roomiesoreo

[roomiesoreo]

Me

[roomiesoreo]

Jack O'Connell in the behind the scenes interview from the North Water DVD

[roomiesoreo]

getting complicated with rockstar!remmick

haigh lads. this is an angsty one. thanks pip @roomiesoreo for convincing me to make it more angsty. (and beta reading as always)

You flip through your closet searching for any sort of inspiration. You’ll be making your first TV appearance since your turning, and though Remmick will be present backstage, you’ll be completely alone. 

Scared is an understatement; you’re absolutely terrified. You haven’t been without him for almost three months now. Whether it’s at your place or his, you’re always together, always clinging to his side when the sound of pulses is all you can hear. 

Passing over award show dresses and bespoke pieces from live performances, your fingers brush over a familiar pink garment. You push away the hanging pieces on each side and smile at the powder pink babydoll dress you had worn on the closing night of 2*Sweet’s first tour, a big celebration of the four of you at Wembley Stadium.

“So, which one do you like?” Smarty asked Baddie, pushing up her lashes with her ring finger. “The broody one?”

“No, she likes the sporty one,” Bossy laughed.

“Really?”

Baddie scoffed, her face reddening.

“Wh- so what? He’s cute!”

“He has got a great ass,” Bossy agreed. “Better hurry up, or he’ll be my date to the VMAs.”

“You’re taking the piss. You don’t even like him.”

“Nah, I like the little one. And Smarty likes the bad boy.”

“I love a lad who looks like he could have a proper cry.”

“Yeah! So sporty for you, broody for you, skinny for me. Which one do you like better, Lovey? The cowboy or the prep?”

You stared at yourself in the mirror, blinking back tears as your reflection started to blur.

“Lovey? You alright?”

“You nervous, babe?”

“No… I…”“You thinking about that boy with the stupid hair again?” Baddie joked.

“Not the time,” Smarty chided.

“I don’t want the tour to end,” you admitted quietly.

“Aw, hey, don’t cry.”

“We’ll have another! We’re already working on that new album.”

“But we can’t be a group forever…”

“Don’t get all mucked up in the future, kid. Gotta be in the here and now.”

“We should take a holiday! Get bangin’ tans!”

“It’s us together. Forever, Love.”

“Yes! Two Sweet forever, babes!”

You smooth your hands over the dress. It feels shorter than you remember, and certainly a lot more showy. You catch your reflection, seeing your inhuman white eyes.

2*Sweet forever. 

You’ll live forever.

“Rem,” you call.

“Yeah?”

He’s hunched over his notebook, jotting down ideas for the tour. You clear your throat and he looks back. The cap of the pen between his teeth drops to the floor.

“Hey.”

“Still fits.”

“Look at you,” he purrs, standing up and crossing the floor to take your hands. He lifts them, turning you from side to side to admire the dress.

You watch his throat bob as he swallows, eyeing you all over.

“They had you wearin’ this shit and then made you the baby?”

“They made a lot of… weird choices.” 

He spins you around quickly.

“I can see your cheeks,” he teases, smacking your ass playfully. 

“Ow! Hey, I used to wear, like, hot pants under it!”

“Well, what would you do for Sweetie Love’s biggest fan?”

“I’d tell him ‘get lost, creep’.” 

“That’s not very nice.” 

“You’re literally a dirty old man, Rem.”

He frowns.

“And you are so not my biggest fan. Name one song-”

“You think I haven’t seen all those tapes of you prancin’ around in your ‘lil hot pants?”

“Ew! You actually are a creep.”

“Only for you, gorgeous.”

You stare at him for a second, like you’re trying to break down some of that wall that he put up. You can’t get in his head like he’s been able to get into yours. He doesn’t tell you what he thinks, how old he is, or where he’s really from. 

He allows only what you need to know. 

“How long have you… known about me?” you ask him, your tone gravely serious.

He keeps your gaze, blinking at you. 

“I dunno what you mean-”

“Bullshit, Remmick. You know what I mean. How long have you been watching me?”

“I… heard you for the first time in New York. You were singin’ on some late night show…”

Late night show. New York. 2*Sweet.

“That was five years ago.”

“It was.”

“So… so when you started that fight-”

“Baby. Let’s just find you somethin’ nice to wear, okay?” 

“Remmick.”

“Sweetheart, your voice is… so special. I got people in the band that can sing fine, but you? You’re… you’re fuckin’ one in a million.”

“So because you liked my singing, I have to be a monster forever? I have to live forever? And eventually, everyone will think I’m dead, right? Because we have to disappear? So everyone who’s ever loved me will think I died and it was tragic and fucking awful and not even true! And then I watch them die! Because you liked my music?!”

“Plenty of ‘em asked for it-”

“Y’know, it’s actually worse knowing that some of them got a choice. What about me? What about my choice? What about m-my life?”

You shove him and he stands, unmoving as you try to push him back again.

“You’re such an asshole!”

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” he calls as you stomp down the hallway.

“Stop following me!”

You slam the door behind yourself, your back against it as you slide down to sit on the floor. You hear Remmick’s footsteps outside and put your face in your hands.

“Go ahead ‘n fuckin’ mope! Sun’s up in three hours and we gotta be at the studio tomorrow right after sundown,” he barks from behind the door.

Half an hour later, you sniffle and flick the lock to the side, opening the door for him to slink inside. You change out of the dress and into one of his baggy band shirts. As you wipe your makeup off in the bathroom, he slowly cracks the door, peeking in.

He approaches you like a feral animal, cautiously stepping toward the bathroom door. 

“Hey,” he greets you softly.

“Hi,” you croak.

“Still mad?”

“Do all the other ones just… give up?”

“For some it’s a gift. Others… it’s a curse.”

You sniff again, sighing as you scrub your face clean. You set down the towel and stare at yourself. The glazed white irises stare back.

“Will you tell me how to make them normal again?” you ask him quietly. 

