#collar. sublime

[melonfacade]

also ive seen every single bad movie david duchovny has done now and id like to share this clip with the class

[abrahamvanhelsings]

found my old high school prom outfit and well. a bat collar? you know how it is. say hello to jonathan harker

[southdigitalcreation]

[whatsagirltoblogabout]

Oh, Neal Caffrey, how I love the way you lie

[bajukorporatf]

Rekaan Sublimation Abstract - Tampil Kreatif & Unik!

Rekaan abstrak merupakan salah satu bentuk seni yang unik dan kreatif. Ia berakar umbi daripada gerakan seni moden abad ke-20, di mana seniman seperti Wassily Kandinsky dan Piet Mondrian memperkenalkan konsep seni yang bebas daripada bentuk tradisional. Rekaan abstrak sering kali menampilkan garis, bentuk, dan warna yang tidak konvensional, menghasilkan visual yang menarik dan berbeza. Dalam…

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 pocus

synopsis: when you're a no-show for your scheduled merienda, katakuri begins to worry. little does he know you're right in the middle of a Big Mom hunger pang, and she seems to be craving your specialty...

cw: fluff, comfort, angst if you squint, katakuri is katakuri, katakuri DOES NOT PLAY ABT YOU, you have six children together, you're relative to his height, you're a baker.

a/n: i know katakuri's not part of my usual content but i'm rewatching wci and i'm inspired sue me <3 besides the man is FIONE

"Patissiers!"

"Yes, sir! We're on our way!" the patissiers bellowed, running at full speed with their large doughnut cart in tow. "We come with your treat for the day!"

Shifting his weight on his legs, the Sweet Commander crossed his arms over his broad chest, watching intently as the small men scurried toward him, the three of them a dark blue blur against the checkered pink of Brûlée's Mirro-World.

"Our selection today is truly special! Lady (y/n) said so herself!"

"I think you'll find it most appropriate!"

"For a man as perfect as you, each treat is made from the perfect ingredients!"

The first one hoisted a huge chocolate-frosted doughnut over his head, beaming proudly.

"We purchased the finest Corioli cacao we could find on the black market and combined it with milk from a cow grazed on a Sky Island whose life was free from stress and woe! The resulting chocolate is rich and ideal to dollop atop this giant doughnut!"

The second one lifted up a chocolate doughnut with strawberry cream, smiling widely.

"And for this one, we whipped the highest grade cream, which we received fresh from the great Minister Opera himself. The icing is meticulously decorated and topped with a strawberry to make this masterpiece a feast for the eyes, before it becomes entombed within your grateful belly!"

The third one raised a yellow doughnut, topped with decadent powdered sugar, slightly wobbling.

"We also prepared a doughnut topped with a sugar favored by Celestial Dragons, which brings out the spiciness of the Meylon Cinnamon baked into its dough, along with this and that and the other thing, too, of course!"

Together they twirled, utterly elated by the fine work you curated.

"And it is all thanks to Lady (y/n)'s unparalleled baking prowess! It is a true honor and privilege to work alongside her in the kitchen! So please enjoy this sublime sweetness!"

But, sadly, Katakuri had completely tuned them out.

Their entire explanation went completely unheard, the Sweet Commander more concerned with your absence than anything else.

Brows furrowing, his eyes quickly flicked around the cart, failing to sense your presence anywhere remotely nearby.

'(y/n)...'

It was routine that you join him for his merienda's everyday, rain or shine.

The patissiers would roll you in along with his ginormous bushel of doughnuts, your smile blinding as you greeted and joined him inside his mochi shrine.

There, you would feed him your sweet treats and whisper sweet nothings as he recounted his day to you, and you yours, resting in each other's embrace as you relished the little time together you two were able to make within your busy lives.

It was the only time of the day the man looked forward to.

And it was being tampered with.

"Where is she?"

His voice was like a wave of ice extinguishing any sort of jovial mood the chefs had established, replace their joy with potent fear.

Instantly, a frigid shiver rolled down their spines, their little bodies going rigid with terror.

"W-Well, you see—!"

"We are sworn to secrecy by the Lady herself!"

"She ordered us to remain silent about her whereabouts as not to disrupt your merienda!"

"We—!"

Abruptly lunging forward, Katakuri yolked up the first chef by the collar of his uniform, the man letting out a fearful yelp as the Sweet Commander pulled him closer with a deadly glare.

He allowed his Conqueror's haki to flow freely from his body, blanketing the entire space under an immense and overwhelming pressure—so much so that it knocked the other two chefs out cold.

His tone was deadly serious, and leaving no room for argument.

"Where. Is. My. Wife?"

"Mocha, honey, keep stirring that curd!" you instructed, frantically, as you added the yeast to the second batch of doughnut scald. "Don't stop 'til it's nice and fluffy!"

"Yes, mama!" your young daughter nodded, expression determined as she fervently mixed the large vat of lemon filling, despite the growing weakness in her arms.

She had been stirring vigorously for the past thirty minutes straight, and there was only so much an eight year-old girl could take.

"We're running out of time!" Soda exclaimed, worried, as he peeked out the window, the rumblings coming from outside shaking the foundation of your large bakery. "Grandma's gonna be here any second!"

"We're working as fast as we can!" Cocoa grunted, finally finishing the third batch of dough.

"I don't understand!" Latte squealed, running to assist her little sister in stirring the curd.

"She was all the way on the north side five minutes ago! How did she get here so fast?!" Frappe added, following after.

"Anything's possible for your grandmother when it comes to dessert," you huffed, finishing up the fourth batch of dough. "I've learned that the hard way."

"Well, we're losing ground fast! Daifuku just got sent flying!" Chai exclaimed, his little eyes wide with horror as he watched his uncle soar through three buildings.

"That's it. I gotta go help," Soda quickly turned, storming toward the door.

"Absolutely not!" you shut down, instantly. "Nothing can stop your grandmother during one of her hunger pangs! You'd be needlessly putting yourself in danger!"

"I have to do something! I'm a minister!"

Soda was your firstborn son, the eldest of your six children and the pride and joy of the Big Mom pirates.

He was a prodigy, his power already nearing that of a Sweet Commander at the young age of twenty-one—he happened across the Fizz-Fizz fruit at a very young age, turning himself into a Carbonation-Man

With a bounty of 850 million, he was powerful enough to be asked out on his own solo missions, as well as join his countless aunts and uncles on their expeditions.

And to put the icing on the cake, he had set the record for youngest minister, having been appointed as the Minister of Fizz two years prior.

Your son was progressing in leaps and bounds, his dream of taking after his father coming to fruition more and more with each passing day.

But... where he took after Katakuri in prowess, he also took after him in his all-encompassing sense of duty.

"Stay here! Keep working on the doughnut!" he exclaimed, rushing out of the bakery. "I'll try and slow her down!"

"Soda!"

"Big brother!"

But he was already gone, leaping into the air to assist Smoothie.

"Mama, mama! The curd is finished!" Mocha reported, running over to tug at your dress.

"Good job, honey," you nodded, patting her on the head. "All right, kids, this is the moment of truth! Your brother's buying us some time so we've gotta hurry!"

"Right!"

"Chai, go get the other two batches of dough out the chiller!"

He nodded, quickly running to the back to go retrieve it.

"Latte! Frappe! Start combining the dough we have out here!"

The twins rushed toward the large bowls, already starting to dump them out onto the flour-covered counter.

"Mocha, go make sure the fryers are hot, then come back and help your brother combine the first batch!"

"You got it, mama!"

She turned and sprinted to the back room, running as fast as her little legs would carry her.

"Cocoa, you're with me! We're gonna finish up the glaze you started earlier!"

"Got it!" Cocoa nodded, running over to the bowl of half-finished glaze she had set aside.

"(y/n)!" Brûlée frantically exclaimed, popping her head out of a mirror in the kitchen. "It's getting bad! Mama's heading right this way!"

"I know! I know! We're moving as fast as we can!" you huffed, frantically stirring the second bowl of glaze.

"Well, it's not fast enough! Mont-d'Or wants to know how much longer this is going to take! This whole island is about to get leveled!"

"If Mama gets a mediocre doughnut then this island really will get leveled!" you scoffed, brows furrowed. "This is my specialty! Just let me handle this and everything'll be—"

"MAMA! GRANDMA'S HERE!" Mocha shrieked, trembling with terror as she stared out the window.

The Yonko's footfalls began to thoroughly shake the bakery, knocking over sacks of flour, breaking tables, and completely destroying shelves.

"No! It's too soon!" you gasped, quickly putting down the bowl and rushing toward the door. "Cocoa, take over! You know what to do!"

"Wha—?! Mom!"

"Don't stop working!"

Frantically, you burst out of the bakery, eyes wide to see that Big Mom was—in fact—right at your doorstep.

"I WANT MY DOUGHNUT! BRING ME MY LEMON DOUGHNUT NOW!"

"Mama!" you shouted, protectively extending your arms out in front of your beloved bakery. "Your doughnut is almost ready! Just give us a little bit more time!"

"WHERE IS MY DOUGHNUT, GIRL! BECAUSE ALL I WANT IS MY DOUGHNUT!"

"We're making it as fast as we can! We just need a few more minutes to get it just right! You have my word!"

"Mom, no!" Soda called, eyes wide with fear as he watched from a distance. "Get out of the way!"

"(y/n), forget it! It's no use!" Smoothie exclaimed. "Run!"

"No! I will not let her destroy everything we've worked for!"

"OUT OF MY WAY!"

In an instant, you were encompassed by an ominous aura, the feeling not at all foreign as you had witnessed the power countless times before.

'Soul Pocus...'

"IS IT LIFE?! OR TREAT?!"

"NO!" Soda shouted, about to rush toward you before Oven and Smoothie grabbed him up, holding him back.

"Not life or treat!" Opera winced.

"She's gonna steal her lifespan away!" Galette cried

"Mama, you can't! She's family! You'll get your dessert soon enough, just hold on!" Mont-d'Or attempted to reason.

"Mama, have mercy!" Smoothie exclaimed.

Brows furrowing, you stood strong, not budging an inch as she stared you down.

"I'm sorry, Mama! But it's just not ready yet!" you stated, cooly.

"Oh, you're gonna be sorry!" she bellowed, her glare intensifying. "I SAID... LIFE OR TREAT!"

Now, on any other day—where it was just you and your troop of bakers—you would have certainly had your soul ripped right out, the fear of your mother-in-law too great to fight off.

But this day was different.

This day... your children were thrown into the mix.

If Big Mom killed you before they finished the doughnut, then they would certainly be slaughtered right alongside.

And with your husband away on the outermost islands of Totto Land, and Soda held back by his uncles, there was no one else left to protect them in that outcome.

So... it didn't matter if it was Kaido, or Big Mom, or whoever.

You were willing to fight off all the emperors at once if it meant keeping your babies safe.

Your brows furrowed, all your fear seeming to dissipate into nothing, molding itself in the shape of pure, unwavering determination.

She wouldn't lay a finger on your children.

Not if you had anything to say about it.

Lunging forward, she attempted to grab your soul, but was thoroughly shocked to find that nothing had appeared in her grasp.

Your soul was perfectly intact.

"Your grandchildren are working diligently to bring the doughnut to perfection! If you could only wait just a little while longer!"

"Not necessary!" a familiar voice cut through the tense air, putting you at ease almost instantly.

"Look! Up there!"

"It can't be!"

"But it is!"

"It's...! It's...!"

"IT'S KATAKURI!"

As he soared through the air—humongous doughnut in hand—everyone watched with awe and relief, your husband a marvel to watch as he valiantly swooped in to save the day.

"Mama! Open wide!"

Using his Mochi-Mochi power, he launched his hand forward, harshly shoving the decadent doughnut into his mother's mouth, effectively halting her Soul Pocus.

For a moment... there was a pause.

The entirety of Whole Cake Island stood still, waiting with bated breath for Big Mom's reaction.

"Mama mama! How delicious! This is the best doughnut I've ever tasted!"

Together, everyone let out a unanimous sigh of relief, some even falling out on the floor.

"Mama is successfully subdued! I repeat! Mama is successfully subdued!" Mont-d'Or announced into his transponder snail. "Let's switch gears toward repairing damage. Toot sweet!"

"Lady (y/n) did it!"

"The island is saved!"

"That's our (y/n) for you!"

"Perfect as ever!"

"Oh, thank, God," you exhaled, breathless, as Big Mom's aura finally released you, allowing your legs to buckle.

"(y/n)!" Katakuri quickly landed next to you, catching your limp body before you could fall. "Are you all right?! What happened?!"

"Your mother happened," you sighed, allowing your head to drop against his chest. "One of her hunger pangs."

His eyes widened, a future where things could've gone very wrong flashing through his mind.

"And you didn't call me? I told you to make me aware when a situation like this occurs," he asked, tone rising—more out of fear of what could've been than actual frustration.

"It was time for your merienda... and you've been working so hard lately," you muttered. "I thought you deserved a break from all this."

"Not when it comes to your safety... or the children's," he shook his head. "You all are my utmost priority. More than my merienda."

Realizing your miscalculation, your cheeks warmed, suddenly feeling foolish.

"Sorry, Kuri," you sighed, allowing yourself to melt into his touch. "I dropped the ball, didn't I?"

At the nickname, Katakuri flushed under his scarf, eyes averting from your adorably apologetic expression before he turned even more red.

"I'm just glad you're all right," he caved, all will to chide effectively oozing from his body. "Rest for now."

"Mom!" Soda exclaimed running toward you both. "Are you all right?! That was insane! I've never seen anyone withstand Soul Pocus before!"

You scoffed, shaking your head.

"I assure you, I wouldn't be able to do that again in a million years."

