“No.”

“No?” You echo, surprised by his response. Even with a high pain tolerance, it still must’ve hurt a little.

“No,” He affirms. “I was shit face drunk when I got them.”

You blink at him. Once. Twice before a laugh you can’t hold back escapes you. Your hand covers your mouth, slightly surprised by your own reaction. Sukuna tuts his lips, a slight frown pulling on his lips.

“Think that's funny, brat?”

You heave out a breath, sighing away to remnants of your laughter. “Hey, I don’t think that warrants being called a brat.”

“Well you are laughing like an immature brat.” He snarls lowly, lips hovering against the rim of his glass as he takes another sip.

“I’m not sure that I'm the immature one. I wasn’t the one that got drunk and pierced their eyebrow.”

Sukunas eyes narrow on you, lips curling into a half-smile. “Cheeky,” He mumbles more to himself.

Talking to Sukuna felt surprisingly easy. Even when the food arrived, the conversation continued to flow smoothly, with you doing most of the talking. It was clear that Sukuna had a slight temper, evident in the way he grumbled to himself when the waiter made a mistake or how his brows knit together in frustration. Once, when the waiter accidentally brought over a drink neither of you ordered, Sukuna dismissed him with a curt “It’s fine,” but you noticed the way his eyes followed the waiter, as if trying to burn holes in his back.

Despite his temper, his annoyance was never directed at you. He listened intently when you spoke, adding his own bits to the conversation. You learned that he got all his ear piercings at once, with the gauges being the most bothersome to take care of. His tattoos came a few years later, taking longer to complete because his tattoo artist wasn’t comfortable doing such a large project in one sitting.

Sukuna also shared that his “dumbass nephew” lived with him, usually bothering him and rarely ever shutting up. Despite Sukuna’s grimace while talking about his nephew, it was clear he cares deeply for him. He shows you photos of Yuji on his phone, from baby pictures to ones from elementary and middle school, grumbling about how Yuji sucked at math in middle school. You could tell that beneath his gruff exterior, Sukuna had a soft spot for his family. Why else would he have so many photos saved on his phone?

Time flew by in an instant, and before you knew it, the check landed on the table. Acting on impulse, you reached for your purse, intending to retrieve your wallet. But before you could even open your purse, the waiter swiftly whisked away the bill.

“Wait-” You called after the retreating waiter, but he didn’t turn back. Sukuna observed you with a bored depression, his temples resting against his propped-up hand. With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly close your purse.

“We could’ve split the bill.” You suggested, eyeing Sukuna across the table.

“Like you could afford it,” he retorted coolly

Your face flushed, lips pressed into a thin line at his comment. Though it rang true, you still felt a twinge of guilt. Who knew how much this dinner had cost, and whether Sukuna could even afford it without consequences.

“When a man pays for your meal, you should really be thanking them more than complaining.” Sukuna remarked.

You fix Sukuna with a hard stare until he sighs at your stubbornness, relenting. “Fine. You can treat me next time.”

Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening slightly at the implication behind his words. A smile spreads across your face involuntarily. “Really?” you repeat, practically beaming with joy. Sukuna rolls his eyes but he couldn’t hide the half-smile beginning to form on his lips. “If I knew you were going to light up like the damn sun, I might have said otherwise.”

You clicked your tongue, letting out a faux laugh. “Ha ha, too late to take it back now.”

Chuckling softly, Sukuna leans back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, looking at you with a hint of sincerity in his eyes.

“No, I guess I can’t.”

Tag List (open):@kalulakunundrum , @fushipurro

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awkwardauthorwrites · 2 years

Text

Violets and Verbena

Word Count: 3k

Themes: fluff

Summary: Two years have passed since the events in Hogwarts Legacy, in which Y/N has drifted away from Sebastian. What happens when she has to spend some time in the hospital wing and he comes to visit?

Warnings: Potential spoilers for HL

Noreen Blainey, hospital matron at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, stood in front of the two witches, holding the curtain partition open slightly and blocking the view of the hospital cot and its owner.

“Someone’s here to see me?” Y/N shared a confused look with Poppy, who sat next to her bedside. “Do you know who it might be?”

“Natty and Garreth both have Charms right now,” she shook her head in confusion. “Maybe it's Amit or Adelaide?”

“I’ll see them,” Y/N agreed, still sounding uncertain. Nurse Blainey nodded once and left, the curtain fluttering closed behind her once more. “I wonder who it could be.”

“Maybe it’s Imelda, come to apologise for knocking you off your broom,” Poppy suggested. Y/N let out a quiet laugh and shook her head.

“You know it was an accident, and she’s already apologised more than enough.”

“Chocolates make for a good apology.”

“I don’t come bearing sweets, but I could come back with some, if you want?” a deep, masculine voice came from the other end of the partition, before Sebastian stepped into view. He fiddled with his robes nervously and gave them both a small smile. “Hi, Y/N…Poppy.”

“Sebastian?” Y/N’s eyebrows shot up slightly in surprise. After everything that had happened in their fifth year Y/N and Sebastian had drifted and stopped talking to one another, with the exception of the occasional hello as they passed each other in the halls. She still spoke to Ominis at times, but they didn’t spend as much time together as they used to. She knew he missed the man that stood in front of her, but wasn’t sure how to approach him after the death of Solomon Sallow. “You know you needn’t bring anything,” she shook her head with a small smile and gestured to the seat next to Poppy. “Come and sit.”

“So there was no need for me to stop and steal these from the gardens?” He produced a small bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back, and Y/N picked out some violets and different colours of verbena clusters among the bunch that would definitely get him into trouble with Mr Moon. Poppy jumped up to get a vase for them, shooting a look at Y/N behind Sebastian’s back as she went.

“These are beautiful, Sebastian. Thank you,” Y/N reached over to squeeze his hand in gratitude as Poppy returned and set them by her bedside. “Are these forget-me-nots? A happy coincidence, or…?” Y/N trailed off slowly and picked out the different flowers she could see.

“You told me they were your favourite once, I hoped they would help cheer you up.”

“How thoughtful of you Sebastian,” Poppy commented lightly. She turned the vase slowly as she took note of the flowers scattered within the bouquet. “Did you know one of the meanings for verbena is protection and healing?” Poppy touched the petals, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she looked over at Sebastian. “Amongst other things.” A faint pink dusted his cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yes, well. The quicker Y/N gets back on her feet, the quicker she can get to doing better than me in almost every class,” he played it off with a nervous chuckle and avoided Y/N’s gaze. “It's getting a little boring being on top.”

“It’s been three lessons,” Y/N laughed quietly and turned to look back at him. “I didn’t think you would miss me so much, Sallow.” Sebastian didn’t have a response to this, and went silent. Y/N couldn’t read the look on his face; another testament to how long it had been since they really spoke. Ominis once joked she was a Legilimens, because she could practically read Sebastian’s mind and predict what he was going to say before he actually said it.

“Is that the time?” Poppy jumped up from her seat and grabbed her bag. “I’m going to be late for Potions, Professor Sharp is not going to care that I was on the opposite end of the castle.” She dug into her bag and pulled out a herbology book before handing it to Y/N. “Here’s the book I said I would lend you, you’ll find what you need in chapter seven.�� With a quick wave at a confused Y/N and a still-quiet Sebastian, Poppy turned and left.

Y/N took a moment to study Sebastian, who didn’t seem to be in a rush to get to class. He had always been attractive, that much Y/N would admit to herself only, but he had really grown up in the past two years. The last of the baby fat had disappeared from his cheeks, and his jawline had become far more pronounced. His muscles had filled out as well. He had once mentioned to her, shortly after the death of his uncle and Anne had left Feldcroft, that he had taken to fixing up the house and garden there, and she couldn’t help but appreciate how he looked.

“You’re staring,” he murmured, breaking Y/N out of her train of thought. She felt her cheeks heat up and looked away from him as if he could read her thoughts plainly on her face.

“Don’t you have class to get to?”

“Not one I care to attend,” he moved to the chair closer to her, the one Poppy had been occupying and leant back to stretch. “Not without you, anyway.” He shot her a cheeky grin and crossed his arms across his chest.

“I didn’t realise you would miss me so much,” Y/N let out a quiet chuckle to mask the strange feeling in her chest. This was the Sebastian she remembered, the one who made her constantly question if he was flirting or not. “It’s not even been a day.”

“It’s been longer than that, Y/N,” he said seriously. “Far too long.”

“Sebastian, I’m so - ”

“You better not be about to apologise to me,” he shook his head with a dry laugh. “Not after everything I put you through.”

“You didn’t - ”

“I crucio’d you,” he interrupted once more, near hissing the word out as he leant forward. Y/N sucked in a breath at the sudden reminder of the excruciating pain. “Not to mention the path I started to lead you down. My uncle…” he trailed off, his eyes going glassy. “I didn’t - and still don’t - deserve your kindness. Anyone else would have reported me and let them send me to Azkaban.”

“Sebastian…” Y/N reached forward hesitantly and took his hands in hers. “I forgive you. I forgave you before you even raised your wand. I told you to cast the spell on me.”

“You have to mean it to cast an unforgivable, Y/N. It wouldn’t have worked - I wouldn’t have been able to hurt you if I didn’t mean it.”

“If you hadn’t we would have been dead a long time ago. You, me and Ominis. You did what you had to in order to get us out.”