“Yeah.”

He walks over and stands to the side of you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. 

“Close your eyes.”

He watches your eyes shut, how you squeeze them tight like that’s the trick.

“Find a memory. A good one. Let me see it, too.”

He watches your eyebrows tilt as you’re lost in a memory.

“The swing,” he murmurs. 

He knows this one too; he’s seen it already.

“Think about goin’ up high. All the way to the top, where you thought you might fall right out the seat.”

You feel the breeze against your face, the creak of the metal frame, the sound of other kids playing. 

“Think about grippin’ the chains to stay on, leaving the shape in your palms. Curlin’ your toes in your Mary Janes tryin’ t’hold on.”

You open your eyes again, seeing you staring back. You take a shaky breath and laugh weakly, smiling.

“Missed you, pretty girl.”

“Can I see yours?”

“Maybe um… maybe tomorrow. If everythin’ goes alright.”

He turns his head to look at you face to face. 

“Can I sleep in here?”

You nod.

“I was sorta hoping you’d do your whole… ‘I’m so sorry, baby, lemme make it up to you’ thing…” you tell him sheepishly, avoiding his eyes. 

“I can do that.”

He helps you sit on the bathroom counter and– now on his knees– eases down your panties, pressing apologetic kisses to your knees and thighs. 

“I love you, pretty girl. I love you so much,” he murmurs. “I never loved someone like this, not ever…”

“Do you mean it?”

“Course I do. Course I do, honey. You’re so special, sweetheart.” 

He kisses further and you sigh, parting your legs so his cool tongue can ease the uncomfortable warmth between your legs.

“That’s my girl,” he praises between licks. “My sweet thing, love you so much.”

Your breath hitches.

“Aw, she needed me bad, huh? Yeah, I know. I know what this greedy pussy needs, sugar, lemme give it to her. So noisy tonight, y’so wet, babygirl…” 

His thick fingers push inside of you, two at once, pumping and curling up until you’re bawling. 

“R-Remmick…”

He pulls away from you, withholding the pressure your clit needs. 

“I love you so much, princess.”

You cry out, trying to push his head back down. 

“Tell me you love me.” 

“Pl-please-”

“It’s so easy, baby. So easy. Tell me you love me and you get to cum. Three little words… that’s all it’s gonna take.”

“Y-you’re supposed to be apologising to me!”

“But you love me, right? Even when you’re mad you still love me.”

“I-I do-”

His fingers crook up, making you squeak. 

“So say it.”

You swallow and thud your head against the mirror.

“I love you,” you sigh.

“Say it like you mean it.”

“Fuck! Stop playing with me!” you whine. 

His red eyes flick up as his fangs just graze your swollen clit.

“Rem-!”

“Say you love me.” 

“I-I love you! I love you, please, please, just make me cum,” you cry.

“That’s my good girl. Wasn’t that easy?” he purrs, licking into you and keeping you pinned to the counter with both of his strong hands. 

“Rem- oh I l-love- oh my God, fuck! Please, please, fuck, I love you, d-don’t stop,” you sob. 

“Love you, fuck- love you so much,” he professes to your cunt, his nose rubbing against your clit. 

Your hand curls in his hair and you wail, grinding– as much as you can as he holds you down– against his face and cumming into his open mouth. You yelp when his fangs nick your inner thigh and he drinks that warm, sweet blood. His face is messy with you, grown out facial hair darkened with slick and stained red with blood. 

You sniffle again. He gets up and you pull him into a tight hug.

“My girl, I know… I know, it’s so hard, baby. But you’re the best thing in the world now. I hope you can see that.” 

You share the bed with him, curled up and clinging on like he’s going to run if you’re not holding him down. His heat beats in his cavernous chest, once every ten minutes or so. 

“I wanna know about you, Rem,” you murmur. “You don’t have to go all the way back… you just know everything about me and I don’t know anything real about you…”

He doesn’t answer, just squeezes your shoulder while he stares at the ceiling.

You crane up, kissing his jaw. 

“I love you so much,” you whisper. “I don’t wanna fight with you…”

You laugh in the chair across from late night newcomer Johnny Moon, legs crossed and your high heeled foot bouncing in front of you as you ace the interview. He’s young and handsome, and you’ve barely thought about tearing into his throat. 

You’re funny, you’re cute. You’re even a little flirty, Remmick be damned. 

“That’s great. And uh… did it hurt?” Johnny asks. 

“Wh- I… did what hurt?”

You can’t recall getting to the studio.

“When he made you.” 

“When… who made me?” you laugh nervously, trying to deflect the question. 

He doesn’t answer, just looks at you expectantly. You watch his face slowly warp. His smile becomes impossibly wide, the corners of his mouth dragging to reach his ears. A string of thick drool drips down and pools on the desk as his head tilts to the side.

“What… what’s-” 

“Let’s hear from the audience!” Johnny says, his mouth simply opening and closing, not forming the sounds. His arm swings out wildly like a marionette. 

“Did it hurt when you drank from me?”

You turn to look at the crowd, hissing when they angle the bright spotlight on your face.

In a sea of faceless audience members, Matthew stares back at you. 

“It must have hurt here more than anything.”

He taps his chest, and the studio throbs with the echo of a heartbeat. Each time you hear it, the studio lights pulse red. 

“I-I didn’t… I h-had to-”

“For your career, right? Because why does integrity matter if you’re the best?”

In a blink, you’re standing with your claws out and triplet gashes across Johnny’s face.

“You’re nothing! All of you are nothing!”

It’s not your voice speaking, it’s dark and evil and wrong.

“I could tear this whole fucking place apart like that!”

You snap your fingers and you’re alone on a black stage, one spotlight on you.

You’re nothing.

You wake up in a cold sweat, panting and sitting up slowly.

“S’mornin’, honey, go back t’sleep,” Remmick grumbles from beside you. 

You can see the slight glow of bright daylight from behind your blackout curtains. Something in you wants to touch it. 