"Soda, ensure your sisters and Chai are all right. Then send for cleanup within a bakery," Katakuri ordered, starting off in the opposite direction. "Assist Mont-d'Or in heading the repair efforts. I'm leaving this mess in your hands."

"You got it!" he nodded, turning around to join the Minister of Cheese in his work.

"Wait... Kuri, I have to help, too," you started, attempting to sit up.

"You have done enough," he denied, tightening his hold on you. "They can take things from here."

"But—"

"No buts... You'll be joining me for the rest of the day."

Confused, you raised a brow, unsure of what he was talking about.

"Joining you? ...For what?"

Knowingly, he glanced down at you, heart pounding against his chest once again at the sight of your perfect face.

How he got so lucky, he would never know.

"We still have time for our merienda. If... you're all right with cold tea?"

Warmed by his shy kindness, you were unable to fight the smile rising to your lips, his ears burning with embarrassment in the adorable way you loved.

He was cute when he wasn't acting all tough.

"Iced tea's perfect... Lead the way."

[zstartrixxx]

𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐋𝐔𝐗𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐀

❝───𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥.❞

𝐀 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐂𝐄 | (+𝟏𝟖) 𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓: 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬—𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲&𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐲, 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤—𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨'𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬 "𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓" | 𝐰𝐜.: 𝟏.𝟕𝐤 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | [𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓] 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 |

Every time your knees bent before him, you felt a strange euphoria rising within you—something sublime between desire and reverence that mingled inside you, eyes open to receive the Body and Blood of Christ, blessed by the hands of the Priest, who looked down at you with holy water eyes, judging you with an expression of severe admiration. You repeated the "Amen" almost silently, the veil around your head, your eyes shining with lashes of voluptuous temptation, opening your mouth wide, stretching out your tongue so that it touched not only the sacred host but also the tips of his fingers. A strange shiver ran through the Priest’s body, his jaw tightening as he looked away, avoiding your gaze, cursing your presence in his mind.

His rigid and austere posture never lasted a full Mass—soon he was closing the office doors behind him, his body erect, his cassock perfectly pressed against his frame, the clerical collar around his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed prayers and hymns, walking toward you. With the same hands that had given you the sacred body, he now cupped your face, whispering:

"Your eyes are two shoots of God, pure and fragile, that I must care for… Your hair is soft wool, and your skin carries the sweet scent of perfumed honey."

He recited these words because he thought they might deceive God—that if his sin of lust with you were at least a symbolic act of everything he believed, perhaps his soul would not be condemned to Hell.

You desired him completely: the taste of his skin beneath those clothes, the texture of his release, the sound of his needy moan against you—but all the Priest offered you were three things. Just as lust was the third deadly sin, which you had learned in catechism years ago, the Priest willingly gave you only three things: his lips for slow, lingering kisses where you could taste nicotine and sweet wine; his strong, calloused hands that worshipfully gripped your body but always in safe enough areas to not give in too much; and his body as a way to grind against you—you preferred his thighs, thick beneath layers of fabric—spreading yourself as wide as you could, rubbing your needy sex against him, lost in the rhythm he set, even as he clenched his eyes shut, swallowing your sounds of pleasure. You saw the bulge beneath the crease of his waist; once, you even tried to slide a hand there, but he immediately stopped you:

"No."

He said it through clenched teeth.

So you had to settle for the grinding, the quick release, and then, afterward, the dry farewell, with few words. You knew he wanted much more—his face couldn’t hide the frustrated tension when you came against him. Maybe after you left, he relieved himself alone, or suppressed his desire as punishment.

But you were as patient as Job, and so you knew he would give in. He would give in because temptation is always voracious, especially when born from repressed desire: it lingers constantly, lurking in a corner no one can quite pinpoint, but it is there, alive, screaming to be satisfied. And that day came slowly, with a crude premonition of what was to come. Before you left him completely after another session of desperate grinding and voracious kisses, he held you back with a hand. You turned abruptly, startled and surprised, your wide eyes meeting his—warm and fearful. He whispered:

"Come to me tonight. In my room. I’ll leave the door open for you."

Your heart raced, and the smile you gave him was the most sincere of all you had ever offered.

"Yes, Father. Of course, I won’t refuse your blessed invitation!"

Night fell serene, deep blue with a bright constellation framed in his bedroom window: a simple room with a single bed covered in a white cotton quilt, a wooden prayer corner in one nook, a white wardrobe in another, a picture of Christ the Redeemer staring at you from the foot of the bed. He held a rosary, sitting on the bed, his clerical collar no longer around his neck, his hair disheveled, watching you with desire and need as you moved around his room, studying the details—the images of saints in his prayer corner, the silver crucifix in the center, a half-burned candle in a glass jar. Simple. The white lace curtains swayed gently in the night breeze—you would never forget that day, even if you tried—it was spring, and the trees were full of flowers, the grass greener than ever.

"I know this is a whim of my desires, which I should suppress… But I can’t anymore—I need you as much as I need God to steady my feet on this earth. I need you to be sure I will be saved… I desire you against my flesh, to know your taste, to see you as the perfect figure the Creator made you."

He burst out in a sudden plea. You stood before him, still in your dark red veil, clutching a rosary that swayed between your bodies. Then the Priest lifted his gaze, begging you to answer—to save him from his sins.

"I desire you more than I should, too, but at the same time, my heart is at peace because this is pure…"

Your hands held his face, feeling the texture of his beard against your skin:

"For you are my shepherd, and I shall lack nothing as long as I am with you."

The kiss was slow and lingering, his hands now free to worship you completely. He undressed you piece by piece, pulling you to the center of that lonely bed, his palms sliding over your body with simple adoration, leaving shivers in their wake. He kissed your breasts, your shoulders, your legs, finally lingering between your thighs, his eyes closed as he felt you melt against his tongue, watching you writhe as he learned how to pleasure you. You rocked against his mouth, guiding his timid movements, moaning with him, dissolving in the pleasure he drew from you, savoring you.

"Come, I want to feel you inside me…"

You begged, almost crying, reaching for him. Slowly, the Priest crawled over you, already hard with lust and a painful guilt that burned through his feverish body. Hesitantly, he positioned himself between your legs, the tip brushing against your entrance, uncertain. He let out an embarrassed chuckle, asking:

"How do I do this?"

"I’ll help you."

Gently, you brushed his hair from his eyes, feeling the damp sweat on his forehead, then took him in hand, guiding him into you, rolling your hips to welcome him inside your wet, tight walls, feeling him fill you thick and hot, pulsing in thick veins against your slickness, your immediate pleasure. Both of you closed your eyes. He held himself back, afraid he would lose control right then, feeling you clench around him in waves, frozen and sweating drops of fire and desire. The guilt was still there, but it was smothered by lust.

"You can move, my dear—"

"H-how do I do it?"

He asked with genuine curiosity, even as his body moved instinctively, thrusting against your hips. He moaned, slow and drawn out. You slid your hands to his thick thighs, feeling the fine hair and soft skin, squeezing and pulling him deeper, guiding him against you:

"Like this, dear Father, just like this—" You swallowed a moan as he moved his hips, letting you lead him: "—yes, keep going, it’s easy, isn’t it?"

You looked at him proudly, spreading your legs wider. The man who was no longer so holy had parted lips but no words—only sounds between soft whimpers and rough moans of pleasure. It was taking him to heaven, something he had never felt before—it was hot and soft, intense and wet. You let yourself be carried away too, dragged deeper into the vortex of pleasure, made even more intense by its sinfulness.

The Priest clutched you against his damp body, his sweaty skin sticking to yours, hot and feverish with the sin he was committing, feeling your legs lock around his waist, driving him deeper. Hip against hip, every inch of skin and flesh, sweat and wetness exchanged, your voices a heretical symphony of what they were doing before Christ and His saints, the cassock and clerical collar discarded on the floor, rosaries tangled at the foot of the creaking bed.

The air was a mix of burnt wax and bittersweet sweat, saliva, and the profane sex that inflamed your nostrils. Wet and filled with his desperate thrusts, his lamenting cries burning in your ears, you felt your climax approaching—an intense orgasm that would send you plummeting. Then the Priest grabbed the back of your neck, forcing you to look into his eyes—gray irises tearing into your soul—as he groaned a weeping prayer of salvation against your face, his pupils dilating as he came inside you, hot and thick:

"My God in Heaven!"

He murmured as you held him tighter, your body keeping all his heat, his release, his warmth—maybe even a piece of his corrupted soul. In a sweaty moment of fragility, he began to sob in your arms, his shoulders shaking, salty tears of profaned flesh against your skin. He lifted his head to look at you, breaking apart in blue-anise sorrow.

Tears landed on your parted lips, and you tasted them. Three drops fell directly into your mouth, dissolving on your tongue. Then, in a sudden movement, the Priest pulled away from you, his body repelling you as if you were sin personified. He looked at you with anger, wrinkled his nose, and roughly wiped his wet eyes. And you remained there, still, quiet, feeling him still sticky inside you, in your flesh, your bones, your blood. Then the Priest murmured, his lower lip trembling with the words:

"We sinned together. We committed the act of lust. This was…"

"It was better than dying and going to Heaven, Father."

You interrupted him without fear. You sat up, still weak, facing him, taking his warm hand in yours. He looked at you with terror and tenderness. Slowly, you pulled him into an embrace that enveloped him completely, and the Priest melted into you—your arms now his sacred mantle, shielding him from the sins they had committed. They were now one flesh—a third element between the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit that ruled them, tangled in white cotton and the bittersweet sweat of their lovemaking. Outside, it was still night, but inside you, it was as if there was a light so bright it blinded.

And the Priest now accepted his fate, having been the greatest cause of his greatest stain: the sin of lust.

𝐚 𝐳𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐱𝐱𝐱 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤

[marsidotcom]

i cannot stop thinking about a massive, end-all-be-all fight where marinette has to gather up her whole team to fight against it. something within her plan requires marc’s (rooster bold’s) power for an extended period of time, holding a sublimation power for hours and pushing through the fail safe of his miraculous. near the end of it, he’s so drained that he has to transform back before the fight is truly over.

ladybug has him and nathaniel (caprikid) in a secluded alleyway, and she’s telling him “you have to, you have to, you’re too drained, you’ll hurt yourself and your kwami permanently if you don’t,” all while he insists he can keep going, he needs to keep going, to help fight.

but when caprikid points out the potential damage to his kwami rather than him, the holder, rooster bold finally caves. ladybug tells caprikid to stay with him, makes him swear not to tell anybody rooster’s identity and assures rooster bold that it will be kept secret. caprikid promises, though he looks a little anxious with the new secret to keep.

the “secret” of it all becomes the least of his worries when ladybug leaves to rejoin the fight and he watches rooster bold detransform into none other than his best friend in the entire world. His best friend, the boy he’s been in love with for two years, bleeding from the nose from the exertion and looking almost embarrassed as he cradles his tired kwami in his palms and avoids eye contact.

nathaniel is practically frozen. he watches marc fish a small bag of dried corn feed from his pocket and start feeding orikko, swiping at his bloody nose with flushed knuckles. marc grimaces, his other hand petting over orikko’s feathers as the kwami eats.

“i promise i’m not usually this much of a let down as hero,” he says, almost self-chastising. “I’m pretty lame outside of all of it, but most times i’m more useful than this.”

he looks ashamed, like using his power until he’s bleeding and exhausted was some humiliating failure to prove himself. nathaniel aches at the thought.

marc is rambling now, it seems. he does that sometimes.

“i’m gonna work on it, i’m sure i could train myself to go longer than this. this is the last time you’ll have to babysit, i swear. i’m so sorry i’m keeping you from everything-“

nathaniel doesn’t let him go on any longer. his gloved hands come up, albeit a little shaky, and he watches himself cup one of marc’s cheeks, blood smear and all, and then the other. marc’s words die in is throat, and he sits there, breathing quietly as the flush of his face burns brighter.

“it’s not babysitting,” caprikid tells him. “you can’t-“ his voice breaks, and he swallows, finding his footing again. “you can’t push yourself so far that you’re hurting yourself, marc.”

he sees the flash of shock in those green eyes, the recognition that this is someone who knows his name. someone who knows him in some capacity. he can deal with that later.

“you’re too important to be doing that, you’re-“ he pauses, his thumb swiping over marc’s cheekbone tenderly as he studies his face. the confusion written in it, the parted lips.

he leans closer, resolute. “you matter more than the rest of this. i can’t… i can’t see you doing this to yourself. please, please, don’t push it too far. you’re doing great. you always do. don’t be in a rush to be what you think is better when the best is already there. don’t hurt yourself trying to prove that you’re capable. we see that in you already.”

marc might be making a wordsmith out of him yet.

he watches those green eyes rim with tears, and he almost starts apologizing, but then marc is hugging him, his arms wrapped around his shoulders and his hands lost in the fur of caprikid’s collar. “okay,” the writer whispers. “okay. thank you.” it’s a croaked, teary thing, and nathaniel hugs him back like he’s something precious, something to hold close to his heart.

in the days after the fight, marc keeps thinking about caprikid, and nathaniel clings to his side like someone is going to take him away. if anyone notices the way nathaniel becomes increasingly, gently protective, they don’t say anything.

[angelisverba]

praise

in which y/n notices something isn't quite right with her professor, and harry loves chasing this little bunny

word count: 5.5k

pairing: vamp!h and y/n (but really it's more like professor!h with a side of vampire)

warnings: this fic contains graphic depictions of sex and blood.

author's note: happy late halloween!

When y/n was little, her mother always told her to stay inside on Halloween.

She never got to go trick-o-treating like the other kids because of this, not until she was old enough to pay for her own costume, but by that time it was too late because trick-o-treating turned into bar hopping and candy turned into drinks. She took part in these activities for as long as it took for her to figure out that she didn't like alcohol or big crowds or dressing up.