“How can you still defend me after everything that I’ve done?” his grip tightened before he let go and leant back in his seat once more. “I came here to make sure you were alright and here you are, making sure I’m alright.” He let out another humourless chuckle and looked at the cards and chocolates by the bedside. “Looks like our whole house has stopped by to see you.”

“Sebastian…” Y/N trailed off, unsure what to say to him. His sudden change in topic signalled he didn’t wish to continue the previous conversation, but she couldn’t let him keep blaming himself for everything that happened.

“Has Imelda stopped by?” He continued as if she hadn’t spoken and plucked one of the cards from the table.

“Between you and Poppy you would think Imelda tried to actively kill me,” Y/N rolled her eyes and settled back against her pillows. “It was an accident, and she did stop by. The hamper is from her.” She gestured to the largest present on the table, a giant basket from Honeydukes.

“Maybe I should let Reyes knock me off my broom, if that’s how she says sorry,” Sebastian let out a low whistle and picked up another card. “Is this from Ominis?” his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I didn’t realise you two still spoke.”

“Not as often as I’d like, but we chat occasionally when paired together in class.” She watched as he read the message on the card and cocked her head to the side slightly. “Have…have you spoken to him recently?”

“No. Not in a way that matters, anyway.” He sighed and placed the card back down. “I wouldn’t know what to say to him.”

“I find hello is always a good place to start,” Y/N offered. Sebastian laughed, a real laugh and leant forward once more so his elbows rested on his knees. “He misses you, you know.”

“I know. I miss him too. I miss you both. But like I said, I didn’t know how to approach you both.”

“All it took was me falling fifty feet to get us here,” she remarked dryly. “I missed you too. More than I realised.”

“More than you realised, eh?” he raised a single eyebrow and there was a coy smile playing on his lips. “Old feelings resurfacing?” he teased. Y/N’s jaw fell open and her face flamed.

“What? No,” she spluttered. “I never - I don’t - did Ominis say something?”

“No…but you did. Just now,” he grinned widely and took in her red face. “Did you used to have feelings for me, Y/L/N?”

“Shut up, Sallow,” she muttered, feeling utterly embarrassed. “You can go now.”

“No, don’t,” he laughed quietly and reached out to squeeze her hand gently. “Believe it or not, I used to have feelings for you too.”

“No you didn’t,” Y/N scoffed and pulled her hand out of his. Her heart leapt at the confession, even though she refused to believe he wasn’t just saying that to make her feel better.

“Yes I did. I thought I was so obvious about it. Ominis used to joke about how he was glad he couldn’t see because he didn’t have to watch me pine after you.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Y/N,” he sighed, but there was still a small smile on his face. “You’re hopeless. Give me that book Poppy passed you.”

“What?”

“The herbology book. I recognised it immediately. Turn to chapter seven like she said.” He set the book between them and let her flip through until she reached the right page. The chapter was titled Flowers and their meanings. “Do you recognise any of them?” he nodded towards the bouquet he had given her earlier as she pulled the book closer.

“Some. The Forget-Me-Nots, verbena, dwarf sunflowers…” Y/N trailed off as she made her way down the page in front of her, reading the meanings behind the flowers he had picked for her.

“Now, I will admit, the forget-me-nots were because they are your favourite, but that doesn’t mean I respect you any less,” he leant forward, face tinged pink as he read respect and true love next to a picture of the small blue flowers.

“I didn’t think…I thought you had just given me whatever you could grab from the gardens.”

“You didn't think I would put effort into something I gave you?” He gave her a teasing smile and watched as she found verbena on the list. Admiration and respect next to an image of the red clusters that sat in the vase next to them.

“I’m sensing a recurring theme here.” That strange feeling had returned to Y/N’s chest in full force, the one she thought had disappeared with time and distance. Dwarf sunflowers, adoration & admiration. “Sebastian…” She looked up at him, catching sight of a flicker of emotions across his face. “Are these…do you still…?” Y/N wasn’t sure how to finish the question.

“Do I still…?” he repeated quietly. His fingers brushed against the back of her hand gently and Y/N felt her heart stutter in her chest. “Have feelings for you? Yes.” He admitted, finally catching her gaze. “Unless you don’t think you could feel the same after everything that happened. Then no.” He added quickly. Y/N let out a breathless laugh, one that seemed to relax him. “I thought they went away some time last year, but when I heard you fell today…” he stopped and grimaced. “I felt like my own heart had stopped inside my chest. I couldn’t breathe until I heard from Poppy that you were okay.”

“Poppy?”

“It seems everyone knows how I felt - feel - about you. Except for you of course,” he paused to laugh and shake his head. “I thought you were meant to be smart.”

“When did you…how long?” To say Y/N was surprised was an understatement. She never would have thought Sebastian saw her as more than just a friend. To find out he returned her feelings from before - that he still felt the same - had left her speechless.

“I’m assuming you’re oh-so-eloquently asking when I first started to have feelings for you?” his eyes sparkled with more life than Y/N had seen in a long time, and she felt her heart swell for him. “I’ll only answer if you do as well and if you go first. I can’t keep putting my heart on the line without knowing anything in return.” His fingers brushed her hand again, a little more firmly as he gained confidence.

“That night in the library. When you took the fall for me.” Y/N watched as he gave her a surprised look.

“That soon?”

“You didn’t know me,” she defended her decision. “You had no need to get yourself into trouble and lie for me like that. I didn’t realise it until later, but that was the catalyst.” He mulled over her words for a few moments before standing and sitting on the bed, turning so he could face her.

“If I’m being fully honest, from the moment you walked in late to your own sorting I was intrigued. I needed to get to know you.”

“Is that why you were so snappy the first night in the common room when I introduced myself?”

“Not my finest moment, I’m sure we can agree,” he looked abashed. “I feel it's safe to assume I made up for it, though?” He watched as she nodded in agreement, a breathtaking smile coming over his face. “Looking back I started to fall for you when you beat me in our first duel in class. I didn't realise until later though, like you.”

“What do you think would have happened if we told each other back then?”

“Honestly, I don’t think it would have ended well. I think I needed to do some growing to become worthy of you.”

“You were always worthy,” Y/N took his hand in hers again and laced their fingers together. Her heart jumped as he squeezed her hand affectionately. “We both needed to do some growing, I think.”

“You still haven’t answered the most important question.”

“What’s that?”

“Are old feelings resurfacing? Can you get past everything I’ve done?”

“Sebastian,” Y/N used her free hand to gently cup his face, her thumb running over his cheekbone. “I already told you, I forgave you a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Y/L/N. If it's alright with you, I would love nothing more than to kiss you right now, but I won’t unless I know you feel the same.” He turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand and leant towards her slightly. “And if you consent, of course.” His eyes darted to her lips briefly before locking back with hers. Y/N felt her heart stutter in her chest as her hand slipped from his face to rest on the back of his neck. It wasn’t even a question she needed to think about. She thought her feelings for the man in front of her had disappeared, but if her thundering pulse was any indication, they had just lay dormant until now.

“It's okay with me,” she said quietly. He muttered a quick thank Merlin under his breath and let go of her hand to reach up and cup her face in his hand. He closed the gap between them slowly, giving her more than enough time to pull away if she wanted to, and paused right before his lips met hers. She looked into his eyes and saw he was already staring at her, a small smile playing on his features. “What?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head gently, his nose bumping hers. “I just…I adore you,” he said quietly, before leaning in and pressing his lips to hers gently. Y/N felt her heart leap out of her chest and wound her hand into the hair at the back of his head as he kissed her sweetly. He was right earlier, she realised, when he said they wouldn’t have lasted had they started seeing each other in their fifth year. They both had to go through some much needed growing. It hadn’t been their time back then, and as he pulled away from their kiss, Y/N could only hope that now was.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x y/n #hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts game #slytherin reader #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow fluff #awkwardauthor #awkwardauthorwrites #masterlist

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ghuleh-witch · 3 months

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Title: Fangs Fandom: Ghost Rating: Explict Warnings: NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, blood drinking, p in v sex, unprotected sex, fingering Relationships: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x Female!Reader Characters: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia, Female!Reader Additional Tags: Dracopia, Vampire!Copia, no use of y/n, no beta, pwp Word Count: 3,238 Summary: Your best friend wanted you to come to a club with her. You agreed to go even though the club scene wasn't your thing. While your friend went off to dance, you somehow found your way into the office of the club's owner. Author's Note: This fic was inspired by the couch scene in RHRN.

Ao3 || Masterlist

You didn’t know what you were doing there. Clubs weren’t your scene, especially not goth-vampire-themed ones, but yet there you were, at the bar ordering a club soda while your best friend danced with some other girl on the dance floor. You watched the two women for a moment before you moved away from the bar to an empty spot along the wall. The red lighting and fog gave the space an eerie look as “Fangs” by Dionnysuss started to play.

“Take me through the dark. Hide me from the light. I miss your every touch—”

The music was too loud and you couldn’t hear yourself think. You sipped your club soda and looked around the club again. Your eyes wandered upward to a balcony with privacy shades pulled down over the opening. You briefly wondered what was up there before someone bumped into you and caused you to spill your drink on your dress.

“Hey watch it,” you said. A wet spot began to bloom on the black strapless dress you wore.

“Sorry,” the man dressed in a black Victorian-inspired outfit said before he disappeared into the crowd.