When you sat on the swing, the sun would warm your face. You remember lying in the grass and watching the clouds, pointing out the ones that looked like bunnies or hearts. The feeling of falling asleep on a picnic blanket and being carried inside and tucked in safe and sound. 

You rub your eyes and try to lie down again. He curls an arm around you and kisses your cheek. 

You sit in the makeup chair, making polite small talk with the artist who touches up the blush on your cheeks.

“Oh, your skin is cold, honey.” 

“It’s probably the air conditioning,” you brush off her concern flippantly. 

You’ve instructed Remmick to stay close, but stay quiet. You don’t need any additions to the scary controlling Satanist boyfriend narrative. 

“Ain’t she pretty?”

“Oh my God, yes. You have gorgeous eyes, sweetheart.”

You sat in the green room thinking about the swing before this so she could see the real you. You feel more human than you have in the last three months. 

“Ow, shit!” 

Your head whips to the side instantly. Remmick watches your expression change. The way your human pupils blow up and your eyes flick to that opal white colour. He sees your lip quiver as you try to keep your fangs down. 

A PA has sliced his palm, making hot blood drip down his arm. He’s helped instantly, but Remmick grabs your wrist to keep you in the chair. You whimper and turn away.

“Oh, I can’t stand blood either,” the makeup artist says. 

“Give us a minute,” Remmick says to her. 

“Oh- she’s on in twenty!”

“I’ll have her back in five!” 

He leads you to your green room, eyes locked with yours.

“Listen to me. Listen to the sound of my voice, baby, c’mon.”

It’s echoing in your head, and keeping you taking wobbly, baby-deer steps towards him. You sit on the couch, stiff from his words. 

“You there?”

“I need to- I need-”

“What you need is to go on that stage in twenty minutes.”

“I can’t- Rem, I can smell it from here-”

“Hey. Hey.”

You meet his eyes.

“I still have your notes. I’ll talk for you-”

“Out there?”

“No, from in here.”

“But-”

“If you let me, I can… I can get in there. I know you, I know how you talk, how you walk, how you would answer a question. All of it.”

You tremble, the copper scent of blood lingering as you want to shake your head.

The music plays lightly from the TV in the corner. 

“Live from Hollywood, it’s Up Late with Johnny Moon!”

“Or we can cancel-”

“No. No, you… you can do it.”

“You sure?”

“You have to, you have to, please-”

“Relax now. Don’t cry off that pretty makeup, lady worked so hard on it.”

Remmick watches the monitor in the green room closely, eyes on you as you ease yourself down onto the interview chair. Johnny grins at you. 

“Well, hello. Look at you! You look great.”

Remmick clears his throat.

“I feel great,” you say on the stage, the feeling of your words being fed to you stilted and foreign.

“Are you keeping the shades on or are you gonna let us see those gorgeous eyes?” 

You tug down the shades and flash your white eyes.

“Always with the contacts,” he teases.

“These are my eyes, Johnny,” you joke back, feigning offense. 

No, they’re not. 

“So… how are you feeling in this new stage of your career?”

Like I’m a monster who drinks her fans’ blood. 

“I’m a whole new girl.”

“And not to feed the fire on any conspiracy theories out there, but you mean that figuratively, right?” 

“Of course, I’m still me. Just… y’know. Better.”

“You’re a bad girl now.”

Bad doesn’t begin to describe it.

“I’m not bad. I’m just grown up.”

“And your Sweetie Love days? Do you miss them?” 

More than anything.

“Aw, yeah. I love those girls. They’re the best. Lots of love to them.”

“And your new beau?”

You giggle.

“He’s literally watching this backstage.”

You wave at the camera and blow a kiss. Inside yourself, you feel sick. He’s treating you like a toy, like a little doll that he dressed, and you say what he decides for you. 

“Hi, handsome.”

“Wow, did the male viewership just tick up?” Johnny jokes.

You shrug playfully. 

“I think- y’know, speaking for myself and most people, we would imagine you two don’t have much in common.”

Not much in common? He’s in my skin.

“It’s the music. It’s all about the music. I think I put out some fun tracks before we met, but he really helped me understand my potential as an artist. He really brings out the best in me.”

“Let’s talk about the new album. What made you two want to make it so adult? Because this thing is X-rated.”

Because we fuck all the time, Johnny. 

“Well… we are in love, Johnny.”

The audience laughs and coos.

“There’s something really exciting and passionate about new love. And… he’s really changed me a lot as a person.” 

Stop playing mindgames.

“And the music video for that final song. For Matrimony. Are you two actually married?” 

You giggle again, almost too saccharine. 

“No, that was just for fun.”

“Would you get married?”

Not now!

“We’ve only been together for a year. But I don’t know. It feels like we’ve known each other our whole lives. We just wanna be together forever.”

He wants me forever. 

“How sweet. So, I want to hear about this tour.”

“Yes, we’re taking Sin-Sacrament on the road! And we’re doing a split schedule so… if you want to see me, you get one of my shows. It’s bright lights and glitter and dancing, and of course Remmick is there to sing with me. But if you’re there to see Remmick, you see him. It’s one of his shows with the theatrics and the blood and everything.”

“Interesting. I know you two have pretty opposing audiences.”

“Not opposing, no. They’re just different.”

“I know his fans have gotten pretty nasty about you in the past.”

You fix your necklace, the pretty gold R on a chain resting between your collarbones.

“I think they just have the wrong idea of me.”

“And your-”

“We’re both a little misunderstood by each other’s fans. I’m just hoping this tour can really… bring our audiences together. Because it’s all about music, in the end.”

You look right at the camera.

“And I’m so excited to see everyone when we kick it off in Hollywood next Friday!” 

When you finally get into the green room, you lose your footing and he shuts and locks the door, holding you up with a strong grip on your forearm.

“You were great.”

“I didn’t even do anything,” you whisper.