Also by that time, many of the holidays took place around the time that she was stressing about papers and exams and midterms and other deadlines a college students faces around the end of the semester. She was a dedicated, busy little bee with few friends that knew her enough to know that when she's focused, theres no getting her to come out for anything, so they didn't even extend invites.

Which is why she finds herself inside, at the library, on Halloween night. She has a little ear worm of Linus writing his letter to the great pumpkin running around in her brain, but that's as far as her spooky spirit goes. The rest of it is consumed in her paper about sublime notions of nature in the latest gothic novel assigned by her literature professor, Mr. Styles.

Had it been any other teacher, she wouldn't have lingered so much on grammar, word choice, or reading her paper over and over again so that her ideas were clear and concise, but... but there was something about him. She can't really but her finger on it, but a big part of it is fear. Intimidation. He's so... commanding in the way that he carries himself. Almost menancing, his figure carrying the threat of punishment.

He walked into the lecture hall everyday dressed like a model from a vintage academia magazine. Tweed bottoms. Button up shirts. Loafers. Sleek black shoes. A pristine silver watch on his wrist. A golden chain that twinkled on his neck and disappeared into the collars of his shirts like a shooting star. Slicked back chocolate brown hair from which a single curl sometimes escaped and swayed on his forehead like the hooked tail of a monkey. Tailored pants that accentuated the litheness of his hips perfectly so, making her wonder if he had them altered to fit him exactly. A badge on a simple, black attachment pinned on his hip spelled his name underneath a coyly smirking ID picture of his face; Harry Styles. 

So y/n had a little crush.

A silly little bundle of love-misted roses perched in her heart with a ribbon and a name tag that had her English professor’s name on it. 

She tried to tell herself that it was a school girl’s crush (it literally was), but it was hard to keep her daydreams cemented underneath the rounded realm of reality when her heart kept reading into every single little interaction she had with him, knowing that all her fantasies would only ever exist in her dreams because he was an employee. He was older than her. He would never be interested in a girl, a student, like her. His serious disposition did nothing to quell her. 

In fact, it almost egged her on. The perfectionist in her wanted to be perfect for him, so be praised by him for her hard work. She wanted so badly to be his teacher's pet that it reflected in her work ethic. Every paper she turned in was better than her last, she paid rapt attention in class, took the most intricate care in her notes. She always looked her best on the days she had his class- black ballet flats with black skirts, frilly socks, cardigans and collared blouses- ever the neat student. She's every professor's wet dream, she knows this.

Yet, the approval and validation that she craved. No, needed. The validation she needed from him was never given to her, no matter how hard she worked. The notes on her paper were always asking for more, she could do better, she could be more clear, she wasn't quite*getting it. And he always left a note that she should see him in his office hours.

But she couldn't.

Y/n was sure that she would spontaneously combust is she was in an enclosed one-on-one space with him. Which was funny because many of the female students fought for that time with him. One time she heard a few girls in her class say that they tried to call him by his first name and he told them that "it was Professor Styles or Sir to them". Just listening to it second hand was enough to have her squirming. The though it, to have his striking green eyes on only her, his gravely, accented voice directed at her. It was an intoxicating though.

She could imagine it.

He would sit on the other side of his desk in that suave way of his, ankle crossed at his knee, one hand resting on the arm of his chair while the other props his chin up as his finger taps against his sharp cheekbone. He would watch her with an unwavering, predatory gaze, like he's waiting for her to make a mistake to step in and correct her. Y/n would sit in the seat across from him, her hands under her thighs to keep from fidgeting, her lips wet with her spit from how much she'd chew on them, her eyes unfocused and struggling to keep contact with him. The silence in the room would probably be filled with her 'umm's and 'like'. She'd be so nervous, and he would see right through her, and all her hard work would be diminished to nothing.

And then she would probably cry and Professor Styles doesn't really look like the type to console his students, so y/n would just embarrass herself.

So she settles for putting her all into her work, tweaking what he's made notes on from previous papers, and hoping that it's enough, that one of these days she'll she exclamation points at the end of praise instead of at the end of 'explain this'.

With a weepy, overwhelmed sigh, y/n rubbed her fists into her eyes and ran words over and over again in her head. She was the last one in the library, the light from the lamp at her desk was the only source of illumination in her little study corner. This late into the semester the school didn't close libraries, opting to not get in the way of students and their work. It was nearing midnight, and she was getting tired, but this paper was due in two days and she wanted at least one to edit it.

A little delirious from lack of sleep and anger from how difficult this was all turning out to be, y/n blinked back tears. She was a little cold and she was hungry. But she was not going to leave until this paper was finished.

She would however close her eyes, just for a little while. Y/n put her head down on the desk, telling herself that she would only rest her eyes for a few minutes, that she was not going to fall asleep.

But like every college student that snoozes their alarm twenty million times because they're just going to rest their eyes for a few more minutes, she falls asleep.

She startles awake in the dark at the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

When she jerks upright, Professor Styles is sitting across from her, reading her paper.

***

Harry is so fucking hungry, and he's looking for a snack. Maybe even a meal if he can get away with it.

He hasn't fed in nearly a month, and normally even two weeks is pushing it. But it was the month of October, and as the holidays neared and the parties increased, so did security and people's guard. It was extra hard to find a bite now, not the kind he liked.

Sweet, pure, and innocent. Untainted flavor.

A few days ago he managed to snag a few blood bags from the campus' blood drive center, but it wasn't enough. He craved the puncture, the warmth of a body in his arms, the fresh throb of a pulse underneath his tongue. He wanted the erotic writhing of struggle and submission against his body. Many of his kind didn't share their fondness for this part, but he loved taking care of them afterwards. Making sure they were okay, steady. Sated in the same ways he was. Being a vampire came with the ability of glamour, a bit of mind influencing, so that he was able to make the situation a little more favorable on his end.

He had decided to go for a stroll, having been caught up late in his office grading papers, when he caught a hint of something sweet and familiar in the night air.

It reminded him of one his students, y/n.

She always sat in the middle of the third row with perfect posture, listened to his lectures as if he was God. Her eyes would get mooney, and if he listened hard enough (which to him wasn't really that hard because he was a vampire, he had super human hearing) he could hear her heart beat faster in the seconds that his eyes held contact with her as he talked, delicate and quick like the wings of a hummingbird. Everything she turned in was perfect. She was smart but not pretentious in her way of writing, and something about the way she wrote reminded him about the tender inside of a wrist. Her wrist.

But Harry was mean, and he liked to tease, and he could tell that y/n was waiting. She was sitting on a precipice, hanging on to his very word, her body strung taught and stressed. She was waiting on him. He was going to make her wait until he did as he asked. He wanted one on one time with her, and until then, he wouldn't give her what she wanted.

Whether she realized it or not, she was teasing him, too. In ways that y/n probably wasn't even aware of. The way she bit her lips so they were bright with her blood right underneath the surface, the promise of her heat with every exaggerated sigh she let out as she walked out of his lecture hall. Her clothes, god they killed him.

She wore these black kitten heels once, and they drove him crazy.

Now, he knows his place as Professor, and he didn't just get this job to fuck around. He enjoyed teaching and knowing secretly that he knew first had about the things he was talking about. He loved seeing how his life was absorbed by the younger faces (not that he looked old, he would forever appear to be 23). He respected others, their will, their purpose, and only went as far as his moral compass would let him to take care of his needs.

But he was a man, and he could be brought to his knees by a pretty thing like y/n.

Harry remembers that day, how his trousers were uncomfortable and he had to spend the whole time behind his podium. How he needed to slyly inch a calculating hand to the ever-growing uncomfortable center of his groin and tug the snug fabric away from their vacuum-sealed hold on his hips. It was maddening for him, but uncomfortable for her (he thinks). She never wore them again, and he suspects they may have hurt her delicate feet if the way she kept shifting was anything to go by. 

Not that he noticed.

Harry most definitely did not notice that the tip of her toes kept tittering tenderly up and around in slow, hypnotizing circles, meant to relieve pent up tension. He most definitely did not notice that the way her frilly white socks kept sliding down the slope of her ankle with every movement. Or the tantalizing trekk of her delicate fingers against the curve of her thigh, behind her knee, and a little further where the pads of her lucky fingers dug into the soft, aching- he assumed- flesh of her calves. He didn’t fucking hold his breath and become stiller than a statue to try and to hear the sweet, breathy sighs of relief that left her parted lips. No, he did not. That would be a violation of the contract he signed upon assuming his position. It would be betraying the trust of the snarky, reluctant, port-belly head of academics that judged his ambiguous resume with reluctance.

Of course he didn’t. And he wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed that he never saw them again. 

This student of his had captured his attention this semester, almost distracting him. Her smell, from what he knows the few times he caught a whiff of it amongst all the others, was sweet, yet not overwhelmingly so. It was mellowed out and warm, and the closest thing he could compare it to from the food he had as a human, was apple pie. She was warm, sweet, honeyed, with the zest of cinnamon.

He wanted to taste her so fucking badly.

Harry doesn't know if it's because he's so hungry that he's smelling her now.

Trailing after the scent with his nose leading the way like a drooling dog, he wonders- no, he knows that he won't be able to fight the urge to taste her if it's really her he finds at the end of the line.

It gets stronger in the library, but from the looks of it, it's dark and empty. From the looks of it, but Harry knows better. He can hear better and smells better, and he knows she's in here. The swift intake of her breath rings in the silence, his ears picking up on the only human sound in the buildings. The near-silent whines that sit at the base of her throat and die before they exit through her nose.

Her hearbeat.

Calm. Steady. Alive.

It sounds like a drum, low and pounding and it thrills him.

He wants to hear it beat faster and faster, like a bunny when it's being chased. He wants to hear the even paced breaths become rapid and disorganized with heightened emotion.

He can smell her, too, the delightful aroma making his fangs itch and his loins ache. Walking further into the library, the stacks of books growing dense with sharp corners and cozy study nooks, he can trace the direct path she took to her spot- the table in the corner with the lamp still on. She has her head resting on her arms, hair haphazardly strewn across the wooden table and some papers, a pencil between her fingers still.

She probably set her head down after saying she was only gong to rest her eyes. She's probably been here for a really long time, he can hear her stomach growling. Shaking his head in disbelief, he pulls the chair back with a motion that's sure to wake her up at the same time that he pinches the paper with two fingers and begins to read.

Waking with a little gasp, y/n straightened. He could pinpoint the exact moment she became fully cognizant of what was happening because her heartbeat picked up in a way that concerned him, and she became utterly still. From the corner of his eye (Harry was reading her paper, a really good paper, and hadn't looked at her. Not even once) he could see her mouth open and close a few times, words escaping her. Y/n rolled the pencil between hands that had begin to perspire and began to chew on her bottom lip.

Internally, Harry groaned. He needed to get her to stop doing that because he was imagining things that no person is his position of power needed to be imagining and his cock was fattening against his thigh. He was hungry in more ways than one for her. A part of him wanted to mark her up like he was a dog and she was his chew toy, licking and sucking and biting on the sweetest parts of her to suckle on her blood; everywhere. The other wanted to do all of those things, and not just for her blood.

He had to get her to speak.

The paper that he held in his hands was probably the best that he was going to get from her class, or maybe all of them put together. The ideas were fresh with just the perfect amount of information from his lectured tossed in for a response to the prompt on the book they were currently discussing. But he had to keep playing his game with her, he had to see her fold like a ragdoll. He wasn't going to tell her what he truly thought about it, how it was so good, how she was such a good student, how she made him so proud. How she was a good girl.

Instead he put the paper down in front of her, crossed his arms and spread his legs in the chair to give his swollen dick some room and said, "you should go home. Have a meal. Go to sleep.”

At this her shoulders sagged, and it was like watching dominoes fall against each other to release different triggers, Her lips crumpled, her chin wobbled, and her eyes blinked away a sea of crystalline tears.

Y/n stared at him, a wet look that punched his gut at the same time that it made his gums salivate and his hips itch to thrust up against the desk like a thing in heat. He looked back at her, his head tipping slowly to the side to track her gaze as it dropped. Like a predatory, he observed her with the kind of stillness that promised a charge of action. That promised death in the maw of a killer.

Her mouth did that thing where it opened and closed again, sounds that came before actual words coming out of her, but never intelligible sentences. Her heart was racing, but her lungs were doing a weird thing. Like they weren't getting enough oxygen.

"Why don't you take a deep breath , hmm? And we can talk about what's going on here," he got up from his chair and stood at the side of his desk, arms crossed and feet spread shoulder width apart, formidable. If she looked closely enough, she would be able to see a thick bulge at his crotch.

But she didn't have a reason to look. He wasn't adjusting himself. He didn't even look like it bothered him.

In fact, he looked almost... mad.

Y/n looked at him straight in the eyes, and her's went doe-like, everything in her stilling like the fawn-like creature in the way of an oncoming vehicle.

Everything, including her breathing.

He wasn't going to have her passed out before all the fun began. Needing to get a grip on her, he took a few heavy steps foward, and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, the other hand tucking into his pocket to actually adjust himself this time because it was starting to get uncomfortable.

Tilting her face up and closer to him, he bent forward so that their noses were barely touching. Her warm breath huffed against his nose, and he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head.

"Breathe, y/n. You can do it," peering down at her with his jack slightly slack and his eyes at half mast, he imitated inhaling deeply, and she mimicked his motions. Her lungs expanded, and her heart slowed slightly. "That's it, darling. Again."

She gulped and her hands squeezed the fabric of the plaid tennis skirt she was wearing, bringing the hem up slightly so the thinner skin on the inside of her thighs gleamed at Harry.

Then he smelled it, and this time he didn't fight the shiver that ran through him. She was wetHis eyes closed, and a groan rolled deep in his chest. His body tensed and relaxed at the same time, like a transformation.

