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h3artz4youz · 23 days ago

Note

Can you write something about Remmick letting reader check out his vampire teeth? His vampiric body is so interesting I’d sit for hours just looking him over✨

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅᴏᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ɴᴇᴇᴅʏ!ᴘᴇᴛ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ, ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴇᴅɢɪɴɢ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ ᴀɴᴀᴛᴏᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀꜱʜɪᴘ, ꜰᴀɴɢꜱ-ᴄʟᴀᴡꜱ ᴋɪɴᴋꜱ, ᴊᴇʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏꜰꜰ (ɢᴜɪᴅᴇᴅ), ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ʙᴇɢɢɪɴɢ, ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜰɪxᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ, ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴄʏ, ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴍᴏᴀɴɪɴɢ, ᴡʜɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴇxᴄᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ.

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺. 𝘈𝘭𝘴𝘰, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴? 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦.

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ: 1,8ᴋ

Remmick’s mouth curled into a lazy, teasing smile as you climbed onto his joined legs, fingers idly trailing over the waistband of his lounge pants. The soft golden lamp behind him cast an intimate halo around his pale frame, but his grey eyes gleamed in the half-dark. He tilted his head back against the couch, chest rising slowly, like he enjoyed being looked at. He knew you were staring. He wanted it.

“Yer after starin' at me mouth again,” he purred, voice syrup-thick and smug. “You wanna see, love?”

You nodded — maybe a bit too fast — and he laughed low in his throat. The sound was sharp and sweet, like wine poured over sugar. Then, slowly, like a gift unwrapped in reverence, he opened his mouth and let you see.

Those fangs — long, curved, pearl-white against the wet pink of his tongue — made your breath hitch. They gleamed as he let his tongue glide over them, deliberately slow, like he knew just how much it affected you. The tips were so sharp, so pristine, you could almost feel the sting of them in your imagination. He smiled wide, revealing the full set in a grin not quite human.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” he asked, breath brushing against your cheek as you leaned closer. His claws flexed against the couch cushions. “Yer always lookin' at me like I’m some specimen. You like how unnatural I am, don’t ya?”

You nodded again, this time slower, more reverent. “I could watch you forever.”

Remmick let out a pleased hum, shifting just enough to allow you to hold him tighter and closer to your body with your legs.

“You wanna touch?” he whispered.

Your hand was already rising. His mouth stayed open for you. Remmick’s hands clutched the hem of your shirt like he needed something to hold onto — something to brace him against your gaze, your touch.

Your thumb brushed over his lower lip first — soft, pink, still damp from his tongue. You eased it down just slightly, watching how obediently his mouth stayed parted. His fangs caught the light again, but now you leaned in closer.

God, they were perfect.

Longer than you expected up close. Not just the upper canines — though those were the stars, twin ivory scythes — but the bottom ones, too, subtler but just as sharp. You reached up and touched the tip of one with your index finger.

He whimpered, the danger of it making your heart race. He was so sensitive there — the vampire equivalent of a gasp against a lover’s neck. His claws clutched the sofa material, tighter, desperate.

“They—eh… they’re wired into me nerve. Not just for bitin', y'know.”

You dragged the pad of your finger along the inner curve of one fang. It was smooth, cool, hard as enamel but with an organic feel — like carved bone warmed by his body. There was a faint, almost imperceptible ridge near the gum line. His lips trembled under your touch.

Then, with slow intent, you slipped your finger along the inside of his mouth, tracing the edge of the opposite fang with the same reverence you’d use to touch a blade. He whined, barely able to sit still.

“Are you okay?” you asked, taking your fingers out of his mouth so he wouldn't bite you.

He nodded, eyes wide. “No rush, darlin'. Pretend I’m yer own private monster on display.”

You still had your thumb at the corner of his mouth when you caught it — the flicker. A shimmer under the surface of his irises, like coals catching flame.

Remmick looked wrecked already — flushed, trembling under your touch, claws curled in tightly against his own ribs like he didn’t trust himself to touch you back. But then his eyes… oh, his eyes.

You leaned closer. “Look at me.”

He obeyed — breath hitching — and that’s when you saw them fully.

The blue-grey of his human disguise had fractured. Beneath it, that deep, impossible red pulsed to the surface. Not just a glow — no, these were layered, swirling like smoke and blood beneath glass. Dark scarlet slowly taking over the entire iris.

You cupped his face, thumbing under one eye so you could study it up close, and the moment you did, he shuddered.

“Your eyes,” you murmured. “They change when you get worked up.”