For the first time in a while, you are actually exhausted. You feel like you ran a marathon.

He leads you to the couch and you sit next to him. He nicks his wrist with his fang, feeding you some of his thick blood. You feel a warmth in your chest like you’ve been drinking something hot. When you’ve had your fill, you pull away with a wet pop! 

“Still wanna go to that party?”

“As long as nobody bleeds.”

“I could hear you, y’know,” he starts, wiping the blood from your mouth with a napkin. 

“Good.” 

“You’re just wildcattin’. You’ll settle.” 

The party provides a welcome distraction, and enough begging and puppy dog eyes gets Remmick digging in his jacket pockets for something you can take.

You’re focused on the bass of the music only, not even Remmick’s hands on your waist or him whispering in your ear.

“Did so good tonight, sweetheart. So good. Gotta give you a reward when we get home. Yeah? You want that?”

You nod, feeling that familiar lukewarm pool in your tummy.

“Say the word and we’ll go home.”

He kisses your temple.

“You’re a fuckin’ star, baby.” 

Back at home– making out while you stumble into the bedroom– Remmick throws his leather jacket behind him and undoes his belt as you fumble for the zipper on the dress.

“Fuck, just push it up,” he growls. 

Your thighs hit the edge of the bed and you fall back, crawling up the plush duvet, Remmick crawling after you.

He shoves down his jeans, settling snugly between your legs. 

“You were so good, baby,” he praises you again.

“I didn’t like it,” you tell him quietly.

“Didn’t like what?”

“I didn’t like y-you in my head like that.”

“Well, I’m stayin’ out, honey. Don’t worry.”

He kisses your nose.

“Did so good though. Took it like a champ. The band can’t talk like that when I’m in there. They’re just good ‘lil worker bees.” 

You can’t help but smile at him when he praises you like this.

“Lemme show you how much I love you, baby… pretty thing…” 

He pushes your legs apart and your hand quickly grips his cock at the base, guiding him to your soaked cunt. He pushes in slowly. It’s almost mean, how slow he goes, making you feel every inch stretching you open. 

“Fuck, look at her. Poor thing needed it so bad- Christ, fuckin’ pullin’ me in, sugar, goddamn.” 

He kisses you deeply, his fangs grazing yours. You moan into his mouth, your arms around him, nails digging into his sides.

“Fuck,” he snarls. 

He takes two rough fingers and slips them from your hip to rub your slicked up clit.

“Did you need this, baby? That’s why y’so grumpy, baby, just need’a get filled up, huh?” 

You bite your lip.

“Oh, R-Rem…” 

“You want it? You want all of it?”  

“Yes…”

“Don’t sound like you want it.”

“I want it! Stop being such a dick!” 

He tucks his face into your neck as he drives in, giving your skin sloppy kisses.

“No marks,” you remind him. “We have rehearsal tomorrow-” 

“I know, I know.”

He licks over your skin with as much pressure as he can add, like he’s still trying to bruise you. 

Remmick knows you can mark him up all you want, but you have an approved zone. Even if everyone knows now, you’re just not a popstar who gets hickeys. You have an edge now, but not that much.

“Cum for me, pretty thing. Cum all on this cock, show me who you belong to.”

His words make you growl and you really dig your claws in. 

“You belong to me. You’re mine,” you whimper.

You can’t see his smirk pressed to your skin.

“Course I am, darlin’.” 

The week leading up to opening night is tense. You’re in constant late night tech rehearsals, running light cues and costume changes. 

Though you have Remmick’s hivemind crew and band, who work as hard as he makes them, it’s still a grueling couple of nights. 

The events of the previous week are still fresh in your mind. You’re still mad at him, still spending half your nights begging him to open up to you. The fire of your anger is fueled by the whispered complaints of your dancers about these nighttime run-throughs. You’re able to focus that energy into your work for the most part, but on Thursday night you absolutely collapse onto the bed at your house, face in your hands.

“What’s the matter?”

“Everyone is mad at me,” you cry. “All th-the dancers, all my people, th-they’re so angry and i-it’s messing everything up…”

He sits next to you, holding you close as you cry on his shoulder. 

“It’s hard, baby. I know. But it’s not your fault. Everyone’s just gettin’ the jitters, that’s all.”

You want to tell him it’s his fault, but the thought leaves your mind as soon as it arrives, and you sniffle instead. 

“Forget them, okay? This is all about us.” 

He rubs your back and kisses your head.

“You’re the star tomorrow.”

And just to make sure you know it, Remmick spends two hours making you shake and cry. You cum on his fingers, his tongue, his cock, all until you believe you’re the best. 

“Say it.” 

“I’m a star,” you pant. “Rem, I ca-can’t-”

“Yes, you can. Yes, you can, sweetheart. I know you can.”

He kisses your cheek.

“Still think I can’t keep up?” he snarls in your ear.

“It’s t-too m- oh, fu-ck!”

The lights go out in the stadium as the extended intro of Bad Dreamer begins. 

Audio FX of a phone ringing plays, and your prerecorded voices follow.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hi.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh… sorry I’m calling so late, I just had such a… bad dream.”

The lift below the stage raises you up slowly.

“I must be sleepwalking, the way I just keep waltzing into you, into you. Spiking my adrenaline, I know he’s no gentleman. It’s true, so true.” 

You’re helped off from the lift platform by one of your male dancers, and you come down the stairs to the stage.

“Bad dreamer, keeps me up in the dark. Talks meaner, bite’s worse than his bark. Door’s open honey, just come in. I want your touch, I want your sin,” you sing to the track in your ear, following the familiar steps of your sultry choreography. 

You focus on the dance, your eyes half-lidded as you move across the stage. The audience sings along religiously. Second verse, second chorus, until you’re fake-fainting into a dancer’s arms, a hand to your forehead.

“Boy you're just a bad-bad dream for me, know a girl like me don't come easily. I hear you out there knock-knockin' at the door, I see you at my show beg-beggin' for the encore.” 