You sighed and moved along the way hoping to find the bathrooms. You slipped through a curtained partition with restroom signs above the entrance. After you dried your dress with paper towels from the bathroom, you reentered the hall to find the light dimmer and the walk to get back into the main part of the club much longer.

“The fuck is going on?” You muttered to yourself as you came up to a door. You looked behind you and the restrooms were out of sight. You knew you were still in the club. You could hear the music thumping right behind the other wall, so where exactly were you and how did you get so lost so fast? You opened the door and hoped it would lead you back onto the dance floor, but instead, it opened up into an office. That’s when you realized somehow you were in the room above the dance floor.

“Can I help you, piccolina?”

You jumped at the voice and looked to your left. A man with mismatched eyes sat on an ornate red velvet and wood-trimmed couch. His face was painted into some sort of skull design with white and black paint. His mousy hair flecked with gray at the temples told you he was some years older than you. He lounged back on the sofa in a black frilly-trimmed shirt and jeans textured with unique stitching and sewn-on bits of fabric. He held a wine glass with very dark red liquid in his black leather gloved hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I got lost,” you explained, already trying to back out of the room. There was something about the man that just didn’t seem right to you. It was as though you honed in on ancient instincts that warned you of a predator. At the same time, curiosity got the better of you and you wanted to stay and find out who the exquisite man sat before you was.

“Hmmm,” he responded as he sipped his drink. “You looked bored out there.” He nodded towards the screen that was pulled down over the balcony. You could see out onto the dance floor, but you knew from the floor no one could see inside.

“You were watching me?” You asked as you took a step further into the room.

“I see everything in my club,” he said. He said up and swung his legs off the couch to plant his feed on the ground. “Copia Emeritus. You may call me Copia or Papa, and you are cara?”

“Papa?” You asked curiously.

“Just a title,” Copia said. “Now, what is your name?”

You swallowed and said your name as heat flooded your body. Now that you could see him better in the dimly lit room, you couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was. There was something about his eyes that bore into you and hypnotized you into approaching. You were so enthralled that you didn’t even hear the door shut behind you.

“And why did you come here tonight, piccolina?” Copia asked. He took another sip of liquid from the wine glass he held. “You’re obviously not having a good time. Why are you still here?”

“My friend wanted to come,” you told him. “She’s been going on and on about this place, so I told her I’d come with her because she didn’t want to come alone.”

“And as soon as she saw a pretty face she forgot all about you?” Copia presumed as he leaned back on the couch with a confidence that you’ve never seen before in someone. “Come sit? No reason to continue standing there.”

You nodded and your feet led you forward on their own accord toward the couch. You sat on the opposite end and looked towards the balcony. “You said this was your club?”

“Si,” Copia answered. “If you want to get technical it belongs to the organization I’m affiliated with, but I do run the place myself.” His eyes roamed your body. It didn’t make you feel uncomfortable, but you did feel like a deer in the headlights for a moment. “Can I get you something to drink? I noticed some idiot bumped into you and spilled your drink.”

“No, no I’m okay,” you said. “I should…” You knew you should return your friend. She would look for you once she noticed you were missing, but it was like a magnet kept you rooted in place. Your body refused to move. “I should…”

“Should what, cara?” Copia asked as he leaned closer to you. You could smell his cologne—something earthy and woody that filled your nostrils and caused you to relax. It was then you noticed what was off about him. You got a glimpse of fangs when he opened his mouth to speak. You blinked as though you’d suddenly be able to understand what you saw.

“You seem confused,” he then said.

“I…” You trailed off. “Sorry, I think the lighting is just messing with me.”

Copia smirked. “Sure, let’s say it’s the lighting, eh?”

You didn’t know when he moved from his spot at the end of the couch to the spot right next to you. You had blinked and he was just there like that’s where he sat the whole time. One of his gloved hands came up to your face and gently moved a stray lock behind your ear. “You smell divine,” he rumbled. It sent tingles down your spine as his fingertips traced down your neck. He leaned in close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin. “Divine and downright sinful.”

You knew you were clear-headed. You didn’t have a single drop of alcohol that evening, but nothing made sense. You didn’t understand what was happening. Yet, you still turned your head and pressed your lips to his. It satisfied the sudden urge and lust that had taken you over.

He seemed surprised. He stilled momentarily before one hand wrapped around your waist and dragged you closer and the other cupped your cheek. “You sure you want this,” he murmured against your lips when the kiss broke for a second. “Because I’m going to do more than just kiss you if you say yes.”

“Yes,” you answered. And you did want whatever was to come. You needed to know what it would be like with him and why he was a predator and you the prey.

“Good,” he said. “Because it was going to be a shame if I couldn’t have a taste.” His lips moved down over your cheek and jawline and pressed kisses to your skin as he went. He came to your neck and brushed your hair aside. “You know what I am, si?”

“I—” You began and then things started to click together—the cup of the dark red liquid, the hint of fangs, his whole aesthetic, the theme of the damned club. “You’re a vampire,” you breathed.

“Very good,” Copia purred in your ear. “You’re smart, piccolina .” He pressed a few kisses to your pulse point which made your breath hitch. “I’m going to have a taste now, okay?”

“Okay,” you answered. You trembled in anticipation as you felt the graze of pointed fangs on your skin. A sharp pinch and hot pain caused you to gasp, but the sensation didn’t last. You felt good; a feeling of pure bliss filled you as he drank your blood. You could feel hot rivelets of blood flow down your shoulder, back, and chest. The blood was never going to wash out of your dress, but you didn’t care. It was black and no one would notice. All you cared about was the feeling of his fangs in your neck.

Your hand rested on his chest, fingers gripped into the soft fabric of his shirt. “Fuck,” you breathed. “W-why does that feel so good?”

He chuckled against your skin before you felt his mouth pull away. He stared at you, blood on his lips and chin. “Yeah? Does it feel good, piccolina ?” He asked. A finger traced the blood that trickled down your chest and to your breasts. He smeared it against your skin. “I’m glad it does. You make it hard to control myself.” His finger began to pull down the fabric of your dress. “May I?”

You nodded and watched as he pulled down the top of your dress enough so your breasts spilled out. His tongue was on you then, and he licked the smear of blood clean from your skin before his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned as a hand came up to card through his hair.

“So vocal, cara, I like it,” he said. His tongue flicked over your hardened nipple as his hand palmed your other breast. “Be as loud as you want, cara , no one can hear us up here.” His hand moved from your breast and down your body. He pushed up the hem of your dress to reveal the lacey blue panties you wore underneath. His fingers brushed over your clothed center and you involuntary bucked your hips.

“Please,” you breathed. Your heart hammered against your ribs as unfeathered desire and need coursed through your veins. You felt as though you’d die if he didn’t touch you right then and there.

“Please what?” He asked. A sparkle appeared in his eyes as his lips formed a smirk. “Use your words, piccolina .”

“Touch me, fuck me, I don’t care I just need you,” you whined. You knew how desperate and pathetic you sounded but you didn’t care. You needed to satisfy the craving for him that clawed at your insides like a rabid animal.

“How about I do both?” He proposed. He slipped down off the couch to his knees between your legs. His fingers found the elastic waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs and around your heels. He bunched them up and stuffed them into his pocket without explanation. His hands pushed your thighs open wider. “Bellissima,” he breathed before leaning forward to capture your lips.

You moaned into his mouth as his tongue swept through your parted lips. You could taste the faintest hints of coppery blood on his lips. Your hands rested on his chest but soon they gripped his shirt as you felt two of his fingers slip through your folds and to your clit.

“Jesus Christ,” you swore against his lips as your hips bucked against his touch.

He hissed. “Maybe refrain from saying that name, cara. It’s blasphemous.”

You didn’t have time to respond as he slipped a finger inside of you. You let out a moan, the leather of his gloves cool on your hot cunt. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you panted as he pumped his finger in and out of you. It curled upward just right so it hit that one spot that drove you wild. “Don’t stop,” you begged.

“I don’t plan on stopping,” Copia chuckled. He slipped a second finger into you and stretched you open with each thrust of his hand. His thumb rubbed tight circles against your clit. “You look so sweet falling apart for me,” he said as he leaned forward and licked at the bite mark on your neck.

You choked out a whimper as the coil in your middle tightened. “Close,” you managed to say, your knuckles white against his black shirt.

“Come for me,” he said in a low rumble. “Come for me, piccolina .”

A few more pumps of his fingers and you came hard. Your walls clenched around his digits before you went limp against the back of the sofa. You looked down at him and watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. You bit your lip at the lewd act and met his eyes.

“You taste as decadent as your blood,” Copia purred as he repositioned you to lay back on the sofa. He got up, one knee on the couch between your legs. His erection strained against the laces of his pants, and you couldn’t help but sit up and unlace them. Your mouth found a sliver of skin between his shirt and pants. He let out a pleased hum as his hand came up to stroke your hair.

You chanced a glance up to his face to see him staring down at you. His pupils were blown wide with lust and hunger. The look made you bite back a groan as you opened the laces of his pants and pushed them down his thighs. He didn’t have on underwear under the pants, so once his pants were passed his hips, his cock sprung free. He was thick; thicker than anyone you’ve had before and you knew the stretch would be delicious. Your mouth watered at the thought as you wrapped your hand around his length and began to stroke him slowly. Your other hand fumbled to undo the buttons of his shirt.

He gently batted your hand away and began to undo the buttons himself. His head lulled back as a groan escaped his lips. “Cazzo, così buono per me (Fuck, so good for me),” he muttered as he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders. It fell forgotten to the floor.

