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dark-fanfics-moon · 1 day ago

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THE PET Remmick x Reader

Part 2

Synopsis: You try to stay sane as Remmick attempts to make you warm up to him. But…will it work ?

(This is my first Sinners fanfic. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Also, you have French ancestry here.)

Part 1 here: https://www.tumblr.com/dark-fanfics-moon/783014726264291328/the-pet-remmick-x-reader?source=share

Remmick’s eyes glinted as he watched you intently, the corners of his lips curling into a wicked grin. He was enjoying every second of this—the power, the control he had over you. It made your skin crawl, but you were too tired, too broken to protest.

You shivered and asked, “Why didn’t you kill me ?”

The vampire’s expression darkened for a moment, but the smirk never fully left his face. He stepped closer, his cold fingers brushing your cheek. “I ain’t gonna kill you, lass,” he said with a slow, deliberate drawl. “I told ye: yer mine now. And I don’t break me toys. I like to play with ’em first. Maybe get a lil’ love, ye know ?”

A chill ran through you at the thought of being his “plaything.” The very idea of it made your blood run cold, but there was no denying the hunger in his eyes. That unspoken desire, mixed with a twisted sense of affection, filled you with dread. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Why take me ?” You finally dared to ask.

Remmick leaned back, seemingly lost in thought for a moment, before he answered with a hint of something like nostalgia. “Difference between me hive and humans is… we ain’t really all that warm. Don’t get me wrong, I love me family. But hum…I discovered I liked keepin’ warm ones too. They make good companions on the road and can keep us safe during the day…”

Fear twisted in your gut as the realization hit. You’d heard the myths, the whispers about vampires keeping humans as pets, but never in your wildest nightmares did you think you’d end up as one. It was all too real now, and the terrifying truth was sinking in deeper with each word.

The vampire chuckled darkly, as if enjoying the look of horror in your eyes. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll keep ye fed and safe…but I gotta warn ye…life with me will be different than what you’re used to. I ain’t like anythin’ y’ever experienced.”

You felt a sick mixture of terror and curiosity. You knew the life he had planned for you would be nothing short of a nightmare, but there was a strange thrill in the thought of living on the fringes of society—living a life so twisted that others would never imagine it. Still, you tried to cling to whatever shred of normalcy you could.

“Could I write to my brother on occasion ? To let him know that I am alive ?” you asked, hoping for some semblance of freedom.

The vampire paused, his red eyes calculating as he considered your request. “I suppose I could allow that. But no more than once every few weeks. And I’ll read every word ye write. I don’t need ye tellin’ someone where we are.”

You let out a small, relieved breath, at least a tiny victory amidst the horror.

Remmick smirked, amused by the display of sheer relief. “Now…Don’t get too excited, darlin’. I’m still in charge here. And I expect yer complete obedience in exchange for these lil’ niceties.”

You sighed, resigned to your fate. “I understand…”

“That’s a smart lass,” Remmick approved before he pointed a finger at you. “Yer learnin’ already. I think yer gonna be a fast learner—unlike me other pets.”

He stepped away, sizing you up with a calculating look before continuing. “Now that we’re on the same page…it’s probably a good idea to go over some house rules.”

You felt your stomach twist in dread at the thought of following his rules, but you knew you had no choice. With a hesitant nod, you gestured for him to continue.

Remmick leaned back with a wicked grin. “First rule: You do what I say without question. If I say jump, you ask ‘how high.’ If I say kneel, you hit the ground. Understand, darlin’ ?”

You clenched your jaw, suppressing the anger bubbling up inside, but you nodded reluctantly. “I understand. I’ll do whatever you say.”

He smirked approvingly. “Good. Second rule: Yer my responsibility. Which means, I don’t want ye goin’ off on yer own. Everywhere ye go, I’m there with ya. You ain’t goin’ nowhere without me permission, got that ?”

Your brow furrowed. “How about during the day ?”

He chuckled again and shook his head. “Oh darlin’…You’re adorable. During the day, ye go nowhere. Ye watch while I rest. You’re goin’ to be stayin’ with me. That means no goin’ to town, no goin’ to church. Just sittin’ tight until night falls again.”

His smirk deepened. “But if ye get bored ? You can always be buddies with the other pets of the hive ! Wouldn’t that be nice ? Besides, we’ll need ye to move us when the sun is out. But don’t worry. The other pets will show ye how it’s done.”

A wave of helplessness swept over you, but you knew there was no point in protesting. You nodded again. “I understand.”

“Good. Yer really catchin’ on quick,” he said, clearly pleased. “Third rule: Ye don’t put up a fight. I ain’t in the habit of wastin’ me precious time and energy on stubborn pets. If I ask ye to do something that makes you unhappy ? Well, you’ll do it anyways. Yer gonna follow me rules, and the rules of the hive, even if it makes you angry.”

You bit your lip to keep from speaking, from snapping at him. You knew better. “I understand. I won’t give you any trouble.”

Remmick smiled, pleased with your compliance. “That’s what I like to hear. Fourth rule: Ye don’t say no to me. Ever. If I want yer blood, I take it. If I want yer company, I take it. If I want ye in bed with me as a damn cushion fer me head ? I’m doin’ that as well. No complainin’, no fightin’, no refusin’, no resistin’ or anythin’ else along those lines, m’kay pet ?”

You shuddered at that despicable word. ‘Pet’. But you nodded nonetheless, unable to do anything else.

Remmick continued, his tone turning more serious. “If I tell ye to do somethin’, you do it. No ifs, ands, or buts. You’ll keep me hunger satisfied and do whatever I want, when I want.”

You scoffed, unable to keep the sarcasm out of your voice this time. “Didn’t know I had a vampire toddler on my hands.”

Remmick’s grin widened, but there was something predatory in his eyes now and drool fell from his chin. “Mouthy, are we ? Fine by me. You’ll learn real quick, darlin’. Real quick.”

You shuddered at the sight and looked away prompty. He seemed to understand your discomfort and sighed before wiping his chin. He then realised that his clothes were still soaked in blood. He got his shirt and undershirt off before throwing them at you.

"Wash those."

You looked at the blood there and your whole body shivered at the realisation that it might be your own father’s blood on those clothes. You let them fall on the floor. You couldn’t help but shudder, the sickening thought creeping into your mind that this could very well be your father’s blood—the man you’d just buried.

Your hands trembled, and a cold sweat broke out along your skin as the room seemed to close in on you. The reality of everything—your father’s death, the way you were now under Remmick’s control—felt too much to bear all at once. The blood on those clothes felt like it was crawling up your spine, a silent reminder of what you had lost.

Remmick’s voice broke through your panic, calm and detached. “Well, what’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ ? Get to it.”

You swallowed hard, your body stiffening at his words. The last thing you wanted to do was touch that blood, to remind yourself of the violence that had ripped your life apart. But you knew better than to refuse. You didn’t have a choice. You bent down slowly, gathering the clothes from the floor, trying to keep your composure. The blood seemed to burn your fingertips as you picked them up, but you forced yourself to hold onto them. It was just another part of this twisted new life Remmick had made for you—one you were still trying to make sense of.

With a quick, stiff nod, you turned away, heading towards the exit of the trailer. The cool air hit your face as you made your way to the nearby stream, the rhythmic sound of rushing water offering little comfort against the storm of emotions swelling inside you. You kneeled at the edge of the stream, the bloodstained clothes still clutched tightly in your hands.

As the cold water touched the fabric, your sobs began to escape, raw and uncontrollable. Each tear felt heavier than the last, like it was pulling you deeper into the darkness of what had become your reality. The blood didn’t just stain the clothes—it stained your soul, a constant reminder of the horrors you could never unsee. Your father, the village, everything you’d once known, all shattered in an instant.

The water seemed to mock you, its gentle flow unable to wash away the heaviness in your chest, the memories, the fear, and the overwhelming sense of helplessness. The clothes slipped from your trembling fingers as you cried harder, the water barely able to cleanse the stains on your hands, let alone the ones buried deep inside you.

You wanted to scream, to run far away from everything. But where would you go ? What would you do ? Remmick’s shadow loomed over you, both a constant presence and an ever-present threat, and you had nowhere to turn. You sank to your knees, your body shaking as you held the bloodied fabric to your chest. The stream, though it tried, couldn’t carry away the burden you were now bound to. And yet, here you were, sobbing in the cold, wishing for something—anything—to make it stop.

…

Once the task complete, you approached the carriage and the faint, haunting sound of Remmick’s banjo drifted through the air. The low, rhythmic plucking of strings mixed with the night’s silence, the eerie melody fitting in with the dark weight of the evening. His dark eyes glinted as he played, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looked up briefly, catching sight of you.

The sound of his banjo was a strange comfort, but it didn’t ease the dread pooling in your stomach. The blood still clung to your memory, even though you had washed it from the clothes. It was impossible to wash the images from your mind.

He didn’t speak immediately, as if waiting for you to say something first. You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. You swallowed hard, trying to keep the tremble from your voice as you spoke.

“…I’ve done what you asked.” Your words felt empty, hollow in the air between you.

Remmick’s smirk deepened, though it was softer now, more amused than predatory. “Did ye now ?” He set the banjo aside and stood. “I’m glad to see ye’ve come back. Thought I might’ve lost ya to the night.” He stepped closer to you, his presence, as always, dominating the space. He then added with a grin. “Woulda hated havin’ to chase you all night, puppet. But am fast. Hella fast. Ye wouldn’t have made it through the night.”

He then playfully pinched your nose and smirked before taking the clothes from your arms.

You couldn’t help but flinch, the memory of his cold blood-soaked chin still fresh in your mind. “I did what you wanted,” you repeated, the words somehow a bit stronger now, despite the gnawing fear inside you. “Now what ?”

“Now, I’d say we take the next step. But before that…” He leaned closer, his voice low, “You’ve been through quite a bit tonight, haven’t ya ?” He reached for your arm, his touch light but firm, pulling you gently inside the carriage. “Come on in. We family now, ain’t we ?”

The chill from outside still lingered in your bones as you stepped into the warmth of the carriage.

“Family…” you muttered under your breath, feeling the weight of the word like a cold iron shackle around your heart.

He then tapped the place on his knee.

"C’mere me puppet."

You froze.

His voice was gentle—mockingly so—but the command behind it was unmistakable. “C’mere me puppet.” He repeated. The words laced with false affection, like a hunter calling to a wounded animal. Your eyes flicked to his knee, where his hand patted expectantly, and then up to his face. That smug, knowing smirk never wavered. Every inch of your body screamed at you to run, to escape, to do anything but obey. But your legs moved before your mind could catch up, conditioned now by fear, by exhaustion, by the brutal reality of your new existence.

You stepped closer.

Remmick’s eyes followed your every movement, his eyes dark and gleaming with twisted satisfaction. You lowered yourself slowly, tentatively, onto his knee, barely touching him. He laughed softly, almost like a purr, one hand snaking around your waist to pull you in tighter—until you were perched fully across his lap, your side pressed against his chest.

“There we go,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness that only made your skin crawl. “See how easy that was ?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The weight of his gaze pressed down on you, making your mouth go dry.

He studied you for a moment, his thumb running idle circles along your side. Then he leaned in, nose brushing your cheek, his breath cold and smelling faintly of iron. “I ain’t gonna hurt ye tonight,” he whispered. “Not unless you make me. You’ve had enough, haven’t ya ?”

You nodded, barely able to breathe.

He chuckled. “That’s my good lil’ lassie.”

Your stomach churned.

Then, to your surprise, he didn’t press further. Instead, he leaned back into the plush seat, arms still around you, his banjo resting against the opposite wall like a discarded thought. You remained frozen. For a moment—just a moment—you let yourself breathe and listen. To the soft sway of the carriage from the blowing wind outside, the horses’ hooves trampling the ground, the dull thrum of blood in your ears. You couldn’t trust him. You wouldn’t trust him. But as your body sank involuntarily into the exhaustion gnawing at you, and as his hand stroked your hair absentmindedly, you realized:

This was your life now.

And you would have to survive it. Even if it meant pretending to be his puppet…for now.

He then whispered in your ear. “Sleepy, puppet ? You can rest yer eyes fer a few minutes. I’ll watch over ye.”

You were too exhausted to deny and simply closed your eyes…falling into a light sleep.

A few minutes later…Remmick woke you up and led you out of the carriage. The carriages were nestled together in a circle, their wooden exteriors glowing faintly in the moonlight, casting long shadows across the ground. You could hear the soft murmur of voices, a mixture of laughter and whispered conversations, though it was clear this was no ordinary gathering.

“Don’t be scared, doll,” Remmick’s voice purred as he guided you forward. The scent of burning wood and fresh night air mixed together in an unsettling blend.

There, standing in the center of the gathering, were the other “pets”—humans, like you, who had been taken by the vampires. They were dressed in strange, mismatched clothes, most of them looking weary but oddly content. Some were sitting by the fire, a few leaning against the side of a carriage, while others were interacting with the vampires in a way that, to you, felt disturbingly normal. They all seemed so…comfortable in this twisted existence.

One of them, a young woman with wide eyes and a soft smile, stood up as you approached. She wore a simple dress, but there was an aura of weariness around her, as if she had long accepted her fate. Her voice was soft but welcoming when she spoke.

“Remmick’s new one, huh ?” she asked, looking you up and down with a curious gaze. “I’m Lyla,” she introduced herself, extending a hand towards you. “Annie’s familiar. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. We all do eventually.”

You looked at her hand for a moment, your stomach turning. How could anyone get used to this ? You had seen the blood, smelled it. Felt the weight of it on your skin. You had seen what Remmick was capable of.

You didn’t take her hand, and after a moment of hesitation, she withdrew it with a soft chuckle, not offended. “You’re still fresh,” she murmured understandingly. “It’ll take time.”

Another figure stepped forward—tall, with sharp features and a quiet presence. His eyes were dull, as if the life had been drained from them long ago. He nodded at you but said nothing. You could feel the weight of his gaze, cold and distant. He looked like someone who had long since given up on hope.

“Don’t mind Aidan,” Lyla said softly. “He doesn’t speak much. He was one of the first brought in. He’s Stack’s familiar.” She glanced at you knowingly, her eyes narrowing. “Some of us don’t last as long as others. Don’t let that scare you.”

You swallowed hard, looking at each face in turn. They were all different, but the same in their quiet acceptance of a life they hadn’t chosen. Their eyes were haunted, but resigned.

“You’ll get used to the rules around here too,” Lyla continued, her tone more serious now. “Stick close to Remmick. Don’t step out of line. Don’t make waves. He’s not one to take kindly to disobedience.”

You felt a pang of fear, the weight of her words sinking in. You had already witnessed how quickly things could spiral out of control. Remmick’s smile, his twisted pleasure in your discomfort, still lingered in your mind. But there was something else too. A strange attachment, an odd affection from him that made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite place.

You looked around. Remmick had stepped away momentarily, talking to another vampire who had appeared from one of the nearby carriages. The moment he was out of earshot, Lyla leaned closer, her eyes darkening slightly.

“You’ll be fine,” she whispered. “He likes you. That means he’ll keep you around. But just remember—you’re a possession, not a person here. Never forget that.”

You wanted to protest, wanted to scream, but all you could do was nod weakly. In this strange, twisted hive of vampires and their pets, what else could you do ?

You were trapped.

Lyla’s words rang in your ears like a dull bell tolling in the distance—ominous and final.

A possession, not a person.

You stood there, surrounded by strangers who shared the same chain, the same fate, their expressions dulled by time and routine. You didn’t want to believe this was your life now. But as you looked around the circle—at the flickering firelight casting grotesque shadows across tired faces—you knew it was.

You were still staring at the fire when Remmick’s arm slithered back around your waist.

“There now, doll,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low and sweet, like poisoned honey. “They treat ye alright ?”

You didn’t answer at first, the tension in your shoulders betraying every thought racing through your mind. But then you nodded, barely, your lips pressed into a thin line.

Remmick smiled, pleased. “Good. I knew you’d blend in just fine. Some don’t take to it well—always fightin’, cryin’, refusin’ to listen. Makes it messy. Makes me messy.”

He turned you gently toward him, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand, eyes lingering a little too long. “But yer different, aintcha ? Got fire, but ye know when to keep it on low.”

The words made your skin crawl, but you forced yourself not to pull away. Behind him, Lyla had already moved on, settling down beside Aidan again.

“You’ll sleep with me tonight,” Remmick said casually, as if announcing the weather. “Best to keep ye close. First few days are always the hardest.”

A sharp chill twisted through your spine.

He leaned in again, lowering his voice. “Don’t worry, puppet. I’ll take good care of ye. I won’t bite—unless you ask me real nicely that is.”

There was laughter nearby. A low cackle from one of the other vampires watching from the shadows. It made you flinch, and Remmick chuckled at that, turning you with a firm hand and guiding you back towards his carriage. As you stepped away from the fire, the sounds behind you grew muffled, as though the world itself was slowly sealing you in.

You glanced back only once.

Lyla was watching you, her smile gone now, her eyes sharp with a kind of knowing pity. You weren’t sure what she saw when she looked at you—maybe someone who reminded her of herself. Or maybe it was just the face of despair.

Your eyes caught sight of the fire burning bright next and you stopped. The fire crackled, its orange and red flames dancing in the cool night air, casting eerie shadows on the faces of the vampires and their pets. The flickering flames seemed to beckon to you, promising an end to all the horror, the fear, and the suffocating uncertainty that had plagued you since the night Remmick had taken you.

You wondered how long it would take for the fire to consume you if you simply stepped into it. Would it be fast ? Would it hurt as much as you thought it would ? Or would it be a final release—a way to escape this twisted life once and for all ?

The flames roared in response to your thoughts, each crackle like a whisper of temptation. You felt the heat on your skin, the air thick with the scent of burning wood, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade. The others—Lyla, Aidan, and the rest of the pets—became distant, like figures in a fog. All that remained was the fire, and the suffocating weight of your own despair.

But as you stood there, frozen in your thoughts, you heard Remmick’s voice—low, mocking, but tinged with something darker.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout jumpin’ in, are ye ?” he asked, his tone playful. “That ain’t gonna get ye what you want, lass. Ain’t no release in that. I told ya, yer mine now. And I don’t take kindly to me toys tryin’ to break themselves.”

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, reading you, studying you.

“You think this fire can end it all ?” he continued, his voice calm but menacing. “Nah. It’ll just burn ye up. And then where will ya be ? Gone. Just like that. Poof. A pile of ashes. Useless to me. Useless to everyone.”

You didn’t look at him. You felt something twist inside you—anger, frustration, and the overwhelming weight of your helplessness. But you didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. You couldn’t.

He stepped closer and slowly backed you away from the fire.

“Instead,” he cooed, “let’s see how long you last in me world, eh ?”

You shuddered, the desire for escape still lingering in your chest, but now you knew. The fire wouldn’t set you free. Remmick, in his twisted way, held that power over you. And whether you wanted to or not, you were stuck playing by his rules. The fire no longer looked like an escape. It looked like surrender. And he saw it. Remmick saw everything—your hesitation, your pain, the spark of rebellion trying to stay lit beneath the weight of fear. He fed off it. It thrilled him.

His hand slid slowly up your arm, deceptively gentle, but there was nothing kind in his grip. It was a warning.

“I’ll say it again, sweet thing,” he murmured, almost tenderly, but his breath was ice. “Don’t break yourself. That’s me job if it comes to it.”

You finally looked at him, really looked. The firelight made his face seem inhuman—shadows twisted across his sharp features, accentuating the unnatural stillness in his eyes. And yet…there was something feral in him, something restrained. A hunger barely tucked beneath that silken voice and practiced odd charm.

He was beautiful in the same way a tiger might be—impressive, powerful, deadly.

“What if I want to step into the fire and end it all ?” You asked and Remmick stayed silent for a moment before humming.

“You want to be ashes ?” he whispered, thumb brushing your jaw. “Who said ye were allowed to ? Have ye already forgotten about our lil’ rules ? Yer me responsibility, pet. And I would be real sad if you decided to deprive me of yer lovely company. And ye wouldn’t want me sad now, would ya ?"”

You jerked your face from his hand. Subtle, but he noticed. His smile curled into something crooked, pleased.

“Still got fight in ye. Good. Now, c’mon, pet. You’ve had yer moment. Let’s get ye warm somewhere else.”

You stared after him, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest as you stared at his back.

When the time came…You would burn him down to hell.

…

A few minutes before sunrise:

Without a word, Remmick took out heavy iron shackles, cold against your skin as he fastened them to your wrists, attaching them to the sturdy post of the carriage. The act was casual for him—like a routine he had done countless times before. Once the shackles were secure, he stepped back, admiring his work, his smirk wide. “Now, don’t go anywhere, darlin’. I’ll be back after me lil’ nap,” he told you, his voice dripping with sarcasm, though it still held that chilling undertone that made your blood run cold.

He then opened the lid of a box situated at the back of the trailer with a quiet, eerie creak. He glanced back at you, a final, mocking smile spreading across his face. “You’ll be safe here for the day, lass. Don’t try anythin’ funny. I’ll be right back when the sun sets again.”

Then, without another word, he climbed into the box, closing the lid with a dull thud that reverberated in the silence around you. You were left alone, shackled to the carriage, the stillness of the morning pressing in around you. The only sound was the faint rustle of the wind through the trees. You sighed. You weren’t going to resign yourself to this fate. You were going to find a way to escape. Maybe not today, but you weren’t going to just give in to this life. Remmick might have had the upper hand for now, but you weren’t going to let him completely break you. Not without a fight.

You closed your eyes for a moment, steeling yourself. Whatever came next, you’d be ready. Or at least, you’d try.

Lyla’s footsteps were soft as she approached and broke you out of your thoughts, the sound of her shoes on the grass muffled by the stillness of the morning. She came into view with a tray of food in her hands. She set the tray down in front of you, her hands gently brushing over the shackles as if she could somehow will them to vanish. Her gaze lingered on them for a moment, a silent understanding passing between you before she finally spoke.

“Don’t you worry, hon’. Remmick’s not cruel like this all the time,” she tried to reassure you, her voice low and comforting. “He’s just cautious. But, when he starts trusting you, he won’t keep you shackled anymore. I promise. It was the same when Annie chose me. She had to make sure I wouldn’t do anything to harm the hive.”

You looked up at her and almost laughed. How could someone like Remmick ever trust anyone ? And what did it even mean for you to be trusted by something like him ? You might as well sell your soul…Still, Lyla’s words offered you hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to change things. You looked inside the tray—bread, a few vegetables, and something that resembled meat, though you didn’t care to question the source.

Lyla smiled softly. “He’s not as bad as he seems. He just…needs to control things. If you show him you’re not a threat, he’ll ease up. He always did with the others eventually.”

You looked up at her. “What happened to them ? To the…other people he took as pets before me ?”

She smiled. “He turned most of them since they wanted to become vampires. He just had to wait to make sure they were ready and deserved to be part of the family.”

You knew you would regret asking—but still asked next. “What about those he didn’t turn ?”

At that, her smile faltered slightly. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Maybe she didn’t know and preferred not to. Or maybe she did and didn’t want to frighten you. Either way, you knew you didn’t want whatever fate came to those who disappointed Remmick.