And when he opened his eyes, he was a different version of himself.

One that didn't give a fuck that he was a professor and she was his student.

This version only had one goal in mind: to consume her in every way he could until y/n went limp in his arms.

"Now what's the matter, little bunny?"

***

Y/n didn't know what was happening, only that something had... changed.

She might have been a quivering mess for him, but she felt the shift in him. The edge to him. The gleam in his eye. She had seen his body shiver at the same time she felt her pussy clench at his words. That's it, darling. Again. Little bunny.

He was encouraging her, not far off from what she wanted to hear from him. It stroked her muddled brain and made her feel fuzzy all over. Some of what he was saying was very inappropriate. But she could care less.

“W-what?” she mumbled, confused. She blinked so that a few tears ran down her face, and she couldn't even feel embarrassed about it.

“Y’heard me loud and clear, darling. Don’t make me repeat myself," her professor tutted.

"i'm sorry, sir. It's just that... I need to work on my paper." And she mumbled something afterwards. Low enough that he wouldn't have been able hear if he was a human. But he wasn't. That didn't mean he couldn't play with her.

"Speak up, y/n. Good girls don't mumble." His tongue was like a lashing, a reprimand, and she felt the scolding everywhere.

"It needs to be better for you, sir." Gulping, she rubbed her thighs together and shuffled in her seat. Y/n was finally one-on-one with him, and she thought she knew what it would feel like.

She was wrong.

Everything was sensitive. Hot. Cold. She was twitchy and there was this squirrley, jumpy feeling inside her. She wanted to run away like a little mouse, but she also wanted to be warmed in his hands. By his words. She wanted to hear the praise come from him so that she could stop feeling so desperate.

Y/n got like this sometimes. Whiny. Insatiable. But no one ever knew how to handle her, when to realize that she was finally full. So she was always... hungry. Like something inside her needed to be stuffed. Abused a little, maybe. She wanted to be handled and then petted. Fucked and kissed and then held. She wanted to be good.

And being like this with him, in a position that made it seem like that was possible, y/n thrummed.

Humming in realization, he stroked his knuckles down the side of her face in a caress, "and what makes you think it isn't already good?"

She leaned into his touch without realizing it, nuzzling into his hand. All she had to do now was purr. Y/n shut her eyes before speaking, "Y-you... you never-"

"Open your eyes and look at me when you're speaking, bunny." Again, the stern, scolding tone. This time it made her flinch and whimper. Her hips rocked in the chair, and he tracked the movement like a leopard in the trees ready to pounce. Y/n knew that he saw, and her face bloomed with heat.

In a breathy, chocked string of words, "you never leave nice notes on my papers, sir. All the others do, but there never any on mine and I just thought... that I n-needed to work harder to be b-better."

She shuffled again in her seat, and her professor's eyes pinched. His had trailed down to her throat, and he squeezed to hold her still.

“Stop squirming, y/n. You want to be better? Stop fucking squirming," and he released her with a small pulse at the base of her neck. He could feel his teeth bulging under his upper lip, the thrum of her life under his fingers enticing him further. Every bit of reason was escaping him. He was going to lose control. Decades of practice, of edging on months of hunger, were nothing to her allure.

He stepped back at the same time that he realized they weren't close enough.

"Stand up," he told her. He watched as she pushed the chair back and stood on wobbly knees, her gaze still searching for recognition that he had heard what she had said, that he had read between the lines and realized what she needed. "Sit on the edge of the table, facing me so we can speak properly."

When she was seated and her hands began to fiddle in her lap, he stepped close enough that her knees were almost touching his hips. And she couldn't miss it this time. The thick length of him, hard against his hip.

"S-sir?" she prompted meekly.

"You want me to leave nice notes on your papers, y/n?" He asked, settling his hands on either side of her and haunching over her so they were nose-to-nose. She could smell him, strong masculine scents of vintage leather and tobacco and bergamot.

Nodding eagerly like a dog, "mhm. Yes, sir."

"Then why didn't you come see me like I asked on every single one of those papers? You didn't listen to me, so why should I reward you?" He mouthed the words against her skin, trailing them down her jaw to her throat where he teased the skin with the tip of his nose.

The area around her neck felt scorching hot, his lips trailing searingly against her. She couldn't hide how desperate she was anymore. She arched, her body was taught, fighting the urge to wriggle because she couldn't decide if she wanted to get away from him or have more of him, and she needed to be good. He had told her to stop squirming.

"I'm sorry, Professor."

Y/n closed her eyes and tentatively braced herself against him. Trembling hands settled on his arms, thick with deceptive muscle. She could feel the strength hiding beneath the surface, tense like a snake preparing to strike. A strong hand settled at her waist, clamping like iron, and another on cupped her jaw tenderly. It was a dichotomy of treatment. Rough and tender at the same time.

"You were a bad girl, y/n."

Then she felt it, a sharp sting where her throat met her shoulder, where Harry was biting her, and licking her, and suckling at her all at the same time. A mixture of a squeal and a moan jumped out of her, and she dug her fingers into his arms, frozen. Whatever he was doing to her hurt. But it hurt in a good way. A way that made her ache with that need to be filled.

She cried out, "I'm sorry, sir." A wet apology that bared how anguished she was.

His hot tongue flattened against her, and she she vibrated in the place where he left his heavy pant, "are you going to be good for me, bunny?"

"Yes, sir. I wanna be good, please," her head was bobbing in that earnest way again, but with his head in the crook of her neck he could only feel the movement against his hair.

He suckled a little more at bite that was already beginning to close, kissing it tenderly, "gonna be my good little bunny?"

Y/n was huffing, not even bothering to hide that she was horny, “please, p-please- I need-”

“Tell me exactly what you need. C'mon, you can do it,” he coaxed her. The hand at her hip molded the flesh there, pulling her closer to him so she was sitting just at the edge, and her knees were pressed into his dick with the lightest pressure. He bucked against her, a slow roll of his groin against her delicate bare knee.

“I need to cum, sir. I need-” 

“Don’t-” he pinched her hip roughing, his thick eyebrows furowing in disapproval, “forget your manners, little bunny. Rude darlings don’t get to cum.”

"Please let me cum, Professor," she repeated, eyes glossy but no longer with tears. This was something else. Something needy. Y/n could feel her slick juices seeping through her panties and making the insides of her thighs sticker. The triangle of cloth was sticking to her, and the tight feeling of it against her clit made her want to scream. It was just barely pushing, a teasing sensation that was driving her crazy.

She wanted him to touch her. To rub her swollen clit until she drenched hand in her cum, and then to- to-

"I'm not sure I should, y/n. You didn't listen to me. Didn't come to my office. Instead I had to come find you here. What about me, hmm? What if I need something from you?" Harry leaned back, letting his hands run down so they rested on her knees and his fingers could play with the hem of her skirt.

"Whatever you need, sir. Please." Y/n was beginning to sound a little broken. Her hips struggled to stay planted on the desk and her knuckled turned white from how hard she gripped the edge of the wood. She would much rather touch him, but he was too far away and she didn't want to upset him. She stared at him, silently pleading for his hands to creep up and shove into her panties, to play with her hole.

"Right now I need to eat you, little bunny. Are you going to let me?" He tilted his head at her again, calculating. Waiting, observing.

"Yes!" Y/n shrieked, her thighs trembling.

"Spead these pretty thighs, darling. Let me have a taste," he crooned down at her as she opened up, her skirting riding so he could see her panties, how wet they were, nearly transparent with her arousal. With a deft finger, he pulled the gusset of her panties to the side and dropped to his knees.

Y/n whined at the look on his face. Mouth parted, eyes half-lidded and downturned. He looked hungry. Desperate.

Without warning he leaned forward and covered her with his mouth, his tongue licking her and then dipping into her pussy to collect what had pooled at her opening, his teeth lighting tapping against her clit. He thrusted his tongue into her once, twice, three times, and that was all it took. A gush of wetness coated his tongue, and her tremors pulsed against his lips.

He leaned back and slapped her cunt with an angry growl, and then shoved two fingers into her, fucking her roughly so his fingers got wet with her, "seriously, y/n? Did I give you permission to cum?"

"N-no, sir," as she sat hunched over his kneeling form still twitching, Harry shoved his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean of her, and then stood up, not even bothering to lay her panties right before yanking her to stand.

"Get up. We're going to walk to my rooms. Your'e doing to do so quietly, and when we get there, you're going to take your punishment like a good girl, do you understand me?" With a single finger pointed at her, y/n understand she was in for it. Her hands flew to pick up her things, showing her papers into her bag and looping it on her shoulder so she was ready to go.

"I understand, Professor"

He took the bag off her shoulder and laid a hand on her lower back, keeping her at his side as he led her out of the library and into the night, "that's better. Come this way. The night is still young, bunny, and we're both in for a treat."

*****

happy halloweenie!! hoped u liked this heehee. missed mr. vamp. lmk ur thoughts!!!

[hazbinhotei]

new clothes.

read part one here

warnings/tags: none

word count: 1239

summary: Just like he had promised, Alastor takes you on a shopping adventure around Pentagram City—and to your surprise, you actually enjoy it.

alastor x gn!reader — can be read as platonic or romantic! going a little crazy with the part twos recently. i made this fic purely under the lens of alastor and reader simply being platonic, but feel free to interpret it in any way you'd like. i also use the word 'like' 15 times in this scenario, so apologies if it's a bit repetitive. #sorrynotsorry

Pentagram City was not known for its subtlety.

Neon signs blinked obscenities in cursive fonts. Billboards advertised clothing lines made of little more than string and the occasional regret. The streets were paved with broken glass, demon spit, and the faint sound of muffled screaming. But none of that mattered—not when Alastor was practically skipping beside you, humming a jaunty tune like this was a Sunday stroll through some post-war Parisian street market.

He was, admittedly, in his element.

“I do hope you brought stamina, my dear,” Alastor chirped, his voice radiating from nowhere and everywhere, the ambient static dancing over your skin like a light breeze. “We’ve quite a few stops ahead of us! I’ve curated only the finest boutiques—places that still value craftsmanship, taste, and the glorious art of layering!”

You tried to match his pace, clutching your shoulder bag a little tighter as a succubus in stilettos passed by wearing a dress that could barely qualify as dental floss. “Honestly, I’m just hoping to find one place that doesn’t sell fishnets by the square inch.”

“Oh-hoho! Then you are in excellent company!” Alastor’s grin glinted, resembling a sharp knife in the sun. “Come! Our first stop—Mortimer’s Macabre Mode! The tailors there are to die for."

You paused. “Isn’t that the place with the eyeball mannequins that blink when you get too close?”

“The very same! Aren’t they charming?”

“...Sure.”

You weren’t quite sure what to expect when Alastor announced your destination was on the outskirts of Cannibal Town, since the name alone usually conjured images of blood-slick sidewalks and dismembered marketing strategies. You’d never dared venture this far in—too many rumors of flesh-hungry demons and butcher stalls that trafficked in more than meat. But to your surprise, the area just beyond the gates of the city had a different flavor.

The further in you walked, the more the grotesque gave way to elegance in disguise—grime softened into old-America glam. Nestled between a bustling butcher shop (was that a hand in the window?!) and a jazz bar pulsing with sour notes stood Mortimer’s Macabre Mode, its window display lit by gentle golden bulbs and mannequins dressed like they’d stepped out of a Victorian ghost story. The storefront was quaint in a lavish sort of way, with intricate ironwork curling along the awning and a doorbell that chimed similar to a music box.

The moment you stepped inside Mortimer’s, the atmosphere changed like someone had turned a dial. The lighting dimmed, the scent of aged leather and old cologne curled into your nose, and the walls gleamed with polished wood and beige velvet drapes. Despite the off-putting way the mannequins tracked your every move, the clothing was… breathtaking.

Long coats in rich jewel tones. Waistcoats embroidered with thread so fine you swore it shimmered. Button-downs with high collars, delicate cufflinks, even ascots in a dizzying array of shades.

“Oh wow,” you whispered, fingers brushing a black frock coat with embroidered lapels. “This is…”

“Sublime?” Alastor supplied, practically vibrating beside you. “Go on, pick a few things! Try them on! Let’s reinvent you, darling!”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t dress me however you wanted,” you said slowly, arms crossed as you eyed him with suspicion.

Alastor, perched nearby like a proud curator, clapped his hands once, eyes glittering with mischief. “And I shan’t! But I do know what cuts flatter you, dear. You’ll thank me, I promise.”

He gestured grandly to a nearby display, as if unveiling treasure, static humming lightly around him like a drumroll. You hesitated, eyes flicking from one display to another, trying to make sense of the foreign language of cuts, collars, and fastenings. Everything was beautiful, yes—but intimidatingly so.

Still, the way he hovered at your side, practically purring with enthusiasm, made it hard to dismiss your bubbling excitement entirely.

Two dressing rooms and four outfits later, you were forced to admit something slightly horrifying: Alastor was… really good at this.

“You’ve got an eye,” you said through the curtain, tugging at the cuffs of a dark forest green blouse tucked into high-waisted trousers that managed to be both elegant and surprisingly comfortable. “I mean, I feel like a museum curator. In a good way.”

“Well of course I’m good at this!” Alastor replied, voice smug but not unkind. “My dear, I’ve been dressing myself since the early 20th century. Back when people knew how to put an ensemble together without looking like they lost a bet.”

He tossed a matching overcoat over the curtain rod. “Here, try this with it. The color brings out the mischief in your eyes.”

You tried not to blush.

Still, you had to admit—it felt good. To look at your reflection and see something more composed, something deliberate. The outfits had a way of grounding you, sharpening your silhouette into something powerful. There was a thrill in the transformation, even if it was just for a moment.

Eventually, the shopping bags started to pile up.