The dancers cover you and assist in a quick costume change. The familiar roar of the audience fills your ears and you look back to see Remmick rising up on the lift that had snuck back down while you were performing. 

“Bad dreamer, keeps me goin' real late. Bad dreamer, feels so right, is this fate? Bad dreamer, yeah, like I can't even breathe. He’s my bad dreamer, and now I can't sleep…”

The music cuts quickly and you smile, turning back again. 

“You made it!” you shout to him.

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

The show goes perfectly. Your fans are thankfully very welcoming for Remmick– you’re sure for some, he’s solidifying a type in guys that might never change– and they cheer for the both of you the whole show. 

They love watching you do the choreo for Right to my Face, with Remmick dangling upside down from the platform upstage and saying his lines. When Remmick sings Get Down, the– admittedly small– group of your fans who find you very attractive cheer the loudest for you on your knees. You sing Tongue Out together and the energy in the stadium is hot. 

The outfits and coordination for Higher Calling seem to be their favourite, with the dancers in their robes and you in the sparkliest dress you’ve ever owned. 

They get especially excited before you sing Eternity, when you’re getting settled at the piano. He helps you sit on top of it before he gets cosy at the bench.

“Have you all been having a good time?” you laugh.

The audience cheers. You hear we love you and take a moment to look out at the signs in the crowd.

“We’re gonna sing you one more song, now,” Remmick says in his microphone.

“Only one?” you pout. 

“Well we gotta get home at some point, sugar,” he plays along with your little scripted banter. 

Half the stadium goes wild when he calls you that. 

You chug water when you get under the stage, fanning yourself with both hands. You are a little parched, but you’re mostly playing up your exhaustion for your team, who flocks you to tell you how amazing you are. 

“Thank you. Thanks, everyone.”

Remmick is waiting already, leaning against a beam. 

“I’m gonna take a little break in my dressing room, change really quick, and then we’ll come back… and have a drink!”

The team claps and you take Remmick’s hand. He follows you down the hall and to the right, where you both step into the lift.

“Oh, we’re havin’ a drink, alright,” he snickers.

“Who are we meeting?”

“He’s one of mine. Says his girlfriend just loves you. I don’t think he has one.”

“Do I have to do it every time?”

“Do you want every show to be as good as that one?”

“I want them to be better.”

“You kiddin’? That was great.”

You cross your arms, sighing.

“No. It has to be perfect. If I’m… this? And I can do what I do without breaking a sweat? Then it needs to be perfect.”

He puts an arm around your shoulders.

“Then let’s get you a drink, sweetheart.”

taglist: @pinkpantheressluver@thisbastardneedsafatherfigure@h1ghw4y@sociallyawkwardamoeba@jukesjoint@fr0ggieth1nk@fveapplestall@budgiefeatherboa@idlephantom@i-love-boobs0@juleswrld0@pom3granates@thatonegirlthatlikesthings@therosequartzwitch666@4--eyez@the-preachersdaughter@zylmyl@pearlstiare@uh-oh-hemmeo@bunnistorm@creamqvvn@decayingearf@yummi3@killora1708@m4llu@suckmysnakeplants@mrmountainman@mangobellini@lycantrocanine@miss-hollister@chelzaa@ap0n1@lunaleah@jimmys-tiara@dixie-isnt-cool@ourchampionofthesun

mo chairde mutuals: @bleedingsunlight@prettyliittleviolets@faestunna@roomiesoreo@porcosjaw@angelickks@theabhartachsbride@vcmpbyt@amnestic-angel

[roomiesoreo]

Ive already made this post 3 times but the cutest thing ever is adding mutuals on instagram and seeing how normal everyone is

[roomiesoreo]

casual reminder that Sinners (2025) is confirmed the highest grossing box office original horror movie of all time both domestically and internationally. just wanted to say

[roomiesoreo]

[roomiesoreo]

Talking to my coworker about Eric Bogosian like soooooooo there’s this old man……

[roomiesoreo]

when people are like “he’s not even attractive you could find a guy that looks like him at any gas station” i’m like….. well you see there’s beauty everywhere actually

[roomiesoreo]

fanfic writers will go "anyone gonna explore the kinda fucked up or emotionally impactful implications of this minor canon detail?" and then not wait for an answer.

[roomiesoreo]

now i wanna hear my track, are you bumpin' that?

just a little intox with rockstar!remmick. dubcon ahead (as always grma pip @roomiesoreo for beta reading x)

The bass makes the floor vibrate, and you feel it– even through the heels with the platform. You can feel it buzzing through Remmick’s body, his arms around your waist as you dance together, your back to his front.

Since you have the luxury of being at a private party, you both took some happy pills two minutes ago. You’re already feeling it, a virtue of your new lightning fast metabolism. You now understand why Remmick is always puffing on a rollie.

You glance back at your boyfriend, seeing his eyes unfocused over his sunglasses as he pants, sweat dripping from his hairline.

“Rem.”

He licks his lips.

“Mhm?”

“Remmy,” you repeat, turning in his arms and patting his chest.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he mumbles, a lazy grin on his face.

“You wanna go sit down?”

You lead him up the stairs to an unoccupied room– checking all the corners to ensure that it is unoccupied. Remmick stumbles and lands on his back on the bed with the tacky black crushed velvet duvet.

You giggle at him. You feel light and floaty, maybe not what this should feel like, just the lightest effect.

“How much did you take?” you ask him.

“I double-drop all the time. Ain’t nothin’.”

“You took two?”

“Uh…”

He touches the tips of his fingers and shrugs.

“Four? I dunno.”

“Remmick,” you pout. “Now I have to fucking take care of you.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Then why don’t you handle me?”

“I’m rubbin’ off on you,” he laughs.

“I wish you were,” you joke again.