Lyla’s gaze flickered to the carriage where Remmick had gone to rest. “Don’t worry. You’re strong. You’ll survive. I can see it in you. You can adapt—you can change. He likes people who can surprise him. Just…don’t let him get bored. I know it sounds crazy but….Remmick is a very simple man and he likes very simple things. Family, music, passion…He is very passionate. He won’t kill you as long as he can still sense passion inside you.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Maybe it was the weariness of everything, or maybe the fear that had taken root deep inside you. But for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to feel something other than dread—something faint, but growing stronger with each passing moment: the smallest spark of defiance.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to be anyone’s pet—especially not his.”

Lyla’s eyes softened. “I know. But it’s not always about what we want, darling. It’s about survival. If you’re going to make it out of here with your soul intact, you have to play the game. You’ll see.”

You didn’t know if she was right. But you also didn’t know what else to do. You finally nodded. Lyla’s words echoed in your mind long after she left, the tray of food untouched by your feet. Play the game. That was what she said. You huffed and started eating.

You want to play Remmick ?

Fine.

Let’s play…

…

That evening:

You stared at the shackles on your wrists, the metal now warming slightly under the sun’s slow crawl through the trees. Every second Remmick slept in that box was one step closer to sunset, and the nightmare resuming. But you couldn’t sit here all day waiting. Not without trying something. The others were beginning to stir. You could hear distant murmurs—other “pets,” as they were so disgustingly called—moving about the camp. A laugh. A cough. The subtle noise of life continuing under the weight of captivity. And none of them tried to run.

Not because they didn’t want to. But because they knew better. But you didn’t know better. Not yet. And maybe, just maybe, that was your advantage.

You leaned forward, testing the slack in the chain. There wasn’t much. Just enough to sit upright, shift your position, maybe stand if you were careful. It was designed to humiliate—not to break your body, but to chip away at your will. And yet…something was off. One of the links near the post looked slightly thinner than the others—worn, maybe, or badly forged. You stared at it for a long time, then tucked the thought away like a blade hidden in cloth. Not yet. Not now.

You needed more than broken metal to escape. You needed a plan. A weapon. A place to run to. And someone willing to help. The thought of Lyla returned. Her sorrow. Her softness. She hadn’t just brought you food. She brought you a warning, disguised as comfort. He always eases up. But only if you stop being a threat. If you become…tame. But you would never be tame. You just had to look it. That’s how you’d survive. That’s how you’d earn his trust.

And then, when the moment was right…You would stop playing the game. You would end it. But, Lyla had also said not to bore him…You wondered how to do that ? So far, the only moments he had seemed to enjoy himself were moments when you had tried to defy him. Was that what he wanted ? Was that something he enjoyed ? Suddenly, the lid from the box went off inside the trailer and there he was.

He smiled at you.

“Here ye are, me dolly !”

You stiffened as Remmick’s voice reached your ears, the smooth Irish drawl dripping with a mixture of amusement and something darker. Your gaze remained fixed ahead, pretending not to notice that he was awake. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. You tried to step away, but the chain tugged at your wrist, the weight of your situation pulling you back into his grasp.

Before you could make any further attempt to retreat, his hand shot out and seized your arm, his grip firm as he forced you closer. You looked up at him—eyes cold, face set in a mask of defiance, though your pulse betrayed you.

His smirk widened, knowing exactly how you were trying to keep your distance.

“Hey, me pet. Miss me ?” he teased, the edge of his voice as sharp as the fangs that were hiding behind that grin. However, he frowned at your answer.

“No,” you muttered firmly.

After a moment, he chuckled softly, tightening his grip as he stepped even closer. “Aw, don’t be like that, darling. I can feel it. Yer just a bit shy, aintcha ? But don’t worry, I’ll warm ye up.”

His voice made your skin crawl.

“Let go of me,” you demanded, glaring up at him.

Remmick’s eyes twinkled with malicious amusement as he slowly dragged you closer, so close you could feel his breath on your skin. “Now, now. Calm down, me pet. What’s gotten into ya ? Ye were so sweet last night. What made ya suddenly so hostile towards yer poor master, hmm ?” His smile widened, his sharp teeth glinting in the low light.

The suffocating heat of his presence filled the space between you, and every instinct in your body screamed to break free—to run. But the chain held you in place, and for all the words you could muster, there was nothing you could do but meet his gaze, steely and unyielding.

The vampire’s grin never faltered as he leaned towards you. “C’mon…Tell me, pet. Tell yer Master Remmick what happened and maybe he’ll be able to help ? I’ll make it go away.”

He sat you down on his lap, the cold, hard surface of his body pressing against you. He waited for an answer but got none and sighed. He then decided to grab his banjo. You were being cranky and he sought to soften you up with a bit of music.

“Sing,” he commanded, his voice soft but laced with expectation.

You stared back at him, defiant. “No.”

The vampire’s smile slowly faded, replaced by a low growl of displeasure. “Don’t push it, darlin’. I’m tryin’ to be nice. I ain’t used to puttin’ up with a disobedient doll fer more than a few nights.”

You huffed, your denial burning even brighter. “I wonder why…”

You were determined to test boundaries and see just how far you could go.

His eyes narrowed, the playful glint vanishing, replaced by something colder and darker. “I ain’t askin’ fer much, darlin’. Just a bit of obedience, a lil’ cooperation. Is that really so damn hard for ye to understand ?”

You stared back at him, your gaze hard. “Yes, ‘master’…or whatever…”

He chuckled, his lips curling into a smirk, amusement taking over his annoyance. “Don’t get cheeky with me, darlin’. I ain’t playin’ that game. You belong to me now. You’ll call me ‘sir’ or ‘master’ in public. And in private ? Well…You’ll call me whatever I tell ye to—like a good lil’ well-behaved pet should.”

You raised an eyebrow, a challenge in your gaze. “What now ? What should I call you ? Remmick ? Or was that just a fake name you gave me for the fun of it ?”

His lips twitched. “Remmick’s fine. But if ye ever feel the urge to get affectionate, ye can call me—”

You rolled your eyes, your patience thinning and cut him off. “Not interested.”

Some of the vampires who had just woken up started laughing or growling nearby. And some of the pets were actually horrified or in shock at your sudden defiance. You huffed. If Remmick wanted to get rid of you ? Then he might as well do it. But you were done being his nice little pet. You didn’t want his caresses or treats or anything else. You glanced around at the vampires nearby, your mouth curling into a sneer. “Bloodsucking fuckers.”

The other vampires snarled and bared their fangs, but Remmick’s smirk never faltered. With a commanding growl, he spoke to them. “Back off. Me pet seems moody tonight. Ain’t yer problem.”

The others instantly backed down, understanding who held the true power. His attention returned to you.

You scoffed, your words dripping with disdain as you dared to reply. “…Fuck you, demon.”

But instead of getting mad, Remmick chuckled at your curses, but his amusement was quickly replaced by a more dangerous edge. “Now, don’t ye use that nasty language when speakin’ to me, darlin’. I don’t like it when ye swear.”

You shot him a glare and then flipped him off, your determination unyielding. He didn’t like your curses ? Good. You wanted him to hate you. If he thought you would graciously offer your belly and submit—he had another thing coming.

His expression darkened, his grip tightening around you as his tone turned colder. “I’m givin’ ye a warnin’. Don’t push me. Especially if ye like yer fingers.”

Reluctantly, you lowered your middle finger, your rebellious streak still strong but you did like your fingers. “Sorry. It’s genetic. A human thing.” You grinned, clearly enjoying the small victory.

Remmick rolled his eyes, not buying your excuse for a second. “Sure, darlin’.”

Then his expression shifted to something playful again, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Ye know what ? I got one of those habits too. A vampire thing. Ready ?”

Before you could respond, he lifted you with ease and threw you into the air. You screamed, panic rising as your body went up in the air and fell towards the ground. But in a flash, Remmick caught you, his arms wrapping around you just inches before you hit the ground. He laughed, his deep voice vibrating through your body as he held you.

“First time catchin’ a flyin’ human. Ready fer another round, darlin’ ?”

You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, your heart racing. “No, no, no, no… Don’t you dare !”

He simply smirked, clearly relishing the fear in your voice. “Oh, darlin’…”

Before you could protest further, he tossed you in the air again. You screamed, your fear turning into pure panic.

“YOU ASSHOLE !” you yelled, your body twisting mid-air as you waited for him to catch you again, the blood pounding in your ears.

The vampire’s laughter echoed in your ears, a chilling sound that seemed to enjoy every moment of his entertaining game. “Don’t whine now, darlin’. Yer gonna be doin’ a lot of flyin’ with me.”

He caught you again, a smirk playing on his lips at your heart pounding in your chest and as you literally clung to him with both arms and legs. “Now that I know you’re afraid of heights, I’m gonna be takin’ ye higher and higher every chance I get…”

You screamed as he effortlessly loosened your hold on him and tossed you once more, the world spinning around you. “You’re gonna end up breaking my bones if you keep doin’ this, you idiot !”

His laughter rang louder, more sinister. “Just gettin’ ye used to the sensation, darlin’…This is gonna be yer life from now on, I’m afraid…and I’m gonna relish every scream you make.”

By the time he finally stopped, you were shaking, your breath coming in short bursts. You could feel the adrenaline still rushing through your veins, your body stiff with fear.

“Please…stop.” You finally begged and held him tightly—breathing heavily against his neck as you tried not to vomit. One of your hand was almost digging into his head and the other in his shoulder as you desperately tried to stop him from throwing you up in the air again. “I’ll stop being rude…just please. No more of this or I will die. My heart will stop.”

Remmick smirked at the plea in your voice and knew that he had won. He relented, a smug expression curling across his face. “Oh, fine…fer now. I’ll save the torture fer later.”

You were left panting, your body trembling from the shock of the repeated tosses. The world still spun around you as you clung to his neck, trying to catch your breath. Remmick’s chuckles were dark, rumbling from deep within his chest, but he finally set you down gently on the ground, his fingers lingering on your skin, just in case you would fall straight to the ground.

“Aww…What’s wrong, lassie ? Can’t handle a lil’ uppies session ?” He taunted you with a smirk full of smug satisfaction.

You glared at him, still trying to steady yourself, but your voice was hoarse. “You’re a monster…”

His smirk never faltered. “Oh, darlin’, you don’t even know the half of it.”

The other vampires who’d been watching, their fangs still bared and their expressions twisted in varying degrees of hunger and amusement, slowly started to step back, their interest in you fading as Remmick regained control over the situation.

Lyla, who had been hovering in the background, stepped forward, her expression a mixture of concern and quiet resignation. She glanced at you, her eyes softening with sympathy. “Master Remmick, please, do not push her too hard. It has only been a couple of nights. She just…”

He shot her a warning look, his gaze dark and challenging. “She’ll learn. She has to. Now get back to your own master, lassie. Annie must be wonderin’ where ye went.”

Lyla sighed, shaking her head. She shot you one last glance before stepping back. “Stay strong,” she whispered under her breath, and then disappeared into the shadows—back to her own master.

Once she was gone, Remmick returned his attention to you.

“Let’s get one thing straight, darlin’,” he said, his tone dark and serious. “Ye belong to me now. You’ll get used to it, and you’ll like it eventually. This isn’t some game. This is yer life now.”

You clenched your fists, the rage within you bubbling to the surface once more. “You’re wrong. I won’t get used to this. I won’t ever like it.”

Remmick stepped closer, his face inches from yours. His eyes were cold, but there was something in them—a dark amusement, mixed with the weight of authority—that made your stomach churn.

“Oh, darlin’, you’ll come around,” he whispered with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

His words echoed in your mind, chilling you to the bone. You weren’t sure if he actually believed what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. You wouldn’t let him win. You couldn’t.

…

For the next few nights, you remained shackled to Remmick’s trailer. Every so often, Remmick would appear, casually strolling in with an eerie sense of satisfaction, bearing a new gift.

At first, it was a brooch—delicate, intricately designed, and clearly stolen from a victim. Its dark, weathered beauty sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to acknowledge it. His eyes would gleam with pride as he presented the object to you.

“Ye like it, don’t ya, darlin’ ? Innit pretty ?” he’d ask, his voice dripping with amusement, though his tone was just a touch of mockery.

You refused to respond, your eyes narrowed, refusing to show any interest. But he didn’t seem to mind; he simply dropped the brooch on the floor in front of you and sauntered off.

The gifts continued: a delicate necklace made of silver and blood-red jewels that looked far too beautiful to have been anything but plundered from a corpse. His eyes would sparkle when he’d hand them over, watching your every move as if waiting for you to break, to show some hint of gratitude, or even just curiosity.

“See, darlin’ ? I know how to treat me special dolls,” he’d croon, always reveling in the sick pleasure of your silent disdain.

Then came the earrings—simple, but elegant. You stared at them for a while, wondering who the unfortunate soul had been. He seemed to take great delight in the thought that you might be considering their origins.

“Ye like those ?” he asked one night, dangling them just out of reach, taunting you. “They’re the best I’ve found so far. Real fine quality.”

You refused to take them, even though the beauty of the jewelry almost tempted you. The thought of touching something that had once belonged to a dead person—and had come from his hands—made your skin crawl.

Every time, you would remain silent. Your response to him was one of defiance, even in the face of his twisted generosity.

And each time, Remmick would leave you alone with the gifts, taunting you with the thought of them being so close, yet so far from your grasp. He knew you wouldn’t accept them, but that was part of his game—the pursuit, the insistence that you would come to him eventually. Despite your anger and resistance, the days wore on, each one blurring together in a haze of unease and fear. You hated the way he was slowly eroding your resolve, bit by bit, with every visit, with every gift. He had a way of wearing you down, his presence so overwhelming and unyielding, it felt as if there was no escape.

But no matter how much he tried to get you to accept his offerings, you refused. You couldn’t let him win. Even if it was only through the smallest acts of defiance, you would resist him—because if you gave in to him, even in the slightest way, it would mean surrendering everything.

“Not taking me gifts, darlin’ ?” he’d ask with a knowing smile when he’d see you leave them untouched. “After all the trouble I suffered to get ‘em and give ‘em to ye ? Am hurt. Truly. But…I suppose we’ll just have to see how long that lasts, won’t we ?”

And you would stare back, your expression hard, but beneath the cool mask of defiance, a part of you wondered how much longer you could keep this up before the weight of your situation would finally break you. For now, though, you held on—clinging to whatever remnants of yourself you had left, despite the chains that bound you, the gifts he left, and the darkness of his presence that slowly began to seep into every corner of your life.

…

A few nights later:

The night had passed in its usual eerie silence until you heard it—an unsettling, low whine that echoed through the walls of the trailer. It wasn’t a sound you expected to hear. You peered inside the trailer—curious. Was that Remmick ? What was going on ? You had heard him do and say many things. But, this was different. His voice was strained, filled with an animalistic desperation, as though he was fighting something internal and out of his control inside his box.

Your curiosity, mingled with a sense of unease, pushed you to your feet. You tugged at the chains reflexively, but there was no escaping the confinement, so you carefully moved towards the box. You hesitated before taking a tiny look, peering inside to find him thrashing, his hands curled into fists as he twisted inside his prison-bed. His face was contorted in pain—something was tormenting him. The usual confident, unnerving smirk that always tugged at his lips was gone. Instead, his mouth was open, letting out animal-like whimpers—like a wounded beast.

You didn’t know what to do. The Remmick you knew was not the type to show weakness. He was always the predator, never the prey. This…this wasn’t like him at all.

You watched for a moment longer, unsure of how to handle the situation. He groaned again, louder this time, and you could hear the desperation in the sound. Your chest tightened as a strange sympathy for him stirred, even though everything inside you screamed that this was wrong. That this was some kind of trick, a manipulation to draw you in, to make you soften towards him.

But as you stood there, uncertain and unsure, the instinct to do something—anything—took over. You sank to the floor in front of the box, your body tense as you rested your palm on the surface of the box. The cool wood felt oddly comforting beneath your fingertips, grounding you in the midst of the strange moment. You could feel the vibrations of his groans through the box, his body still writhing in torment. You didn’t know what kind of nightmare could be twisting him so badly, but you felt compelled to stay. To offer something, anything.

“Remmick ?”

The groaning stopped for a brief moment, and the silence was deafening. Then, just as quickly, he let out another low moan, the agony in his voice palpable. You bit your lip, a wave of uncertainty rushing over you. Hesitating for only a second, you slowly pressed your palm more firmly against the surface of the box, as if somehow, that small gesture could offer him some sort of comfort.

Another groan escaped his lips, this one lower, almost guttural. “No…please…” he mumbled, his voice faint, almost unrecognizable.

…He was clearly scared.

You furrowed your brow, unsure of what to do next. You had no experience with this—no experience with him like this. But some part of you didn’t want to leave him in his suffering, even if it meant putting aside your hatred for a moment. You swallowed hard, barely daring to speak as you repeated his name, this time more firmly. “Remmick, what’s happening ?”

There was no response at first. His groans quieted for a moment, and you almost wondered if you’d imagined the whole thing. But then his voice cracked again, that broken whine slipping from his throat, so much more vulnerable than you had ever heard him.

“I…can’t…” he whimpered, sounding so far removed from the taunting predator you knew him as.

Something inside you shifted—a strange, reluctant empathy for him, despite everything that had happened between you. You weren’t sure if you were doing the right thing, or if this was some kind of trap, but all you could think of was that he was hurting. Whether you liked it or not, you couldn’t just turn your back on him now.

“Hey. Everything’s alright, okay ? You’re safe…” It felt almost ridiculous, offering comfort to a monster like him, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this was real.

His body jerked violently inside the box, and for a split second, you thought he might lash out at you, but then he simply collapsed into silence. His breathing was ragged, and you could hear the exhaustion in every breath he took. You didn’t know what to do beyond the simple touch of your hand against the box. But you stayed, waiting for him to regain control, unsure if you should say more. You had never seen Remmick so…human before. And while you would never admit it, that moment made you question everything you thought you knew about him.

And about yourself.

…

The next night, you didn’t speak about what had happened during the day. The flickering flames cast wild shadows as the vampires were all reunited once more around the fire, making the camp look like something out of a fever dream. You could see Remmick, wild and free, dancing with the crowd after they had fed once more. His feet moved with precision, a blur of quick steps that made you pause, staring in awe at the speed and rhythm of his movements.

Irish dance, you realized, the steps so fast they looked like they could fly off his body at any moment. He laughed, a sound so unburdened by malice that it seemed foreign coming from him. It was a joy you hadn’t seen from him before, not in the way it radiated out of him now, his face illuminated by the firelight. For a moment, he looked like the man you had met that night when he came to your village.

You felt a strange tug, a sense of something—maybe longing, maybe curiosity—that pushed you to stay where you were, hidden in the shadows of the trailer. The horses were nearby, their breath steaming in the cold night air, but you were too focused on the memory of his steps to pay much attention to them.

Slowly, and with a hint of hesitation, you began to mimic his movements. At first, it was clumsy, your feet tripping over themselves, each step too wide, too stiff. You had little experience with dancing, much less something as precise and fast as Irish tap dancing. But still, you tried, feeling the rhythm build in you, even if it was a shaky imitation. You smiled to yourself and closed your eyes as your feet started stomping on, tapping and stomping the ground.

You didn’t notice when Remmick stepped out of the firelight circle and moved closer to the trailer—wondering where you had disappeared to.

It wasn’t until you felt the shift in the air—the faintest crackle of energy—that you realized he was watching. You froze, half caught in a step, one foot lifted in midair as your heart skipped. But he didn’t say anything. He simply leaned against the side of the trailer, arms crossed, a small amused smile tugging at his lips. His expression was soft, almost fond, as he observed you. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The fire crackled, sending sparks into the air, but all you could hear was your heartbeat. Remmick didn’t mock you, didn’t tease you, just watched you from the shadows, his eyes flickering with amusement.

You felt a warmth spread in your chest despite the cold night air, a strange sense of camaraderie that you hadn’t expected. There was no mockery, no cruel remark. He was simply there, watching you dance in your own uncoordinated way.

The silence between you both stretched for a while before he finally spoke.

“Havin’ fun, dolly ?” he asked, his tone light, almost teasing but without the usual bite. “Keep at it, and ye might just get the hang of it.”

You blinked, surprised by his comment, and then, without really thinking, you let out a breathless laugh, the tension easing in your shoulders. “I don’t know if that’s true. I feel like I’m tripping over my own damn feet here.”

Remmick pushed himself off the trailer, stepping closer to you—but not too close. Instead, he gave you space, just enough for you to feel his presence but not so much that it was oppressive.

“Ye just need practice, honey,” he told you.

You stood still for a moment, considering his words. The warmth that had blossomed in your chest stayed there, lingering longer than it should have. It was strange—this moment of connection, of unexpected kindness from him. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you realize there might be more to him than you’d thought.

For a moment, you didn’t mind that he was watching you. You didn’t mind at all.

Remmick’s grin widened as he stood next to you, his movements sharp and fluid as he proceeded to demonstrate the steps to you. He didn’t rush—he simply showed you, step by step, with the same casual confidence that made him so dangerous and yet, oddly, reassuring.

“First. Foot here,” he instructed, lifting his right foot and placing it firmly on the ground, a steady foundation. “Then here,” he added, guiding his foot to a new position with smooth precision. “Then there,” he finished, completing the step with a flourish.

You watched his feet closely, trying to mirror the movement, your body stiff and unsure. But Remmick was patient. His gaze never left you, and he didn’t smirk or laugh at your clumsy attempt. Instead, he nodded approvingly as you tried to follow his movements.

“Now, faster,” he urged, a glint in his eyes that made you feel both challenged and…oddly encouraged. He demonstrated again, quicker this time, the steps flowing into one another with fluid grace, the sound of his feet striking the ground in perfect rhythm with the pulse of the night. You tried to follow, the movement awkward at first, your feet stumbling over themselves. But there was something in the way he moved, something in the way his confidence made you feel like you could do this too.

“Faster, huh ?” you muttered under your breath, focusing harder as you tried to speed up. It felt like you were tripping over air, but Remmick’s voice was there, soothing as he corrected you with gentle guidance.

“Foot here. Now here. Then there,” he repeated patiently, moving with you, showing you again. The rhythm of his feet became contagious, the beat pulsing through you as you tried again, your feet growing less awkward with every repetition.

The firelight flickered, casting long shadows over the both of you as you danced next to each other, and for a moment, the world outside this moment faded. It was just the two of you—his guidance, the rhythm of the dance, and the strange, unspoken understanding between you.

When you finally moved through the steps without stumbling, he let out a low chuckle, his eyes bright with amusement. “Look at ye, darlin’,” he noted appreciatively, giving you a proud grin. “Ye gettin’ the hang of it pretty good.”

You stopped, breathless but with a grin tugging at your lips, a small but genuine accomplishment simmering in your chest. “You really think ?”

Remmick took a step back, watching you carefully, the soft glow of the firelight outlining his features. He didn’t look like the same man who had teased and mentally tortured you for nights on end…

“Just keep practicing, doll. You’ll be dancing like me in no time,” he promised you and smiled—a genuine smile. There was something warmer to his smile—tender almost.