You’d acquired a modest but marvelous collection: a few button-ups, structured blazers, tailored bottoms or two, and a pair of leather ankle boots that made you feel like you could boss around an army. It was more than you’d intended, but Alastor had insisted on covering everything—"A gift! From one proper dresser to another!"

And now, here you were: perched on a park bench tucked away in one of the quieter alcoves of the city, sipping lukewarm tea from a paper cup while Alastor lounged beside you like a hunter parading his recent kill of a particularly fashionable bird.

“Well?” he asked, eyes glowing as he adjusted his monocle—for flair, not necessity. “Do you feel transformed? Enlightened? Less like a half-naked tourist and more like someone of taste?”

You gave him a sidelong glance and smiled, a soft little thing, genuine and easy. “I feel like… I look more like myself, weirdly.”

Alastor quieted for a beat, a rare lull in his constant chatter.

Then: “How wonderfully peculiar,” he murmured, almost deferential. “To discover oneself through clothes… Ah, fashion truly is the soul’s most underappreciated mirror.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t disagree.

And as the day wound down, the two of you walking side-by-side through the less populated streets, your matching long coats flapping behind you like capes, there was a new sort of understanding between you. A deeper camaraderie, built not from romance, nor shared damnation, but something stranger and perhaps more valuable:

A shared appreciation for dignity in a world that had so gleefully discarded it.

And, of course, for lapels.

“Next week,” Alastor said beside you, his tone far too casual to be innocent, “we explore hats.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Berets!”

“Alastor—”

“Top hats.”

You sighed, but your smile betrayed you. “Fine. But only if I get to see you try on a newsboy cap.”

He gasped, clutching his chest as though mortally wounded. “The audacity!”

You smirked. “I dare.”

Alastor sighed dramatically, but you could see the way his usual grin widened in amusement. He grabbed your hand, tucking it neatly in his arm as he started walking once more. “This, my dear, seems to be the start of a wonderful friendship!”

You let out a soft laugh in response, warmth blooming in your chest from his words. You grabbed onto his arm with more reverence, the two of you walking back to the twinkling hotel in the distance.

Oh yes—Pentagram City wasn’t ready for you two.

tag list: @railgunuzi @frompiscium @rose-in-blue @catticora @milkissesx + @ghostofajinx [want to join/be removed from the tag list? check my pinned post!]

[callmemonster68]

throne of shadows - part 1 | p.sh - sunghoon

He was born in captivity, she was born at the top of the world. He was shaped to serve, she to rule.

paring: sunghoon x fem!reader 18+ | masterlist

wc: 7,320

warnings: nsfw, unprotected sex, crying, gore, blood

Mentions of murder, blood, self-harm. Read at your own risk.

Sunghoon, a mutant of incomparable beauty, possessed enormous black wings. He was sold as a baby to a very rich man who collected the most beautiful and unique mutants and displayed them in his luxurious museum. This rich man was perverse and very evil. Besides the exposure, he also allowed the wealthiest clients to pay and use the mutants sexually. Sunghoon never knew freedom and did not understand feelings; he never felt love, affection, pleasure, or any other good feeling.

Y/N was a beautiful and wealthy woman, she had recently married a man, Jaemin, who was a bit older than her, he was handsome, rich, and very successful, he had always been in love with her, but to her, he was nothing more than a deal. They were both heirs to extremely wealthy families, and by marrying, they doubled their fortune. He begged her to allow herself to like him, to let him win her over, to let him touch her, to make her happy, but she always denied him anything. Sleeping in separate rooms since the wedding.

Jaemin didn't know what else to do to please her, so one day he decided to visit the museum of sublime mutants. He thought that maybe something like that would make her grateful to him, and perhaps she would see him in a different light. It was then that he arrived in front of Sunghoon's display case. When he saw his wings, he felt a shiver run through his body. He knew how much Y/N liked dark, beautiful things; he knew she would love this. He went to the owner and made an irresistible offer. He succeeded; he bought it.

When he got home, Y/N wasn't there, so he prepared everything. He explained to Sunghoon that from then on he would belong to Y/N and should do everything she wanted. He put a collar on him, which controlled him, with a remote. If he got out of control, Y/N could press the button and then he would feel immense pain that would paralyze him. He took him to Y/N's room, helped him take a shower, dressed him in only black pants, and ordered him to sit on the bed until Y/N arrived.

The door opened slowly, and Y/N entered the room, throwing her bag onto an armchair without paying attention to anything. She paused for a second upon noticing the motionless figure on the bed.

Her eyes analyzed the sculptural body of the man in front of her. The black wings folded behind him, the feathers shining in the dim light of the room. The collar around his neck gave a perverse contrast to the scene.

Y/N: What the hell is this? (her voice sounded cold and irritated)

Sunghoon lifted his head, his black eyes meeting hers. He quickly lowered his gaze, not daring to look at her for too long.

Sunghoon: I am yours. (his voice was soft, obedient) I will belong to you, I will do everything you want.

She frowned and looked around, as if expecting Jaemin to appear and say it was all a joke. 

But there was no one. Just her and the mutant of supernatural beauty, sitting patiently waiting for his owner.

Y/N: Did Jaemin do that? (asked, exasperated)

Sunghoon: Yes. He brought me to you. (he tilted his head, like a dog waiting for a command) If I displease you, I can be punished. But... I want to please her. I need to please her.

There was something in the way he said that which bothered her. A blind devotion, not out of passion, but due to the lack of any other reference. As if he were incapable of existing without serving someone.

She approached slowly, stopping in front of him. With a finger, she lifted Sunghoon's chin, forcing him to look at her.

Y/N: Do you have a name?

Sunghoon: Sunghoon. But if you want to call me something else, I will accept it.

Y/N: Hm. (She released his face and crossed her arms) So, Sunghoon, what exactly do you do?

He hesitated for a moment, then replied:

Sunghoon: Anything you want.

The silence weighed heavily between the two of them. Y/N took a deep breath and looked at the remote on the bedside table. One single button and he would be writhing in pain.

She took the remote and twirled it between her fingers.

Y/N: You're here because Jaemin thinks he can buy me with a pretty toy. (Her voice was harsh, but there was no fun in it) You are aware of that, right?

Sunghoon: If that makes you happy, then it's fine. (the response was immediate, without hesitation)

Y/N pressed their lips together. Sunghoon seemed so... empty. But there was something there, behind those black eyes. Something broken.

And she never resisted broken things.

YN: Take off the wings. (your order was a test)

Sunghoon hesitated for a moment, then lowered his head. The wings folded and disappeared, as if they had never existed.

Y/N observed in silence. Then, she walked over to the bed and sat down beside him.

Y/N: Speak.

Sunghoon: About what?

Y/N: About you.

Sunghoon blinked, as if he didn't understand the order.

Sunghoon: I... don't know what to say.

She let out a nasal laugh.

Y/N: Of course not.

Sunghoon knew nothing but serving. He didn't know what desire, freedom, or even the meaning of touch that wasn't imposed was.

But he would learn.

The silence lingered between them. Sunghoon maintained an immobile posture, his eyes fixed on the woman beside him, awaiting the next command like a trained soldier.

Y/N ran their tongue over their lips, watching him closely.

Y/N: Do you really not feel anything? (he/she asked, with a slight hint of curiosity)

Sunghoon: I feel what they teach me to feel (he replied without hesitation)

Y/N: And what did they teach you?

Sunghoon lowered his eyes.

Sunghoon: To obey. Not to question. To be available.

There was something devastating in the way he said that, as if there was nothing strange or cruel about that reality. As if it were natural.

Y/N let out a sigh and leaned back, resting on their elbows.

Y/N: And if I tell you that I don't want a servant?

Sunghoon blinked, his lips slightly parting as if that were an impossible concept to process.

Sunghoon: But... I am yours.

She laughed, a low, almost cynical laugh.

Y/N: You don't even know what that means.

He remained silent, but Y/N noticed the slight tension in his shoulders. Something in her wanted to test him. Tease him.

She slid the tips of her fingers over his chest, feeling the muscles contract under her touch. 

Sunghoon didn't even move, but his breathing became deeper.

Y/N: Tell me, Sunghoon… (she leaned her face close to his, whispering) What do you want?

He blinked a few times, confused.

Sunghoon: What do I... want?

Y/N: Yes. Has anyone ever asked you that?

He shook his head slowly.

Sunghoon: No.

Y/N smiled slightly, but it wasn't a smile of amusement. It was something colder, sharper.

Y/N: So think about it. And when you know the answer, tell me.

She got up and took the collar control, spinning it between her fingers before dropping it on the bedside table.

Y/N: You can sleep on the floor, in the armchair, or in the bed. Choose.

Sunghoon watched her for a moment before bowing his head in submission.

Sunghoon: If I say I want to sleep at your feet, would that make you happy?

Y/N felt a shiver run down their spine.

He didn't know what desire was, but he was trying to understand.

And that could be dangerous.

Y/N remained silent for a moment, observing Sunghoon. There was something perverse in his blind devotion, something that made her want to test him, to push him beyond that brutal conditioning that had turned him into a submissive being.

She approached again, leaning slightly towards him.

Y/N: Do you want to sleep at my feet?

Sunghoon nodded, his black eyes shining under the dim light of the room.

Sunghoon: If that pleases you, yes.

She laughed softly, a sound that sent a shiver down his spine.

Y/N: You are so used to pleasing others, Sunghoon... but can you handle what I want?

He remained silent, his eyes fixed on hers. He didn't understand, but he wanted to understand.

Y/N extended her hand and pulled the collar chain, forcing him to come closer. Sunghoon didn't resist, his lips parting slightly when he felt her breath so close.

Y/N: I could test you in so many ways... (she slid her fingers along his jawline, feeling it tremble slightly under her touch) But are you ready for this?

His eyes blinked rapidly, as if trying to process.

Sunghoon: I want to be everything you need.

Y/N felt a strange excitement coursing through their body. It was not just carnal desire — it was the power of having someone so beautiful, so perfect, so devoted in your hands.

She leaned in even closer, the tip of her nose brushing against his cheek.

Y/N: Open your mouth.

Sunghoon obeyed at that very moment, breathing heavily, his eyes half-closed.

Y/N ran their thumb over his lips, feeling the warmth and softness.

Y/N: Good answer. (her voice came out low, provocative)

Sunghoon shuddered. He didn't understand why his body reacted like that. He had never felt heat before. I had never felt my chest tighten like that before.

Y/N: You are trembling, Sunghoon. (Y/N noticed and smiled)

Sunghoon: I... don't know what this is.

She pressed her finger against his tongue, slowly, testing his reaction. Sunghoon let out a soft gasp, his eyes fixed on hers as if he were being consumed.

Y/N: That's right, Sunghoon... (she whispered against his lips, without kissing him) Learn to feel.

The days passed, and Sunghoon became a shadow of Y/N. He followed her silently through the mansion's corridors, patiently waiting by the bathtub while she bathed, and slept on the floor next to her bed, even when she insisted he choose a more comfortable place.

He didn't know how to explain that. He only knew that he needed to be close to her.

Y/N: You are addicted to me, Sunghoon.

She whispered one night, as she ran her fingers through his hair, feeling him shiver at the mere touch.

Sunghoon: If that means I want to be by your side all the time... then yes.

Y/N felt a warmth rise through her body. She wanted to take him for herself, wanted to feel his skin against hers, wanted to possess him in every possible way. But she wasn't a monster. She didn't just want an obedient body, without its own will.

She needed to know if he desired her in the same way.

That's why, a few days later, she decided to ask Jaemin some questions.

Y/N: Where did he come from?

Jaemin frowned upon hearing the sudden question.

Jaemin: Sunghoon? Why do you want to know?

Y/N: Just answer.

He sighed, leaning back in the chair.

Jaemin: I bought it at the museum of sublime mutants. It was the most valuable of all.

Y/N's blood ran cold.

She knew that place. She knew it wasn't an ordinary museum.

That night, while Sunghoon slept beside the bed, she took the car keys and drove to the museum.

The owner of the place greeted her with a smile full of arrogance.

Owner: Are you the new owner of the celestial mutant? A rare specimen. It was a difficult sale to make.

Y/N held back to avoid showing the anger that was beginning to grow inside her.

Y/N: I want to know where he came from.

The man chuckled softly, taking a sip of wine before responding.

Owner: He was sold to me as a baby. Never knew another reality. Trained to be... pleasant.

The way he said that made Y/N's stomach turn.

Y/N: You exposed him like a display piece. (her voice came out sharp)

The man shrugged.

Owner: I give people what they want to see. Some like to just admire the beauty... others want a little more than that.

Her fists clenched.

Y/N: Was he... used?

The man raised an eyebrow, pretending to be surprised.

Owner: Ah, my lady... Do you really want to know the answer?

It was enough for her to feel a blind rage take over her.

She left there with her breath uneven, her heart pounding in her chest.

Now everything made sense. The devotion, the silent fear of displeasing, the way he never asked for anything for himself.

He was never allowed to want anything.

When she returned home, Sunghoon was waiting for her at the bedroom door.

He approached, as he always did, and held her hand gently, pressing it against his bare chest.

Sunghoon: Your heart is racing (he murmured, confused)

Y/N looked at him, at his absurd beauty, at the eyes that didn't know what freedom was.

She felt anger. But, above all, she felt pity.

And he realized he would do anything to fix it.

The silence weighed heavily between them.

Y/N still felt the blood boiling inside them. Every time she looked at Sunghoon, his immaculate beauty, his submissive and naive eyes, the anger returned like a wave. They had deprived him of everything. Of choices, of desires, of a real life.

She couldn't stand it.

Y/N: Sunghoon… (her voice came out softer than she expected) I will set you free.

He tilted his head, his black eyes shining in the dim light of the room.

Sunghoon: What does this mean?