You admired his figure—from his chest hair that tapered down his torso to his pelvis to the three sixes tattooed on his peck in a swirled pattern and to the little bit of belly he had. You pressed kisses around the soft skin of his belly button as your hand still pumped his cock slowly.

“Keep that up, cara, and I won’t last,” he groaned before he gently pulled your hand off him. “And I want to last.” He positioned you the way he wanted on the couch so that he was between your spread legs and ready to enter you. “Do you still want this?”

“Yes,” you said as you nodded your head. “Please, I need it.”

“And you’ll have it,” Copia said. He leaned down and kissed your lips as the tip of his cock nudged your entrance. “Breathe for me,” he said before slowly pushing into you.

You let out a hiss at the intrusion. The breath was sucked out of you. His cock stretched your walls and it caused a sting that became a pleasant burn. He took his time so you could adjust to his size, and before you knew it, he bottomed out in you with a moan.

“So fucking tight,” he gritted as he held himself above you. “Cazzo, you feel so good. Let me know when I can move.”

“Move,” you panted desperately. “Now.”

“So demanding,” he tutted. He slowly pulled out and thrust back into you.

He kept the pace steady—not too slow or too fast. The sound of both your breaths and moans filled the room as he leaned down to your neck.

“Need another taste,” he grunted before he bit into your neck once more.

You cried out; the pain and the pleasure were nothing like you’d experienced. “Shit,” you moaned. “Feels so good.”

His reply was muffled against your neck as he drank. Between him fucking into you and sucking your blood, you started to feel dizzy which only added to your pleasure. “F-fuck,” you whined as you slipped a hand between your bodies and began to touch yourself. You needed more. You needed every nerve ending in your body to be lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Sì, brava ragazza, toccati per me (Yes, good girl, touch yourself for me),” Copia groaned as his eyes went to the space between the two of you. He watched as his cock disappeared into your cunt before he buried his face in your neck and his fangs pierced your skin again.

Your head swam, but you didn’t know if it was from blood loss or bliss. As you rubbed your clit with your fingertips in time with Copia’s thrusts, you felt your core grow taut. You felt Copia release your neck and raise his head to look down at you.

“You’re getting close,” Copia grunted as his speed picked up. He licked the blood from his lips and moaned. “I can feel it. Are you close, cara ?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

He tutted. “I want to hear you say it. Are you close for me, cara?”

“Yes,” you panted. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

“Good girl,” he responded as he thrust hard and deep into you. “So am I. Come for me again, cara.”

His hips snapped against you and the coil snapped. Your vision whited out for a split second as your back arched off the sofa. You cried out in ecstasy. “Papa! Copia!” You whimpered as your legs shook.

“Sto per venire (I’m gonna come),” Copia grunted as his thrusts became erratic. Four hard and deep pumps later and he came inside of you. His seed flooded you and filled you. His arms shook as he lowered himself to the sofa, careful to not crush you in the process. “Cazzo, you are—you are—” He seemed to struggle to find the words.

You smiled and laughed lightly. “So are you,” you agreed.

He chuckled, fangs visible between his parted lips as he moved a lock of hair from your forehead. “Not what you expected tonight, was it?”

“No, no it wasn’t. I didn’t know what—oh shit, my friend,” you said as she sat up. “I need to go before she notices I’m missing.”

Copia backed off of you and gave you space to fix your dress and make yourself look appropriate. “I suppose I’m not getting my panties back?” She asked him.

“Hmmm not a chance,” Copia smirked. “At least not today. Maybe next time?”

“Next time? That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” you responded as your own smirk played on your lips.

“Go find your friend, cara. And when you want to see me again, all you have to do is step into this club. I’ll make sure you get to where you need to be.”

You heard the door creak open and looked behind you. You never remembered closing it. When you looked back at Copia he was gone and the window behind a large desk was opened to the cool night air.

#ghost #the band ghost #copia #papa emeritus iv #dracopia #dracopia x female reader #dracopia x reader #copia x reader #copia x female reader #copia x you #dracopia x you #papa emeritus iv x female reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus iv x you #ghost fanfic #my fanfic

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seancekitsch · 15 days

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Can’t Stand Me Now; a modern Aegon x Stark! reader fic

CHAPTER ONE: The Party's Crashing Us

series masterlist here

warnings for the series: smut, smoking, drinking, friends to strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, vomit, more to come as needed

It’s not that one dance club you like that Sara brings you to, but this one just might be better. It’s a theme bar, a little too influencer friendly in its decor, but it’s endearing. The whole thing is themed like a house from your grandsires’s day and age. Floral couches with ugly plastic covering line the walls as people sit and chatter or flirt, the bathroom has sickeningly pink tile and floral wallpaper, the bar is legitimately a gutted vintage kitchen with bottles stored in cabinets and a vintage stove and formica drink counter. The DJ booth is a second gutted bathroom with the walls knocked out, with the DJ standing on a platform that looks like a huge teal toilet and partitioned away with a cheap shower curtain with a weird squiggly pattern on it. There’s even a little kneeler and altar to the Seven stashed in the corner that people like to take ironic photos at while they take shots. Sara brought you here because it’s synth pop night, her absolute favorite genre, and she does not miss a chance to dance to this over club beats. You don’t mind that this isn’t a wild club, mostly because of the cheap cover fee and eclectic vibe of the whole place. Sara also was considerate enough to tell you to dress the part before you got on the train, congratulating you on a night out sans stilettos with a guarantee of letting absolutely loose.

“Cregan would hate this place,” Sara snorts, bringing you a cup of something that absolutely doesn’t look like the whiskey sour you asked her to get you on this round. She hands it to you, and the smell of rum hits you. You don’t drink rum, you don’t get along with rum.

“As if we could drag him off Dragonstone with his little boytoy,” you shout over the music, and point at the drink, “Didn’t have Whiskey?”

She just shrugs.

“This is what the guy gave me!” she shouts back and you don’t argue further, instead interlocking your arm with hers and knocking the drink back with her in unison.

The moment the rim of the cup leaves your lips, youre dragging her to the tiny dance floor, ready to mingle into the crowd with the beat.

“Someone’s eager,” she teases, her face close to yours so youre not screaming. You dance close, a habit you’ve still not broken, made out of a big sister need to protect her when she became of age right as you were graduating from University. You tried to shield her if at all possible from scuzzy men when out drinking with her. Men like… well, not unlike yours and Aegon’s group of school friends. KLU doesn’t have fraternities, but tight knit groups of men still formed on their own; Aegon, Arryk, Erryk, Martyn, Leon, Eddard all fell within that category. You’d perfected the evasion of walking in on their countless hookups, and knowing exactly how to navigate a party with the men that even they didn’t trust. Even though Sara is grown in her own right, and towers over you, you always protect her as your baby sister.

“Hard day,” you respond, not at all wanting to explain yourself further, but as if on cue your phone illuminates in your claw-like grasp in the same hand as your cup to expose you. You switch hands to drink the remainder of your drink while you scroll, and Sara being Sara, of course snoops.

“Aegon?” she practically shouts, and yes, there’s at least three more messages from Aegon on your instagram. Fuck. You throw your head back dramatically after you fully read everything.

Message:

@ eggtarg: im soz

@ eggtarg: i do miss u

@ eggtarg: can i call ?

(1) missed voice call from @ eggtarg

You break away from Sara, not even telling her, but you’re going to buy the next round. In fact, you’re buying double right now. You shove a bunch of bills towards the bartender, a little guilty but too anxious to actually care that the gesture was rude. Four more of the cups of the strong rum drink, which you learn is a theme drink for the night with an annoying name, and you maneuver them in your hands back to the dance floor with minimal spillage. She doesnt thank you, but she doesn’t have to. You cover each other, or convince men to buy you drinks on these nights. There’s no one party paying more or less, no reason to get anyone back. The two of you dance, and drink, and dance, and drink. Two rounds becomes three. For a moment, Aegon is actually forgotten.

Sara, at any point in time, has your free hand in hers; the two of you twirl each other like you did when you were girls, like you did when Cregan refused his middle child duties to play pretend with you. You take her photo sitting backwards at the kneeler, knowing she’ll make a snarky caption about nothing honoring the Old Gods like this in the city, you fix each other’s lipstick in the bathroom.

It’s the fourth round that has you a little unwise.

Rum is something you avoid for a reason. In college, there was always a point where you felt almost trapped within yourself with rum. You acted on an accord completely disconnected from your mind, the whole time your thoughts shouting on you to do or say something different. For that reason, for the fact that it usually made you upset, Aegon banned rum at any gathering. No tiki drinks in the summer, all because of your comfort and preferences.

You push off from Sara, a brief check in that she’ll be okay (she will be, she’s decided to talk the bartender’s ear off), and go outside with the intent of a smoke break.

As you walk down steps, you feel your stomach turn. Nothing a cigarette cannot fix, a tried and true trick for you.

The bouncer helps open the heavy door, a big smile on your face as you thank him and step out into the brisk air. It feels lovely, compared to the stale and sticky air and vape clouds of the bar. You move to sit on a chair from the little coffee shop that operates there during the day, fishing your pack and your lighter out from the tiny trendy purse you had shoved your ID and money in before you left your flat tonight.

Sighing, you immediately give in to temptation, finding Aegon’s messages to read and read and read them over. He misses you, he’s said as much twice now. But does he?