For a moment, you stayed silent, processing the shift in the air between you two.

“Thanks, Remmick,” you replied softly, offering him a brief smile before returning to your position, eager to try the steps again, more confident this time. He chuckled but didn’t comment, merely crossing his arms and watching as you danced, his eyes following your every move with an approving glint.

“Me thinks we gonna make ye a professional Irish tap dancer in no time, me dolly.”

Remmick’s presence beside you gave you just enough confidence to believe, if only for a moment, that you might actually get it right.

But confidence had its cost.

You lifted your foot for the final tap and stepped just a little too far back. The loose gravel shifted beneath you, and suddenly the ground tilted—the world slipped. You let out a startled gasp, arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself.

Before your body could hit the ground, a firm hand closed around your waist.

In a blur of motion, Remmick pulled you back towards him, your momentum swinging you forward—and instead of stopping, he spun you. Your breath hitched as he guided you in a full circle, your feet barely brushing the ground, his arm secure around your middle as he laughed. The world wheeled past in firelight and sparks and shadows, until he slowed and brought you to a clean, almost theatrical stop. One of his hands found yours without thinking, the other still bracing your back.

For a second, neither of you moved.

You were inches from him, your breath uneven, caught between shock and thrill. His eyes flicked over your face—not mocking, not smug. There was surprise there. Maybe wonder. Maybe...something you didn’t want to name yet.

“You alright there, lassie ?” he murmured and his eyes gave you a quick once-over.

You swallowed, nodding slowly as you caught your breath. “Yeah. Just...missed a step.”

He didn’t let go immediately. Neither did you.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, and this time there was the ghost of a grin on his face.

You laughed, breathless. “Hey. That was gravity and panic, alright ?”

He tilted his head, considering you. “Maybe. But for a moment...ye actually looked happy, lassie.”

That made your heart stutter.

He let go then, slowly, his fingers brushing yours just a second longer than they needed to. He stepped back, but not too far—just enough for air to pass between you again, enough for the moment to settle between you like ash from the fire.

“Let’s try it again,” he said quietly. “This time, I’ll catch ye before ya fall.”

You didn’t doubt that he would.

You steadied yourself, still catching your breath from the unexpected spin, when Remmick took a step back, eyes watching you intently. Then, without warning, he spun on his heel and darted in front of you. You blinked in surprise as he landed squarely in your path, boots tapping a rhythm into the dirt that made the earth seem to thrum beneath him. His shoulders rolled back, chest lifted like a showman stepping onto a stage.

“Alright then, dancer,” he declared, laughter already bubbling in his throat as he then challenged you. “Yer turn now. Let’s see what ye got.”

You hesitated for half a beat, but then your feet moved—on instinct, on rhythm, on the sheer stubborn urge not to be outdone. Gathering the rhythm you’d just learned, you lifted your foot and tapped it out: left foot up then down, right foot up then down, left, right…Then, barely daring, you added the little hop he’d shown you. The gravel under your boots crunched in time, sparks from the fire catching the movement of your feet. You stomped the beat he’d taught you, mimicking the steps as best you could, moving forward even as he matched you, step for step.

For a few seconds, it was awkward—a stumble here, a missed tap there—but it didn’t matter. Because Remmick was laughing.

A real laugh.

Not the cold, taunting chuckle you’d come to brace for—but something honest, bright, sharp with joy. It escaped his lips like something unguarded, and for a moment, he looked completely disarmed.

Remmick’s eyes lit up and he chuckled—a rich, warm sound that echoed against the night. Encouraged, you pressed on, matching pace and then quickening the beat: tap–hop, tap–hop, until your legs felt like hummingbird wings. Suddenly, he laughed again and, almost on impulse, mirrored your steps. His feet flew in perfect rhythm: a flourish here, a stamp there, each motion precise and alive.

“You tryin’ to steal me spotlight, dolly ?” he teased, his voice breathless from the laughter. “Because yer makin’ a fine mess of it !”

“That’s not fair ! You jumped in front of me !” you shot back, matching his grin, breathless and a little wild with giddiness.

“And yet here ye are, still tappin’ along,” he said, lifting his foot in a flourish and tapping out a rhythm that challenged you to follow.

You met him step for step now, the two of you mirroring each other, dancing in sync—his precision and flair meeting your determination and growing confidence. Your shoes struck the dirt, echoing off the trailer walls and the trees beyond, and for a few heartbeats, it felt like the rest of the world had gone still, watching.

He twirled again and your promptly followed. “Ah ! That’s it, lassie ! Look at ye ! Me pretty lil’ dancin’ queen !”

You snorted. “Please, I look like I’m trying to chase off ghosts.”

“Aye, and dancin’ ‘em straight back to hell, I’d wager,” he laughed, stepping closer now, tapping a slower rhythm, waiting for you to match.

You did. And when you moved in time with him, he gave you a crooked, approving smile.

The fire cracked behind you, the night wind rustling the horses and tents, but neither of you noticed. Not when your feet moved in tandem and your laughter mingled with his, echoing into the dark like a promise.

Just for tonight, it wasn’t hate. It wasn’t fear. It was dancing. It was you and Remmick, face to face, tapping out a rhythm that no one else could follow. You were sweating and exhausted…but when you looked up and saw the genuine smile on Remmick’s face.

…You realised you could have danced all night that you wouldn’t have complained once.

#remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick x y/n #sinners 2025 #sinners movie

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rockscanfly · 2 days ago

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Noshir Dalal's (Charles Smith's VA and the man who largely shaped Charles into the singular character that he is, found here on tumblr @noshirdalal and on Cameo [in case you have your own questions you'd like answered]) beautiful response to my cameo prompt:

Q: You’ve mentioned before that Charles likes to read. What is his favorite book? Also, you’ve talked some about cowboy poetry and how you think it’s something Charles might have connected to. Can we get a favorite poem of his in his voice?

Besides the fact that this reading of "The Men That Don't Fit In" was just plain fantastic and moving as all get out, I really admire Noshir's choice of poem.

Similar to the poem’s author and his simultaneous celebration and castigation of the prototypical outlaw, Charles always came off to me as someone who loves his fellow gang members deeply but who didn't share their illusions about themselves or how they function within the larger context of the world around them.

Charles makes several remarks throughout the game ('Unpleasant? How do you rob and kill people pleasantly?' 'All this death and for what? Just so we can have enough money to be able to run from what we've done?' 'The amount of hell we raised, we’re owed some back') that indicate a high level of self-awareness about what it is the gang ACTUALLY does and how they're perceived by the outside world.

Arthur makes some gestures at this understanding throughout the game, but his moral musings are undercut by his inability to stand his ground against Dutch throughout the numerous acts of outright cruelty his found-father perpetuates in Chapters 4-6 (Arthur barks, but he never bites).

Arthur and John have their gripes and moans, but ultimately the two of them stick it out until the bloody end. Charles is the first person to really break free of the fate the gang is hurtling towards.

In a tragedy built on the back of it's main cast's inability to cope with a changing world, Charles is arguably the character who exerts the most agency. He makes the decision in Chapter 6--when the circumstances that once tied him to the gang have dramatically altered--to cut loose.

Because of this choice, he lives.

To me, at least, this poem--and Noshir's brilliant delivery--isn't about Charles himself. Or at least not just about himself.

Its him talking about the Van der Linde gang. Arthur and John, his second family. Wild, brilliant, bold, true, free--and gone. With nothing but graves to show for the lives they lived.

Charles isn't reciting a poem--he's reciting a eulogy.

Transcript:

Hey Rocks. Um, thank you for your patience with all of this.

Yeah, so we know that Charles reads and I know that we’ve talked before about a scene that apparently didn’t make it into the game, where after Charles’ interaction with Micah—and you know, yeeting him across the camp—Arthur comes upon him reading a book.

That uh, that scene affected me in a major way and I think it's probably the reason I portray Charles the way I do.

A guy who can physically manhandle pretty much anyone at camp having the mental and emotional maturity and self-regulation—if you can’t tell I’m a new dad [laughs]—to find a way to deal with his anger that doesn’t involve acting out and breaking stuff?

Told me a tremendous amount about Charles, especially because what I’d been introduced to was the idea that Charles was a really violent, really angry maniac.

And I love the idea that he’s really into poetry. I like poetry a lot. Actually when I was working on that latest skin for Yone (spl?) for League of Legends, I learned from the writing team that cowboy poetry is, like, a thing.

And so I decided to look some up. And I like to think that maybe that this is a poem that Charles would have had in that book he was reading.

The poem is called “The Men That Don’t Fit In” by Robert W. Service. Fitting, I think, especially for Charles for a number of reasons. I hope you like it.

[Noshir goes into Charles’ voice and recites below poem by Robert W. Service (British-born Canadian Poet, 1874-1958), published in his book Songs of the Yukon (1907)]

There’s a race of men that don’t fit in, A race that can’t stay still; So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will. They range the field and they rove the flood, And they climb the mountain’s crest; Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don’t know how to rest. If they just went straight they might go far; They are strong and brave and true; But they’re always tired of the things that are, And they want the strange and new. They say: “Could I find my proper groove, What a deep mark I would make!” So they chop and change, and each fresh move Is only a fresh mistake. And each forgets, as he strips and runs With a brilliant, fitful pace, It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones Who win in the lifelong race. And each forgets that his youth has fled, Forgets that his prime is past, Till he stands one day, with a hope that’s dead, In the glare of the truth at last. He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance; He has just done things by half. Life’s been a jolly good joke on him, And now is the time to laugh. Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost; He was never meant to win; He’s a rolling stone, and it’s bred in the bone; He’s a man who won’t fit in.

#charles smith #arthur morgan #john marston #the van der linde gang #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #rdr2 #red dead redemption #noshir dalal #charthur

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revelboo · 1 day ago

Note

Ok, I saw a LOT of pets on here

Here's my little demon

His name's Gari, and he's very stupid. He has no survival skills, and that's probably why his mother abandoned him. He also bonked his head on a pillar in full sprint. Also, no clue if my prev req went through

Awww! Cute!

🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Two

Riptide

• Fingers digging into the seams in his armor, where you’re straddling his lap as his mouth slides against yours, the heat of him sinks into you. Feel his servos tunnel into your hair as his glossa tangles with your tongue. And this is far as the two of you ever get. Making out like teenagers, but as his other hand cups and squeezes your butt, you want more. Want everything. Talking with a couple of the other humans at least preparing you for what to expect. And reassuring you that this can work between your species.

• Groaning as you nip his lip, your head lifts to break the kiss before you use your grip on his chassis to rock against him. Teasing him when he hurts to be inside you. “I want it,” you whisper, soft hands sliding on him. Want what? Him? His spikes? Freezing as you cup his face in a soft hand, mouth skimming his jaw and neck as those pretty eyes look up at him, he really hopes you’re not teasing him. That he’s not misunderstanding you.

• And he’s gently easing you down, laying you back on his berth as he shifts over you. “Then take them,” he growls. Wait. Them? What’s he talking about? Lips parting when he frees his spike and you just stare. Spikes. There’s two of them, one just above the other. Why had no one mentioned Cybertronians having two? That seems like really important information. His big hands start trying to figure out your clothes and you grab his wrists. ‘There’s two,’ you manage and he just stares at you.

• “I know?” He says, the words becoming a confused question as you just stare at him. And you put your face in your hands, muttering something too low for him to understand. Did he do something wrong? ‘Fuck it,’ you groan. ‘Can we do one at a time?’ Yes? He’s secondarily confused, but you’re undressing and he’s not about to question it. Reaching to help you strip, he settles between your thighs.

• Feel the head of his lower spike slide against you, the one above it also rubbing against you as he begins to stretch you. “Tight,” he groans and you whimper an agreement. Head thrown back as he fills you, hips pumping. And two spikes are amazing. One sliding against you just right while the other drives deep as he finds a rhythm. Not hesitating or treating you like you’re made of glass. Like you’ll break if he’s a little rough with you. Love that he sees you, sees someone desirable, not just your disability as his mouth finds yours again. Rutting against you with an urgency, like he’ll die if he doesn’t fuck you right now.

#transformers x reader #riptide x reader #mtmte riptide #valveplug

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theninthdoor · 1 day ago

Text

݁˖⚘‧˚ pac || yes or no + short message/clarification ࣪˚࿔

🌷 think of a question you need a Yes/No answer for, take 3 deep breaths, ground yourself, and then pick one of the 8 options below. this PAC should give you a general idea of what the energy surrounding this matter is + what Spirit wants you to know and/or suggest you to do about it. 🌷 take only what resonates and leave the rest! if you feel like the pile you’ve initially picked doesn’t really apply or resonate with you, then don't force it. just really try to use your intuition + your discernment. and you can also, of course, pick more than one pile. 🌷 remember that this is all for entertainment purposes and that free will still exists. don’t feel pressured to do anything you don’t want to or to make a pile/answer fit you situation, alright? 🌷 enjoy, my friends!

Pile 1 || ✧

cards: ace of pentacles, king of swords, Time for a Nap

Your answer, dear Pile 1, is Yes! This might require some more work going forward, and things might not be or go exactly as you have envisioned them up until this point, but the outcome should still be very positive! At the bottom of the deck we have the Eight of Pentacles and the Four of Wands, too, which suggest that your efforts will be rewarded (now or later), for sure, as long as you stay committed to whatever it is that you have in mind. New communication or clarity regarding this matter might be coming towards you soon, as well, so I would be on the lookout for that! At last, Spirit is saying that it's alright for you to relax now. Don't rush; don't fret; don't doubt. Things will work out for the best, as you will surely see. You're going in the right direction (action-wise, thought-wise, or both).

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: Cat- names; C- names. Cambridge. UK. Harvard. Planning for college. Light brown hair. Green hair. Tan skin. Howard. H- names. Blue manicure. Red manicure. Ice. Snow. New books. Missing deadlines. Tabi shoes. Blue pajamas. Elf. Elv-. Long essays. Yellow flowers. Craving donuts or croissants. Bears.

Pile 2 || ✧

cards: ace of swords rx, seven of wands rx, Breathe rx

This seems like a No, dear Pile 2… Something about it is making me feel like your/someone's time has passed or other things have now gotten in the way of this, so the road is blocked. We have the Ten of Cups at the bottom of the deck, though, which, to me, is a sign that even if No is not what you were expecting to hear, it will still prove itself to be the best answer you could get. The future holds clarity and resolve. It's not so much that you're being denied whatever it is that you have in mind; it's more so like you're being redirected towards something better altogether. And, I think, the long-run is what you should be thinking of, not the past or the present.

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: Burgundy hair. Ginger hair. Ginger cat. Ginger. Spices. A new baby in the family. Younger brother. Losing or breaking an umbrella. Iris. Inez. Ingrid. Slovenia. Slovakia. Sweden. Norway. Royalty. S- names. Monet. Painting. Studying art. A- names. Y- names. Red brick.

Pile 3 || ✧

cards: knight of wands rx, nine of wands, Go The Distance

No for now; More likely in the future. - That is what I heard here. The timing isn't quite right for it to happen or for you to make a decision. Something tells me, too, that if the answer were to be Yes, you'd soon find out that it should've been a No instead. If this were to come to you right now, that is, it's likely that you wouldn't be happy about it, even if you think you would. Now, if you're asking about someone else, I feel like there's some sort of pause there. I see no activity; just silence and/or distraction - like the other person is looking away from this. So, basically: Now is not the time. That is our take away from this.

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: Elephant. E- names. Flowers. Garden. Spring allergies. Allergic reactions. Arguments with the mother. Light-colored hair. Throwing a lot of old stuff away, or wanting to. Planning for a tattoo. Saving money. Drawings of trees. Biology. Botany. Lakes. L- names. Lily. Leon-. Land-. Pisces placements. Elev-. Eleventh grade.

Pile 4 || ✧

cards: temperance, the high priestess, Why?

Your answer is Yes. There is some complexity to this issue, though, as the cards are suggesting a need to seek more information. Not only do I think you might need to reflect, by yourself, a little bit about this, but it may also be a case of you needing to talk to others and/or do some research about whatever it is that you're asking about here. If I were to put this energy into a sentence, it would be "Keep moving in this direction, yes, yet cautiously and slowly."; so, even if the answer is positive, you still need to be careful, in order to avoid mistakes and/or misunderstandings. The future just isn't as clear as the present, it seems.

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: Listening to Taylor Swift or reading articles about her. Red lipstick. Red manicure. Working at a beauty store. Hairdresser. Fish. Sushi. Fishing. Fire placements; Aries placements, in particular. Andrew. Andre-. Baby blue. Painting walls. Wallpaper. Buying decor or home appliances. The countryside. Get-together with friends. Date night. Plastic surgery. Dolls. Iv-. Hiv-. V- names. Vanya/Vania. W- names.

Pile 5 || ✧

cards: knight of cups, six of wands rx, Chaos and Conflict

Alright… this one is a solid Maybe. There are many pros and cons; many points in favor and many others against. Overall, there are a lot of conflicting energies at play here. If this involves other people, then your energy is not aligned with theirs, so whatever you want and/or expect doesn't reflect their current standing. You're not seeing eye to eye, and you, yourself, don't seem to be seeing things clearly. Within you, too, I think there's a lot of confusion surrounding this situation. You're just being misguided, somehow, either by your mind or your heart. Either way, though, I don't think this is anything too serious or final, and you should, eventually, find your way to the truth. If you asking about a decision you've been pondering on, then the answer is: Wait. As I said before, you are mistaken, somewhere or somehow. This direction you're going in might not be completely wrong - or else the answer would've been a No, I suppose -, but something about this isn't quite right.

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: On and off relationships. Friendships ending. Betrayals. Starting new TV shows. Binge watching shows or movies. Film class. Critical essays. Bad grades. Red or orange clothing. New dresses or skirts. Cottage core. A very old pet. Grey fur. G- names. Phillipe/a. Fil-. Trish. T- names. Treasure. S- names.Tr-. Spain. Argentina.

Pile 6 || ✧

cards: death, ace of cups rx, Come To The Edge

Before I even pulled the cards here I heard "your friends are not being helpful" - yet I feel like the message might also apply to acquaintances, coworkers, etc., or anyone or anything you have been relying on a lot as of late, really. I feel you being pushed and pulled; being made to run in circles. Whenever you're close to your goal and/or to the truth, something else or someone else distracts you, and then you're back to the beginning. There's an element of immaturity and carelessness here, both coming from you and from around you, so I would, for sure, keep an eye out for that, too. Besides that, I also feel like you're only seeing what you want to see. There is much more to it, yet you're allowing yourself to be deceived and misled.

So, here, the answer here is not really a Yes, nor it is a No. I think the question, itself, is either pointless or misconstrued, so what you ought to do is take a step back and make sure you're using reason and being realistic. After you do so, then, I believe, you might find the right questions to ask (or realize you shouldn't be bothering with this matter at all).

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: Going from PAC to PAC. Angel numbers. Social media lurking. Gossip. Frustration. Libra placements. Sagittarius placements. A- names. D- names. Lace. L-names. M- names. Bows. Coquette. Sis-. Sib-. Vancouver. Sol-. Son-. Kark-. Asia. Indonesia. Philippines. Northeast. Tornado. Mel-. Grains. Pink phone case. Yellow phone case. Small tattoos.

Pile 7 || ✧

cards: the sun, seven of pentacles, Come To The Edge reversed

This feels like a soft Yes, but a Yes nonetheless! I think things are moving in the right direction, as it is, so even if this isn't a clear Yes as of yet, it is likely to become one pretty soon. And, whatever it is that you're seeking, I believe, is likely to either come to you or become available in the near future; so this is like the energy is building up to it or maturing. - and 'Maturing', I think, is really the keyword here, and what you need to reflect upon! You also need to keep moving and to keep bringing positive energy into your life; stagnancy won't do it. Patience is also needed, as well as respect for Divine timing. If there are other people involved here, I feel positive in regard to that/them, too. Everything seems pretty nice, overall, and optimistic.

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: Jo- names. Jasper. Buying crystals. Setting up an altar. Al-. Morocco. North Africa. Egypt. Family traditions. The sun. Sisters. Stars. Ancestors. Ancestor work. Baby names. Mother figure. Long dresses/skirts. Wedding. F- names. P- names. K- names. Kan-. Can-. Vials. Ven-. Bracelets. Virgo placements. Capricorn placements. New romantic interest or relationship.

Pile 8 || ✧

cards: eight of wands rx, king of pentacles, Treasure Island

This is not yet a Yes, but might be on it's way to becoming one! It isn't a No, though. It's just kind of a 'meh'… not even a 'maybe'. There's resistance here. Doubts. Questions. Lack of clarity, all around. I think what you are needing right now is time, first and foremost, dear Pile 8. You need time to think; time to make up your mind about some important things; giving others time, too. Instead of focusing too much on what you're inquiring about here and over-saturating your mind and/or the situation, take a break instead. Relax; do some self-care. You need to look at this matter with fresh eyes from now on, or you might miss the most important cues. Because, overall, the energy is positive, yes, but it could still turn into something less favorable if you push it too much or act on impulse rather than reason.

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: I accidentally wrote Pile G instead of Pile 8 for whatever reason, so the letter G might be very significant here. Also, you might find some extra messages in Pile 7, as I am feeling like the two are somehow connected. Grandmother's house. Tile floors. Italy. Sweeping leaves off the floor. Gardening. Cats. Baby pets. Vind-. Motorcycles. Old bus. Something inherited from the grandfather or father. Gold jewelry. Fol-. Jewelry on the right hand/arm. -in. 28. 8. 88. 33.

decks used || The Original Rider Waite + Wisdom of The Oracle

(Disclaimer: Based on current energies. All is alleged and for entertainment purposes only. None of the original images are my own - only the edits!)

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karikarasuno · 2 days ago

Text

part one | part two | wc: 2.2k

There’s a noise that startles you out of your sleep coming from downstairs. This house is old and it makes its age known by the constant creaking or thumping that travels down its lonely halls. It’s terrifying. But not as terrifying as the very obvious sounds of someone rummaging around downstairs. Who the hell would break into your house? It's not like your grandfather has anything of real value. So what was there to even sell once it was stolen?

Either way you have to do something about it. You refuse to be robbed and you refuse to be known as the woman who lives alone who cannot defend herself. Fuck that. So, you grab the rifle that’s stored in the safe your grandfather kept in his closet. The code is your birthday. You laughed when you found that out.

As you creep downstairs– careful to avoid the loose step near the base– you prop the gun up on your shoulder and release the safety catch. You ignore the fear that pulses violently in your chest. You’ve never actually shot a gun before.

The noises are coming from the kitchen. The space is illuminated by the light of the open fridge. You can’t see who is there or what they are doing and confusion begins to intertwine with your fear. What the hell?

“Where’s all the meat?” Someone grumbles. And your brow furrows because seriously who breaks into someone’s house to raid their fridge. Someone obviously deranged and unfamiliar to you when he pops up from behind the open door, a shadow casting over his face.

“Excuse me,” you say, but you scare him half to death. He jumps and yelps which in turn frightens you. Your finger slips, pulling the trigger, and a gunshot rings out in the silence of the early morning. You scream when you hear an explosive shatter as you squeeze your eyes shut, praying to whoever will listen that you did not just kill someone.