Y/N felt a tightness in their chest. How to explain something so fundamental to someone who has never even had the notion of what it was like to be free?

She took a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

Y/N: It means that you will be able to choose whatever you want. That no one will be able to control you, hold you back, or tell you what to do. You will be able to go wherever you want...

Sunghoon kept looking at her, without blinking.

Sunghoon: What if I want to be with you?

Y/N felt their heart leap in their chest.

Y/N: If that's your choice, then... (she hesitated, feeling the intensity of his gaze) Then you could stay. But, for the first time, because you wanted to.

His expression didn't change. But something shone in his eyes, something intense and uncontrollable.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and held Y/N's hand gently.

Sunghoon: If freedom means being without you... then I don't want it.

Her heart stopped for a second.

He was speaking with a terrifying certainty. As if freedom were worth nothing if it meant he couldn't be by her side.

Y/N: Sunghoon… (Y/N felt their breath hitch) You don't understand.

He knelt before her, pressing his forehead against her belly.

Sunghoon: I understand enough. (his voice sounded low, like a prayer) You are everything I know. And everything I want to know.

She closed her eyes, feeling her body burn with frustration and desire.

He didn't know what love was. He didn't know what it was to want someone the right way. 

But I was learning.

And that scared her more than anything else.

Y/N felt Sunghoon's fingers tighten around her waist, the hesitant touch, almost as if he were afraid she would disappear if he didn't hold her tightly.

Y/N: Sunghoon… (she whispered, her eyes fixed on him) You only say that because you've never had another option.

He raised his head, his black eyes sparkling in confusion.

Sunghoon: But I don't want another option.

Y/N closed their eyes for a moment, feeling their breath tremble. He didn't understand. How could he? He never knew what it was like to have a real choice. He never knew what it was like to desire something of his own free will.

And her?

She always had choices. And, at that moment, everything inside her screamed for her to choose him.

But would that be right?

She ran her fingers over Sunghoon's face, feeling the cold and flawless skin under her touch. He instinctively leaned into her hand, his eyes half-closed, as if that gesture were enough to make him crumble.

Y/N: You want to be with me because you've never had anything but pain and submission (she said, her voice heavy with emotion) I don't want to be just another person who keeps you trapped.

Sunghoon: You don't keep me trapped. (his voice came out firm, without hesitation) You are the only thing that makes me feel... something.

Y/N bit their lip, stifling a trembling sigh.

Y/N: What do you feel when you're with me?

Sunghoon blinked slowly, as if he were searching for the answer within himself.

Sunghoon: I don't know the name. But it's hot. Strong. (he slid his fingers along the hem of her dress, hesitantly) As if I needed to touch you to keep breathing.

The air between them became thick, heavy.

Y/N felt their body burn.

She wanted that. She wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel his breath against my skin. I wanted to know if what he felt was real or just a conditioned response to the desire to please her.

But...

Y/N: You don't know what you're feeling.

He furrowed his brow, the wings moving slightly behind him.

Sunghoon: So teach me.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Y/N: Sunghoon…

Sunghoon: You said that freedom is being able to choose. (he moved closer, their lips almost touching) I choose you.

Y/N's body responded before her mind. She leaned towards him, her fingers sliding over the collar-marked neck.

She wanted to believe that it was a choice.

I wanted to believe that he wanted her the same way she wanted him.

But did he really understand?

And could she resist the idea of taking him for herself?

The days went by, and Sunghoon became an extension of Y/N.

He no longer stayed in the room, waiting for orders. Now, he followed her everywhere, like a silent shadow. At the lavish dinners, where the powerful exchanged false smiles and toasts full of ulterior motives, Sunghoon was by her side, observing everything with curious eyes. 

On the morning walks through the garden, he smelled the flowers and asked Y/N why some people smiled only with their lips, but never with their eyes.

She taught him every day.

Y/N: This is called a lie (they explained once, running the tips of their fingers over his wrist) People lie all the time. For others and for themselves.

He frowned, holding her hand between his.

Sunghoon: Do you lie to me?

Y/N held their breath.

Y/N: I... (she hesitated) I never want to lie to you, Sunghoon.

He smiled, satisfied with the answer.

But Jaemin was not satisfied.

He observed everything from afar, his gaze growing increasingly dark as he watched 

Sunghoon claim a space that had never been his.

Before, Y/N wouldn't even let him touch her.

Now, that mutant was by her side all the time, receiving the looks and smiles that Jaemin had spent years begging for.

And then, that night, everything fell apart.

He saw them.

It was late, and the mansion's hall was empty. Jaemin was descending the stairs when he abruptly stopped upon seeing a scene that made his blood boil.

Y/N was leaning against one of the marble columns, her fingers gently sliding over Sunghoon's face.

He held her waist, his gaze filled with something Jaemin had never seen before. Something raw. Something human.

And then it happened.

Sunghoon leaned in, hesitating at first, but soon gathered his courage, pressing his lips against hers.

The first kiss.

Not a rehearsed kiss.

Not an ordered kiss.

But a genuine kiss.

Jaemin felt something break inside him.

The fury took over his body like an uncontrollable flame. He clenched his fists and felt his nails dig into his own skin.

That couldn't go on.

Sunghoon needed to be reminded of who he was.

And, above all, of whom he could never have.

The anger burned in Jaemin like a corrosive poison.

He couldn't erase the scene from his mind: Sunghoon holding Y/N as if he had some right over her. As if he were a real man and not a purchased object. As if that kiss meant something beyond a stupid illusion.

No.

This needed to end.

That same night, when Y/N went to take a shower, Jaemin found Sunghoon alone in the room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, with a calm expression and perfect posture, as if he belonged there. As if he had completely forgotten where he came from.

Great. He would make a point of reminding him.

Jaemin: Stand up. (Jaemin ordered, his voice low and dangerous)

Sunghoon slowly raised his eyes. Something inside them shone... Confidence? Challenge?

Jaemin gritted his teeth.

Jaemin: I said... standing up.

This time, Sunghoon obeyed. But something in the way he moved made Jaemin want to destroy him. The way he didn't lower his head. The way he seemed to believe he belonged to Y/N.

Jaemin: You forgot what it is, didn't you? (Jaemin laughed, coldly) Do you think you're more than a pet now?

Sunghoon didn't answer. But there was something in the way he stood still, as if he were waiting.

Jaemin: You need to remember (Jaemin murmured, getting closer until he was just a few centimeters away) And I will make sure that happens.

Before Sunghoon could react, Jaemin grabbed the collar around his neck and pressed the button on the remote.

The scream that tore through Sunghoon's throat was dry and desperate.

He fell to his knees at that very moment, his hands gripping the collar as his body convulsed with unbearable pain. The shock burned inside, destroying any strength he had.

Jaemin crouched down beside him, gripping his face roughly.

Jaemin: You should never have touched her.

Sunghoon gasped, his chest rising and falling with difficulty. His eyes were cloudy, but even amidst the pain, he didn't break. He didn't cry.

And that just made Jaemin press the button again.

Sunghoon's scream echoed through the mansion.

But Jaemin didn't mind.

He just smiled.

Y/N knew something was wrong the moment they opened the bedroom door.

The metallic smell in the air. The absence of any sound.

So, she saw.

Sunghoon was on the ground, his knees bent, his chest heaving as if each breath were a struggle. His arms trembled, and his hands were clenched around the collar's collar, as if he were trying to tear it off by force. The face, once serene and submissive, was pale, sweaty.

And then, slowly, he raised his eyes to her.

Y/N held their breath.

Sunghoon's eyes were... different. The submission was still there, but now there was something else. Something broken. Something desperate.

Y/N: Sunghoon… (her voice almost faltered when saying his name)

He opened his mouth to speak, but before any words came out, Jaemin appeared at the door behind her, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket with a satisfied smile.

Jaemin: You should teach your pet not to take what isn't theirs. (Jaemin said casually, as if he were talking about something trivial)

Y/N's body froze.

Y/N: What did you do?

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, amused.

Jaemin: What was necessary.

Y/N's chest rose and fell quickly. Her gaze returned to Sunghoon, who was still kneeling, his lips slightly parted, his eyes fixed on her as if she were the only thing keeping him there.

She knelt beside him, her fingers trembling as they touched his face.

He didn't move away.

He never stayed away.

But at that moment, Y/N saw something in his eyes that had never been there before.

Fear.

And it was as if something inside her broke too.

She looked at Jaemin, her hands tightly around Sunghoon.

Y/N: I swear (her voice came out low, filled with hatred) that you will regret this.

Jaemin laughed, shaking his head.

Jaemin: You talk as if you have power over something. As if he were yours.

Y/N felt Sunghoon's muscles tense under their touch. He was trembling.

She ran her hand through her hair, feeling a painful tightness in her chest.

Y/N: He is mine.

The words came out without her realizing, but upon saying them, she knew they were true.

Sunghoon closed his eyes for a moment, as if those words were all he needed to hear.

And it was there that Y/N made their decision.

She wouldn't let Jaemin touch him again.

She would free him.

The price didn't matter.

That night, Y/N didn't leave Sunghoon's side.

Ignoring any protest or look from Jaemin. He took care of him with his own hands, cleaning the cuts left by the collar, massaging the muscles stiff with pain, letting him rest his head on his lap when his body finally succumbed to exhaustion.

She ran her fingers through his dark hair, feeling her heart tighten at seeing him so vulnerable.

Y/N: I promise... (murmured against her skin) I will never let this happen again.

Sunghoon slowly opened his eyes, staring at her with that blind and devoted intensity that took her breath away.

Sunghoon: If you want this... then I believe.

He believed in her. Even after everything.

And it was there that Y/N decided.

Jaemin would pay.

The following days were silent, but full of meaning.

Y/N didn't allow Jaemin to get close to Sunghoon. She was attentive to every detail, every movement, every shadow of danger that might loom over them.

And, in the midst of it all, she was plotting.

Sunghoon started helping her without even needing explanations. He was observant, intelligent — more than Jaemin ever suspected. Each order from Y/N was followed without hesitation, each test, each small strategy.

And then, on the exact night that Y/N chose, they attacked.

Jaemin was in his office when the door slowly opened. He looked up, surprised to see Y/N standing there, alone.

She rarely went to him.

Jaemin: What happened? (he asked, swirling the whiskey glass in his hand)

She entered, her steps slow and measured.

Y/N: I need to talk.

Jaemin smiled, satisfied.

Jaemin: Finally.

He stood up, ready to approach, but before he could take a step, a shadow appeared behind him.

Fast.

Feroz.

Sunghoon.

Before Jaemin could react, Sunghoon grabbed his arms and pushed him against the table. The mutant's superhuman strength kept him immobile.

Jaemin: What the hell—?!

Jaemin shouted, but was interrupted when Y/N approached and, with steady hands, pulled something from their pocket.

The control of the collar.

Jaemin's eyes widened.

Jaemin: No.

But Y/N just smiled.

Y/N: Yes.

She pressed the button.

And then, everything happened too fast.

Sunghoon pulled the collar from his own neck, the clasp coming undone as if it had never been strong enough to hold him. Jaemin was still trying to understand what was happening when he felt the leather tighten around his throat.

The roles were reversed.

Now, it was he who was caged.

Now, it was he who was defenseless.

Y/N held the controller tightly, satisfaction shining in their eyes.

Y/N: Let's see how you handle this.

She pressed the button again.

And Jaemin fell to his knees.

Jaemin's screams echoed through the dark room.

The floor was stained with sweat, blood, and despair.

Sunghoon was next to Y/N, watching her in silence as she pressed the button on the remote again. Jaemin writhed on the floor, foam forming at the corners of his lips.

He no longer seemed like the same powerful and untouchable man.

Now, he was just a wounded animal.

And Sunghoon liked seeing him like that.

Y/N: I think he's going to faint. (in a voice heavy with coldness)

Sunghoon tilted his head, his black eyes shining under the dim light of the room.

Sunghoon: Not yet. (his voice was low, serene) Not before the true punishment.

Jaemin gasped on the ground, trying to catch his breath. His head tilted to the side, and he looked at Sunghoon with hatred in his eyes.

Jaemin: You... will... pay for this...

Sunghoon knelt beside him and held his chin with a force that made him groan in pain.

Sunghoon: No, Jaemin... (Sunghoon whispered, a small smile playing on his lips) You are the one paying.

Jaemin tried to spit on him, but Sunghoon just laughed.

It was then that he looked at Y/N.

Sunghoon: I heard his conversation with the museum owner. (Sunghoon said softly) He said he never touched you.

Jaemin froze.

The silence that followed was heavier than any scream of pain.

Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine upon seeing Sunghoon's gaze. She knew. She knew what that meant.

Sunghoon: That... would destroy you, wouldn't it? (Sunghoon continued, leaning closer to Jaemin) Knowing that she never wanted you. Never gave you anything. But she wants me.

Jaemin's eyes widened, and Y/N held their breath.

Sunghoon turned his gaze to her, and his expression changed completely. The fierce look softened, and he approached slowly.

Sunghoon: But... (his voice became a whisper) Do you want this?

Y/N's heart was pounding.

She wanted him.

I wanted it so much it hurt.

But there was something inside her that hesitated. He had been used before. Touched by hands he did not desire.

She didn't want to be just another person to hurt him.

Y/N: I... (she wet her lips, hesitant) Sunghoon... and if…

He raised his hand and touched her face with a gentleness that made her gasp.

Sunghoon: I want you. (his voice was sincere, raw, filled with emotion) Only you.

Y/N felt something inside her shatter.

The hesitation disappeared.

Jaemin watched everything without being able to say a word. He knew. He knew that would be the end.

And when Sunghoon held Y/N by the waist and pulled her against him, he knew he was right.

The true hell for Jaemin was just beginning.

The room was filled with a thick, suffocating tension. The only sound was Jaemin's ragged breathing, still trying to recover from the pain, and the erratic rhythm of Y/N's heart.