You click on his profile, and scroll back down to that picture of you. It looks practically deep-fried, the way that Instagram as a platform has changed so much since you were in University. You light the cigarette and take a hefty drag of it before you start a dissection, zooming in and pulling and prodding at the image.

In the photo, you’re half hanging off of Aegon’s lap, sat on his dorm bed. His parents, Viserys and Alicent, insisted he always live on campus in dry dorms to attempt to curbs the habits they did not approve of, but also ensured he got an entire dorm to himself for space. Despite this, it never stopped his room from being where you all met up before you headed out, or being the spot where you crashed at the end of the night. Your mouth is wide open, clearly mid laugh as your hair cascades down across both of you, Aegon’s arms holding you tightly against him. And although the camera is on both of you, Aegon’s eyes are on you, his wide smile and gaze trained directly on the side of your face. In the picture, you’re even in his clothes, his favorite emerald green sweatshirt embroidered with his family crest in gold thread. Falling off his shoulders is the blanket your mother had made for you as a child, crocheted with your own family crest in it, your most prized possession.

From the picture alone, if you didn’t know the people in it, you’d assume they’d be married by now. The two people on the screen look so happy, so care free, so in love. You were still only friends at that point, had never even kissed.

Bile rises in your throat, and you pull harder on the cigarette.

Both drunk and sober, clear headed and uninhibited, you go back to the message and press the little call button next to his contact.

Aegon picks up immediately, as if he was waiting for it.

“Stark!” he breathes on the other end, like a sigh of relief, as if this is a raft in the open ocean.

“Targ,” you greet, very much less enthusiastic, but you cannot deny it that hearing his voice ignites something familiar and comfortable in your bones as if your being had been missing him.

“I- I- I’m so sorry, really, I have so much to-“

“S’been five years,” you slur, not hiding the indigence or disgust in your voice, “Y’too late.”

“Your accent is stronger, are you drinking?” He asks, and it burns you how he still remembers your tells.

“What’s it matter?” You ask, because it doesn’t. Although, you think for a moment, he doesn’t sound drunk.

“Where are you?”

Genuine concern laces his voice, and despite your better judgement, you tell him exactly where you are. The moment the words leave your mouth, you know you should not have said them.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” he says, and hangs up the phone.

By the time he arrives, you’ve grabbed another drink, this time with enough sense to order a pint of cider instead of rum and you’ve already lit and half smoked another cigarette. You slink down into the chair as the black car pulls up, one that you instantly recognize as one of the family cars. Aegon had a car when you knew him, but he only ever drove it on his birthday, taking the train or getting a driver any other time. You pull the lipstick stained cigarette from your lips to take a hefty gulp from the glass, your eyes immediately settling into a glare as the car door opens.

Aegon looks exactly the same as he did the day he left, his hair still the same length, the light dusting of a mustache. He’s got himself wrapped in both a hoodie and a cardigan, completely unable to cope with any cooler shift in the weather. You always joked that he’d die if he ever came home to Winterfell with you.

“There you are,” he says, his tone incredibly and unfairly soft as he grabs another one of the chairs and pulls it up next to you.

“If I grab something do you promise not to run?” he asks, and you nod if not begrudgingly. You called him here, you should at least let him get a drink out of the ordeal.

You swallow thickly, staring at the toe of your boots and the absent patterns of the concrete. If you focus hard enough, you could trick your brain into thinking there was some divine structure there.

He returns quickly, but your eyes don’t peel away from the absent patterns; They can’t.

“I know it’s shit how I reached out to you,” he starts, and from your peripherals you watch him take a big gulp from his own pint. You stick the cigarette into your mouth and fumble to pass him the pack, your body working on autopilot and muscle memory long since past. His fingers brush yours as the transfer or the carton occurs, a traitorous warmth blooming in its wake. You will not ask for the pack returned.

“You’re hard to find these days,” He mentions, as if that was not your goal.

“I don’t meddle where I’m not wanted, Aegon,” you mumble, cigarette bobbing between your lips and threatening to fall.

“That’s not…” Aegon almost growls in frustration, and slams the rest of his drink back, “It was never me not wanting you. I meant it.”

If you were to look up, you don’t know what you’d see. Would he have tears in his eyes? Would they be dark with anger? Is he mocking you?

Instead of a response, your body jerks forward, bile threatening. You pull the cigarette from your lips as he swears and pulls out his phone.

“Don’t say shit like that,” You laugh, but there’s no real humor in your voice.

“I still mean it,” he assures you, and then begins a conversation with the person on the other line.

You stand, taking another small sip of the cider before placing what’s left on the ledge, allowing yourself to take the loss for whatever money that half a cider cost.

“What a fucking joke,” you mumble, more to yourself than anything.

You try to hide the lurching jerk of your body as bile rises again in your throat. You will not puke, you will not hurl; Especially not in front of Aegon.

You have so many things you want to say: questions you’ve had for half a decade, insults that you’ve held onto like a poison in a wound, weeping confessions that would make you weak and pathetic.

“Cole, can you please send someone,” Aegon asks, a hushed tone while he presses the phone to his ear, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine, I need to make sure a friend gets home safe.”

A friend. You bark out a laugh.

Only thats not the right move at the moment, and you spill your last two drinks on the curb, enough sense in you to miss your shoes. Immediately you feel better, both physically and mentally. Clearly, much like Aegon, rum is not your friend despite its sudden reappearance in your night.

“Oh, holy shit!” Aegon swears, immediately fussing over you and trying to pull a tissue out of his pocket, trying to press it to the corner of your lip as you shove him away. In the distance, you can see the train stop. This particular line goes directly back to your stop and if you can make a run for it, you can escape him. Only you don’t move, as if you’re rooted to the pavement, your boots stuck in the concrete as the person you’ve been trying to evade in this city closes in on you. You push away every attempt for him to fret over and help you, refusing to let him help push your hair back, refusing the cup of water he requests from the bouncer, your hands shooing away every attempt of his to help.

Eventually the car pulls up, and to your own surprise you let Aegon lead you into the car and close the door for you. He slides in the other side, and urges the driver to head home. His home. Aegon’s home. You don’t protest, you don’t scream, you don’t open the door and tuck and roll even though you think it would be an effective way to escape if not at least a little funny. Despite in your mind feeling incredibly sober, you freeze up, absolutely letting all of it happen. Despite your mind screaming at you, despite the urge to cry, you relax into the leather of the car seat. You instead text Sara that you’re heading home, and to text you when she decides to do the same.

“Why now?” you ask, cutting through the uncomfortable silence as the car turns the block.

“Now?” Aegon parrots, as if he doesn’t understand the question.

“Why now when I’m just this? Why come back after all this time?” You choke back a sob, wanting to refuse to let Aegon see weakness.

He sighs, and wipes his hand down his face. Now that you look at him closely, he looks exhausted, even in the dark. Aegon looks like a man who hasn’t slept in a week.

“It’s complicated,” he says, barely above a whisper. Like fuck it is.

Either way, you remain quiet, anger growing as you watch the traffic lights go by, as you traverse neighborhoods. The car is headed south, and eventually stops not far from your stop at Fleabottom. If you were to flee, you’re only four stops away from home. But just like before, maybe its morbid curiosity, you don’t bail as the car parks and Aegon hops out, half jogging to the other side of the car to open the door for you. He holds out a hand, a hand that you refuse as you push yourself up and out of the car seat. If the driver knows you, if the driver knows what’s going on, they don’t say. The driver doesn’t even look back before driving off.

When he lets you into his flat, he immediately heads to the fridge. Sunfyre runs up to you, greeting you as if no time had passed. The big orange fur ball is all purring as he rubs up against you, and you bend down to scratch behind his ears where he loves it most. This is, easily, the most heartbreaking part of all of this.

“Aww, Sunfyre, did you miss her?” he coos, and then looks at you, “Thats amazing, he remembered you. He always ran from Lar-"

He stops himself before he finishes that sentence, but the damage is done. You were wrong, that right there was the worst part.

He hands you a glass of water, and you don’t deny it this time, eagerly gulping it down and placing it on the kitchen counter the moment you’re done.

“Right, so what did you expect?” you ask, shrugging at him.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he responds, and reaches forward. He cringes as you flinch away from his touch.

“Bullshit,” you exclaim, and then start to walk towards his couch, bigger and more plush than the campus apartment you’d last know him having.

“Guess I’m sleeping here?” you ask, pointing at it.

Aegon agrees, although you can tell there’s words that die in his mouth. His mouth opens and shuts, lips purse contemplatively. Good, you don’t want to hear those thoughts right now, even though you’ve needed them for half a decade. He grabs a pillow and blankets from a hall closet, and sets them like a bed for you. You half expected him to just dump everything on the couch, but then again, sleepovers with Aegon used to mean sharing a bed and you’ve never seen how he would do this.

“Do you need clothes?” he asks, already half turned and surely ready to grab some sweats from a drawer.

You shake your head no, and then start to get yourself settled under the blankets. It feels like the more of you covered, the safer from all of the anxiety bubbling under your skin you are. The more a physical barrier from Aegon exists, the more you can pretend this is a drunken nightmare, and tomorrow you can just sweat it out at dance class.

He leaves the room, and you only shake off your boots and jacket onto the floor next to your discarded purse, opting to keep your phone under your pillow and your person bundled up despite the fact that his apartment is warm.