“What was that for?!”

“Oh my god, I could have killed you!” You shout when you see him standing there, unharmed and clutching about half of the contents in your fridge in his arms.

“Not with that aim.” And he has the nerve to laugh. When absolutely nothing is funny.

“Who are you?” You ask, your ears still ringing from the gunshot, and you briefly grieve the ceramic kettle you just shattered.

“Who are you?” He repeats, narrowing his eyes at you.

“The person who lives here,” you say, annoyed that he has the audacity to question you when you know for a fact he doesn’t live here. Last time you checked you don’t have a roommate. But he could pass for a squatter if you looked at him hard enough.

“Oh!” He nods excitedly, something dawning on him that you can’t see. “You’re Jinbe’s granddaughter. He told me about you.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” you respond, placing the gun down on your dining room table. Your heart still skips frantically in your chest.

“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you,” he laughs again, gracelessly putting down all the food he was attempting to steal on the counter. “You look just like him.”

“I literally don’t.” You’re going crazy. This is a sign of you finally entering psychosis. This kid has to be your own unique sleep paralysis demon. Maybe you’re actually still in bed. You pinch your arm. No. He’s real. And you still feel insane.

“Mhm, yeah. You have the same big head.”

You blink at him. As if you have something in your eye. Well maybe the blink is more of a twitch. “Why are you in my house?”

“I got hungry.”

“I see that, but I don’t know who you are and so I think it’s a little creepy that you’re eating my food in the dark at six o’clock in the morning,” you explain slowly, like he’s an idiot. But he’s somehow looking at you like you’re the one with two heads.

“I’m Luffy,” he finally introduces himself, adjusting his posture to stand up straighter and his grin is so big, so wide, that it takes up half of his face. “I’ve been helping out Jinbe with the farm since he was really old.”

“Got it.” He’s a farmhand. You’ve met some of the other guys that work the farm, but they never mentioned Luffy. “And how did you get in?”

He points to the key that’s dangling from his necklace. “Jinbe gave me a key and after he died I figured I would keep it. He always said I could help myself since I was workin’ for him.”

“Well, that’s rather kind of you, but now that I’m here just text me before you let yourself in. I wouldn’t wanna shoot at you again.”

“You betcha.” He salutes you goofily and now that your heart rate has returned to normal, you have to laugh. What a weirdo. “Wanna come feed the horses with me?”

You think about it. You have work in a few hours and you really wanted to get that extra hour or two of sleep, but honestly he looks kinda sweet standing there and waiting for your response. He’s so eager, energetic. Jeez, why can’t you say no to anyone in this town?

“Yeah.” You throw your hands up. “Why not?”

You move to follow Luffy, but he holds his hands up and you stop, bewildered. “You might wanna put on some pants first.”

“Oh!” You look down at your bare legs. Thankfully the shirt is long enough to cover your ass. Because otherwise this would have been very embarrassing for you. “I’ll be right back.”

****

The horses are stunning. They make you a little nervous, though, since you’re not used to being near animals this large. But Luffy is a natural around them. It almost makes you jealous the way he waltzes up and speaks to them. Like they understand him.

“Here.” He hands you a basket full of carrots. “Start at the back of the stables and they’re supposed to get one each, but sometimes I sneak ‘em an extra when no one’s lookin’.”

He says that last part behind his hand like he’s sharing a secret with you, but the volume of his voice doesn’t get lower. But lucky for him, no one’s around to hear him. There never really is anyone around anymore.

“If I’m feeling charitable maybe I will too,” you whisper to him and he nods enthusiastically. He’s cute in an innocent way and you almost forget how you met. Pantsless and pointing a gun at his head.

After you individually introduce yourself to each horse, feeding them exactly one carrot before looping back around to feed them another, Luffy comes running back holding a saddle.

“Let’s ride!” Your eyes widen because no, you will not be riding a horse today.

“I really can’t,” you say, dropping the basket and waving your hands no in front of your body.

“Aw, come on! It’s fun,” he urges, unlocking one of the stalls to lead out one of the larger horses.

“I’m sure it is, but I’ve gotta get ready for work,” you insist, stepping away from him and the horse and closer to the exit.

“Only a few minutes! We can go on a run, it’s such a nice day out.” Luffy tosses the saddle onto the horse and begins cinching the straps around him. But you start panicking. The horses start to sense it because the one closest to you whines.

“Really, it’s okay,” you shake your head again. “I don’t-”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” he says emphatically as he approaches you. And he’s being nice, you’re more than aware of this. But the idea of getting on that horse makes you nauseous. Your knee throbs with the memory of an injury that you’re still healing from.

“Luffy, no!” You hold up your hands and he stops abruptly. His face falls at your tone and a pang of pity pierces your chest. “I’m sorry. I’ve just never ridden a horse before and after my injury the idea of horse riding kinda scares the shit outta me.”

“What injury?” He cocks his head to the side inquisitively. His eyes soften with genuine interest. With ardent curiosity. Ugh, why is it so impossible to stonewall people in this place?

“I used to be a professional ballroom dancer,” you sigh, reliving memories you really did not feel like unboxing before you’ve even had your coffee. “And almost a year ago during a competition I tore my ACL. I can handle most dances now, especially if I’m just choreographing, but I’m really not up to all this.”

You toss your hands in the air and gesture to the horses. Luffy is the last person in the world you would’ve ever expected spilling your guts to. Especially considering you’ve known him for all of an hour. But looking at him as he wears the dopiest, most sincere expression on his face, it’s hard not to.

“I can teach you,” he replies simply. “Or we can ride together for your first time.”

“I don’t know.” His solutions still make you uneasy.

“Or!” He jumps. “You can just watch! I’m trying to teach him how to jump over hurdles.” He points to the horse behind him. “And then next time I’ll help you bond with one of the girls. They’re usually better around kids.”

“But I’m not a child,” you argue. Obviously.

“Well, duh, but you’re scared like one. And that’s ok! We just gotta work on it and in no time you’ll be ridin’ like a pro.”

He steps back, but he’s not paying attention and he trips over a bale of hay. But the sudden movement and the flailing of his arms startles the horse. And in a singular blink of an eye, the horse is rearing back, hooves in the air dramatically before one of them knocks Luffy in the head. The horse rushes out of the stables and Luffy crumples to the ground. His argument is now null and void as you rush to his side frantically. You’re never riding a horse.

****

“He’ll be okay,” Marco says. You learned quickly upon your arrival to the hospital that Marco isn’t just a fill-in bartender, but he’s actually one of the doctors in town. It isn’t even nine a.m. and you’re already over your day. And you have to be at work in an hour. You don’t know if you can handle any more surprises.

“But as a precaution, I’ll give his emergency contact a call to come scoop him up,” he assures you, sending Luffy a knowing look.

“Thanks, Dr. Marco?” You say stupidly, not too sure how to refer to him right now.

“Marco’s fine,” he laughs. “It’s what everyone calls me anyway.”

He leaves the room and you deflate from exhaustion. You’ve known Luffy for three hours and he’s managed to give you a heart attack from worry and a headache from stress. But he’s sitting on the hospital bed holding a bag of ice to his head as if he wasn’t just trampled by a horse. His feet are even swinging as he waits. He’s literally smiling at you.

“You really don’t have to worry about me,” he says, beaming. “Happens all the time.”

“What the hell do you mean this happens all the time? How often are the horses kicking you in the head?”

“I just get hurt every now and again,” he dismisses you lightly. “But I always bounce back! Marco says I’m made of rubber.”

He winks at you. Like he’s letting you in on some inside joke. Meanwhile you’re starting to grow increasingly concerned about his wellbeing. How many times has he gotten kicked in the head?

“I’m sure you are, bud,” you agreed solemnly, not having the capacity to argue with him anymore. You’re just relieved that he’s seemingly fine. “But I’ll wait until your emergency contact gets here just in case.”

“He’s gonna yell at me again for being reckless,” Luffy rolls his eyes, taking the ice pack off of his head.

“To be fair, it wasn’t entirely your fault. That hay bale came outta nowhere,” you tease, sitting down next to him on the bed. Might as well get comfortable while you wait.

“That’s what I’m sayin’,” he chuckles with his shoulders and you smile despite all of the turmoil he’s put you through. You feel bad for whoever’s on their way to come and get him. He seems like a handful based off of the few hours you’ve spent with him just today. But you guess he’s an easily forgivable handful with the way he sits rambling beside you updating you on whatever small town gossip he’s managed to hear.

“Thanks for patchin’ him up.” A familiar voice drifts from down the hall. “Again.”

Your mind takes a second to register who the voice belongs to. But your body remembers. You completely tense up beside Luffy. A flush, hot and stunned, washes over you.

Ace rounds the corner. As gorgeous as ever as he smiles at Marco. Appreciation and exasperation on his face. This really cannot be happening.

“Oh, shit,” you mutter. Your morning really couldn’t get any worse.

taglist: @a-girl-cant-decide-on-a-name @nico-ith @chillerkiller @jozhenji @starchild-unnamed @certain-tragedies

#cowboy!ace au #portgas d ace #ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #literally luffy is deceptively hard so pls don't yell at me if you think he doesn't feel characterized correctly #but i feel like i didn't do the worst job bc he's just a goofball

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lovehazard · 1 day ago

Note

HiiHeyHello

Can we have some random facts abt Dominik?:3

(Kinda off topic but I love ur artstyle)

Dominik is a weird guy with a compulsive obsession for details and killing people.

Don’t expect sweetness from Dominik. He doesn't do pet names or sentimental gestures. It’s always “you”, “hey”, or your name, detached, matter-of-fact, and unsettlingly intimate in its bluntness.

Dominik is talkative in his own way, despite his aloof demeanor, Dominik talks more than you'd think. He has a strange habit of asking questions, random, sometimes jarring. What’s your favorite smell? Ever broken a bone? Do you think you’d scream if someone drove a knife into your thigh? Casual, like it’s weather talk.

He stares. A lot. Sometimes too much. He observes everything: how you chew your food, how your eyes flicker when you’re nervous, how your breath hitches when he gets too close. Every detail is important to him.

Dominik has a sketchbook filled with grotesque illustrations: twisted anatomy, mutilated figures, decay. But here and there, nestled between carnage and bloodstains, are softer sketches: small birds, plants… And you. Your face, your silhouette, your sleeping form. Again and again. Almost reverently.

Dominik smokes, and when he’s stressed, he tends to smoke a lot. You can catch the smell of tobacco clinging on his body sometimes.

He has a pet crow named Mori. Sometimes the bird brings small, shiny trinkets to him.

Dominik used to work solo. Now he’s stuck doing Valentine’s dirty work with a bunch of other weirdos: Liam, Cannibal-chan, Almas, and Silas. He doesn’t like them. But he doesn’t need to like them to get the job done.

He has a cruel habit, forcing you into moments that test your morality. He might make you kill, just to see if it breaks you. Just to see who you become with blood on your hands.

Affection from Dominik is rare and unpredictable. When it comes, it’s quiet and unnerving. A hand around your waist. A brush of lips on your neck. Fingers tracing your jaw as if memorizing bone. His kisses? Soft. Too soft. Ghostlike, and utterly wrong in contrast to the violence he’s capable of.

Dominik’s a surprisingly skilled cook. He doesn’t brag about it, but if he ever makes you a meal, it’s always perfectly seasoned and weirdly comforting, like he’s memorized your taste without asking.

Dominik adores spicy food, especially mapo tofu, relishing the burn. But sweets? He’s not fond of them.

He doesn’t really fear anything, but he’s weirdly unsettled by mantises. He won’t talk about why, and it’s better not to ask.

#ask #yandere #yandere oc #oc dominik muller

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nthewriter · 1 day ago

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“Since when?”

“A very long time.” Simon replied, throat dry, as he observed her shaking hands getting away from the stove and the skillet she was using. It was the hardest thing he was doing and going through ever since he had lost Johnny. “Love, sit down please-“

“Don’t call me love!” She roared back, tears rolling down her cheeks, vulnerable and hurt and broken.

She slid down the kitchen counter, with a breaking wail, the kind that tore someone apart, the kind that shook the entire body. in this instant, Simon felt like watching a woman breaking down, the pieces falling apart quickly, like a building being demolished by a bomb. Everything came back to Johnny, he realised.

Slowly, he crouched down next to her, his wife, the woman who had abandoned a lot for him, who had stood there in the hospital after he deliberately let himself be shot so he could be reunited with Johnny, grabbing his hand, soothed his nightmares and for once, he felt regret. Regret that he hadn’t have the bravery to tell her that he had liked another, regret that he had pulled her into his own mess.

“I’m really sorry.” He spoke, and he didn’t realise his own tears were rolling down his cheeks, splattering around the orange tilted floor. Why was he crying? He didn’t ruin his own life, he ruined hers.

“I was just some fun for you?!” She yelled and she was right to yell, to be angry, furious at him. As quickly as it came, her ferocity died down. “You never loved me…”

What to do now? Simon had decided to take the sofa, sleeping on it in the one bedroom flat he had bought because he knew she had loved it. Now that his secret was out, that his failure and cheating was known to the one person that never hurt him, that put himself before herself, what was there to do?

He couldn’t possibly leave. Where would he go? His meager disability allowance from the UK government was not enough to cover another move. He couldn’t rent a flat. He was stuck.

He heard her waking up for work. He slowly sat down, his hip pain bursting through his body, as he watched her walk around quietly, as if to not disturb him. Even if he had hurt her, she was still caring for him. And it made his heart break even more.

When she came back, she sat down at the table. He took a seat in front of her. She looked calm and put together despite what he had revealed to her last night, but in her eyes, he could see the storm.

“What do we do now?” She had asked out loud. But in a way, Simon knew she seemed to have her own idea about their situation. “Did you ever love me?” She then questioned, this question came from her broken self esteem, he realised.

“I love you.” Simon spoke in a confident tone. It was the truth. He loved her.

“Then why did you say you were in love with someone else?”

“It’s the truth.” He replied to her questions with an honesty he didn’t believe he could manage. No more lies. “I… I fear Johnny will always be my true love, my soulmate.”

“And I am just the dumb chick that you married?” She told him with sarcasm.

“No. Don’t say that.”

“But here we are! Do you only love me because I cook for you, I pay for everything, I wash you-“

“You make me a whole again.” Simon cut her mid sentence. “You may not believe me, and I am sorry, it’s really my fault. I don’t know how to say it but- Johnny was my other half. When he died, I felt… dead inside. But you came in, you brought your sunshine with you and you put something back into me.” He looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry I hurt you. It wasn’t my intentions. But I will die again if you leave.” And he knew she would die too if he left.

There was a very heavy silence. He could see different emotions in her eyes. In a moment, he was frightened she would throw him out and file for divorce. Everything he had said was true. Johnny had been his soulmate yes, but this woman was the missing piece of the puzzle that made him a human. And who said you only had one soulmate?

“I will cook spaghetti.” She finally whispered, tears in her eyes as she stood up and went around in the kitchen.

For Simon, it meant everything.

#I had this idea suddenly and had to write it down #I love the complexity of ghost and soap and what it means when he died #especially if one of them was married #cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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hwnglx · 2 days ago

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bts as fathers

based on tarot. i do not know these idols personally. energies are always changing. what i say is NOT straight fact. pls take it with a grain of salt!

note; i didn't continue with the second question for every member, since the answer was understandable on the first and they didn't feel entirely comfortable with me diving deeper. pls remember that this reading, is not me making any carved in stone predictions; but it's solely the energy i pick up on, at this specific point in time. enjoy the read ♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈

seokjin

would he like to become a father?

seokjin seems quite intimidated by fatherhood. i can see the main thing holding him back, being his own insecurities, and fear of the responsibility, he sees as huge. currently, seokjin doesn't see himself as someone who's capable of carrying that “burden”, since he does recognize the amount of work it requires to raise a child. it can be a lot to deal with, very tiring, and obviously you never really get a break. he's worried about not being able to give his kids what they deserve.

what would he be like as a father?

in all honestly, he'd be a great father. seokjin's ability to light up every situation he's in, would also make itself visible when it comes to filling his kid's life with genuine happiness.

a lot of joy, i keep hearing children laughing. the type of father who'd sit down the sandbox himself and squeeze his long legs into that tiny space, just to play with his kids, and entertain their little imaginations, like building a sand castle. he'd genuinely value them feeling seen, and acknowledged.

i can also see him becoming the type of father who's very protective, probably more prone to getting worried easily. a father who wants to make sure his children grow up confidently; knowing their worth and their value.

additionally, he could want to teach his kids the importance of standing up for themselves. not being afraid of speaking up when it's necessary. i keep hearing his (lovingly nagging) voice in my head. he would give them verbal lessons, that are more on the gentle and playful side but effective enough, and encourage them in that manner.

i can see seokjin wanting to go against the more traditional ways of upbringing, and allowing his kids more freedom. i really don't see him being this extremely strict father, who slams his iron fist on the table, but moreso as someone who thinks it's important to focus on providing his children with a happy and stable childhood, and family life. fulfilling their wishes, not being so restrictive or stern. he doesn't want his kids to lie to him, or have to rebel and sneak out. he'd want his children to be honest and upright.

i can feel him wanting to lead by example, and be a rolemodel his children can look up to; a father they're proud of. this could be the reason he has a lot of insecurities in this regard. seokjin wants to be the best father he can be for his kids, and might feel he isn't really there yet. he feels he's too immature and not wise enough yet, to be a good enough example.

yoongi

would he like to become a father?

i don't really see yoongi being interested in having kids. he's someone who can be immensely independent, and focused on himself first and foremost. like all i see in the spread is him. (several impulsive knights) i don't see yoongi liking the thought of having to stay put and limiting himself in his freedom. he likes being a free spirit who can just live on his own terms, according to what he himself wants to do, in whatever moment. (i also often get this feeling it's quite understandable in his eyes, he seems to carry this mindset of “it's my life, of course i'll spend it the way i want to”)

the thought of having children seems to cause worries and anxiety in him. it stresses him out, and i feel him preferring to avoid the topic, so i won't dive in much further.

hobi

would he like to become a father?

hobi's thoughts seem a little conflicting here. his energy felt lighter in regards to this topic before, he could've done a lot of reflecting and serious pondering on it ever since.

what i'm strongly feeling, is that hobi believes he'd definitely have to step up to the plate responsibly; he'd have to man up, and mature. his thoughts seem to consist of a lot of.. “am i really there already?”

he thinks that he'd have to put his toxic habits and more selfishly driven desires behind for the sake of his kids.

there's this feeling of.. “my life won't be just about me anymore.” hobi believes becoming a father would require him to tap into the more humble, grounded and selfless side of him, that is fully focused on providing for someone else.

he's also aware there's still a lot of things he'd have to heal, confront and actively work on when it comes to himself.

what would he be like as a father?

hobi feels like it's a given for him to take on the role of the strong and dependable provider, who gives his family a sense of stability; the one his children can comfortably lean on.

there is this worry in terms of him perhaps not having built a financial ground that's reliable enough yet, in his eyes. not only for himself, but if hobi was to ever have children, that'd be incredibly important to him. i keep getting this feeling of.. “i need to lay the necessary groundwork, so that my family can have it easy.”

i can also see hobi as a father, who'd be very supportive when it comes to his children's goals and ambitions. the type who's glad to guide his kids into the direction they want to go down, push and encourage them in a way where they feel confident in their abilities. i do think he'd be quite good at finding this balance between being strict enough for them to take him seriously, but also focus on uplifting them.

namjoon

would he like to become a father?

it's interesting, because the moon has made an appearance for almost everyone from the hyung line till now. the card can be about things being hidden, deception, confusion, insecurity, uncertainty, fear, anxiety. the topic of having kids is understandably of more complex nature.

namjoon also seems to feel a level of intimidation at the thought of having kids. it's understandably a concept unfamiliar to him, which can be scary. however, considering the following two of wands; this is like him contemplating on taking a step out of the dark.

i can see namjoon feeling ready if he feels like his life, his surroundings, his mindset, and basically everything possibly affecting his children, is calm, balanced, and in harmony. he wants to welcome them into a pleasant environment.

interestingly, though a sense of reluctance and fear is definitely present, he does seem to think that, once it's the right time, he'll approach fatherhood in an open-minded and ever-learning manner. he knows he won't be perfect from the beginning, but there's a part of him that wants to humbly learn as he progresses.

note; this is a passing thought i keep having, but i could picture namjoon adopting children.

what would he be like as a father?

he'd be quite broad-minded, in a way where he wouldn't be a rigid father who puts intense restrictions on his kids. namjoon would put a lot of importance into raising his children as independent and self-sufficient individuals, who are wise and content with what they have. he wants them to know how to count and appreciate their blessings.

i don't see him wanting to spoil them too much, or have them grow up in this extremely privileged nepo baby “oh i'm a famous celebrity's kid” manner.

namjoon would be more of a father who lets his kids run free, rather than intruding and strictly lecturing them constantly. he'd be a parent who thinks it's important to let his children fall sometimes, so they can gather their own know-how of how to get back up.

though he wouldn't want them to be depending on him for everything, he'd still be an existence of emotional understanding for his children. especially when it comes to communicating; namjoon would want his kids to feel safe enough to open up to him, without fear of judgment or the need to hide parts of themselves. he wants to feel like a gentle and intuitive parent figure who's naturally attuned to his kids' needs, compassionate, and understands their point of view.

jimin

would he like to become a father?

so, jimin is one of the members who reads as more fond of the idea. he does see fatherhood as something he would like for his life, and might even imagine himself in that role a lot. however, he feels uncertain about whether he'll be able to to actually translate his wishes into reality. (12h mars)

jimin's energy is very.. “these are the things i wish for, and these are the things i believe i can do.” in his eyes, there's a gap between the two; meaning, he struggles believing he can actually live up to what he himself wishes he could be.

he's so immensely critical of himself, can often have the tendency to acknowledge his downfalls, before his strengths. jimin could get worried he'll end up projecting his insecurities onto his children, not being able to provide them with the emotional fulfillment they deserve. he believes there's deeply rooted, inner issues and traumas, he'd need to actively confront and heal. he doesn't see himself as a father who'd have much to offer.

what would he be like as a father?

this is actually very sweet. i can see jimin being a father who puts true work and effort into establishing a close connection to his children.

there's this immense desire in him to display his affection towards them, in a way where they feel sincerely and wholeheartedly loved. he'd literally pour out his heart.

i keep getting the sense that this man carries a wounded inner child in him. he feels like he's healing it by caring for other children. i keep being drawn to the world “love”.. that's what might've been lacking for jimin when he was younger, so he can feel the need to make other children feel loved.

i also keep feeling the need to say “genuinely, truly, sincerely” like, his love isn't fake, it's not a pretense and it's not shallow. it's not performance-based either. a parent's love is pure, and that's what he would want his children to know. he'd love them unconditionally, with all their imperfections and mistakes.

jimin would for sure be a father who's immensely protective, but in a gentle and almost motherly type of way. he feels this desire to shield his children from all the dark in the world, and would probably prefer just tucking them into this little cacoon by his side, where they're safe and sheltered.

taehyung

would he like to become a father?