Sunghoon was too close, his warm body against hers. His black wings enveloped them both, creating a cocoon of darkness where only they existed.

Sunghoon: I want you. (Sunghoon repeated, his voice low, almost pleading) Only you.

Y/N held his face between her hands, her fingers caressing his pale skin. The black eyes were filled with something intense, something he barely understood, but that desired her with everything he had.

Y/N: If it's too much... (she started, but he interrupted her)

Sunghoon: You are my first choice. (Sunghoon whispered against her lips) I want this. I want to feel you. I want to know what it's like.

It was enough for any hesitation to disappear.

The desire had been burning in Y/N for days, the hunger growing with each touch, with each submissive glance he cast her way. Now, she had him there, ready, surrendering without reservations.

And Jaemin was watching everything.

Sunghoon kissed Y/N with a mixture of need and adoration. His mouth was warm, eager, desperate to know her in every way. His hands slid over her body, hesitant at first, but soon firm, learning how to touch her.

The control of the collar slipped from Y/N's hands as she pulled Sunghoon closer, her nails scratching his back, feeling the tense muscles under her fingers.

Sunghoon: You are beautiful... (he murmured between kisses, each word laden with reverence) Perfect.

Jaemin groaned in frustration on the floor, but neither of them looked at him. He no longer existed at that moment.

Sunghoon laid Y/N on the table, his dark eyes scanning her body as if he were seeing something sacred. His hands slid slowly, tracing every curve, every shiver, while his lips explored her skin.

Y/N felt adored, desired in a way they had never felt before.

Sunghoon: Tell me what to do... (Sunghoon asked, his voice trembling, his lips parted in a silent plea)

Y/N's heart melted.

She guided his hands, showed him what she wanted, how she wanted it. And he obeyed every command, each of her moans being a reward for his devotion.

The movements started slow, but soon became urgent, desperate. Sunghoon trembled against her, his eyes closed in pure ecstasy.

Sunghoon: Is this... is this good? (he asked, panting, as if he needed her validation)

Y/N smiled against his skin, holding his face with both hands.

Y/N: It's perfect. You are perfect.

Sunghoon groaned, pressing his forehead against hers.

And then, finally, he surrendered completely.

Pleasure enveloped them like a storm, consuming them mercilessly. Sunghoon held Y/N tightly, as if fearing she would disappear, his warm breath against her neck.

Sunghoon trembled against Y/N, his eyes half-closed in pure confusion and pleasure.

She guided him with patience, with affection, as if each of her touches were something precious, something he should savor slowly. Her hands glided over his skin, feeling the muscles contract under her touch.

He had never experienced this before.

He never knew he could desire something beyond what was imposed on him.

And now, Y/N was there, teaching him that pleasure could be given, not taken.

Sunghoon gasped when her lips brushed against his chest, slowly descending. His breath caught in his throat, and he looked down, confused.

Sunghoon: What…? (he couldn't finish the sentence)

Y/N smiled, their fingers tracing the firm line of his abdomen before descending to his penis.

Y/N: Trust me. (his voice was a whisper, a promise)

He trusted.

I would always trust.

Sunghoon propped himself up on his elbows, watching her as she slid down.

The air escaped from his lungs with a sob when her lips brushed the tip of his member.

Sunghoon: Y/N… (he trembled, his entire body shivering)

She looked at him, her eyes shining under the dim light of the room.

Y/N: Has anyone ever touched you like this? (the question was asked gently, but he felt its weight)

He swallowed hard, shaking his head.

Sunghoon: Never... (his voice was a whisper) No one... has ever done this to me.

Y/N's eyes softened.

Y/N: So, I want you to just feel.

And then, she enveloped him with her lips, slowly and deeply.

Sunghoon shouted.

Pleasure hit him like a shock, an intense shiver running down his spine.

He had never felt anything like this before.

It has always been something forced, painful, impersonal. But this? That was warmth, it was softness, it was desire.

He grabbed the papers that were under the table, his eyes wide, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Sunghoon: Y/N… (your name slipped from his lips like a pleading moan)

She devoured him patiently, savoring every reaction from him, every interrupted sigh. Her hands held his thighs, keeping him in place while she explored every inch with her tongue.

Sunghoon didn't know what to do.

I didn't know where to put my hands, how to contain the overwhelming pleasure that surged through my body like a furious wave.

Y/N: Is it good? (Y/N murmured against him, their warm breath making him tremble)

Sunghoon: Yes... (the answer came out in a drawn-out moan) It's so... so good…

He didn't want it to end.

I didn't want that touch to disappear.

It was as if, for the first time, someone was touching him because they wanted to, because they desired to.

And it made his heart ache in a way he didn't understand.

He grabbed her hair, not to force her, but because he needed to hold her, needed to feel that it was real.

Sunghoon: I… I don't... I don't know how long... (he could barely form words)

Y/N smiled at him.

Y/N: Just give in.

And he surrendered.

Pleasure took him violently, his eyes closing tightly as his body arched beneath her. He moaned her name like a prayer, his fingers gripping until his knuckles turned white.

It was intense.

It was liberating.

It was the first time that pleasure was not something taken from him.

It was given.

And when he finally opened his eyes, he found Y/N watching him, her lips slightly swollen, a glimmer of satisfaction and tenderness in her gaze.

Sunghoon pulled her up, hugging her tightly, burying his face in her neck.

Sunghoon: Thank you… (his voice was hoarse, almost inaudible)

Y/N stroked his hair, smiling against his skin.

Y/N: Always.

Jaemin was sobbing on the floor, devastated.

Y/N smiled, satisfied.

The revenge was complete.

Sunghoon didn't care about him anymore.

There was only Y/N.

And he wanted her forever.

The silence was almost absolute, except for the heavy breathing of Sunghoon and Y/N, still wrapped in the heat of the moment. Jaemin was lying on the floor, his body trembling, his eyes fixed on them with a hatred that mingled with pure despair.

He was devastated.

Sunghoon watched him for a moment, his chest rising and falling slowly as he absorbed what had happened. Something inside him felt different, as if an invisible chain had been broken.

He felt free.

But it still wasn't enough.

Sunghoon reluctantly stepped away from Y/N, standing up. He approached Jaemin, his dark eyes shining with something dangerous.

Jaemin tried to pull away, but the collar around his neck kept him restrained.

Sunghoon: What happened? (Sunghoon asked in a calm tone, but laden with irony) Didn't you like the show?

Jaemin grunted, his face red with anger.

Jaemin: You... bastard... (he tried to get up, but Sunghoon pressed a foot against his chest, pushing him back to the ground)

Y/N: Be careful with what you say. (the voice of Y/N cut through the air, smooth but lethal)

Jaemin swallowed hard. For the first time, it seemed he truly understood that he no longer had control.

Sunghoon bent down, his fingers gripping the collar control. He twirled it between his fingers, experiencing the feeling of power.

For years, he lived under the dominion of this pain, feeling each shock as a reminder that he was not his own master.

Now, it was different.

He had control.

He pressed the button.

Jaemin screamed, his body arching on the ground as electricity coursed through his spine. 

His skin glistened with cold sweat, his eyes rolling for a moment.

Sunghoon observed everything with a neutral, almost indifferent expression.

Y/N approached slowly, kneeling beside Sunghoon. His hand slid over his, guiding his fingers to press the button once more.

Jaemin let out a groan of pain, his resistance breaking more with each passing second.

Sunghoon: You liked doing this with me, didn't you? (Sunghoon asked, tilting his head) Now do you understand what it's like to be on the other side?

Jaemin opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a weak groan.

Y/N: You are nothing but a pathetic piece of trash. (Y/N whispered near his ear) And now, you will pay for everything.

Sunghoon pulled Jaemin by the collar, their faces just centimeters apart.

Sunghoon: What happened? Got nothing to say? (he mocked, a dark smile appearing on his lips) It's not fun when you're not the one in control, is it?

Jaemin gasped, his body completely surrendered to suffering.

Y/N took the collar key and looked at Sunghoon.

Y/N: What are we going to do with him?

Sunghoon looked at Jaemin, analyzing him as if he were deciding the fate of an insignificant insect.

Then, a cruel smile curved his lips.

Sunghoon: I think he deserves to taste a bit of his own medicine.

Jaemin's eyes widened, the understanding of what was to come finally sinking in.

Sunghoon slid his fingers along Jaemin's neck, tugging at the collar chain before turning to Y/N.

Sunghoon: Shall we play a little more, my love?

The wicked gleam in Y/N's eyes was the only answer he needed.

The revenge was just beginning.

Jaemin trembled, his body surrendered to exhaustion and despair. The pain was eating him from the inside out, but the worst part wasn't the shock of the collar, nor the precise blows that Sunghoon dealt. The worst part was looking at Y/N and seeing the glimmer of satisfaction in their eyes.

She was enjoying seeing him like this.

And that destroyed him more than any physical pain.

Y/N approached slowly, the heels of her shoes echoing on the marble floor. She knelt beside Jaemin, holding his face between her delicate fingers.

Y/N: You wanted so much for me to look at you, didn't you? (her voice was low, almost a poisonous whisper) You wanted me to desire you... But just look at you now.

Jaemin's eyes filled with hatred, but there was something else there. Humiliation.

Sunghoon knelt beside them, the shadow of his black wings casting across the room. He smiled slightly, tilting his head.

Sunghoon:: Tell me, Jaemin… Do you regret it?

The silence was heavy.

Jaemin didn't respond.

Sunghoon grabbed the collar remote and pressed the button again, making Jaemin scream, his body bending in pain.

Sunghoon: I asked... (Sunghoon whispered against his ear, his fingers gliding softly over Jaemin's sweaty skin) Do you regret it?

Jaemin was gasping, tears welling up in his eyes. His body no longer had the strength to resist.

Jaemin: Y-yes...

Y/N smiled, satisfied.

Y/N: Too bad it's too late.

She looked at Sunghoon, who already understood what she meant.

He pulled Jaemin by the hair, forcing him to look at him one last time.

Y/N: You won't hurt anyone anymore.

And then, Sunghoon broke his neck with a single move.

A crack echoed through the room.

Jaemin's body fell lifeless to the ground, his eyes still wide open.

Sunghoon stood still for a moment, looking at him. He felt something new within himself.

Freedom.

But it wasn't Jaemin's absence that gave her that feeling.

It was Y/N.

He turned to her, his wings fully spreading.

Sunghoon: It's over. (he murmured)

She smiled softly, extending her hand to him.

Y/N: Come with me.

Sunghoon didn't hesitate. He took her hand and pulled her close, wrapping her in a tight embrace.

Sunghoon: Am I free now? (he asked, his voice heavy with emotion)

Y/N ran their fingers through his hair, their eyes softening.

Y/N: Yes, my love. You are free.

He held her close, inhaling her perfume, feeling her warmth.

So, he smiled.

Sunghoon: If freedom means being without you... then I never want to be free.

Y/N felt her heart tighten in her chest, an intense emotion taking over her.

She held his face and kissed him, slowly, deeply, sealing her promise.

Sunghoon was no longer a collectible piece.

He was hers.

And, for the first time, it was a choice.

Y/N: Let's finish what we started.

Y/N slid their fingers gently across his face.

✿ If you don't reblog and comment, you can be sure I'll be showing up in your dreams tonight... and I won’t be as sweet as in the story ✿

[navillee]

"Make sure that collar is tight around my neck if you want me to behave. Never let go."

oh, come on, Sylus, look how sublime you would be as a sub.

[chocsra]

✧ "Salvation; Devotion"

16! stormbringer! Chuuya x fem! reader

✧ summary: being targeted by paul verlaine after being chuuyas friend, though when he comes to talk to you with a european detective, it seems to be more than friendship. ✧ content: small oneshot, fluff, angst (kinda), adam + angsty teenagers ✧ w/c: 1.4k

Chuuya - meaning "loyalty, devotion"

Nakahara - meaning "central plain"

His devotion was not only his strongest attribute, but his most tender weakness.

You knew a boy. He was young and short, but fiery and strong. He was mysterious, born with unknown origins, and walked the wrong path, that's why he's not only humanity's most destructive weapon but a lowly, pitiful, criminal.

It was something you weren't, though you didn't mind much.

But under the guise of celestial imperfections, Chuuya was a constellation falling into place. He was beautiful. Sunkissed with the kind of foreign beauty you’d see in actors that would play some sort of prince. Your first examination of him was his wealthy and neatly ironed clothing—the kind of blazers and shoes that you’d find in a modelling campaign. Even the accented cuffs of his clothing were underlined with emerald or other precious stones. Then, his silky russet hair, one thrown into a low ponytail—the hairstyle itself still retained a strong masculinity despite the length. Or maybe that came from the musky cologne he constantly wore. A hint of cigarettes, strawberries and that strong scent of virile.

The soft glow from his copper locks then shifted to the fitted collar around his neck—an odd fashion choice, but it really accentuated the ivory of his skin. Soft, sun-kissed skin that’d make its way to his face. A beautiful face, really. Delicate and angelic features with a permanent scowl tugging on his lips—soft pink lips. Chuuya's eyes reflected a fine smoky quartz. His cheeks and nose kissed with a few scattered freckles.

You wondered why a boy so sublime had the status of an onerous beast. Even he took the words that held the weight of a blade and cut himself until he was reduced to the slit of a knife.

You met that same boy, a masterpiece ripped at every edge, not in the dangers of the mafia, but where a silver line stretches to the sea. Where the sun meets the sky, where the light shines.

But even then, you treated him differently. You didn't treat him like he was something fragile. Neither did you treat him like the monstrosity he was sought out to be. You didn't worship him, nor did you greatly depend on him. Instead, you found his humanity and treated him as such. Once a stranger, then a friend, then..