You lock the door quickly and pounce on him, straddling his lap. The addition of your weight makes the mattress dip and rise, and Remmick watches your chest bounce, drooling.

“Fuck, baby…”

He reaches down to undo his belt and you swat at his hand.

“We’re at a party,” you chide.

“Need y’so bad, sweetheart, siddown. Don’t be hoverin’ like that.”

You settle your weight on him, your hands on his stomach. You reach up and squeeze his cheeks.

“Oh my God, you’re so high,” you laugh at him.

He bites his lip and you smirk.

“You want me t’be mean, Rem?” you tease, tracing your finger on his chest. “I know you like it when I pull your hair… tell you how embarrassing you are.”

“M’not embar-”

“Yes, you are! You’re like, such a grandpa.”

Without realising you start to rock your hips, grinding down on his bulge. You’re wearing a risque pair of very lacy underwear, and you’ve been waiting to give Remmick a peek from under this dress.

The fabric starts to ride up your thighs, revealing all the lovebites he left from the night before, just light bruises now.

“Y’so fuckin’ sweet, baby. Mm, y’like that corn syrup blood… gonna cum for me, pretty thing? I want you all in my mouth…”

You whine, picking up the pace as you grab a handful of his shirt.

“Ba-! Baby,” he hiccups, his hands ghosting your hips.

“Big bad vampire can’t even take a little grinding?”

“Like that, l-like that,” he says, not even registering your teasing.

His fangs catch his bottom lip again and you watch his eyes cross as he bucks up to meet you.

“Oh, f-fuck, honey,” he pants. “I-I’m g-go-”

“No you are fucking not,” you growl, pushing him down and sitting up on your knees.

“Fuck, no, no, baby-”

“You don’t get to cum before me, dummy.”

You lean down and kiss him on the nose.

“So be a good dog and stay.”

He nods. You watch his throat bob as he swallows. You play with his chain while you slip down to sit on his thigh, your knee just barely brushing him. You gasp, your back arching as you toss your head back, earrings jingling.

“Please- fuck- touch me, please,” he begs pathetically from below you.

You narrow your eyes at him and giggle.

“Remmy,” you coo, a fanged grin on your face. “You need it so bad, huh?”

“Plea- h-hah… please…”

“Are you fucking crying?”

He covers his face, whining.

“No, no. Let me see you.”

You pull his hands away and laugh.

“You’re crying? The big scary monster is crying?”

“M’not-”

“Not what? Not a monster? All I can see is a big, stupid, drooling monster begging me to touch him.”

He snarls at you.

“What are you gonna do, Rem? You gonna bite my throat out? Hm? Gonna fucking pin me down and eat me alive?”

You shove two fingers in his mouth, pricking your fingertips on his fangs and letting him suck the blood that slowly drips out. He moans around them, his tongue licking between your digits obscenely.

You keep grinding down, rubbing your clit just right on the rough denim, wincing as you soak through the lace and make a darker spot in his dark wash jeans.

You sit back and catch your breath, grinning at him.

“Okay. I wanna dance.”

“What?”

“Oh, did you really think I was gonna jerk you off at this party?”

“B-but-”

“C’mon.”

Remmick is uncharacteristically well behaved for the rest of the evening. He’s quiet– save for the few pathetic whimpers when you’re dancing against him, your ass rubbing his rock hard cock through his jeans. He’s polite, he lets you speak to other men without putting his arm around you. He holds your hand like a lost puppy until you both say goodbye and go home in a car.

He leans his head on your shoulder and you kiss his forehead.

“You coming down?”

“Mhm.”

“Let’s go home and relax.”

The moment you get back home, he’s shoving the door closed and dropping to his knees, his arms wrapped around your legs.

“Still needy?”

“Fuck me, please. Please, please, please,” he chants, his face against your thigh.

You pet his hair as his drool drips down your leg.

“I think you might deserve it,” you coo.

He looks up at you with teary eyes.

“Carry me to the bedroom,” you tell him.

He picks you up and carries you upstairs to your bedroom. He carefully sits you down and you stop him from getting on his knees again.

“No, just fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Rem, c’mon.”

He pushes up your dress and you undo his belt to shove down his waistband.

“You were going commando and this fucking hard? Bold.”

He leans forward to kiss you, licking into your mouth as he moves you closer and parts your legs, shoving your underwear to the side. He pants against your cheek as he pushes in, moaning and whimpering.

“Fuck, Rem… that’s so good…”

“Y’so wa-rm, sugar…”

You lay back and tug him with you, wrapping your arms around him.

“You’re still a fucking poser,” you whisper, making him snarl.

You feel drool and his breath on your neck as he prepares to bite you. He knows you have a televised appearance in two days, and it’ll leave a mark.

“Don’t even fucking think about it.”

His teeth graze your skin.

“I’ll break your guitar! I will tear this fucking place apart, Remmick, do-”

His head darts down and he sinks his teeth into your shoulder. You shriek, pushing at his head.

“Motherfuck- oh my God!”

His fingers rub over your clit as he drinks down your blood. He turns his head to kiss you and you bite on his lip.

“I have to be on fucking television!”

“You should cover up anyway,” he jokes.

“Oh, you dickhead, you’re not even high anymore.”

“I haven’t been since the drive home, baby.”

You really want to slap him.

“At least lemme make you cum on this cock first, gorgeous. Then you can ride me and slap me all you want.

You kiss again, sloppy and hot, your thumb claws digging into his cheeks while you hold his face. Tears spill from his eyes and you lick them up. He pounds into you, pushing out uh, uh, uhs from your lips, ghosting his.

“Rem, fuck, y-yeah, give it to me so good…”

“I’m cu-” he whimpers, “I’m gonna cum, ba-by, fuck…”

“Do it. Fill me up, fuck, r-right there, a little ha-rder- shit!”

Remmick tucks his face in your neck and sobs, bucking his hips and getting somehow deeper. He bumps against your cervix and you break, whining and clawing at his back as he spills inside of you. That warm, human feeling of a mutual orgasm thaws your icy skin.