so, taehyung is clear on fatherhood being something that'd be a major change in his life. he believes it'd require him to step out of his comfort zone, and rebuild his lifestyle, his attitude, his approach, in a manner that provides his child with the best possible circumstances to grow up in. despite the initial shock fatherhood could result in (it's a little bit of this.. “oh wow my life will completely change now”), i can also see taehyung feeling uplifted, and in high spirits about it.

an insight that's coming through strongly for him, is that he'd be very adamant on protecting his children from the media, gossip, etc. he would not want his kid to be the talk of the town, have unnecessary eyes watching and everyone voicing their opinion on them. he does read as someone who wants to separate his professional and private life; doesn't want one to disrupt the other.

taehyung wouldn't want his fatherhood to get tangled in his public image, and the fact that he's a celebrity whose private life is much more interesting to the public, to pose as an inconvenience to his family, fatherhood and his children.

ideally, he'd find a way to balance his efforts in both areas. do his best as artistically, while also fulfilling his role as a father, and providing his children everything they'd be in need of.

what would he be like as a father?

i see taehyung thriving in the role. with all the cap energy, fatherhood is likely to come naturally to him. again, i keep getting it, the protective side in him would be strong. he'd be firm on shielding his kids from negative influence; the type of parent who's careful and selective over who he allows to be around his kids. he could get very “don't talk to my child like that.”

don't know why but i also keep seeing him say that to his members too lmaoo, like i could imagine him telling a member holding his baby “okay it's enough you held him for too long already” or something ㅜ

taehyung is likely to be more of the stricter father, who's very clear on the lessons he wants to teach his kids. he wouldn't be a parent who'd be easy to convince, or talked into allowing them to do something. his energy here is more authoritarian, in a “i said no, that means no. end of discussion.” way.

his energy reminds me of my stepfather, who was a capricorn. he had these exact rules i had to follow; like bed time at 7 pm. i remember him stressing me out badly, because he was so unmoving, i could cause riots, he'd just let me be annoyed but still firmly go through with what he said. in the end i learnt a lot from him.

i do see potential for taehyung to be the type of father who bickers a lot with his children though; he could have a lot of disagreements.

i can sense his main intention being to equip his children with thick skin.. encouraging them in a way that gives them strength, letting them discover their own power through embracing their strengths, building up their confidence.

lastly, there is a part of taehyung that could connect with the imaginative, emotional world of his children.

he might not always express love in overly affectionate ways, but it would come through in the little things: playing silly games with them, nurturing their creative spirit, encouraging them to dream freely. his children could talk about the most silly and whimsical things to him, and he'd entertain it, in a way that makes them feel seen and valid. there's a part of taehyung that wants to preserve their inner naivety and innocence, while also helping them develop into strong and self-assured individuals.

jungkook

would he like to become a father?

so, jk immediately came in with the energy of.. “if i meet the right person, who'd make me want to have a child, i would.”

however, i have to say, he is someone who can feel most comfortable when working, and is most familiar with himself in work-mode. the concept of becoming a father is something that feels very.. strange (?) to him.

tbh, nearly every time i read for jungkook, his childhood comes to mind. while reading this time, i got reminded of him being a capricorn rising; and it made things click for me.

all the virgo energy, plus having a cap ascendant, can make jungkook a person who's not only self-critical and hardworking by nature, but also someone who encountered the weight of responsibility at a very young age. he can search for joy in the more simple things in life as he gets older, and as he finds more comfort in letting loose, because he's already been introduced to the serious adult world so early on.

in my spread, the page of pentacles (representing a younger jk as a virgo sun) fell out next to the six of cups (card of childhood, nostalgia) which made it look like the hardworking student is curiously gazing at these two kids, who are happily playing next to him. it seems like a world unfamiliar to him.

the awkwardness that i'm getting here makes sense. if someone's inner child was neglected and left emotionally unfulfilled for years; it's hard to the blame the person for not really knowing how to emotionally nurture another child. how do you expect someone to teach a child something, when it's something they've never been taught themselves?

i don't see jungkook necessarily rejecting fatherhood, as much as i see it potentially stirring up unresolved inner issues and self-doubt within him, that he doesn't seem too comfortable confronting as of right now.

i currently see him more emotionally distant from the idea of fatherhood. not because he doesn’t care, but because, he doesn’t believe he’s yet capable of offering the emotional maturity it requires.

mtl “best” father in my eyes

#1 taehyung

#2 seokjin

#3 jimin

#4 namjoon

#5 hobi (surprisingly)

#6 jungkook

#7 yoongi (he could honestly be great, i just didn't get an ounce of insight into potential fatherhood..)

seokjin and taehyung are quite close imo, i just see taehyung feeling more comfortable and confident in the role.

#kpop tarot #bts tarot #jimin makes me want to cry

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stewpidcheescatarinabluu · 11 hours ago

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“Love’s Gonna Get You Killed”

Chapter 5

“I’m The Fucking Mafia.”

Synopsis: A wounded mafia heir stumbles into a late-night convenience store, where a quiet clerk patches him up. He walks out—but can’t stop watching her. As danger circles and their worlds quietly collide, one question remains: Can you stay untouched in a life soaked in blood?

Word Count: 1,870

Karina X Male Reader

You sat on the edge of your bed, dim lamplight casting soft shadows across the floor. An hour had passed since you returned from the convenience store, but her voice still echoed in your head — light, tired, trying not to sound like it was breaking.

Jun-Ho entered, neat as always, papers in hand.

“Sir, here it is, as said.”

You took the file and flipped it open.

Karina Yu.

25 years old.

No living relatives.

Orphaned at 17.

“Her father,” Jun-ho began, “was a construction worker. Her mother, a registered nurse at a hospital just outside Seoul. They died in a car crash. Officially ruled an accident caused by a drunk driver.”

You scanned the police report — basic, rushed. No photos. No evidence collected beyond the wreck and the bodies. No known suspect. No conviction. No answers.

“She’s ₩43.75 million in debt,” Jun-ho added. “Most of it’s from hospital bills after their death, a few education loans, and some personal ones likely taken to stay afloat. She works three part-time jobs — primarily the convenience store on East 42nd. The others rotate.”

You exhaled quietly. The weight of that number sank in.

“She never talks about them,” you murmured.

“Perhaps she has no one to tell,” Jun-ho replied.

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you stared at the cold facts.

Because beneath them… something didn’t feel right.

You found yourself returning more often now—not just to smoke, not just to pass time, but because she was there.

Karina.

There was something about the way she hummed under her breath when stocking shelves, or how her hair would fall into her face and she’d blow it away with a soft huff. You noticed the bandaid on her finger one day and wordlessly placed a pack of Hello Kitty ones on the counter. She laughed.

“You’re weird,” she said, but she smiled the whole time.

Sometimes you brought snacks—milk bread, her favorite banana milk, instant jjajangmyeon. You told her it was just impulse buys. She didn’t believe you.

Once, she was sitting behind the counter during a lull, nose buried in a secondhand book with a cracked spine. You placed a warm bag of hotteok beside her.

“Eat,” you said. “Before you pass out from low blood sugar.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do I look like someone who needs saving?”

“No,” you replied. “You look like someone who deserves warmth.”

She blinked, caught off guard. For once, she didn’t have a snarky comeback. Just a quiet, grateful glance. You didn’t need anything more.

Every visit, it became a little easier to breathe.

One rainy night, you walked in dripping wet holding a plastic bag.

“You’re gonna get sick,” she scolded, handing you napkins from under the counter.

You pulled out a small umbrella and placed it in her hands.

“I noticed you only have that broken one,” you said.

She stared at it.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered, eyes soft, almost afraid to ask.

You didn’t know the answer yet.

Maybe because when she laughed, you felt something again.

Maybe because her eyes looked like home, even if she had none.

Maybe because the pain you carried didn’t ache so much when you were with her.

You just shrugged. “I like the cigarettes here.”

She rolled her eyes again. But this time, her cheeks were flushed. And she didn’t look away.

While your days blurred into soft smiles, quiet conversations, and plastic-wrapped snacks shared under buzzing fluorescent lights, Suijoon was in the shadows—watching, waiting.

He lingered near alleys, behind tinted windows, always far enough to avoid detection, but close enough to see how often you returned. To see how your guard dropped around her. To see how much she started to mean to you.

Weeks passed like this. Then one night, back at their dimly lit base littered with half-empty bottles and maps marked in red, Suijoon spoke up.

“Hey boss,” he said, tone sharp, eyes still narrowed in frustration, “why can’t we just use that convenience store girl?”

The boss didn’t look up, just kept rolling a cigarette between his fingers.

“We can,” he said flatly, “but do you really wanna start a war?”

Suijoon’s fists clenched. “It’s just Y/N for fuck’s sake.”

That’s when the boss finally looked at him, tired but firm. “It’s not just him, idiot. It’s his father.”

Silence.

“Kill him, who’s next? You think Draco’s gonna sit quiet while you touch his heir?”

Suijoon scoffed, still riding on his arrogance. But the boss leaned forward, voice low and heavy with something older than fear.

“I’m telling you, and I’m only telling you once… we don’t mess with Draco.”

“…He’s not the boogeyman,” Suijoon muttered.

The boss gave a bitter laugh. “No. He’s the one you call to kill the fucking boogeyman.”

And with that, the room went cold.

1:37 AM 42nd street.

Back at the convenience store, the night was still and familiar. The door chime echoed as you stepped in.

“Hey Rina,” you said, casually.

She popped her head up from behind the counter, a small grin tugging at her lips. “Heyy, Y/N.”

You held up a bag. “Brought you food. You eaten dinner yet? Or craving something sinful at midnight again?”

She rolled her eyes, amused. “You really don’t have to keep doing this, you know? And seriously—where do you even get all this money? Are you, like… a mafia heir or something?”

That made you freeze for half a second, but you played it off with a smirk, setting the food down. “Eat.”

She squinted at you suspiciously, then snorted. “Okay, mafia.”

“I’m not a mafia,” you said, laughing.

“Mmhm,” she hummed, pulling open the box of food. “Expensive coat, nice watch, wads of cash—you’re either a chaebol… or a really polite criminal.”

You leaned back against the fridge, arms crossed. “So what—you’re profiling now?”

“I watch a lot of dramas,” she said between bites. “But fine, I’ll eat. But if I mysteriously disappear, I’m blaming you.”

“Noted,” you chuckled. “Just eat your tteokbokki, drama queen.”

She smiled, mouth full. And you stood there, watching the glow of her laughter bounce off the fluorescent lights like something you didn’t deserve—but were slowly, irreversibly getting addicted to.

As you two ate and exchanged quiet laughter, your phone buzzed in your coat pocket. You glanced at the screen, then gave her a small smile. “Sorry, I need to take this.”

“Go ahead,” she said, mid-bite.

You stepped outside into the cold night air, the neon flicker casting shadows on your face as you answered. Jun-ho’s voice came through, sharp and composed.

“Sir, you’re surrounded. Four black vans parked around the block, about three to four armed per vehicle. Orders?”

Your eyes scanned the dark street. Calm. Too calm.

Those damn cameras paid off.

“No need,” you muttered, jaw tightening. “I’ll handle it.”

Jun-ho hesitated. “Understood. I’ll stay on standby.”

You hung up, slipping your phone away slowly.

The air felt heavier now, like something was shifting. You adjusted your coat, flexing your fingers.

Then you walked back inside, heart steady, face unreadable.

“What is it?” Karina asked mid-bite, chopsticks still in hand, voice casual, teasing. The warm convenience store lights bathed her in a soft glow, like the chaos outside didn’t exist.

You looked at her, your phone buzzing against the table. Jun-ho’s name lit the screen.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, standing. “I have to take this.

She nodded, humming as she reached for another piece of tteokbokki.

You stepped just outside the front door, voice low. “Talk.”

Jun-ho didn’t waste time. “Sir, four black vans. Parked across different corners. Each one carries three to four armed. All exits are compromised. Orders?”

You looked up. The street was too quiet for this time of night. Your instincts kicked in—camera placement, back alley sightlines, the parked delivery truck down the street that hadn’t moved in hours.

You glanced back at the glass door where Karina sat, legs swinging lightly beneath the counter, still eating.

“No backup,” you muttered. “I’ll handle it.”

“Understood,” Jun-ho said before the line clicked off.

You exhaled slowly and walked back in.

Karina looked up, smiling. “Everything good? Work stress?”

You stared at her. “Karina… don’t panic. Just stay with me, alright?”

She tilted her head. “What are you talking abou—”

Then you pulled the gun from your coat.

Her smile faded.

“Huh?! Are you serious? Why do you—what the hell is going on?!

You stepped forward quickly, hand gently grabbing her wrist. “Quiet. Now. Trust me.”

She froze for a moment—but something in your voice, in your grip, in the way you didn’t flinch—made her follow.

You guided her through the narrow employee hallway and shoved open the back exit. The cold night air swept in like a blade.

A whisper of gravel crunching.

You turned, grabbing Karina and spinning her behind the alley dumpster as the first bullet pinged off the metal wall.

“Shit,” you hissed. “They’re early.”

Three armed men rushed in from the left—tactical gear, suppressors, helmets.

You shot two in the chest with clean double-taps before the third fired. You shoved Karina down just as the bullet whizzed past your ear. He ducked behind the opposite car.

You sprinted forward, closing the gap in seconds, sliding over the hood. He fired again but too slow—your shoulder slammed into his chest, and you flipped him onto the pavement, your boot cracking his jaw with a brutal kick.

More coming.

You heard the screech of tires, the vans repositioning around the block.

Karina scrambled after you, her breath ragged. “W-What the hell is this?! Who are they?! Who are you?!”

“I’ll explain later,” you muttered. “Right now, keep your head down.”

The next wave was sloppy—rushing you from both ends of the alley. Amateurs.

You slid across the wet concrete, used one of the fallen bodies as cover, grabbed a fallen SMG and sprayed upward—three down, silhouettes collapsing under dim lights.

One tried flanking.

You hurled your empty pistol and hit his hand mid-shot, buying a second to close distance. You ducked under his swing, grabbed his arm, twisted, and fired his own weapon into his ribs. He slumped, breathless.

Karina was wide-eyed, shaking behind the dumpster.

You reached out a hand. “Come on.”

You moved through the side path, bullets flying behind you, one grazing your coat.

Another van blocked the intersection.

“Cover your ears,” you told her, pulling the flash grenade from your jacket.

You tossed it under the van.

BANG.

Screams. Disorientation.

You moved fast—two guards dropped before they could recover. One more stood dazed at the side—until your fist met his throat.

Silence again.

Karina was gasping for air, gripping your coat, trembling.

Under the flickering streetlamp, your shirt was stained in red. Not yours.

“Just who the hell are you?” she asked, voice broken, trying to steady herself.

You finally looked at her. She deserved the truth now.

“I’m the fucking mafia,” you said with a tired smirk, gun lowering as sirens began to echo faintly in the distance. “Surprise.”

And for a moment, in the middle of the chaos and blood and adrenaline, she let out a shaky laugh.

“I knew that coat looked too good for a salaryman.

#spotify #kpop #aespa #aespa x reader #aespa karina #karina #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #karina fluff #aespa lockscreens #male reader #karina male readwr

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fratboykate · 1 day ago

Note

Mom! AU pls

I was working on something else but it's not turning out how I wanted it to and it's irritating me so...I'm letting it be for now. And sooooo many of you keep asking for an MAU update. I checked and the last time I touched MAU was May 16, 2023. Almost exactly two years, so here's a quick like 2.5k of early relationship domestic fluff to break the rut.

---

Yelena is in the middle of folding a shirt that absolutely refuses to be folded when there’s a knock. Stupid, fast, and unmistakably tiny. Too eager to be serious. She already knows who it is. Still, she opens the door.

Yelena opens it the way she always does: suspicion first, then regret. Because Ereka is on the other side. Barefoot. Smug. Winded. Grinning like she just pulled off a heist. She’s holding a rolled-up piece of paper like a scroll.

“I escaped.”

“You what?”

“I escaped. She was cooking and I ran.”

“You shouldn’t do that.”

“I knocked. That makes it okay. Plus, my house smells like fish. Gross, right?”

Yelena cranes her neck, scanning the hallway behind her like Kate might storm down it at any second.

“Where’s your mother?”

“I made you this,” Ereka deflects, thrusting the scroll into Yelena’s hand. “And I needed to ask you a question.”

Yelena doesn’t take it. She crosses her arms instead, already bracing herself for whatever is about to happen next.

“What is it?”

“It’s you. Me. And Mommy. We’re holding hands.”

“Why?”

“Because. I drew you with eyebrows this time.”

Yelena sighs, drags a hand down her face.

“Go home, kid.”

“Do you wanna watch a movie?”

“No.”

“Okay. What if there was pasta and cheese involved?”

“Pasta and cheese…with fish?”

“She’s making it. Not me. And there’s bread. With the cheese from the little tub. Mommy says it’s for ‘when she’s trying but not trying.’ That’s tonight. She’s tired. You should come.”

“I’m not invited.”

“You’re always invited.”

“Still no.”

Ereka frowns. Stares at her. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move.

“You don’t like cheese?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I was in the middle of something.”

Ereka pushes past Yelena and steps into the apartment before Yelena can stop her, scanning the room like she owns it.

“You can’t just walk into people’s apartments without being invited.”

“I knocked. You opened. That’s an invitation.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Yelena grumbles.

“Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me what’s better than pasta and a movie.”

“Kid, I’m not coming over just because you want me to.”

“I’m not the only one who wants you to. Mommy does. She just doesn’t want to say it.”

Yelena snorts.

“Doubtful.”

“She hasn’t taken off her make-up off yet. She always does when she gets home. That means she was hoping someone would show up.”

Yelena chuckles, despite herself. “You’re making that up.”

“Nope. She also put on perfume. The one she uses when we go to grown-up restaurants.”

“She could be going somewhere.”

“She’s wearing sweatpants.”

“You’re…alarmingly perceptive. How old are you again?”

“Five and a quarter. Mommy says I’m precocious.”

“You should go home.”

“You cleaned.”

“I live here.”

“You didn’t last time. You had piles.”

“I was reorganizing.”

“You were brooding.”

“Big word for a five-year-old.”

“I read.”

“I know.”

Ereka perches on the armrest.

“So…are you coming or not?”

“I told you no.”

“You can still change your mind.”

“GO HOME, EREKA.”

“Fine. But you have to walk me back.” Yelena doesn’t move. “You don’t have to stay. You can just come over to return me. And then…if you wanted to sit for a minute, no one would stop you.”

“You came over alone. You can go back alone.”

“If something happens to me, it’s your fault.”

Ereka turns around. Heads for the door. Yelena narrows her eyes.

“Are you always this manipulative?”

“Only when I want something.”

Yelena groans and rolls her eyes while shaking her head.

“Let me get my keys.”

The first sign Ereka’s slipped out is the silence.

Kate drains the pasta, slams the strainer into the sink, and turns, scanning the room.

“Ereka. Back in here. Now.”

Silence. Kate frowns. Wipes her hands on the dish towel. Leans out of the kitchen.

“Ereka?”

Still nothing.

The wooden spoon clatters onto the counter. She strides down the hall, irritation rising with every step. The bedroom door…open. Bathroom…empty. Living room…abandoned. The coloring pages Kate left her with lie abandoned on the living room rug, the pink marker uncapped and bleeding into the fibers.

Kate’s stomach drops when she sees the front door. It’s ajar. Cool air hissing out into the hallway.

“Goddammit, Ri.”

Kate rushes to it. Yanks it open, ready to shout, but freezes when she sees Yelena walking up stiffly with a very smug, barefoot child in tow.

“Returning your fugitive. She’s fast.” Yelena tells her flatly.

“Welcome to my life.” Kate glares down at her daughter. “I will install a bolt you can’t reach. Don’t test me.” Kate looks at Yelena. “Thank you. You didn’t need to walk her.”

“Nothing to thank me for. She insisted. Practically guilted me into dropping her off. Apparently a lot of terrible things could happen in the ten steps between our doors.”

“Still. Thank you.”

Yelena releases Ereka like she’s handing over stolen property.

“I drew the three of us.” Ereka tells her mother, extending the drawing.

Kate takes it. Unfurls it. She glances at the crude scribble. Three figures holding hands, an enormous red blob of wine, and what might be popcorn or possibly clouds.

“It’s us. Having movie night.”

Kate doesn’t respond right away.

“You want food?” Kate finally asks, quiet.

“No.”

Kate tilts her head. “Not even pretending to be polite and thinking about it?”

“Politeness is low on my list of priorities.”

“I told her there was cheese. She still said no.” Ereka chimes in.

“Cacio e pepe. Real pepper. Halibut on the side. Not ‘White Girl Bland.’ Promise.” Kate tries again.

“Still no.”

Kate frowns. “Okay.”

A beat.

“You want wine?” Kate presses.

“No.”

“Cool. Monosyllabic stage again.”

“Apparently.” Yelena’s mouth twitches. “There. That was more than one syllable.”

Ereka wedges herself between them.

“You can come in for just a minute. Mommy made a salad too, which nobody likes, so it’ll disappear faster if you help me eat it.”

Yelena tries not to smile. Fails. Kate catches it.

“She’s gonna keep trying until I cave, isn’t she?”

“You could just stay. Pretend this isn’t weird.” Kate adds, softer. Yelena doesn’t answer. Kate relents. “I can handle her.” She looks down at her daughter. “Go inside. You and I are having a talk later.”

“If you don’t come in I’m going to be in trouble,” Ereka stage-whispers to Yelena.

“Ereka!” Kate warns, dragging her inside. Then, to Yelena: “You don’t have to come in. She’s in trouble either way.”

Yelena hovers at the threshold. Hesitates.

“I’ll stay ten minutes.”

Kate steps aside, trying…and failing…not to smile.

The apartment smells like olive oil and garlic and something citrusy. Yelena follows cautiously, like she’s entering enemy territory.

Dinner is barely ready by the time they sit down. Ereka pats the middle stool aggresively then sits on one end of the row of three. Yelena eyes her options. Either way, she’s sitting next to Kate.

Kate slides her a plate. The pasta glistens. The salad is aggressively overdressed. She’s already pouring a second glass of wine.

“Sit. Eat. Or don’t. I’m not begging.” Yelena lowers herself onto the middle stool. Prods the pasta with her fork. “I even did the cheese right. Grated, not shredded.”

“Impressive.”

“That as nice as you get?” Kate arches an eyebrow.

“Unclear.”

Ereka starts demolishing her pasta like a tiny animal who hasn’t been fed in days.

“I’m gonna be Paddington for Halloween. The second one. Not the first one. What’s your favorite movie?”

“I don’t know. Don’t really have one.”

“How can you not have a favorite movie?”

“Just don’t.”

“Well, we gotta find you a favorite movie. You can pick what we watch next time.”

“I don’t think there is going to be a next time, kid.”

“There will. Mommy was talking about you earlier, by the way,” Ereka blurts out, casually. Kate glares at her.

“Yeah?” Yelena glances up at Kate with a smirk.

A pause.

“I was not.”

“I’m going to believe the kid on this one.”

Yelena smirks and chuckles. Kate shrugs.

“You’re funny when you’re not angry.” Kate mumbles.