Nevermind.

"Chuuya?!"

You heard the calamity of each step he took to reach you, the boy stopping to pant. "[Y/N].. we need to talk." next to the redhead, was a tall European man with short brown hair, he didn't look tired at all compared to Chuuya. "Greetings, my name is Adam Frankenstein." You cocked a brow at his monotonous voice, the way his mouth moved didn't seem in sync with his words either. "You're rather special, Master Chuuya spent almost 7 hours looking for yo-" Adam explained briefly, causing the redhead to grimace and cut him off, "Shut it, will ya?!"

...

You heaved a bothersome sigh, elbows planted on a cafe table as the two men sat in front of you. "So.. why do you need me, Chuuya?" you question, fiddling with your fingers, "And who's he?.." your gaze uplifts to the brunette foreigner, which the man carefully takes a pack of gum and begins to unfold it, popping a piece in his mouth, before swallowing it. Your eyebrows furrow in a moment of youthful distaste.

Chuuya clutches the cup of tea between his gloved fingers and murmurs something intangible, "Adam's a detective from Europole, investigating Verlaine. He wants to know more about him, which is why he's been following me around.." he finally explains, taking a calculated and almost frustrated sip of his tea.

"Verlaine. Who's Verlaine?" You ask momentarily, causing the redhead to part his lips to answer, but you quickly halt as the detective swallows another piece of gum down his throat. "And why is he chewing gum like that?"

"That's what I'm sayin'!" the teenager half-seriously slams the cup of tea on the table, "He swallows it like a nutjob. You need help, tin man." Chuuya scoffs, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat almost nervously.

"You need help. You spent 6 hours and 47 minutes looking for h-" the brunette explains with a hint of sass in his voice, the redhead's eyes widening in shock, "I said shut up!"

You shuffle in your seat awkwardly as the two men argue. Scratching the back of your neck before Chuuya finally settles down, patting down the cashmere of his suit.

"So here's the thing about Verlaine.. he's this batshit crazy assassin, and uh.. here's the real kicker.." the mafioso mutters, fiddling with his gloved fingers uneasily. "You're gonna be the bait."

Your jaw immediately drops, a hand clasping over your chest in the offence. "Excuse me?! For what?.. to get killed?!" Chuuya looks distressed at your response, seeking Adam's gaze for at least a little help in his later response.

"Your safety is ensured. We just need to lure Verlaine out, so Master Chuuya can eliminate him." the detective explains rather calmly, fishing for something in the pocket of his suit before handing a chocolate bar to you. "Here, sugar helps with stress." the redhead smiles awkwardly at Adam's response, giving a nervous thumbs up.

You snatch the chocolate bar with a bit of attitude, eyes narrowing to Chuuya as the boy inhales sharply, "I thought I wouldn't get involved in your mafia affairs, now I have to die?" you ask with furrowed brows, anger cracking in your voice. Causing the teenager to gulp in slight fear, a rare sight to Adam, as he's never sensed fear from Master Chuuya. Especially to a young girl like you.

"Well, you won't die... More like, almost die." The detective explains, hoping he'd ease your nerves at least a bit. "Doesn't matter! M'not doing it!" You shout in vexation, hopping up from your seat as you pick up your school bag. "Plus, I couldn't if I wanted to, anyway," you murmur,

"Wait.. why?" Chuuya asks with conviction.

your gaze adverts to the different sights in the area: the park bench, passersby, and the cafe's menu. Anything but Chuuya's confused face.

"Uhm.. I have a project that's due tomorrow, and I didn't start yet."

"You can't be serious!"

The teenager runs up to you in frustration, you clutch your bag as you turn to him. "Oh, but I am!" you remark, walking faster as the brunette detective catches up. "I'm very serious! After all, this is a serious project!"

The redhead pants and wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead, "You're really gonna prioritise a school project over your own life?!" he cries out, still trying to catch up to you.

"Anything is better than being bait for the Port Mafia!" You yell out, settling your argument atop a bridge, ignoring how the sun was starting to set in an arrangement of oranges and pinks. "Shit- Don't say that so loud!"

"I'd rather finish a school project than become bait for the Port Mafia!!"

You repeat again, louder this time. Chuuya pinches his nose bridge in frustration, tilting his head up towards the setting sun. And upon you halting your swift steps, the redhead finally catches up to you, and to your surprise, he grabs your hand to spin you around.

"Look, I had a shitty week too!" the boy lets go of your hand, making you huff a little bit. But instead of letting you go, he cups both of your cheeks and pulls you close, his gaze never averting from yours. "People that mattered to me died, so many of them," the teenager explains, a melancholic glint lingering in his pretty eyes, you could see it all from the close proximity of his face. "and I'd do anything for you to not be one of those people."

You gulp hard as your eyes scan over the glass of his eyes, the once stormy grey now welling holding back tears.

Silence.

Adam clears his throat, standing beside you and the mafioso awkwardly, "Apologies for interrupting. But this whole exchange is very childish. Master Chuuya, don't you think there are better words to articulate your romantic feelings towards [Y/N]?.. Perhaps after this all over, you can solve this by getting into a relationship-" you and the boy both retort at the detective in unison:

"Shut up, Adam!"

...

"Okay, I'll help you." you frown with conviction, "You owe me a school project, though."

The redhead presses two fingers to his glabella, "I'll send someone to complete it for you."

✧ chocsra™

taglist for those who interacted in this post:

@loserzai @juice1231 @silverbladexyz @soleelia @cherylpoptarts @jackiepackiee @sapphire-tears013 @sstarshroom @n0thum4ny @roujira

[southdigitalcreation]

[bunnyreaper]

johnny is the wolf plushie that watches over your bed—but is he something more?

(18+/MDNI, plushophilia, wolf!shifter, mild a/b/o, mentions of blood.

part of my plushie-verse, and definitely with @iciclesses in mind <3)

it was a random tuesday in june when he turned up on your doorstep—the most precious little wolf puppy plushie that probably has ever existed, at least in your eyes.

his brown-gray fur is silky smooth, with the journey in the post smoothing the hair atop his head into a perfect peak, you don't have the heart to smooth it down, as he just looks so precious with it. his sapphire eyes sparkle brightly and his mouth is stitched into a little smile. there's a note in the package detailing his journey and the coincidences that led him to you. How your dear friend had got invited to a car boot sale at the last minute, had happened upon the wolf plushie as they bought something else and the seller had passed him over with "free to a good home".

your friend immediately knew he belonged with you, and the bond you formed was instant. you rushed out to get him his own collar after just a few days, officially making him your pup.

the wolf was the loyal guard dog of your bed and your dreams, always there watching you and the other plushies that lived in your bed. some nights he was never out of your clutches, cuddled close to you all warm and cosy—other nights he kept watching over the bed, his presence making you feel safe despite the fact he was decidedly not real.

one night, for the first time since getting your pup, you spend the night away from home. you'd felt so bad leaving him behind while you went for your sleepover, but knew you couldn't bring him with you. so you'd kissed him on the forehead, set him on your pillow, and headed out for your night of fun, trying to cast him from your mind—after all, you shouldn't feel so attached to a plushie, right?

that night your rest was fitful, plagued by nightmares. vague figures chased you down, and the only relief you found was when a wolf came to your rescue. you recognise its sparkling blue eyes and familiar fur, yet its form is so different. no longer a sweet-faced pup, but a giant, protective beast—snarling and attacking those who chased you.

the wolf ravaged each attacker and yet… once you were safe, its aggression melted, as it stalked towards you, head bowed making it look respectful, despite the blood dripping from its maw. you know you should be scared of such a beast, and yet you know him—he's your wolf.

he nuzzles into you, surrounding you in his soft fur and warm embrace—covering you in his scent and marking you as his. your body can't help but react to the closeness, the intimacy, as you shiver with need. as both you and the wolf begin to calm, you feel his body shift, back to a man. all thick muscles littered with scars and dark hair—you feel his naked body pressed against yours, and yet as you're about to turn, you wake.

the dream leaves you more hot and bothered than your sleepover, and you find it hard to face your plushie when you return home, knowing the dream has twisted your innocent little plushie into an object of desire and lust. you nuzzle him to your neck, just as he had in the dream, and imagine what kind of mark he would leave on your neck.

over the coming weeks and months, the dreams continue. your wolf protects you, defends you, follows you, and keeps you safe. he's a constant, and you find yourself growing mentally and physically closer to him whether it's in wolf or man form.

the man behind the wolf slowly reveals himself, and he has the same blue eyes and protective stare, with a wicked grin and the same tuft of hair. you grow addicted to his touch, to the feeling of his strong body curled into yours, the feeling of his teeth on your skin, and the sublime stretch when he finally mounts you.

your waking moments grow a little emptier, as you find yourself lost to the feeling that comes with your dreams.

you find yourself distracted and forlorn one night, having been dragged from the comfort of your bed to a bar in town—one that's far too busy and far too loud, and filled with people that make you feel unsafe. you try to dance in peace with your friends, but find it hard to let loose with strangers grinding into you and trying to make a move—it's tiring trying to shoo off each new body that appears and tries to get close to you.

and then relief comes, in the form of a booming scottish voice fighting for your honour, asserting that they need to get out of your personal space. calm floods you instantly, and you turn to face your protector—only to sparkling blue eyes and a face you most definitely recognise.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again no problem 7/15/2025

unprecedented levels of niceys

listening

yu peng chen (of genshin impact soundtrack fame) did a soundtrack for the big weird mysterious every-game-mode-at-once netease open world martial arts mobile game. variously translated as “cold against the water” or “reverse water cold” or “adverse water cold”? this is the title track, if you told me this was an album for a scrapped genshin impact bonus area in liyue I would believe you. really fascinating melding of classic martial arts movie music in specific, regional chinese styles with a western golden age of hollywood swashbuckling adventure movie soundtrack sensibility. i can hear a bit of james newton howard’s treasure planet soundtrack, but i feel like most adventure music of this seafaring style is pulling from erich wolfgang korngold at its root.

and i spent a lot of time on this tag meme playlist so im plugging it again. everything in here (except the intermission) can be graphed on a triangle of “SOMEBODY COME FUCK THIS (GAY)” and “groovy” and “slinky”

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reading

not a reading heavy week but here are two long reads, one from mcmansionhell writer kate wagner about brains, coping mechanisms, maps, charts, and graphs. chart of all time from the article below

in the other article, some truly bonkers sports white collar crime. i feel like the car racing saying “if you ain’t cheating you ain’t trying” especially applies to all horse sports. really crazy paragrah here that will stick with me for a bit, after a discussion earlier in the article about how temperament plays a big part in polo ponies

OR NEARLY 10 years, Meeker, Gutierrez, and Cambiaso lived by their golden rule: Sell the offspring, keep the clones. As the horses matured, Cambiaso’s herd of Cuarteteras and other cloned greats started to dominate high-goal polo. As a source of genetic material, Cuartetera had more than proven her worth, overperforming even in the context of other clones. “The problem with cloning—and we don’t know why this is—but some horses have the innate ability to pass along genetic qualities that make them amazing polo ponies. And some you clone and they’re not the same horse,” says the veterinarian Scott Swerdlin. “We don’t know why that is, but for sure Cuartetera has been very successful.”

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watching

Shall We Dance? (1996, Masayuki Suō). A bored accountant spots a beautiful woman in the window of a ballroom dance studio. He secretly starts taking dancing lessons to be near her, and then over time discovers how much he loves dancing. His wife, meanwhile, has hired a private detective to find out why he has started coming home late smelling of perfume.

my GOD is Kōji Yakusho hot. saw this in person at the museum of fine arts! they’re doing a kurosawa series throughout the late summer/early fall, and i wanted a lower stakes movie that wasn’t near and dear to my heart to see if i liked the venue and crowd or if it was going to be an unpleasant experience. a movie i would not feel bad walking out of if people got shirty about my mask. you know how it is. anyway had a good time! 👍

if i had seen this on my tv in my living room i don’t know that i would have finished it. i think the technical chops of this movie were certainly there: really beautifully shot, lovely lighting especially in the night scenes and low-lit venues, big dancefloor scenes never felt crowded or claustrophobic. it makes sense for a movie about dancing, but the sense of rhythm and flow from scene to scene and the timing of the jokes was very very good.

i think it was operating on a different storytelling mode than i was expecting bc i don’t watch a lot of nineties romcoms. the story was not precisely what i expected or wanted, and the ending of this romcom drama did not hit me like i wanted it to hit me. i feel like im really damning it with faint praise when i really did enjoy watching a comedy with a small theater audience, but not all movies are perfectly tailored to my taste, unfortunately

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playing

harvested another eevee as i toil away in the fields. the little teefies are really getting me

realized that after exploring and doing puzzles, my favorite part of genshin is leveling up characters. hate when they’ve put the most thought into making sure the things you can pay real money for feel good. so i pulled for funsies and got one of the 4⭐️ i don’t have yet and completely maxed out fischl’s constellations after five years of playing. i have not had good luck with getting any of the natlan 4⭐️but i don’t want to complain (rare i know) bc i have had otherwise such decent luck with 5⭐️ pulls this version.

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making

im going to continue the bit (showing this dress as a pile of loose fabric) until morale improves (mine. bc i had to extract the bust panel and redo it and it’s still not set properly). hand sewing gathers is a right bitch. this past week at work i toiled away at work putting in six buttonholes (poorly), tacking down various pieces of ribbon to each other, and installing various pieces of ribbon. i have the bodice Together and the sleeves sewn, but i do not have the sleeves or the aforementioned bane of my life bust piece set yet. i also have not attached the skirt to the bodice bc i want to make sure the vertical skirt seams line up perfectly with the bodice panels bc if they don’t i will (remembers i can’t kill myself if i want to wear this dress) walk into the sea and return at some later date