You pant, your head resting on the sheets.

“Y’alright?”

You wince.

“Remmick, I have to be on TV…”

“I know, baby. I know.”

“I don’t even have an outfit yet.”

“We’ll make you pretty. Very showy. Gotta show off my girl.”

“You cried so much. You’re such a loser.”

“Plenty of time to make you cry, baby.”

“As if you can keep up, gramps.”

taglist: @pinkpantheressluver @thisbastardneedsafatherfigure @h1ghw4y @sociallyawkwardamoeba @jukesjoint @fr0ggieth1nk @fveapplestall @budgiefeatherboa @idlephantom @i-love-boobs0 @juleswrld0 @pom3granates @thatonegirlthatlikesthings @therosequartzwitch666 @4--eyez @the-preachersdaughter @zylmyl @pearlstiare @uh-oh-hemmeo @bunnistorm @creamqvvn @decayingearf @yummi3 @killora1708 @m4llu @suckmysnakeplants @mrmountainman @mangobellini @lycantrocanine @miss-hollister @chelzaa @ap0n1 @lunaleah @jimmys-tiara @dixie-isnt-cool @ourchampionofthesun

mo chairde mutuals: @bleedingsunlight @prettyliittleviolets @faestunna @roomiesoreo @porcosjaw @angelickks @theabhartachsbride @vcmpbyt @amnestic-angel

[roomiesoreo]

people telling you they reread your fic is the biggest compliment you could ever receive. there are thousands of stories out there begging to be found, to be explored, but your story meant so much to someone that they came back to it eagerly, they went over every word again. to love is to return and loving a fic is rereading it. thank you to all readers and rereaders <3333

[roomiesoreo]

[roomiesoreo]

I heard so many people talk about romanticizing your life and at first it was annoying but then I was eating an apple and it was red and sweet and I was making an effort to conciously and slowly enjoy my apple because that's what my therapist told me to try to be more in the moment and it was the best apple I ever ate. I ate it slow and really payed attention to the sweetness and the sourness and I was sitting outside under some trees and there was a breeze and I thought: This is a perfect moment, and one day I will wish I had the opportunity to sit here and conciously eat this apple and be happy. Anyways. Try making a big deal out of small things.

[roomiesoreo]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

[roomiesoreo]

the dread pirate remmick

pirate!remmick x reader

warnings: vampire spit aphrodisiac, dubcon, oral (f recieving), fingering

“Let’s have a ghost story,” you propose as you fan yourself. 

You’re having tea overlooking the ocean, the warm air of the Caribbean rustling the palms. 

“We are far too old for ghost stories,” your friend Harriet waves the notion away. 

“You are no fun.” 

“Have you got one?” her sister Anne asks. 

“So I do. The undead pirates!”

“The undead pirates. Honestly!” Harriet scoffs. 

“The woeful creatures trapped forever on this mortal coil. A crew of undead minions, all bound to the captain’s tortured soul.”

Anne hides behind her fan and you giggle.

“Oh, Anne is scared!” Harriet laughs.

“I-I am not! Keep telling,” Anne urges. 

“He was an Irishman once, but was whisked to Hispaniola by chance on a ship called the Celtic Hare. He ravaged the ship and made devils of the crew. Creatures that only wake at night and drink the blood of Navymen!”

“Who told you such an awful story?” Anne whines, trembling.

“The cook.” 

You sigh.

“There is something romantic about it, isn’t there?”

“Oh, tell us what is so romantic about seafaring thugs,” Harriet snarks. 

“Swashbuckling rogues, Hattie!” you correct her. “Dashing fiends brandishing sabres!”

That night, Anne has fitful nightmares and Harriet holds a cushion over her ears to fall asleep. You– restless sleeper you are known to be– don your robe and take a book to the veranda. You sit at a bench and delicately split the pages with your thumb, opening the book. The light from the town and the full moon are enough to see without a candle. 

You find your eyelids becoming heavy and you drift off in place. 

You’re awoken suddenly when a strong arm curls around your waist and the cool point of a blade touches your neck. You gasp and your attacker’s hand covers your mouth swiftly. 

“You scream, I’ll gut you like a fish,” an Irish voice growls from behind you. His hand grips your arm and he moves the knife to your side. 

You hear distant shouting, and you both whip your heads toward the sound. 

“You hide me, and when they come by you say you ain’t seen nobody.”

“You… you go inside the house. Quickly” you whisper quietly. 

He steps inside, just to the side, knife still brandished.

“Stop in the name of the King,” a soldier shouts to you.

You gasp, feigning surprise, and grip the collar of your robe to pull it over your body. 

The men see you and go beetroot, looking at their boots.

“I-I beg your pardon, Miss-”

“What business do you have coming upon young women in the night with blades raised?”

“I apologise, Miss-”

“We are looking for a pirate,” the other one tells you, a hand cupped to the side of his eyes. “Have you seen anyone?”

“I certainly have not. I am embarrassed enough having seen you both!”  

“Yes, Miss, sorry, Miss,” they nod, leaving to go in the other direction.

The stranger– the pirate’s hand tugs you back into the house and he pushes you against the wall, eyeing you.

You take a shuddering breath when you see his eyes are glowing red, matching the blood coating his mouth and chin. 

“There’s a good cailín,” he says in a voice that weakens your knees. His finger traces your jaw. “And so pretty.”

“You’re one of the undead sailors,” you whisper to him in awe. 

He raises a brow.

“You’re not scared?” 

“I’ve never met a real pirate. I’ve only heard stories.” 

The knife creeps closer to your neck.

“Parlay,” you gasp. “I… parlay?”

He laughs.

“I-it means you have to take me-”

“To my captain. Yes. Won’t work so well, seein’ as I am the captain. But I’ll be takin’ you back to my ship,” he snarls. 