“I’m funny while I’m angry.” Another silence. Then Yelena speaks…low, like she’s testing the room. “I don’t mean to be rude.”

“I know,” Kate replies, not looking up.

“I’m not…used to…” Yelena deflects. “…kids.”

Kate hums. Not prodding.

“You don’t have to stay forever. Just until the movie’s over,” Ereka interjects.

“I never agreed to a movie.” Yelena raises a brow.

“Saturday is movie night…Today is Saturday.”

“It’s not a law,” Kate says.

“It’s our rule.”

“You don’t have to stay.” Kate tells Yelena.

“…What movie?”

“The Parent Trap!” Ereka announces.

“No idea what that is.”

“There’s twins and a British butler and a mean step mom.”

“Solid film. You might relate to the mean one.” Kate nods with a grin before taking another sip.

“You should watch it with us.”

Yelena eyes Kate, who shrugs.

“Your call.” Kate does her best to play it off.

Yelena chews slowly, then nods.

“Ten minutes.”

“You can’t watch ten minutes of a movie,” Ereka scoffs. “That makes no sense.” Ereka adds with a chuckle and a full mouth.

“Ereka, honestly….manners.” Kate says through gritted teeth.

“Her manners seem fine to me.” Yelena playfully adds with her mouth full too.

Ereka cackles. Kate shakes her head.

“Don’t be a bad influence.”

“It’s the only thing I’m good at.”

For some reason, that makes Kate blush and her stomach to coil. She tries to hide it by standing and turning to the fridge.

“Anything to drink?”

Dinner is loud. Ereka narrates her entire meal like she’s on a cooking show. Yelena eats slowly, methodically. Forking one bow tie at a time as if the plate might detonate if she rushes. Kate drinks her wine. Quiet, sharp-eyed. Half in the room, half not.

Ereka’s drawing is now pinned to the fridge now…already wrinkled, already cherished. Both Kate and Yelena’s eyes keep drifting to it. Trying to decipher how they feel about the image staring back at them.

When they move to the couch, it’s with the choreography of people trying not to acknowledge what this is. Kate settles on one end, wine in hand. Ereka flops between them, already holding a juice box. Yelena perches on the opposite end like someone expecting to be asked to leave at any second.

There are stuffed animals everywhere. It’s a plush minefield. Ereka kicks most aside to make space, then climbs directly into Yelena’s lap like she belongs there.

Yelena stiffens. Looks at Kate, wide-eyed.

“Is this…okay?”

Kate doesn’t even glance over.

“She kind of does what she wants.”

“I gathered.”

Paddington, not Parent Trap, wins out because Ereka is horrified Yelena hasn’t seen it. They make it twenty minutes in before Ereka starts to drift, half-sprawled across Yelena’s body like a cat who’s claimed a new surface. Kate reaches to move her, but Yelena gently shakes her head.

“She’s fine.”

Kate pauses. Takes the two blondes in.

“You sure?”

Yelena looks down at the little tangle of limbs.

“She’s warm. It’s…nice.”

Kate watches the way Yelena’s hand rests gently on the girl’s back. Her posture softens.

“She really likes you.”

“She doesn’t know me.”

“She doesn’t care. She decides what she wants and then acts like it’s always been true.”

“Dangerous skill.”

“Terrifying,” Kate agrees softly.

They fall into silence again, but this one is not entirely uncomfortable. Yelena’s eyes are glued on the screen.

Paddington has just escaped prison with a team of reformed convicts in pastel jumpsuits.

“This is absurd,” Yelena grumbles.

“And yet you haven’t moved in twenty minutes.”

“It’s the bear’s tiny hat. It hypnotizes you.”

“You love it.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“Same thing.”

Silence.

“Thank you,” Yelena murmurs.

“For what?”

“Feeding me.”

Kate shrugs.

“Didn’t do it for you.”

“Right.” Beat. “I’m still saying thank you.”

Kate nods, quiet. She follows Yelena’s gaze down to Ereka. Her tiny foot has ended up kicked across Kate’s thigh. There’s a smear of cheese on her cheek.

“She’s not like other kids,” Yelena studies the little blonde’s features.

Kate nods.

“She doesn’t let people stay strangers for long.”

“She’s going to get her heart broken a lot.”

“She already has.”

Yelena doesn’t answer that. She doesn’t have to. Kate tilts her wine glass. Drinks.

“You better start thinking about your movie pick for next week. She’s not forgetting.”

“She’s persistent. I’ll give her that.” Kate chuckles. Yelena thinks. “Is John Wick a kid’s movie?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“What?! There’s a dog. It has a moral center.”

“You are not showing John Wick to my five-year-old.”

“Fine. Paddington 3.”

“You didn’t even know Paddington 2 existed an hour ago.”

“I learn fast.”

Kate looks at her. Really looks at her. And for once, Yelena doesn’t look away. A long silence.

“Where’s her dad?”

Kate doesn’t flinch.

“Where he needs to be.”

“And where’s that?”

Kate meets Yelena’s eyes.

“Not here.”

That’s the end of it. No elaboration. Just a simple fact.

The movie keeps playing. Kate sips her wine. Yelena adjusts her arm around the sleeping child. Neither of them says it…but something clicks into place. Ten minutes become twenty. Then thirty. Then they’re halfway through the movie and no one moves.

Outside, the city hums. Inside, Paddington triumphs and the credits roll. The glow of the TV softens the room. Yelena brushes a piece of hair back from Ereka’s forehead without thinking. Kate watches her do it.

Eventually, Yelena speaks.

“Should I carry her to bed?”

Kate nods.

Yelena rises with surprising ease, the child curled into her shoulder like she’s done this a thousand times.

Kate leads the way to Ereka’s room. She pulls the covers back. Yelena lays the girl down. They sneak out. Close the door.

Back in the living room, they both hover by the couch. Waiting. The silence stretches. After a long, awkward moment Kate tests the waters.

“Do you want to stay?” Yelena shrugs. “Close enough.”

Kate sits first. Leaves space. Yelena lowers herself onto the other end of the couch.

“You want to watch something else?”

Yelena shrugs again.

“I prefer it when you at least give me single syllables.” Kate mutters, half a smile tugging at her lips.

Yelena smirks.

“We can watch something.”

Kate exhales.

“Look at you. Full sentences. Highly evolved. I’m impressed.”

Yelena leans back into the cushions. She glances over. Kate’s watching her again.

Whatever this is…it’s shifting. Becoming something they don’t have words for yet. But they don’t have to figure it out tonight. Not yet.

#bishova #bishlova #katelena #kate x yelena #yelena belova #kate bishop #kymau #kymaup #ive been fighting with that other chapter since last night #idk why its just not coming out how i want it to #so i just pivoted to at least get something out #since i said i would last night #anonymous #answers

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iguessitsjustme · 2 days ago

Text

Pit Babe 2 Ep 2 Thoughts

I have had a week. No idea what happened this week but Monday after work, I lost all of my energy. Literally not an ounce of energy in my body. Then came the migraines. God. But I'm better now! Just in time for Pit Babe. God bless. Not only do I have the energy to liveblog, it feels like all of the energy that I didn't have earlier this week has slammed into my body. So while not guaranteed, there is a possibility that I am super chatty this episode. As always, under the cut:

I fucking love this theme song. I doubt I will be skipping it the way I do with most theme songs.

Unrelated but I went to the store on my lunch because I desperately needed groceries and I wanted bananas but they only have bunches of eight bananas. I am one person. How the fuck am I supposed to eat eight bananas? The odds of me making banana bread in the next week is high. But the bananas are currently staring at me. Just sitting there. All eight of them. Staring.

Obligatory "Is Chris Lee the new pope" comment before the theme song ends. I have been LIVING seeing all of that on my dash the past few days. Absolutely living. It's possibly what restored my energy.

The X Hunter boys proving that Superman's Clark Kent disguise wouldn't work. They see Chris with glasses and go "That's Way! But with glasses!" Despite it not being Way (at least not proven yet).

One point for the doppelganger theory

Babe you were THERE. Way died in your arms. Did it not seem like a straightforward death then? One that needs to be questioned? I am genuinely asking. It has been a year since I watched it and I do not remember.

Okay I didn't mention it last week in my liveblog because I was too busy thinking about other things but like. Chris said that he never met Way. How did he know Way though? Like how did he know Way existed? Did someone tell him that he looked like Way? But they didn't warn the people likely to be startled by it? How does Chris know of Way even if they never met? So Chris might not be lying but they weren't paying attention to what he actually said.

Sonic you're not only breaking North's heart, you're also breaking mine. Come back here and explain to me why you hate me and want me dead? Look me in the eyes and tell me why I must suffer like this. Oh also be nice to North and go get food with him my god. Then go kiss his face. Is that too much to ask?

I'm sorry. Is this a magical bar where you don't need to say the NAME OF THE DRINK YOU WANT? They just KNOW? What special alpha power is that? Do they only serve one type of alcohol? Boy what do you WANT (other than Pete and to be A Problem)

Sure okay yeah. I believe him. I trust him 100%

Babe trying (and succeeding) to make Charlie jealous is adorable.

Ah back to Tony.

Oh Kenta baby. You've come so far.

This was very sexy of him actually.

Oh don't hit Kenta.

Is Sonic the plant? Is that not really Sonic? Is that why he was being EVIL AND CRUEL and breaking my North's heart?

Oh this is the same music that was playing during Willy's "Tick Tick Tick Tocks"....interesting. Very interesting.

Whoever put Kenta in that shirt, thank you for your service.

Did they miss Dean when they shot at him? How'd he get here? Anyway god bless this show. Everything happens all of the time.

Yay Dean's back! What could possibly go wrong?

I am obsessed with him

Hear me out Babe. Just hear me out. Poly. Date him AND Charlie.

Okay Babe listen to me. If you won't listen to the poly then listen to this. The way to deal with Willy is to not meet him on his level. Stop trying to one-liner him. Just be like "Okay whatever you say." Indifference. Not superiority. Indifference is how you leave this situation. But you are gonna get yourself into an even bigger situation now aren't you?

Babe's gonna end up going home with Willy because of that dumb bet. Charlie is gonna kill him. We don't even need to worry about what Tony is gonna do. Because Babe will not be surviving this race.

Oh thank god Babe won. But I think Willy let him win. Cannot explain why.

This is the WRONG thing to be saying at this particular moment my guy

Babe is gonna die by Charlie's hands when all he had to do was USE HIS WORDS

SEX IS NOT A REPLACEMENT FOR GOOD COMMUNICATION GUYS.

But I hope they never change.

On the stairs?? When will someone think of their BACKS? God I am too old to be watching this. I am in PAIN and I am not the one having sex on the stairs. Oh their backs. Their knees.

This was truly fascinating to watch because Babe accidentally created all of Charlie's insecurities with his teasing earlier this episode. Really just watched the whole thing be created and develop in real time.

Oh poor baby Jeff. Someone help him.

Nothing in the soundtrack really caught my attention this week but if you want me to do a brief analysis on anything, just ask. If not then I will do another analysis next week for episode 3.

#pit babe #pit babe the series #pit babe series #pit babe 2 #pit babe season 2 #rae liveblogs #rae liveblogs pit babe 2

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izumiphoenix · 2 days ago

Text

Reflecting in Their Eyes

(5/? part of “Astarion: In Search of True Self” — [masterpost here])

The episode where Astarion is looking in the mirror, quietly questioning his appearance, is one of my absolute favorites.

Since he is a vampire, we know he doesn’t cast a reflection. So at first glance, it seems a little bit pointless… unless! He was trying to make Tav notice, to draw them into a conversation without saying it directly (and it worked!) - isn't it just a sweet way to set up a difficult conversation without being too obvious about it, but at the same time not hiding it too hard? One might say it is another manipulation, but I rather like such a subtle approach. On the other hand, you can see in the camp that Astarion always has a mirror in his tent, so maybe I’m wrong in my assumption.

When Tav asks if he misses seeing his face, Astarion reluctantly, with a snarky comment, admits he does and confesses that he hasn’t seen his reflection since the night he was turned. He doesn’t even remember much about how he looked before.

In my story, I chose an option where Tav takes a moment to quietly study him. When he asked, “What?” she simply said, “I can be your mirror. What do you want to see?” And Astarion answered with something I didn’t expect him to say out loud, yet somehow knew was coming:

“I want to know what the world sees when looks at me. What you see.”

(There’s a more intense version too, where Tav simply says “I see you.” And in that moment, he’s stretched taut like a string - waiting, terrified, hopeful.)

He is quiet at first, but breaks into a smile, realizing what they are doing, when Tav starts describing him - those strong, piercing eyes, they say. And when they get to that “dangerous smile,” he interrupts with a grin:

“Just say I’m beautiful and we can call it a day.”

It may seem like he is back to his usual flirty sass, but I believe he was just incredibly relieved and even flustered to hear that they don’t see him, a vampire spawn, as a monster, but still find him attractive and beautiful. So the shield is up again, back to the safer tone, when the moment is over and he has confirmed what he wanted to know - not to push Tav away, but falling back into familiar habits because opening up like that is so much.

Watch his body language: he turns away, putting some distance between them, as if to regulate the emotions stirred by the moment. He seems overwhelmed, uncertain what face he should make right now, but he is still listening, still thinking. People often look into the distance like that when they’re remembering something - like he does, still processing Tav's words.

But the important thing is: those words weren’t just about his physical appearance, but also his personality or, rather, his presence, because “strong piercing eyes” and “dangerous smile” speak more about the inner qualities rather than outer beauty.

And when Tav does say - “You are beautiful” - Astarion is clearly lifted and cheered, especially compared to the beginning of their conversation. I just love this episode, it is so sweet and touching!

For someone who carefully cultivates control over his appearance, who hides his uncertainty beneath vanity, it is a big deal to open up like that and admit he is actually unsure about his looks. And to someone he is starting to trust. And it’s not just about his looks. When he asks how Tav sees him, it’s also a quiet test: he realizes he is developing feelings for them (well, at least for me, this episode was right before his confession), and he finds a way to find out if his feelings might be returned. It’s a subtle way of asking, “Is it possible for you to see me behind this appearance?”

This is the first moment he let his guard down to show something fragile underneath. To see how they react when he is not playing the role. He showed us small glimpses before, but this is the first time Astarion lowered his defenses that low. And when Tav doesn't recoil, mock or dismiss him but stays warm and sincere, it reassures him that he is safe and seen with them. And he dares to tell them the truth - about his feelings and his "simple plan".

This moment is one of the most breathtaking parts of their journey together that yet again connects to our next realization - I want to talk about it in the next post.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldur’s gate 3 screenshots #bg3 screenshots #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #astarion #bg3 analysis #astarion analysis #astarion meta #log bg3

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reality-shitting · 3 days ago

Note

do u have any tips or facts for beginner shifters?? (I am *very* new here as one of my friends recently began to try and i wanted to see what it was about)

Sorry if i have asked for too much!

Omg lovey, you asked the bare minimum, please do not feel sorry 😭 I am more than happy to help!

1) Y'know how some people are visual learners, hands-on learners, etc? The same can be applied here. Do you get invested in daydreams? Try visualization. Do you have a keen memory and a brain like a sponge? Perhaps affirmations. Do what feels fun and natural and don't try to force yourself to do something that just isn't vibing with you.

2. Don't be afraid to ask questions. This is basically unknown territory in a world that needs everything to be seen to be believed. You're already going in the right direction by questioning that. What's a consciousness? How does time work? Am I my body, my mind, or something else? This is a very new mindset for you and it'll naturally be confusing. Be patient with yourself and don't hesitate to question everything.

3. Your Reality, Your Rules.

Do you want to script in that cringiest, most rainbows and fluffy unicorns type stuff into your DR? Do you want to be a 10,000 year old vampire angel princess who cries blood and is also a student in My Emo Academia? Just wanna be an inch taller? Go for it. You can do and be whatever you want in your DR. Nothing is too big, too outlandish or too mundane. This is about what you want. Don't let anyone tell you no.

4. Burnout is normal.

Crash outs will happen. After all, you're trying to reprogram your brain after you've spent your entire life attuned to an opposite. You may feel frustrated, angry, disappointed after some time has passed without shifting - it happens to experienced shifters too. Take care of yourself. Take breaks. Shifting is fun, not a chore you NEED to do. Let yourself breathe instead of suffocating yourself with 24/7 meditation, robotic chanting and 1 Trillion Affs Subliminals on 10 hour loops for 6 days straight.

5. Imagination Is Your Friend.

Let yourself play with your new journey! Roleplay, fill out questionnaires, drop some facts about your DR, immersion is wonderful! Remember playing with toys as a kid, how easy it was to get lost in your make-believe wonderland? Think of this like you and your DR self switched places, and you are your DR self inhabiting your CR body. What can you tell me about where you came from? How vividly can you build your memories and share facts with me about your other life? What songs do you like? What's your favorite food? What does it feel like to be you?

6. Community

Welcome to Shiftblr! As many will tell you, this is probably the most resourceful shifting community. However, YouTube also has an interesting shifting community! Subliminal makers, meditation guides, shifting storytimes and tips! We also have quite a few Discord servers and the Shifting Corner community here on Tumblr!

7. Don't Listen to Shifttok.

No explanation for this one. Just don't do it. Whatever it is, it's probably incorrect.

Shifting Keywords: DR (Desired Reality), CR (Current Reality), WR (Waiting Room), Permashifter (Someone who plans to shift away permanently), Respawner (Someone permashifting and wiping their previous memory)

#asks!#shiftblr #reality shifting #shifting community #shifting blog #shifting #shifting realities #shifting motivation #desired reality #shifters #shifting consciousness #reality shifting community

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tonycries · 4 months ago

Text

Your (Super)Man - N.K.

Synopsis. He’s not a bird. He’s not a plane. He’s…just Nanami Kento from the journalism department. But you have a feeling that Nanami’s hiding a super big secret - and not just the one down there.

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, Clark Kent! Nanami, SUPERMAN AU, aphrodísiacs, coworkers-to-Iovers, he is a GENTLEMAN, slight víoIence, Itadori cameo, saving people, píning, manhandIing, he is BIG, cervíx kíssing, making it fit, pússydrúnk Nanami, oraI (fem rec.), BRÉEDING, creampíes, cúmplay, spítting, Nanami’s POWERS, matíng presses, face-sítting, buIges, BREAKING THE BED, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 9.7k

A/N. CLARK KENT(O) NANAMI SAVE MEEEE

“There’s just something about him, Shoko.”

“Right…”

You’re flicking a quick roll of your eyes as your coworker continues stealing drowsy sips of her early morning coffee. Well, her fifth of the morning. Grumbling out, “I swear- There’s just something about him that feels so…” Eyes drifting - as they much seemed to do these days - to the man in question. “-different.”

And, listen, Shoko would whole-heartedly prefer the tittering office gossip with you over working on her weeks-late article any day of the week.

But times like this, she really had no idea whether the two of you were staring - undoubtedly creepily - at the same Nanami Kento.

That stoic, mild-mannered hire who’d just been freshly accepted into your journalism sector. Tall, seemingly powerful - yet, he acted anything but. A gentle giant with the suspicious patience of a saint even against the worst of editors - honestly, she’s musing, just who was this guy?

“Hm…” Fingers digging into her achy temples as if trying to will away the memory of her upcoming deadlines. And this. “Maybe you just need to get laid. A proper, genuine good f-”

“Shoko.”

And she’s cracking her first laugh of the day, ducking underneath her computer screen with a sigh as Yaga passes by dangerously close. “Well, you were thinking about it. Harlot.”

You’re sighing, too - though for a much different reason, she imagines.

Gaze narrowing as you finally rip them away from the blond-haired man dwarfing the corporate cubicle opposite the two of you. Bumbling and fixing the glasses on his face for the nth time this hour. “W-well it doesn’t help that he’s hot.”

Shoko’s mere milliseconds away from opening her sharp mouth once more - and you’re mere milliseconds away from wincing at what was surely to fall from them. Before-

A call of your name.

Ah, saved by the bell - or, your managing editor, more like. Though, you weren’t sure if you’d consider it “saving” when Yaga’s holding out a crisp stack of documents your way. Brows furrowed underneath his sunglasses, he gruffs out, “They finally cleared the pitch for your article on that flower. You’re good to go.”

“O-oh, that’s great. Thank you.” Plastering on a simpering smile on your face, you’re hastily clasping those papers. “I’ll get started on the interviews right away.”

Articles on flower shops weren’t quite the adrenaline-thumping journalism you’d expected to work on when you first joined this company. Initially concocting fantasies about interviewing your city’s nefarious villains or perhaps even…Superman .

But ah, those were just dreams. And it seems that someone here had to report on things like mysterious flower shipments to local florists - which just-so-happened to be you.

You’re pulled out of your pitiful little reverie by another echo of your name. Turning back to Yaga, brows raised. “Yes?”

“And take Nanami with you.”

Oh.

“Ah, sorry you’re paired up with me, Nanami.” You’d be chuckling much, much later when you’d gathered your files and your wits to be stuffed inside an elevator with your coworker. “I’d imagine something like this probably wouldn’t have been your ideal first taste of real journalism.”

Eyes straying anywhere but where you could spy the way the suit buttons over his chest looked like they were about to pop! Nanami was unfairly attractive, even when he was slouched and nervously struggling to meet your eyes with his honeypool ones.

Always known around the rest of the company to be so timid - but you get the feeling that he was being extra jumpy around you.

He’s shaking his head - golden strands of hair curtaining his handsome face. “Please don’t worry. I’m only grateful that you’re taking me with you, I-I promise to try my best not to be a burden, ma’am.”

“Aw, no need to call me that. We’re the same age, after all.” Subtly, you’re mashing the button for the ground floor a few more times. Suddenly reminded of how dizzyingly tiny this space was. How much of it he was occupying. “And I can’t promise that I won’t be a burden, either.”

You’d meant it as a joke - you really did. But after seeing the way that Nanami’s forehead crinkles with a furrow, you almost wish you could take back those words.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you as a partner.” He’s mumbling - such earnestness dripping from his rich baritone that you can feel your eyes widening a fraction. And Nanami sees it, too.

“Oh?”

“I mean-” Fingers fumbling to push up his thick-rimmed glasses, he’s tightening his yellow speckled tie almost as if he wished to choke away that burning flush creeping up from the back of his drooped neck and blossoming at the tips of his ears. “Just- just that you’re one of the most c-competent journalists in our company and I’m only honored to be learning from the best and- o-oh, it seems we’re here.”

It’s a wonder that Nanami noticed - it’s a wonder that you noticed once those metallic doors parted like a curtain to reveal the bustling lobby. Finally here.

He’s holding out the curved end of one big, strong arm, bent at the elbow to show off the straining stretch of his flexing biceps. And you can’t help but ogle. “M-may I?”

It takes you copious seconds of staring at the thoroughly outlined bulge of his sculpted arm for you to finally snap to your senses. And a few more to finally realize what he was asking.

Something warm and mushy pools in your stomach. Fuck.

Tentatively wrapping your hands around the rock-hard mounds of flesh so that Nanami - ever-the-gentleman - could tenderly escort you out, as if this was a ballroom and not your workplace.