When he returns he’s in that green sweatshirt from the picture, and a pair of grey sweatpants. He turns his head towards you, but ultimately decides against trying again, instead going to the fridge to pull out two water bottles. Even in the dark of the apartment, you don’t miss the fact that he also pulls out a bottle and takes two shots before walking away from the area. Your eyes feel heavy, wet, as you try in vain to blink away the emotions rising to the surface. Here, there is no concrete to focus on, here, you’re surrounded by Aegon in the dark. You opt to shut your eyes all together.

He traverses the main room, around the island to the living room, his bare feet against the flooring; depositing one of the water bottles on the coffee table directly in front of the couch you’re on. You keep your eyes closed, not daring look at him. However, you don’t miss the warmth of his hand ghosting over the blankets, almost touching, almost that reassuring weight of his hand that had gotten you through so much.

“Why wasn’t I enough when we were friends?” you ask, not hiding the watery tone of someone failing to conceal crying, still not daring to look at him. Your voice sounds so small to your ears, so vulnerable.

“You were,” he tells you, his voice betraying similar emotion. Aegon is probably crying, you realize, or at least close to it.

But before you can open your eyes, you hear him walk away, and you feel like any moment of honesty is over now. The sliding door to his balcony opens, and the clinking of a bottle signifies he’s staying up.

He keeps the door open, a silent invitation that you feel like you can’t accept. Many a night you’d stayed up talking and drinking with Aegon; a bottle, two glasses, and a heart to heart were common. But that seems wrong now, tainted what has transpired. Now it's silence as you hear the bottle clink against a glass, and then again a few minutes later.

Sleep is slow to find you, the space between the two of you both cavernous and claustrophobic, and the blanket smells like him.

#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #modern aegon targaryen #modern aegon x reader

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mypoisonedvine · 2 months

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𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑 \ papa emeritus II (secondo) x reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 \ a visit to confession takes a sudden turn when the papa invites you to an immediate, more... hands-on atonement.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 \ 4.6k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 \ SMUT (18+ ONLY PLEASE), semi-public sex, extreme religious themes/blasphemy, oral m receiving, creampie, degradation and praise, no aftercare cause he's a dick

we take a break from our regularly scheduled copia/frater programming to bring you some straight up nastiness about this creepy old zaddy

You slipped past the curtain and took a seat on your side of the confession booth, sighing quietly to yourself. “Bless me, Papa,” you asked softly.

“Of course,” the deep voice responded. “Tell me what you need, child.”

His voice sounded different up close in a small space like this— the polar opposite of hearing him speak in the massive chapels; he was so close, just on the other side of the lattice, but even when you squinted and peeked into it all you could make out was the vague silhouette of him.

“I… I have disobeyed your teachings,” you admitted, “and the will of our great unholy ruler.”

“Mm,” was his only response, a hint of expectance to it.

“I have denied my lust,” you confessed softly. “I ache for someone, but I have done nothing— actually, I just try to ignore it…”

“Why would you ignore something so pure and precious as desire?”

“I’m afraid, Papa,” you whimpered. “Afraid I’m not good enough for him…”

“You know my church is no place for humility,” he scolded, “certainly not shame.”

“I know,” you sighed.

“If the one you desire rejects you, then that is their choice— but you can’t deny your own needs just because you think too little of yourself,” he explained.

“My needs?” you repeated nervously.

“Yes— you need to be pleasured, hm?” he assumed. You nodded shyly, before remembering that he couldn’t actually see you. “You need to be kissed and caressed, touched, filled— fucked.”

Your thighs pressed together tightly and you stifled a gasp. “Y-yes…”

“It’s only natural,” he said casually— like he hadn’t just sent a shock through your whole body with just his words. “Everyone here understands that… if it is someone in my church that you desire, I’m not sure what you have to be afraid of. What reason do you have to think that you would be spurned?”

“It’s just… I’m only a humble worshiper,” you explained as your heart started to race, “and he… he’s so important. He’s… he’s in one of the highest positions in the whole church…”

You swallowed thickly as a short, but heavy, pause filled the confines of the booth. “Is he?” Secondo finally pressed, but the depth of his voice gave away that he already knew.

“Yes, Papa,” you shakily relented, “and I try to listen and learn when he speaks, but I just— all I can think about is how badly I need him.”

“Mm,” he said again, annoyingly cryptic as per usual. “Your carnality is insatiable, my child. Very good.”

You gripped tighter onto the wooden bench beneath you, eyes fluttering shut; it only took a little stern praise from him to drive you wild, apparently.

“The one you desire isn’t so far away, is he?” Secondo teased. “You only need a little courage, and you will be given all you seek.”

The partition between the two halves of the booth slid open, and your eyes widened.

“Come here, pet,” he offered gently— he had that way about him, he could be so intense but so gentle and nurturing at the same time, if he wanted.

The booth wasn’t really designed to allow you to stand up fully, so you had to crouch slightly when you got up and moved to his half. It was quite dark in the booth, but enough light broke through the cracks in the curtain that you could see the shape of him: you could see the familiar dark stare, the sharpness of his painted face, his waiting expression with one eyebrow slightly raised.

And, maybe this was less important, but you could smell him: some kind of musky cologne, presumably, a sweeter scent than you would’ve imagined, but blessed Belial was it addicting.

He shifted his legs further apart, his robes draping between his knees and against the bench beneath him. “I will give you what you desire— but you must prove yourself to me first,” he explained. “Kneel before me.”

You shakily got down on your knees and looked up at him as you blinked quickly; you rarely got to be so close to him, it was making your heart beat faster already. His stare felt heavy and piercing as it ran over you, and all he had to do was slightly motion with his hand— turning it out in that go ahead movement— for you to nod and reach up under his robes carefully.

Honestly, you’d wondered before what the Papas wore under their robes, and in Secondo’s case, it apparently was nothing. You pushed the rich fabric out of the way only to come face to face with his erection growing against his thigh. “You see what your eagerness and desperation has done to me, child?” he scolded. “When I feel that hunger, I feed it, not flee from it— you know better.”

“Y-yes, Papa,” you mumbled weakly, feeling guilty for your misbehavior but knowing you were soon to be absolved.

“Now, earn your forgiveness,” he insisted, moving his hips forward slightly on the bench to make the angle a little easier, and you nodded before leaning in towards his lap with a quick gulp to suppress your nerves.

And by the way, when he sang that he is the one who comes richly endowed? That wasn’t just a lyric thrown in there because it flowed nicely: it was entirely literal and accurate. You swallowed thickly as you wrapped your fingers around it, trying not to be scared of how thick his cock was… fitting it in your mouth was going to be enough of a struggle, let alone anywhere else if he was so generous.

Giving the silky skin of his cock a few gentle strokes, you leaned in and gently ran your tongue along the underside of the head.

You kept looking up at him expectantly, wishing you could catch a reaction on his face— but for the most part, he was irritatingly stoic as he watched you lick and kiss all over his cock. You found yourself getting desperate for a response, trying to be better until he gave you some kind of encouragement: you moaned around him, you ran your tongue everywhere you could reach, you batted your eyes up at him.

The only thing that ever got a response was when the tip of your tongue flicked over his slit; for just a second, his nostrils flared, and you beamed excitedly. “Am I doing well, Papa?” you asked eagerly.

“Keep going,” he ordered firmly, not necessarily answering your question— but it was a good sign. You did it again before wrapping your lips around his fat tip, suckling carefully and humming at how oddly comforting it felt to have him in your mouth. You swirled your tongue around slowly, tasting the slightest saltiness leak from his cock, and you purred happily.

It was the slightest movements at first, hardly giving him much friction and focusing instead on getting used to what you had, but you did begin to drop lower down, if only by centimeters at a time.

It took opening your mouth nearly as wide as it would go to get him any deeper, but you pressed on, never willing to disappoint your Papa. It paid off, since the next bob of your head finally made him groan a little— a small reaction, but it made your body hum with joy. You moved faster to try to make him do it again; instead, you felt one of his hands rest on your shoulder, which honestly was even better.

Your lips probably weren’t even halfway down his length when the tip of him bumped into your throat— and you didn’t let it affect you at first, instead just keeping your movements steady, but at a certain point you couldn’t ignore it anymore: you gagged around him, but managed to keep it quiet.

His grip on your shoulder tightened slightly and you heard him moan in the back of his throat, however softly. Your chest was already burning with pride, and between your legs— well, needless to say you were having a strong reaction there, too. In fact, it was taking quite a bit of willpower to keep yourself from trying to rub against your own leg or something as you knelt; thankfully, pleasing your Papa was your main focus at the moment.

The next time you gagged, it was a little louder and harder, and you had to pull back slightly as your eyes began to water. Thankfully he seemed far from disappointed; he groaned encouragingly once again as you drooled over him and your hand smoothed it out, stroking the (significant) portion of him that your mouth couldn’t reach.

His head tilted back until it rested against the wooden wall of the booth behind him— you loved how he looked in that moment, with his eyes shut and his mouth slightly parted: he looked relaxed, in a way that made you realize he normally carried a lot of tension.

Your eyes shut as well and you really focused on your work, moaning louder even though it was muffled with your mouth full. Again you could feel his cock leaking precum onto your tongue and you gratefully swallowed it down before venturing down to let him reach your throat again. You choked slightly with each bob of your head, but it didn’t slow you down one bit— you were chasing after those little groans he let out when you did it, feeling your inner walls clench almost in time with your throat.