You– hooded in Remmick’s cloak– weave through the town from your home to the docks, where a small sloop awaits. 

“This is the vessel?”

“You think I’m stupid enough to bring my vessel where the Navy can see it? Get on.”

You find it hard to be frightened about this. Part of you has decided this is a very bad dream and you’ll wake up in your bedroom, safe with your dear friends snoring peacefully. 

It feels less and less dreamlike when he rows you to a cave where a ship lies, the portholes are shrouded with black fabric and a white-eyed crew shuffles onboard.

Remmick climbs the rope ladder and you grip the wound hemp, lifted to the deck by two stronger crew members.

The captain points to a door below the bridge, and you’re pushed forward. The door opens and you find windows boarded up and covered with that same black muslin.

He lights a candle and you see his red eyes reflect the dancing flame.

“Sit,” he commands.

“What are you?”

He grins at you and you see his teeth have become sharp points.

“You know the story. Woeful creatures with a tortured captain?” He leans down, his hot breath puffing on your face. “Do you find me a dashin’ fiend, cailín?” 

“You’re a fiend to be sure,” you respond.

He takes your wrist and pushes up the puffed sleeve of your nightgown. You see him drooling.

“No- I-I don’t-”

He pulls you down and kisses you. It’s filthy and your lips meet with a sickening squish. You attempt to squirm from his grasp, but his other hand cups the back of your head, keeping you to him.

“No, you’re stayin’, pretty girl. Stayin’ with me.”

Your head feels light and you sway gently before your weight lightly falls toward him. He perches beside you, cradling your head as it tilts to the side.

“No pain.”

“No pain,” you murmur, dazed.

His great clawed hand brings the blade to your neck, making a small cut. It stings, and you wince, but you can’t bring yourself to move. His spit-slick lips wrap around the wound, sucking lightly. He moans against your skin, making you shiver.

“Mmph,” he pulls from you with a wet pop, dragging his tongue over the bleeding laceration. “You be good and let me feed now… and I’ll soothe your wee aches, love.” 

You wake with the gentle rolling of waves, drowsy, vision fogged. You blink away the sleep and find the pirate captain, boots upon his desk, absently picking at the strings of a violin.

“Wh-where are we?”

“Well on our way to Cuba.”

“Cuba?” you squeak.  

Those devilish red eyes flick to you, and you whimper.

Not out of fear. 

It is rather an intense and deep need. A burning flame in your belly, one that makes your thighs press together.

“And so I’ve worked my magic,” he teases, slowly– agonizingly slowly– crossing the floor to kneel at your side. 

With his hand you sit up, your body propped against the smooth, cool wood of the cabin wall. You shiver when his hand wraps around your ankle, skimming up your leg at a pace that has you crying out. 

“I-I need-”

“I know what you need, cuisle. I know,” he feigns sympathy, cooing at you as the hem of your nightgown travels up. 

The cool night air hits your blazing, sensitive skin. You shiver at the feeling, but your hand rests over his, icy on your fiery skin. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” he laughs. “You’ve no thoughts in that wee head, do you?” 

His hand travels from your knee, nudging your thighs apart to cup your cunt. 

“Ah, you’re soakin’, cailín.” 

He smirks, showing you those dagger-sharp teeth.

“Let me help you, cuisle,” he says in a sugarcane voice that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Pl-please…”

The pirate parts your thighs with a gentleness that seems disingenuous, and meets your eyes as he presses drool-soaked kisses to your inner thigh. He traces a wet path to your awaiting cunt, which he meets with a chaste kiss.

“Please, j-just touch me,” you beg him, feeling feral. 

He dips forward, licking a stripe between your lips and making you gasp. Your fingers thread into his unkempt bronze curls.

“Oh- oh!”

Your hips roll forward, grinding your cunt on his hungry tongue as his big hands grip your thighs, keeping you adhered to his face. Two fingers push into you at once, and a choked whine rips from your throat.

“Th-that…”

You trail off into a broken moan, your head softly thudding back onto the wooden wall. The stretch burns– your whole body burns at the moment– and subsides into a sweet fullness that you had no idea you were craving. 

“Never had someone touch you like this?”

“N-no…”

A dainty gasp leaves you with every pump of his thick fingers, willing more of your sugary slick down his fingers. He licks up his wrist.

His tongue presses flat on your clit and you pull hard on his hair. 

“Captain, p-please…”

“Feel it? Feel it deep inside, cailín, that river of sin about to flood? You give it to me now…”

His fingers curl and your back arches from the wood, your hips bucking into his face. 

“Tá sé ag teastáil gomór uaim,” he begs against your clit, giving your cunt kisses, his fangs grazing your spot. 

You pant, gripping his hair so tightly you fear you’ll pull it out. He continues his ministrations until the tight wound rope inside of you is pulled taut and you snap upwards, gushing to his waiting mouth, which has sealed over your hole. 

“Oh, God!”

“No God here,” he gurgles, drinking down your release. “Only devils.” 

His fingers work over your clit and you sob, pawing at his head.

“It-it’s too much, Captain, please…” 

He grants you some mercy, pulling his fingers but continuing to tongue at you, collecting every last drop of your sweetness.

“You’re mine now. Mine to fuck, mine to drink. Do you understand?”

You’re unable to answer, your head spins as you regain your vision and catch your breath. 

A sharp slap to your soaked cunt brings you back.

“An dtuigeann tú mé?”

“Yes, Captain…”

“Good.” 

[roomiesoreo]

Sinners is what happens when directors are allowed to experiment with the genres like a horror musical that puts you in a trance and makes you question your existence while also being campy and funny but also breathtakingly beautiful but also haunting and terrifying? Yes please I literally did not want to leave the theater I wanted to just stay there and keep watching it over and over

[roomiesoreo]

Feel free to reblog to have more people to vote. Feel free to explain why you voted the way you did. DO NOT SENT ANON HATE FOR HOW PEOPLE VOTED.