And you can’t help but think that perhaps you didn’t mind tedious interviews if it went anything like this.

“So, there’s no sender address?”

“Nope.”

“No date?”

“Nada.”

“And no postage?”

“Tch, I wish!”

You’re tapping your trusty pen against the parchment of the notepad, gears wracking in your thoroughly overworked brain. “Mr. Itadori, is there a possibility that this might be a prank?”

Wasuke Itadori shakes his head with a grunt, weathered fingers brushing over the aggressively violet petals of a flower you think looked too bizarre to even be pulled out of your very dreams. He’s tapping the stiff flower once. Twice.

And you’re gasping when a tiny puff of shimmering pink billows out like a heady cloud. Perfumed. Hypnotizing. A musky vanilla that makes you draw in further, and reminds you of- Eyes peeking over at an aloof Nanami…him.

“See? Smells jus’ like my wife’s cheap citrus perfume. N’ unless she’s haunting me from beyond the grave as she said she would, it seems too elaborate of a prank ta me. It’s obviously livin’, but I can’t find any information on this flower for the life of me.” The older man crosses his arms, scowling, “Ya have no idea how many times I’ve had ta stop my stupid grandson from trying to eat this thing.”

Humming, you’re jotting down a few notes - fingers tremoring ever-so-slightly at Nanami’s burning gaze right beside you. “Have there been any strange effects on the other flora since you’ve acquired this special flower?”

“Nah, nothing at all- that’s the thing, s’like it’s alien or something. Just showed up at my door one day n’ I dunno what it is.” He’s grouching - and you have to agree. That is strange.

You’d never heard of any other florist’s receiving this type of strange…gift?

But you can’t voice anything more before a voice sounds from outside the see-through door, and the man before you clicks his tongue. “Ah! Dammit, that reminds me- my flower vendor’s here already. Excuse me while I step outside, you can throw the lil’ gremlin in with the marigolds if he bothers ya too much.”

You’re holding back a chuckle - honestly, this was nothing like you expected, you think you would have enjoyed this interview regardless.

Wasuke was a doting grandpa - as much as he may deny it. And his tiny, pink-haired menace of a grandson was positively bouncing off the walls at having official journalists enter the cozy flower shop. Dangling midair off of a closely-observing Nanami’s shoulders with two chubby arms wrapped around the other’s neck.

Though, you certainly weren’t complaining at the sight.

“Hey- pretty lady- mister Nananamin-” Yuji’s squeaking into his ear. “Are you two married?”

You’re sure that if Wasuke was within earshot he’d have grabbed the child by the scruff of his neck. But, alas, Nanami was beared with none of that mercy.

Teasing, “Hmm, would you like to answer this, Nanami?”

“No- I mean yes! N-no, this lovely lady and I are not married.” He’s huffing out a low bout of laughter, massive palms barely even having to try to pick up Yuji’s wiggling body. And you can’t stop the way your heart lurches when he’s softly cradling the younger boy in one arm - fuck, you really need to get yourself together.

“Why not?”

And perhaps for the first time since you’ve known him, Nanami Kento looked truly and utterly stunned. Hazel eyes pleading your way, mouth opening and closing a few desperate times. “Well…”

But Yuji only plows on with the oblivious confidence that only comes with being freshly five. “Then, since you’re erm- what was that word Megumi said? Uh- d-divowced, can I marry her?”

Ah.

Giggling behind your palm, you’re almost on the verge of saving your poor coworker. Almost.

That is, before it happens.

CRASH!

You can’t hear anything, you can’t feel anything, you can’t see anything - other than a bright, blood red. Fuck-

“N-Nanami? Yuji?” Your voice is shrill - cracking, and you’re unsure if the way you grimace is because of how utterly pathetic you sound or because of the complete devastation in front of you. “Wh-what…”

Shit.

Heaps upon heaps of concrete and wrecked pieces of building pile upon what was once the Itadori family flower shop. Flowerpots knocked over, the ceiling crumbling, bright morning sunlight filtering from above to illuminate a thick blanket of swirling dust.

As if a whirlwind had wrecked it through and caught up you right in the middle of it - purposefully.

Shit shit shit-

Gasping, heaving to try and scramble your thoughts into one big coherent one - but then instantly regretting it when your entire body wracks with painful coughs. You’re so confused - head churning with exactly what’s happening right now - that you barely even register the large hand soothing over your back.

Your ears ring with a sharp keen, eyes bleary and tinging with black - it hurts. And you’re pressing a hand to your forehead with a hiss. Unbalanced voice on the edges of shattering into a zillion pieces, “What happened- wh-where-”

“Shhh shh shh, you’re going to be alright, darling.”

What?

Your head snaps up - it’s then that you notice it.

Finally.

Body tucked safely behind the overarching counter of the flower shop, far from where the sudden impact of something would have hit you. You’re crouched against all the wood and debris that dug uncomfortably into your legs. Your hands tremble - but not just with fear, no, with the tearful cries of a curled-up Yuji snuggling thankfully safely into your body.

All in the arms of…Nanami?

But, wait, no- it was as if it wasn’t him at all.

Because gone were those heavy glasses framing his pretty face, and you’re blinking your lethargic lids urgently to drink in the stern, serious features they’d left behind. Brows furrowed, plump lips pulled tightly when he’s clenching his jaw, muscles flexing as he’s holding you two tighter - as if subconsciously.

There was something different about him, something…magnetic, like a flip had just switched on. And you’re definitely blaming the way your head was swimming - but you can’t help but think he looked so hot.

Fuck - now’s not the time.

Soft locks of blond were windswept to slick back, that snug coat of his tattered onto the floor to display an emblazoned logo that you wouldn’t be able to mistake even if you tried.

“You’re…” you breathe, and it’s a wonder that the syllables come out coherent at all. Jaw falling slack at the glimpses of that familiar skin-tight red and blue suit you’ve seen smeared across every magazine, every news column, and every show these days. “...Superman.”

And it takes a second. Two.

Until Nanami’s long lashes flutter with a little pant of laughter, a singular thick finger straightening into a shush-ing gesture when he’s smiling down warmly at a sniffling Yuji, “This’ll be our little secret, right?”

“Y-yes!” The little boy hiccups, plump palms scrambling to cover his mouth. And you think you could spy a tiny smile rising through his short fingers. Though it wavers, “Mister Nananamin- I mean- Mister Superman, my grandpa is still outside…”

He’s nodding, “I’ll keep you all safe-” Before turning to you with eyes so scorching that you can feel yourself inch in closer against the stiff fabric of his supersuit. “-all of you.”

“Ahhh~ touching touching. Didn’t think I’d run into dear ol’ Superman here.” A high, eerie voice rings over the thundering blood pumping to your head, and you’re burying even deeper into Nanami’s sculpted side. “But ah, not to worry, Man of Steel, m’jus’ here to pick up a little lost package of my friend’s so…”

Nanami’s stiffening underneath your touch, and with a slow nod he’s getting up from your little hiding place.

And if looks could kill - which you knew Superman could do - then the greyish, patched man in front of you wouldn’t have been waltzing in through the utterly destroyed door already. As if he owned the place. Owned all of you.

“Mahito, we’ve spoken before.” Nanami’s voice was hardened with a growl in a way you’ve never heard. Fuming. “Leave now and no one gets hurt.”

There’s a metallic click! resonating across what was left of the four walls of this shop, as if he was loading some type of gun. But not as you’ve ever known one.

And Nanami’s eyes narrow with a thick coating of tension when Mahito’s fingers curl around that flower - the exact one you’d come here to interview about in the first place. Plucking it neatly from the vase before crushing the waxy petals between his fingers.

“You sure ya wanna talk to me like that when you’ve got civilians here, Superman?” Voice airy, delighted. As if he wasn’t currently loading an opening in that specialized gun with the gooey insides of that flower. Before pointing it - right at the bullseye where you were scoured away. “Especially with sweetcheeks here? Don’t think I don’t know how soft ya are for-”

Nanami stretches into an attack-ready position. “So you’re after the innocents again.”

“Ah- no, actually.” Mahito snickers. Snickers. “I’m after you.”

BANG!

It all happens so fast that you’re not even sure if everything’s part of your imagination - whether this is all still a dream.

Because in the bat of an eye, Mahito has the slightly-glowing barrel of the gun pointed your way. Bursting the counter into nothing but a few shockwaves and shards of plastic.

And in the bat of much less, Nanami’s shielding you with his entire body, sculptured front glissading against your back, beefy arms curled snugly around your waist. Head tucked over yours to make sure every inch of you is protected, Yuji placed gently at his side.

Your bleary vision clouds with a familiar fog of pink - dazzling and addictive with that same musky perfume. Was- wasn’t this what Wasuke had shown you earlier?

“Shit! Wh-what the fuck is this?!” You’re hearing off in the distance - or perhaps it was right beside you, you didn’t even know at this point. “That damn Hanami- this isn’t the poison-”

He’s letting off a shiver, before gritting out. One arm holding out to you just as it had in the elevator, the memory hits you with pang. “Y-you two need to get to safety. Now. May I?”

If it weren’t for the hours of droning meetings faced with Nanami, the weeks of trying to get him to speak with you - months of memorizing every syllable that dripped from his pretty lips, then you wouldn’t even have noticed. But you did.

“W-wait-.” Your throat scratches and struggles to get the words out, matching the shakes in his own tone. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

But the only answer you get is a soft, mysterious smile. And the repeated hum - as if you weren’t wrangling yourself around to peek at where he was undoubtedly hit. “No need to worry about me, my love- ah. My first and foremost priority is you two-”

“But you’re hurt.” you’re crying out, gasping when Mahito’s eyes lock with yours. And he leers, knobbly fingers fussing to reset that weapon once more.

“I know.” Stray tresses of golden flaxen stick to Nanami’s sweat-glimmered forehead like an impromptu crown, and you don’t know how he has it in himself to smile down at you. Cradling Yuji in one arm, and you in the other as if the two of you were easily weightless - you can only gape at the adorable dimple digging into the left corner of his mouth. “Now, hold on tight.”

You do - and you can only blink before your savior is flying.

Now, you’d always marvelled at the sheer heights that Superman reached on those live newscasts. Wondering just how euphoric it must be to soar through the air, free from every care in the world - well, as much as you could be when the fate of the world rests on your shoulders, at least.

But this? This was heaven.

Wind whipping your face like an icy mask, Yuji’s high peels of laughter tinkling in your ears. You can’t do anything but watch and watch as the demolished flower shop grows smaller. A speck.

“Oh- oh my god.” You’re whispering thorough scrunched eyes, nails clawing deeply into the mountainous curve of his well-defined deltoid.

And if it hurt, then Nanami didn’t give a single sign. Instead, he’s laughing - quiet, and as delicate at the cottony clouds passing you by. “S’alright, s’alright. Super- Ken’s here. N’ m’not gonna drop you.” You’re cutting through the air so fast - staggeringly - but right now, when Nanami’s boring his eyes into yours, it felt like time itself had stumbled to a stop. He’s pulling you even closer to his powerful body, “I’d never let ya go, darling.”

Yet, when the view of your cozy Metropolis apartment comes into view - you almost whine at the fact that he has to.

“Don’t you worry about a thing now.” Nanami’s ruffling Yuji’s windblown mop of pink hair - even more tousled with the wind. “I’ll be going, and I’ll keep both you and your grandpa safe.”

And looking at him right now - velvety crimson cape flowing at the wind seeping in through your open window, one arm bulging with muscles as he leans readily against the frame - you wonder how you could’ve ever thought that anyone other than him could be Superman.

“Come back safe.” You’re choking out, hands clasped. “W-we’re still not done with our article…”

“Mhm, you better hold me to that, ma’am.”

And with that, Superman - Nanami - was zipping through the air at a mach speed that made you realize he was intentionally slowing it down for both you and Yuji on your way here.

Fingers quivering, it takes you what feels like practically forever to turn your television on - precisely onto a live newstream of how Superman had entered the site of a villain attack. Ready to save. To be a hero.

Eyes locked mindlessly on the tiny blimp of red and blue onscreen, you cuddle a fidgety Yuji on the bouncy cushions of your sofa. For your jittery nerves just as much as his. “Your husband is so cool, lady- he’s Superman! Oh- whoops, shhhh! Tha’s a secret though…”

“Yeah…” you’re breathing out. “Yeah, he is cool, isn’t he?”

Forty-five saved, three buildings wrecked, and one injured.

One injured - him.

Though, Nanami wouldn’t quite count himself with any civilians injured or…worse. He never quite does.

But, oh, it was so hard not to when the first thing he’s peeling back that hazy layer of fatigue in his eyes is you - you, you, you. In all your glorious self, big, pearlescent tears spilling down your pretty cheeks and splattering in tiny puddles onto his bare chest.

His bare, bandaged chest.

And for a second, powers set aside, Nanami thinks he might just have died and reached heaven. How fitting that the angels looked like you.

Voice hoarse as he’s muttering his first few words, “Are- are you alright?”

“-stupid. Asking about m-me when you’re the one hurt. Didn’t even-” Your sobs garble out into words, and you’re half-heartedly hitting your fist against the unbandaged part of Nanami’s skin. “Don’t you ever do that again- you had me- so worried.”

Ah, he’d won the fight - and he finally felt like it.

Silently, he makes quick work abandoning those delicate bandages of yours - a strange part of him almost hurt to unravel your work like this. To unravel nothing but silken, unblemished skin after hours of healing abilities.

Though, Nanami gives all the credit to your care, anyway.

Warm fingers cup your head to nuzzle your clammy face against the crook of his neck. Practically draped over your bed and onto his body now, and you could feel his burning skin, smell those musky pheromones of his. “Got it got it, I won’t be scaring you like that again.”

“Th-the neighbors were so worried when you just showed up all injured n’ half-fainting at my window, y’know? I had to bribe them to be quiet with a few of the flowers that Yuji’s grandpa left.” You’re muttering, more to fill the strangely thickening silence than anything.

“Ah, tell- tell Mr. Itadori that I will have his shop reconstructed by the end of this week.” He’s whispering, voice so strained that you had to crane your head to hear him - close. “Was Yuji doing alright?”

“Mhm, never been better, apparently. He just left with his grandpa, and they invited us over for dinner before…” Brows furrowing, words withering away on your tongue at the agonized knit in his brow. There was something…different. “Are- are you really okay, Kento?”

Nanami doesn’t comment about that use of his first name - nor does he embarrassingly babble out how it might just be his new favorite song now.

He can’t.

Because Nanami was panting - groaning. Pearly whites clenched so hard that you think you could hear them creak.

There was a strange simmering flush creeping up his body, staining it such a delicious strawberry pink that made your mouth water- or maybe that was just the emanating clouds of vanilla musk saturating your lungs. Clinging onto Nanami’s body like a dripping second skin-

“I…” he’s gulping, half-lidded eyes shifting away from yours like he couldn’t even bear to look at you right now. Didn’t know what he would do. “-my apologies. But what that fucker- ah- excuse my language. What Mahito hit me with seems to not have been a poison, as I had thought. Rather, now that it’s finally spread through my body, I feel it’s something else entirely… ”

“What is it- does it hurt?”

“It seems to be…” Gesturing wildly with his hands, careful not to jostle you. “-an aphrodisiac…of sorts.”

You’re letting your lips part, “Oh. Wait- ‘of sorts?’”

And ah, there was the timid Kento you knew. He could never lie to you. “It- itseemstoonlyaffectthoseinlove- B-but my healing abilities are working and-” Nanami’s sitting up faster than you could blink. Words running a mile-a-minute, “-and I shall leave in case you feel uncomfortable with me here-”

“Why would you leave?” It’s slipping between your lips before you can register. Still mulling over those previous words - they explained. A lot.

Nanami stills, hands clasped around those creamy blankets he was flinging off, sure to disappear into the starry night. “P-pardon?”

Well, fuck.

You’re steeling your gaze - you’ve waited this long. And if there was anything about Nanami’s afflicted aphrodisiac, it was that it was contagious.

Making you breathe in a heavy gulp of candied air, “Aphrodisiac, huh? I’ve read about those, and don’t you think that since you saved me-” Slowly - ever-so-slowly dragging your hands to rest on his smooth shoulders, faces inches away. “-it’s only fair that I help? Besides…I can smell it too.”

Oh, he gasps. A confession if any.

Fingers tangling through those damp locks. “But if- if you get tangled up with me- who knows what other villains will come after you. I might’ve taken down Mahito today, but Kenjaku is still out there. And I have to keep ya safe.”

“Well who’s going to keep you safe?” You scoff, refusing - rejecting - to relent.

“I don’t need to be safe if it means that I can keep that beautiful smile on your face everyday.” And maybe it was the aphrodisiac, maybe it was how close you were to him in this dimly heady lightning, but Nanami didn’t seem like he meant to say that out loud. Not at all.

Basking in your spellbound silence. “My love…feel this?” He’s clasping one hand around your own, letting you rover a greedy grope of his plush pecs - his heartbeat. Thundering. Frighteningly so. “Th-this isn’t any old aphrodisiac, especially considering me.”

“And?”

“And that means, darling-” But he was, too, just as much. “That m’gonna want ya…need ya. So badly and fuck! M’gonna make ya forget what it feels like without me…” One rounded index trailing up, up, up to about halfway up your tummy. “-here.”

You’re shuddering, taking in deep gulps of that electric air. “...A-and?”

He’s jerking you forwards with a mere fraction of that superhuman strength to splay your body over his towering one. Face lolling into the cushiony valley of his pecs, legs straddling that slutty waist of his in a way that made you shy. Right on top of his drenched boxers. That needy spot between your legs heating up just as much as his condensing breath did on your skin. “I can’t promise that when I fuck you, I won’t break you.”

Fuck. Was this really the same, adorably feeble Nanami Kento from work? You weren’t sure, but you knew one way to find out…

“I’ll…hold you to that.”

But before he was Superman, he was Nanami Kento from the journalism department. And who was Nanami Kento against you?

“Such a stubborn girl.” You’re being surprised with a sudden implanting of his thick set of fingers leaving a sudden swat on your ass, voice teetering on what almost sounded like a growl. “But you’re mine, aren’tcha?”

Your fingers dapple along the sweat-dampened little curls of blond at the sexy edge of his undercut. And it seemed like the more the aphrodisiac boiled into his veins, the more and more he burned feverishly.

Senses superhuman but already heightening with the coarse need glossing his brain - he could practically taste your arousal.

Panting. Charming maw falling parted to mist you own with such rousing puffs of his scent, “Kiss me. Please- kiss me.”

And- fuck, Nanami kisses like he couldn’t get enough of you.

Was absolutely drunk with just a simple slide of his pursed mouth against your own, from a tender little peck until he only got greedier and greedier-

“Mmmm-” Rasping grunts curdle at the back of his throat, slurring into a low whine when he’s wrenching a splayed-out hand onto your scalp and dragging you away. Manhandling. Sultry sucks being left on the tenderest spots of your throat, sure to make the office talk tomorrow. “Can feel how fuckin’ wet ya are f’me already, darlin’. S’this the aphrodisiac or you?”

God, it was so embarrassing.

That silky little puddle of your reflective slick was flooding from between your flimsy panties to press gluey little smooches against his manspread front.

You’re mumbling, words stumbling over one another when your hips peek in to seat just above that swollen crown of his cock. Already rock-hard. “Y-you don’t have to say it out loud.”

You barely even realize how you’re slipping and sliding in needy little gyrations of your hips before Nanami’s putting a shuddering halt to it. One rude hand curling around that perfect curvature of your waist, he’s snickering at how you’re letting off a thoroughly disappointed whine. “My apologies, but s’hard f’me to act like a hah- gentleman when ya have such gorgeous lips…” He’s chuckling out - humorless, parking one big thumb against the corner of your mouth. “These ones, too.”

He couldn’t even finish his sentence - couldn’t even finish his thought.

Not before bruising your lips with some of the filthiest little sucks on your lower lip - like he’d simply gone way too long without kissing you. Once. Twice. Again and again and-

“O-oh!” Your hands scramble to find purchase up on his broad shoulders when he’s darting down one fat thumb to paint with all your silvery pussy slick. Drawing slow meshes of circles on your soppy slit up and down up and down up and- “N-Nanami-”

“Kento.” He’s cutting you off with a fracturing furrow of his brows, “We’re way past last names, don’tcha think, my love?”

Oh, that sweetly rugged tone stirred up something inside you that made you want Nanami now now now.

“Oh? S’that so?” Ravenous edges of his fingers pulling aside your sticky panties to the side to sidle in with one thick drag of his digits, they’re being lacquered with such a heavy layer of your sweet, sweet juices that Nanami can’t help but drag his fingerpads upwards to sniff. To suck one by one. Sweet. “You’re heh- babblin’ cute nonsense, but fuuuuck this cute cunt is talkin’ ta me even filthier.”

In such sappy awe at the way your puffy pussy flaps were sugarcoating him all the way down till Nanami was dripping at the wrist. Metallic wristwatch from work all shiny and ruined-

“Need you t-to touch me inside, Ken–” you’re huffing, circling lazy grinds across his roughened hands. “Please?”

“Anythin’ for my girl.”

And Nanami’s giving your ass another good thwack! of his palm, feeling the vibrato of delicious jiggles before hauling your entire body higher and higher. Letting his back hit the silken sheets of your bed within a fluid motion, before you even know it you’re hovering your clothed cunt over his swelteringly fevered mouth.

Just one sudden move and you’d be riding his face - exactly what Nanami wanted right now. Yearned.

“Oh- wait-” You’re startling, fingers fumbling with that tight pencil skirt you’d worn to work specifically for him to see. “Didn’t take this-”

“Not a problem.” He’s grunting, only looking up with droopy eyes at where you’re straddling his handsome face, decorated with tawny strands of hair when he’s grinning. Thick fingers clasping onto the hem at your waist, “Hold on tight n’ show me that pretty pussy.”

RIIIIIP–!

Your skirt is on the floor, torn through like butter - your blouse and bra soon to follow. Impatient. And it’s only once Nanami’s done savoring that sweet embarrassment wafting off of you, the way your drenched pussymound smells so sugary sweet - does he even consider freeing you of them.

He’s scrunching up the sodden wet fabric into a little treasure hidden underneath your pillow - something for him later…

And you’re even wetter than usual, that contagious spell of aphrodisiac making your eyes glaze with sheer need.

“Aw, look at thaaaat.” Nanami’s breathing - enchanting. The curves of his lips lifting into a smirk at the way your dripping slit treacles a fresh coating of slick all down his tongue, letting it sliiiide a lazy trailway to hit the back of his scratchy tastebuds. “Atta girl, b-better be taking all of me if yer that eager, hm?”

And Nanami is so needy - he’s so desperate to have your clingy pussy make a mess all over his face as soon as possible.

Breathing in like some pervert to take in your perfumed scent. Reaching up to smear a wet glissade of his lips down your own, and you think that it might just be the filthiest French snog that anyone has ever placed on you. The buttoned edge of his nose mushes against your peeked clit so harshly.

He’s blazing, cock thumping for more- With a low, heated whistle, he’s nuzzling his sweat-glossed forehead up against your moistened inner thigh. Layers upon layers of your slick coveting his features and stinging delicate little ropes that connect his maw to your cunt.