His hand slid up your neck, then ran over your hair and pushed your head slightly as he exhaled sharply through his nose; for a moment, you felt his nails scratch your scalp. He kept you from pulling too far back up off of him, but you weren’t a flight risk— each movement allowed you to take him just a little bit deeper, it seemed, and you loved the feeling of him filling your throat.

You worried you’d done something wrong when he gently pushed you back, but his proud groan as he looked down at you made you less concerned. “You certainly know how to give pleasure, little one,” he praised. “But let me show you how to receive it, hm? Get up and sit in Papa’s lap.”

You hopped up so quickly that you almost hit your head on the top of the confession booth, but thankfully you avoided injury and straddled his legs happily. “Like this?” you asked excitedly.

“Yes, very good,” he nodded, already starting to reach up for your dress. “Help me take this off, we won’t need that.”

You reached back behind yourself to open the dress as he slid the sleeves down your arms— the leather of his gloves tickled over your skin and you squirmed a little. With your dress gone, all that was left was your pair of white panties, which you were almost self-conscious about as he examined them and pinched the waistband between his finger and thumb.

“How cute,” he cooed; that wasn’t really a word you ever expected to hear him say, but it made you bite your lip absent-mindedly. “I think I’ll have to take these.”

Not quite sure what he meant at first, you yelped softly when his gloved hands took a tight grip of them just to rip them open at the seams with a snap; the show of strength already made your heart flutter, but him shoving the torn garment into a pocket inside his robes was even more arousing. Already, your mind was racing with ideas of what he would do with them.

“A little gift for Papa, eh?” he suggested with a half-smile— you’d never seen him smile at all before, and it did absolutely nothing to make him look less menacing.

With you totally exposed for him, he took the opportunity to run his fingers over your pussy, teasing you with just one brief brush of that firm leather over your clit. “O-oh, Papa,” you shuddered, wishing he would do it again, but he moved on quickly.

“What a precious thing you are,” he praised softly, reverently. Gloved hands traced over your frame, briefly teasing your hardened nipples and petting your quivering thighs.

When he grabbed a hold of your ass, you whimpered a little but let him guide you to sit up more, until you were hovering over his hard cock— he wrapped a hand around it and moved it closer to you, sliding his tip through your soaked lips.

“Oh, pet,” he sighed, “you’ve drenched yourself, poor thing… I’m going to make all that frustration go away.”

But you couldn’t help but tense up when he even just barely pushed the head against your hole. “Papa, are you sure…?” you trailed off nervously.

“Do you fear it will hurt you, little one?” he asked, and you nodded. “If it did, that wouldn’t stop you, would it?”

His condescending tone made you clench inside. “N-no, Papa,” you whimpered.

“Go ahead, child— slowly, we have all the time we need.”

Apparently he didn’t mind keeping all the other people in line for confession waiting. Knowing they were all just outside, surely well aware of what was happening in the booth, somehow only egged you on more even if it made your face feel terribly hot.

You sank down slowly, already needing to stop before even the ridge of his head was inside— see, when you were holding yourself up like this, you couldn’t exactly relax your muscles because you were using them. It made him an even tighter fit, and you winced through your teeth as you started to feel him stretch you open. “Good,” he praised darkly, his satisfaction egging you on.

Lowering yourself more, you heard a deep moan jump from your throat. The friction and stretch was always just a little too much right at first, only to fade into perfection after a moment. Your hands held onto his shoulders, and not just for balance— you loved how strong he felt, how solid. His grip on you was bruisingly tight, but it made you feel safe.

He seemed to get even thicker the closer you got to the base of him, and before you'd reached the end it was also too much, too sharp of a sting inside you. You choked on a whimper and he reached up to cradle your head, stroking your temple with his thumb. “Shh, shh,” he soothed, “be gentle, little lamb, you’re a very delicate thing.”

You slowed down a bit, even though your legs were starting to shake, and held tighter onto his shoulders. “P-Papa,” you stammered.

“You're doing very well,” he assured, “I know you can take all of me, I know that you need it. Go on, little one, Papa's got you.”

Shuddering as you slid the rest of the way down, you shut your eyes tight with a wince of anticipation before quickly sinking those last few inches.

You both sighed with relief when your lap settled into his; he was whispering praises to you but the words were lost in your delirious mind— all you heard was the general sentiment that you were doing well for Papa, and that was all you needed.

You rocked your hips, patiently at first, and moaned lowly at the tense friction. When you moved like that, the tip of him rubbed against something so far inside you— a dull yet throbbing feeling that made your eyes roll back.

“Good,” he purred again, “don't you see how right it is? How your body was meant to take mine?”

You were too lost in the feeling to actually answer, just moaning in response instead. As your moans grew louder with each motion, you heard your own noises echo against the booth’s walls and quickly bit your lip to keep quiet.

“Don’t be shy, pet— don’t try to hide how good it feels,” he growled. “Take pride in it, it’s a precious gift. And what do you say when you receive a gift?”

“Thank you,” you panted quickly. “Th-thank you, Papa.”

“Tell me,” he commanded. “Tell me everything.”

“I-I wanted you for so long, Papa,” you whined. “I wanted to please and serve you— I wanted you to touch me a-and whisper to me…”

“About what?” he wondered.

“Fuck, anything!” you yelped. “Your voice does things to me… things I don’t understand, things I’ve never felt before…”

He chuckled deeply, making you feel even more foolish in an addictive sort of way. “You’re no stranger to lust, child,” he purred, “it must be really something, if you can’t explain it. How could I have such an effect on you when you hardly know me at all?”

But he didn’t seem all that surprised— he knew what he had been doing to you, and he clearly reveled in it. “I couldn't help it, I-I just couldn't stop thinking about you,” you whined.

That whine became even more desperate when one of his hands slipped around you to grab a nice greedy handful of your ass, guiding your movements and kneading your delicate skin. “And this is what you wanted?” he taunted. “To ride my cock like a desperate little whore?”

Your throat caught on your words so you just nodded instead, finding a tight grip on the neckline of his robes while you moved.

You stopped rocking your hips and started properly bouncing on his lap, both of you moaning at the more intense feeling. The sound of skin on skin echoed in the enclosed space; you loved how raunchy it sounded, unhinged and unrestrained pleasure after all that time you’d spent trying to suppress yourself. Sometimes it had seemed like you were summoning all your willpower just to keep your hands from going between your legs during Mass— and that was, of course, the first place they ended up once you found a chance to be alone after watching him. But you sort of figured you weren’t the only person in the congregation with that problem.

But how many of them ended up here, with an opportunity like this? Even if he was known to be pretty generous with his cock, this still felt pretty rare, and special— you felt a grin fill your face as you wondered how many people outside the booth were jealous of you right then.

That smile couldn’t last long when you felt that spot inside you getting even more friction; you had to gasp and let your eyes fall shut. One of his hands ran up your side encouragingly, groping at your chest as it bounced with each of your motions. He hummed approvingly, even hissed a little when he pinched your nipple because of the flex inside you that it caused.

“Pretty little pet,” he cooed sweetly. “Your body is so obedient to me already, hm? So responsive to just the slightest touch.”

“J-just for you, Papa,” you whimpered.

“Oh, you aren’t usually so sensitive?”

You shook your head a little, whimpering again when he kneaded at your breast, carefully toying with your nipple between his finger and thumb. He purred approvingly, his other hand grabbing tight onto your hip and pulling you down onto him— making you take his cock a little deeper and a lot more forcefully. You cried out instantly, and he smirked at you condescendingly.

“It’s not too much for you, is it, child?” he teased. “You can take all of me, yes?”

“Yes, Papa, it’s just— y-you’re so deep in me,” you moaned. “I feel so full…”

“You like how it feels, to be filled completely?”

“I love it,” you gasped. “Papa, I love how you feel inside me.”

“Mm,” he purred proudly, “so grateful— you’re learning quickly, little one.”

You bit down on your lip to fight back another needy moan from his praise.

“Let them all hear you, little lamb,” he praised darkly. “You have nothing to hide from them.”

“O-oh, Papa!” you cried, your head falling back as you sped up your riding.

“Yes,” he hissed encouragingly, gloved fingers digging into your hips to guide you.

When he started to buck up into you, pushing his cock just that much deeper each time you crashed together, you nearly screamed; your hands flew off of his shoulders and slammed against either side of the booth around you, just searching for something to keep you steady. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you rushed, “Papa, yes!”

He was baring his teeth as he slammed up into you, and soon you weren't even really riding him anymore, you were just holding on for dear life as he railed you.

Your head tilted back and your moans seemed to get deeper— and they were louder, too, but part of that was just the way they echoed off the wall of the booth right above your face. At this point, it wouldn’t just be those waiting for their turn to confess that could hear you: you felt like everyone in the whole church would know what was happening to you. But you were too far gone to be self-conscious about it, if anything you felt more proud than ever.

“What a good fucking whore,” he growled through his teeth. “You take cock too well to act so shy— I should’ve known what you needed from me, I should’ve known you were desperate to be fucked, you weren’t exactly subtle about it, were you? I felt your eyes on me every Mass.”

One of his hands slid up your thigh, and a leather-covered thumb pressed against your bud just above where his body entered yours. He barely had to touch it, barely had to move his finger at all; he knew just how to play your body like his instrument, and oh the music you made. “Yes, fuck, yes, please— Papa, just like that, please keep touching me,” you begged.