“Mmm- fuckin’ sweet- fuckin’ hot–” Nanami keens out, pillowy palms spreading your legs so comfortably apart until you felt like he was cracking you open. “C’mon now, sit your f-full weight on me, my love.”

You’re sputtering, thighs all achy with fatigue. “B-but-”

“Darling…” Nanami’s smiling, eyes crinkling adorably at the corners. “Not to be conceited - forgive my tone - but I’m Superman. N’ if there was any way m’to die, then it would be right between these pretty legs of yours.”

And you didn’t know whether it was the fumes of vanilla aphrodisiac taking over his melty brain completely because Nanami was ruthless.

Your dear, sweet coworker was kissing the very edges of your bloated cunt with one of his oversized fingers. Sifting through to draw numerous innocent hearts on your sensitive clit, before plunging down,down, down-

“Ah!” You’re yelping at the stinging stretch of his souring fingerpads, swirling in mushy little gyrations around and around your elastic entrance. Extra sensitive right now- damn that flower. “H-how is your finger already feeling so…”

“Good? Does my heh- good girl like this?” He’s cooing up at you, feeling your gloopy cunt with such copious inches of his long hands.

And with such staggering fingers you could only imagine how big he’d be down there…

SWAT!

“Aww, don’t space out already. Wanna hear those p-pretty moans even longer-” The jutting pout of Nanami’s oh-so-cute lower lip smudges against your saturated clit. Tingling and hot when he tilts his head to bite. “‘Sides, how are ya gonna f-fit my cock if this is too big, hm?”

You’re holding back a wrecked whimper when he’s chancing another rummaging finger to part your pursed pussy lips. Ramming up and down to drag a sultry stripe across every nook and gummy ridge, to feel for-

“F-fuck-” Head throwing back, your spine arches into a tight little bow that slops the entirety of your cunt down onto Nanami’s eagerly awaiting mouth. “There- there there there- don’ stop, Kentooo.”

He’s been waiting for this forever. And he was going to get his fill.

And you could feel the way his mouth curled into a flirty smile, the back of his sharp chin slathered against the very back of where you needed him the most.

“Mhm– Not gonna let ya go-” As if to prove his point, one free hand is all it takes for him to latch onto your waist and pin you to ride his face with reckless abandon. Exactly how he wanted it. “Wanna marry ya- be mine- please-” Because Nanami Kento didn’t want to move an inch - couldn’t bear parting with the exact sweet treat that’s haunted his most lecherous dreams since the day he fucking met you. “-never- ah- never after th-this.”

Such pretty, pretty melodies resonate out every time Nanami’s slobbering honeyed flurries of sucks and kisses onto your cunt - and not just from between your lips.

No, your teary pussymound was so loud with wiry sploshes of sap. And he simply can’t help himself from nodding his head with every waterlogged swash - as if he was having a full fucking conversation.

“S’right- m’wife’s always so right aren’tcha-” Nanami’s rawly drenched fingers pump outside - just for a split-second - to pap! pap! pap! his calloused pads on that syrupy little stud of your clit before curling his fingers into his mouth and sucking. Cleaning himself off. “Sh-should hear what yer gorgeous pussy’s been hah- sayin’- such a talkative girl, isn’t she?”

And those drunken chestnut eyes of his were just pleading - begging - for you to babble out, “Wh-what is she saying, Ken?”

“She’s sayin’- boasting, actually…” he’s drawling off, and with just how utterly fucked that Nanami looked right now, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d lost his train of thought. Giggling - giggling out, “-that she can take three.”

He was determined to prove it to you.

To swell your adhesive walls open with three of his pulpy fingers until you felt like you were going to burst. Those thickset globular ends of his digits reaching for that precious little bullseye of your cunt - he’s caressing you lovingly from the inside.

Over and over back and forth in maddening crawls until you were halfway through sobbing. And a primal itch inside him purrs at the sight of those prettily glistening tears in your eyes.

Ah, you looked so gorgeous riding his face like this - and, really, it wasn’t Nanami’s fault that his mouth felt a little left out…was it?

“B-both?” You’re dawdling your limp arms precariously onto the mahogany headboard - something that lasts for a generous two seconds before he’s unlatching your hands to dig harshly into his prespired tug. Firm arm around your first nudging you to pull- “You’re seriously gonna t-try n’ fit both?”

Both being the way that Nanami’s overfilling your snug channel with the dual penetration of his long, extra-sensitive tongue.

Hissing with a slightly feral snarl marring those features when your tight hole won’t give way, Nanami’s bumping his nose against your sensitive nub with shy pecks once. Twice. Thrice to bully his feverish muscle inside.

“H-hngh—” he’s groaning at the tugging squeeze of your rubbery cunt. Stray fingers scissoring open your gluey walls, “Need ya to m-milk my tongue- know you can- ah! Gonna take it like my good girl, aren’tcha?”

And it happens all at once.

You don’t know what you’re more surprised at - the way that he’s somehow managing to wedge in that sugarcoated drive of his tongue, or the way that you’re cumming.

Your own high taking you by surprise - taking all but Nanami by surprise.

And you’ve never felt anything like this before, eyes flashing with white-hot stars.

They’re burning into your brain and rendering you absolutely stupid with every bludgeon of his fingers into your gooey depths. So fast and hard that you can feel the recoil from your bulging g-spot sprinting in cratering vibrations down your spine.

“Nana- Ken-ohhh fuck!” Your mouth drivels away mindlessly, the euphoria so good that you can feel pools of dribble spilling from the corners of your lips with every grind. Thighs quaking, somehow wanting more- shit, seems the aphrodisiac won’t be done after just one…“M’cumming- ngh- m’cumming m’c-cumming.”

“Mhmmm- already know.” Words sinking down into what almost sounds like whines, and Nanami almost feels like he could cum in his pants. “Come now- pull on m’hair n’ r-ride me through that pretty high.” Filthy. Depraved. He’s curling the deliciously gravely tastebuds on his tongue to lap up every one of your knotted waves of slick, letting viscous wad after wad hit the back of his throat with a lewd splat!. “H-hehhh. Chatty pussy- y’know what else she’s sayin’?”

Shit- the idea makes your fingers nimbly pull at Nanami’s soft strands until he’s wafting out a low atta giiirl. Mumbling through croaking moans that just won’t stop dropping from your lips, “Wh-ngh! what?”

“She’s hngh- saying…” Yeah, it wasn’t the aphrodisiac - it definitely wasn’t the aphrodisiac that had him losing his fucking mind like this. It was you. “-that yer gonna g-give me another biiiig one very soon.”

Oh.

That wasn’t a promise - Nanami didn’t have to promise that.

Because he was so intoxicated by that caramel scent sticking to you. Increasing twofold when with a sodden swat! down your bawling slit, you’re being stretched out with three of his digits until you were wide agape. Embarrassingly, so.

But not for Nanami - with a tantalized loll of his head into the silk-covered pillows, he’s gifting your sloppy entrance with a thick wad of saliva.

As if the need was infectious - that orbed mass of spit flooding the inside of your cozy pussy just before his tongue is.

“Ngh- s-so hot- ya like that new lipstain, my love?” He’s gulping down the excess slushes of your slick with every thrust past your glutinous walls, hard. Sloppy. Making such a mess on purpose, because for all how straightlaced Nanami was - all that shattered when it came to you. “-s-so sweet. Ah- h-hold my hand if s’too much, darling.”

“Feels so s-sensitive but…” Your jaw drops into a soft oh! when his rugged tongue drags over the globed bruises of his fingertips inside. Fingers scrambling for his free ones in midair, “-but I want more, Kentooo-”

With the leverage on your hand, he’s helping your burning thighs manage out a few more soppy strokes up and down.

Your head is so dizzy by now, and you can barely see straight. Barely stumble to match every sopping smooch being punished upon your overwhelmed pussy. “Look so pretty like this- So tight- so cute. Probably c-couldn’t even ngh- fit my tip this way.”

“S-so mean.”

“I’d be nice if ya- hngh- spit in my mouth.”

Gasping, “Like this?” But you didn’t even have to ask - you knew the answer in Nanami’s eyes, in the way he was smearing your pussy lips thoroughly ajar. In the way his dilated pupils run all the way to the back of his lips when you do.

Your greedy gaze dazes back down to take in that heavenly sight of him - and you almost wish that you still had your camera for the article today with you. Because this was a sight you wanted to remember forever and ever.

He’s so pretty with his golden locks splayed out like an angelic halo on the pillowcase below, clammy skin flushed rose red, swollen lips coral pink and gumming over your gluey ones like it was his favorite candy. Sucking. Even harder at the sloshes of translucent sap that laminated his face down to his chin, his neck, and all the way up to his cheekbones.

Thighs stuttering and sticking with every grind on top of his face, it’s all you can do to manage out a pitchy, “Think I might just- K-Ken–”

He’s swirling up a lazy few fingertips to your needy clit and pinching. “-cum all over m’face again, my girl.”

You do. You do like you can’t stop.

And he’s supping up every draining burble of your flooding slick like it was an antidote to this little ah…indisposition.

He says so, too - gurgling out wet little scientific explanations into your cunt that make your high peak with orgasms upon orgasms. Your second, third, and forth meshing into one to make you practically convulse. Nanami’s forced to dig his fingers into the plush of your thighs to stop you from escaping.

And the question about whether this was part of his powers is halfway out of your mouth before Nanami’s leaving off a final swat! again your drooling pussy.

Chuckling - crazed - at the wispy sprays of juices that makes you gush out.

“C’mon now, do those legs s-still work?” Nanami can’t hide the way that his deep voice wobbles into what almost sounds like a laugh. High.

You’re being ragdolled with a squelching pop! off of his heated mouth and easily lifted to take his third favorite seat of yours - his lap. The second being his mouth, and the first- well, it was sure to be his thoroughly achy, angry cock right about now.

“Ken-”

Nanami couldn’t bear to hear his name in your sweet, whimpering tone - he just couldn’t. Shutting you up with a slow slide of a kiss, “Yeahhh, darlin’...kiss me- more. Lick it allll up.”

“D-didn’t think you’d be so dirty…” you’re gasping, when his tongue pries your slagging maw open to once more spit. Sweet. Caramelized.

“Oh, my pretty girl…” Two of his soppingly wet fingers smush your cheeks into a pathetic pout, “You haven’t seen dirty just yet. Now- spit back in m-my mouth, why don’tcha?”

You do - splattering a messy mark right at that adorable dimple of his with your messy aim. But he loves it - it was so sweet. Darting out a tongue to extract back all those sugary remnants before giving you one, final French kiss.

Begging in that growling way of his, “Whaddya- whaddya want from me- I’ll give ya anything- anything-” Both arms looping your waist to plaster your sweaty front into his Herculean one, you have to hold back a keen at how your hardened nipples massage against his pecs.

But, most of all, what you could feel - what you so badly wanted to feel - was that long, thick outline that jerked once you glide away sweaty strands of Nanami’s hair. Desperate.

“Wan’ your cock, Kento.” You were way past feeling any sort of embarrassment now. Winding your arms around his sculpted shoulders, “N-need you ngh- inside me. Now.”

Of course, whatever you wanted - Nanami Kento would give.

He’s tugging down on the elastic waistband of those too-tight boxers, and your ears burn with the saturated schwf! of soaked fabric on skin. And that superhero suit…did not do him justice.

Nanami’s slouching back on one arm when you’re oh-so-impatiently helping him kick off that useless piece of fabric. Head tilting with an uncharacteristically cocky smirk, “Like what you ah- see, hm?”

Shit, did you ever.

Because it’s always the quiet ones - always.

And with your seat position right at the thick, globular mushroom tip of Nanami’s cock, you knew that he’d be packing a staggering few inches. The mere outline of it puckering up against your pussyflaps enough to get you to gulp with nervousness.

But this? This had your jaw dropping.

Fingers trailing down that lightly fleeced copper happy trail of his in utter disbelief. Because not only was Nanami Kento big - he was big.

Swollen, glistening near-nine inches that jerked at the vulgar size difference of your digits struggling to wrap around his ridiculous girth. Nestled against bulky breeder balls rounded and weighing heavily underneath his strawberry pink length. He seemed even harder than usual - and it was all for you.

Fuck, that aphrodisiac. This was all for his gorgeous (future) wife.

Lazily drooling out a thick few wads of pearly pre that butters over your fingerpads, and just a simple touch - just one drag of his sweltering hot length makes Nanami whimper-

“O-oh- yeahhh- brace yerself, my girl.” He’s letting his head tumble back with a groan, heavy-handed arms guiding to the fleshy mound of your waist. “Gonna be ah- ruinin’ this pretty cunt-”

Nanami’s making you mewl with a welcoming little thwack! of his plumply bloated cockhead against your puffed-up pussy lips. Making your creaky bedframe sing out a few protests. Stirring out a staccato of one - two - three before finally - finally - slipping right between that pursed pout.

CRASH!

An overwhelmed hand of his grips your headboard the moment he’s pushing and pushing - only to have the strong mahogany break underneath his superstrength. Damn, these powers.

“Awww, look how much yer drooling-” Nanami’s hiccuping with every tiny clench of your gummy walls around that cylindrical intrusion. A mean few fingertips so ferally smearing over the rings upon rings of saturated sap your cunt was slobbering all over his hefty base. Drawing a foggy line with them over your tummy, “G-gonna be riiiight here…h-heh.”

And maybe it was best that your dear Nanami was talking to, well, her. Because just the simple stretch that came with his fattened tip was enough to render you spellbound.

“Nana-”

Smack! “Mhm? M’here, m’here, your dear hngh! Kento is here.”

“Kento- oh my goood-” Nonsensical syllables drooling from your lips and readily available for Nanami to kiss away. Your head slags drunkenly into the crook of his neck with each sinking inch, “S-s’so big, dunno if it’ll even ah- fit.”

“Shhh, s’gonna fit. Deep breaths…deep breaths.”

You’re echoing, trying to time your stumbling gasps to match his. Backfiring when you only obtain lungfuls of his masculine scent, ‘D-deep breaths?“

“Mhmm- deep-” Oh, but even he wasn’t immune to the cloggy clamp of your pussy that had Nanami rutting. “Whoops.” One of his powerful forearms showcase in front of your narrowed vision, ogling all the pumped veins and rippling muscles. “C’mon- bite.”

You’re listening without a second thought, teeth sinking into the smooth skin - gurgling back tiny sobs at the sheer stretch. It felt like you were being split apart.

He’s rolling his tips upwards, glissading you in a cozy massage against the ridges of his sweat-shielded abs. “M’gonna make it- duh. Look at me-” Dextrous fingers curling around your throat to make your woozy gaze focus on him, “Yeah- yeah. Look riiiight at me wh-when I ah- ”

And it takes only the tiniest probe of his thumpingly peaked veins bludgeoning against your tender walls, fuming divot bawling out a few geysers of creamy precum that fill you up scorchingly.

It takes only that for you to cum with an unstable shudder, moans piling on top of moans. You’re digging your fingerpads into Nanami’s damp scalp and pulling when you cum for the nth time on his cock.

You didn’t even know how you were cumming again - why, but you had a feeling that the thickening perfume of vanilla and candy in the room had something to do with it…

“C-cummin’ from jus’ the ah- tip? Seriously?” Nanami’s breathing, chest heaving with awe. Pushing and pushing away the heavy strands of his blond hair just to see you. And the urgent motions only make your pussy slide down even more, spearheading his lusciously right-leaning curve up into your gooey placeholders. “Really are jus- ah- made f’me- really ah! So perfect. So, so perfect.”

You’re watching his huffs turn heated, “Mmm- wanted you to f-fuck me like this ever since I was- ngh at the office.”

“Ohhh what a coincidence.” He grins - grins. “I’ve wan’ed to fuck ya like ah- this, since I first s-saw ya. Woulda fucked ya right then n’ there in your pretty lil’ cubicle if I ah- could.”

Crying out, “More- more more more-”

“Jus’ another inch-” Nose crinkling at the gripping resistance of your tight entrance, you were so slicked-up that you were practically flooding him with delirious puddles of resin. His fat thumb smears open your lips, “S-see? Juuuus a lil’ more-”

Oh…fuck.

He was finally- wait. No, this had to be a dream, right?

“Wait- shiiit- did you seriously-” He’s stuttering - stuttering exactly the way he used to back in the office. Back in his disguise. “Seriously…think ya deserve a little r-reward for that, right?”

Your reward just-so-happened to be another treacly wad of saliva being blasted onto your tongue. And by now you’re doing nothing but letting it easily be swallowed up with a cockdrunk smile. “God, m’feelin’ so hngh! full— c-can feel ya right- here-”

Every jackhammer bullied up into your goopy orifice had Nanami wrecking you from the inside. His crowned, rotund tip prying open those stickily sweet walls of yours, barely even having to try to stir up a wet wipe against your poor cervix.

“Feel me right-” One softened palm splays down across your tummy. Hard. Feeling for that tenderizing whack of his thickly tip into your most precious spots. “-here, huh? Yeahhh- f-feel that bump- touch it. Gonna c-carve out a fuckin’ ngh- cute lil’ bruise right here.”

“P-please.”

And then, with a heady drawl of laughter, Nanami’s dredging out his tired tongue to lick over your rapid pulse like he wanted to bite. Palms still groping that orbed bulge, “Y-you wouldn’t believe what this- ngh- this is makin’ me think…”

Ever-so-curious, even when you’re being fucked stupid like this. “Wh-what?”

Earning you another few vicious ruts into your g-spot, a few thin lines of drool waterfall past his lips. Almost as if the very thought is enough to make him light-headed.

“Jus’ thought a-about how yer always so ngh- pretty.” Muttering low and frantic with every bounce on his painfully hard cock, like he didn’t even want to admit this pussydrunk nonsense. But couldn’t stop. “So pretty when you were handlin’ Yuji today. Pretty when yer all ah- overstuffed with my cock b-but…you’d make an even prettier mama, though.”

Oh.

A mama - Nanami Kento wanted to make you mama.

And he was pressurizing you with pound after pound drilling into your melty depths until you were sure that you were molded around his shape. That mountainous curve of his crownhead striking every bullseyed sweet spot.

“Wan’ it-” Your legs wrangle around his slender waist, heels digging into the pretty dimples at the bottom of his spine. “Want you to f-fill me up so ngh- badly, Kento.”

“S-seriously?” Your words so distracting that it has his riotous cock drilling hard into that spot and skidding away in increasingly sappy thrashes against your battered and bruised cervix. Jaw clenching, “Really wan’ me fuckin’ this cute cunt hngh- p-pregnant, darling?”

Making you only nod and nod and nod-

“Yeahhh- anythin’ my girl ah- wants, huh?” He’s tittering at how adorably your hips were slurring out the tiniest of grinds. Up and down up and down - failing to meet his sloppy cadence, but angling your hips to use him. “N’ right now- all I wan’ is you all ah- round and fuuuuull.”

And it wasn’t just the aphrodisiac talking.

You were beginning to overspill already, the flooded torrentials of his slushy precum seeping from the pouty ends of your slippery slit. You’re moping down his length with such humid tufts of juices, “Cum in me- please- need you to- now.”

“Mama didn’t teach ya ah- patience, my girl?”

And despite his words, he’s falling back to lounge so sexily against the dampened sheets. Close - he could feel it in the snaking heat at the bottom of his stomach that he was so very close.

Losing his faint grip on his power, Nanami’s clenching and balling his fists to stop from soiling permanent marks all over your body. Mind shattering. Your bedsprings bursting. Teeth gritting to stop him losing control-

Voice breaking into a few whimpers when he finally utters, “S-s’alright- greedy girl.” Before palming one hand onto the bloated budge of his length, the other swirling over your tearily overstimulated clit and tweaking. “-I can be th-the heh- strict parent.”

Oh, at this point, your orgasm is more a few heavenly tingles than anything else.

Stimulating your most fragile of pummeled crevices, you’re feeling warm, thick goblets of Nanami’s cum swash in a sticky wave. And there’s so much of it - extra with his condition right now, spurting out ribbony ropes of sickly sweet cum with every squeeze of his bulky balls.

Those knotted wads of ivory are filling you up until your gummy walls were inflating, thunking out a little wet spot at your cervix. Something that he can’t help but keen over a few fat digits and push to make a splashing mess. “Gonna get ya pregnant- I will g-get ya pregnant.”

Nanami’s big, beefy arms are pinning you to the front of his chest like he never wanted to let go. Never would.

Heaving to chase his breath - and, yet, still failing with every battering ram of his snaking cock. Fucking up the thickly viscous streams of cum up deeper and deeper-

“O-oh.” Nanami’s muttering, glassy wooden eyes straying somewhere beyond you and towards the end of the bed. The strangely…sagging bed. “We broke the- hah- we broke the bed.”

Shit. But you barely have the time to register his words before- THUD!

Your back is being brazenly splayed-out across the mahogany floors of your bedroom, Nanami’s arms underneath you shielding your body from every ounce of the stinging smack. Strong. Holding onto you tight.

Still pumped inside, still carving out the free ounces with masses upon masses of his swollen cock.

With your head drooping barely-lucidly to the side, you’re gasping at the blackened palm print that had burned itself onto the floor right beside your head.

The air around the two of you was candied, pheromones of candy and vanilla melding into what was probably your favorite scent now. Ahhhh…he didn’t even care if this was the cure anymore.

And despite being the strongest being in perhaps the entire universe, Nanami was melting into you. His abs adhesively plastered against your front, hips rolling in what can’t even be called grinds. Just simple, sappy gyrations of his still-twitchy cock.

He’s whispering out a slurring mantra of words into your thoroughly wrenched open mouth - barely even able to talk coherently after that mind-shattering orgasm. “Lock- lock them- lock them please-”

“I-I caaaan’t.” You’re whimpering out, limp legs uselessly dangling like dead weight where Nanami was resting them on the cushiony home of his deltoids.

But not to worry. Of course not to worry, your Nanami was here for you.

Biceps bulging when one arm bends to pin your ankles behind his neck, he’s folding you down, down, down into such a filthy mating press.

Moving you around as if it was nothing, as if you couldn’t hear your joint weakly popping. His healing powers being kicked involuntarily into overdrive…fuck.

Nanami can feel his cock jerk - barely softened for a few nanoseconds before thumping with every ounce of blood in his fully spent brain.

“Awww, t-too weak?” Planting a sodden peck against the corner of your ankles. And something in that tone told you that the two of you were far, far from over. That the slowly drunken fucking of Nanami’s hips was just the beginning. He’s squashing back a few remnant dredges of seed from just earlier, slipping out just enough to smear a messy white lipstick. “Well then…”

You’re jolting at the quick pap! pap! pap! of his ballooned tip popping out a few sloppily smushing strikes - before sinking deeply back in.

He’s fucking you again- and again and again and-

“Y-you know I h-haaaah- hate disrespectin’ my girl like- this-” He’s staring deeply into your eyes, gesturing languidly at the expanse of the floor. Ever-the-gentleman…usually. “-but if s’f-fer makin’ our daughter…then. Gotta make sure that I can be her Superdad.”

A/N. Hope you lovelies have the best week n’ happy new year in advance <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

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