He groaned proudly. “You sound so sweet, little one— you want to cum, yes?”

“Yes!” you all but screamed. “Yes, Papa, please, please…”

“Just keep begging for me, sweet child, I’ll give you what you need,” he promised.

“Papa, Papa,” you chanted thoughtlessly, “i-it’s so good, it feels so good— fuck! I’m going to cum, Papa—”

“Good,” he praised darkly, hissing in a breath through his teeth.

Your moans were like sobs by that point, your body quivering but refusing to slow down as you chased your high. He didn’t slow down either, thank Satan, and you loved how it felt to keep rocking down towards him with each motion— it was more control over this than you’d honestly expected.

“It's almost time, isn't it, pet? Your pretty little cunt is squeezing my cock…”

You nodded quickly, biting on your lip to cope with the overwhelming intensity that was about to crash into you.

“Do it,” he demanded, “come for me. Scream for your Papa.”

You figured you did, but it was hard to tell when your ears were ringing like that. It was that beautiful, blinding black light of ecstasy, and it was so much better than when you brought yourself to the peak in your bed late at night to memories of him. The feeling went so much higher, so much deeper, so much harder; he was right, of course, that you should’ve pursued your desire instead of trying to satiate it alone. Nothing could compare to this— there was no substitution for what he could make you feel.

He kept rapidly thrusting up into you, even when you went almost entirely limp above him, even grabbing hold of one of your shoulders to make sure you took the full length of every thrust. It was a little overstimulating, but you couldn't pretend you didn't love how it felt to be used by him for a few moments.

He stopped suddenly, pulling your hips down and keeping himself completely inside as his head fell back and he grunted roughly.

You smiled— bliss, contentment, a soft sort of pride— as you felt him flexing inside you: his cum inside you was your reward for a job well done, as was his long sigh of relief as he relaxed a bit onto the bench.

His hand moved away from your swollen bud (thank Satan, you wouldn’t have been able to take much more stimulation there) and pet the side of your face in an oddly tender way. “You’ve done well, my little lamb,” he praised, something especially seductive in his voice when it was heavy with exhaustion and ecstasy like that.

Still trying to catch your breath, you slid your hands down from where they’d pressed against the walls of the booth— your arms were quite sore, and you only noticed once you moved them— and rested them gently on his arms as he loosely held your thighs.

“If you should desire me again, you need only find me in my chambers,” he encouraged. “There’s no need to fear or avoid your carnal needs— you trust Papa to take care of you, yes?”

You nodded happily. “Thank you, Papa.”

“Now, redress yourself and go and say your prayers,” he instructed, taking his hands off of you. “Thank our infernal master for his gift of lust.”

You blinked quickly, realizing a part of you had yet to come back to reality until then— you were still in confession, and you couldn’t just stay here and bask in the sticky, heady warmth.

You didn't rush through getting off his lap, you would've hurt yourself if you did; you both hissed a little as you carefully let his cock slip out.

All he had to do was drape his robes back over himself… you had a harder job, trying to turn your dress right side out again and put it back on. He didn't offer any assistance, only that trademark dark stare; how could he look so unaffected after all that, basically the exact same as he had before? The only difference you could spot was that his chest was rising and falling a little bit faster as he caught his breath.

For a second, you hesitated— just in case he said something else— before slipping back out through the curtain and into the grand hall of the church. You heard the partition between the two halves slide shut once again behind you, and you avoided the gazes of everyone waiting to confess as the next person stepped into the booth.

You weren’t exactly limping, but you were walking awkwardly on account of the soreness in your hips and the thick, hot substance oozing down your thighs. You passed the line of waiting worshippers, flushing a little as heads turned to watch you. No one would judge you— in fact, they mostly looked proud and impressed— but it still felt strange knowing they'd heard it all. Some of your bravery, it seemed, had faded once your desire was satisfied.

Already the trail of his seed was running down to almost your knees, and your dress wasn’t long enough to cover it; you figured by the time you made it back to your bed, everyone that you passed by would have some idea how you’d spent your morning.

But still, a smile was filling your face; you couldn’t stop thinking about one of the last things he’d said— to find him in his chambers at night if you wanted him again.

Even though you were still sore and exhausted, still leaking out his load, you knew you’d be taking him up on that offer sooner rather than later.

#papa emeritus ii x reader #papa emeritus ii smut #secondo x reader #ghost bc fic #secondo smut

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lurkinginnernarrator · 3 months

Text

MDZS au where WWX isn't rescued by the jiangs and he basically becomes a Mafia boss. Or whatever the equivalent for ancient Xianxia China Mafia boss is

Just, imagine it: An elegant man robed in white ducks into a low den, tucked away in the labyrinthine city alleys.

A fair yet strong hand pushes aside gauzy carmine arrases, yet his keen vision remains partially veiled. Lazy clouds of smoke intermingle with the rich fabrics that cocoon the low-slung chambers.

Men and women alike crowd the ornate hall, a variety of characters all in different stages of repose. The rich tones of liquor, incense and secondhand smoke perfume the room. From respectable scholars to disreputes of society, unowned and owned women, thieves and merchants, criminals.

The low humming of a multitude creates a melodious baseline of noise.

A thin yet surprisingly forceful hand clamps down on Lan Wangji's shoulder. Lacquered nails dig through the fabric and into his muscles. A feminine voice cuts through the polyrhythmic thrum of voices, drawling.

"And what, is a man like you doing here?"

Woman and cultivator meet eyes. She's small, yet her build is strong. Wrapped in vermillion brocade, cold eyes and a strong brow. Hair bound tightly, ornamented with glinting hairpins. There are blades hung on her belt. Lan Wangji bows his head respectfully, baritone joining the chorus of voices around.

"I would like to meet him."

Her gaze is sharper than a serrated edge. She steps deeper into the room, eyes flicking about the occupants and back to Lan Wangji. Back turned, he can only see the profile of her face as she considers the audacity of his request.

"And why should I, Bái-daozhang?"

白 Bái: Artic, Snowy, White, Bright.

Steadily, he replies.

"I would speak to him."

She snorts, swinging her head in his direction.

"I'm afraid a reason like that won't suffice. And quite simply, Bái-daozhang, you remain here on my sufferance.

State your goal."

Four women bleed out from the crowd, penning him in.

Right as Lan Wangji was about to speak, a strong and merry voice calls out from the depths of the chamber.

"Li-jiejie! What have you caught there? Bring it here."

She glares at Lan Wangji but motions him forward, deeper into the den. Two red clad women flank him, escorting him to the source of that mellifluous voice. His eyes search for the other two, but it seems they bled back into the hubbub.

He's hustled through curtains and past partitions, the crowd thinning out the further he's taken. More and more red robed persons flit past his vision.

Two guards stand by a veiled doorway, stances relaxed yet emitting a dangerous aura. They merely observe as Lan Wangji is ushered through the heavy embroidery and silks.

Low tables lurk at the edges of the room, from the rafters hang black tapestries, the smell of wood and candle wax welcomes him in. A draft carries the signature of wine to him.

Littered around the room are people, some caught in amicable conversation, others observing the proceedings.

His generals, perhaps.

At the head of the room is a man. The man. He sprawls on a mahogany throne, cushions and pillows artistically strewn about him, lending his position overabundant gravitas.

An irreverent hand swirls a jar of wine. Leather braces peek out from beneath long black sleeves that fan about his sides. His robes cling to his chest and torso, displaying the man's lithe and powerful body.

Not dissimilar easygoing musculature of a panther. He moved like a river at night.

Black and grey skirts played about his ankles, the polished leather of his boots catching the diffused light.

His waist was trim and firm, wrapped in crimson textile, the red of his waist meeting the black of his chest in pleasing contrast. Lan Wangji's eyes travelled up. Tanned skin parted his collars, revealing a structured collar-bone and sinewy neck. Long hair framed his bust, locks burning copper in the light.

Outdoors from a young age would explain the bronze appearance and sunbaked hair.

Grey eyes caught his.

Ornamented by a winsome face and charming smile, those intelligent eyes took note of Lan Wangji's every detail.

"What have we here?"

The woman, Miss Li he supposes, gave the lissome man a respectful bow.

"Bái-daozhang here claims a desire to speak with you."

The beautiful face turns inquisitive.

"Bái-gege, what can this lowly man do for you?"

"Lan."

Lan Wangji is inwardly surprised at his sudden reply.

Eyebrows raise and the handsome man's eyes twinkle in delight

"Lan-gege, then."

Lan Wangji watches as wine-stained lips wrap around the syllables.

The flippant hand loosely brings the jar to his lips, chin tilted up, exposing the lewd column of his throat as it bobbed.

"What brings a respectable cultivator like Lan-gege to this Wuxian's hospitality?"

No one has ever spoken his name the way he did. Playful, warm and teasing. Flirtatious.

Lan Wangji would like to hear him speak it again.

Wei Wuxian leans forward as Lan Wangji explains.

Their gazes never waver from the other. It was as if they were the only two in the room.

#wei wuxian #if anything is wrong with the chinese its googles fault and im sorry #this was just a little quick idea any inaccuracies are my fault #wangxian #wangxian au #mdzs #mdzs au #lan wangji #wei ying #wei wuxian x lan wangji #mdzs fanfiction #mdzs drabble #drabble #mdzs prompt #the grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mxtx fandom

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