“I can’t help it,” he whispered, voice raw. “Not when ya touch my fangs like that—not when ya look at me like...like this.”

You laughed softly, warm and low in your throat, dragging your nails up along Remmick’s pale chest until his breath caught. You weren't sure what look he was referring to, but you were sure the adoration you felt for the way he opened up to you was reflected well in your eyes.

“Do you have anything else to show me?” you asked, sweet and teasing.

And oh, that did something to him.

Remmick’s chest rose with a shaky inhale, and then — all excited — he moved just a little below you and held out his hands for you like a dog presenting its paws.

You took them gently in your own, watching him squirm under the weight of your stare. His claws were out — long, graceful, wicked — like delicate pearls knives at the end of his slender fingers. Each one tapered to a fine point, perfectly shaped, gleaming faintly in the low light just as his teeth.

You turned one hand palm-up, stroking down the center with your thumb. His fingers twitched in your hold, then curled — just slightly — as if they wanted to hold you back but didn't want to interrupt your in-depth study.

“You have such elegant hands,” you hummed, tracing from the base of his palm to the very tip of his middle finger.

You brought one clawed finger to your mouth, eyes never leaving his, and kissed the tip.

He whined. He, actually, whined.

His hips jerked slightly under you — not demanding, just a desperate twitch like his body wanted more of whatever this was.

And then you said it.

Soft. Unshaken. True.

“You are beautiful.”

Remmick’s breath hitched. Just a little.

You kissed the next fingertip. Then the next. Then slid one of his long, clawed fingers into your mouth and sucked, slow and hot, letting your tongue glide over the smooth underside.

He looked at you, ecstatic and confused at the same time. It was hard for him to understand how you could love such a monster.

You popped the finger out slowly, dragging your lips over the knuckle, and watched his face melt into something soft and overwhelmed.

Red eyes wide. Mouth open. Claws trembling.

And beneath it all, his cock was hardening, twitching against the fabric of his pyjama pants — aching, grateful.

A delicious thrill crawled down your spine.

“Touch yourself for me, Rem.”

Remmick’s breath caught. The glow in his eyes pulsed brighter.

His hands hovered uncertainly for a second — those long, pale fingers — and he looked up at you like he was asking permission with just his eyes.

His right hand slipped down his abdomen, past the trimmed patch of hair above his cock, and hovered over it — flushed, twitching, leaking. He was aching, and he hadn’t even wrapped his hand around it yet.

“Tease yourself like I would.”

He swallowed hard and untied the laces. You gave him a little room to let him pull his pants down below the curve of your butt, freeing his hard erection.

One claw traced down the line where thigh met groin, curving in toward the base of his cock. He shivered violently, muscles drawn tight as wire.

“Aw, look at you. Following instructions like a pro.” Your hand nestled at the base of his neck, playing with the dark hair. “What, trying to impress me?”

Without wrapping around it fully, he lets his fingertips glide along the underside — from the base, where the skin is taut and sensitive, all the way up to the tender head. The touch is featherlight, almost reverent. Just as you told him.

He lingers there for a moment, brushing side to side in slow, delicate touches. His breath hitches, then deepens — quiet but building, each inhale slightly shakier than the last.

But what really makes your breath catch is his eyes.

They’re locked on you now — riveted — his mouth slightly open, panting, but utterly entranced. His own pleasure is secondary. The true thrill is in pleasing you.

Being good.

“C'mon, stroke it.”

He did.

A long, slow pull from root to head, his breath catching, fangs bared with the effort of holding still. The red in his eyes was burning now — full-blown lust, desperation, devotion.

“Faster.”

He moaned your name and obeyed.

His hips trembled beneath the rhythm you ordered, stroking fast and tight, his abnormal fingers surrounding delightfully his shaft. You watched his stomach flutter, his thighs tense.

“Look at yourself,” you said. “Look at those deadly hands. Look what they’re doing for me.”

He glanced down at his hand wrapped around his cock, claws glinting, dripping with precome. His breath caught in his throat.

“I look—” he bit his lip, blood flowed, “—I look like a fuckin' whore.”

“You look perfect.”

He let out a strangled moan.

“Don’t come yet,” you warned, seeing his rhythm stutter.

He whined. “Please—please, I want to. Please let me come for you—please, I’ve been good—”

The wrist slows its movement, the thumb rubbing against the foreskin to hold back. His claws scratched light red marks around his thighs by accident, but he didn’t stop.

Your free hand rose to cradle his face, rubbing the blood from his chin.

His glowing red eyes are glassy now, struggling to stay open, flicking between your face and your mouth.

“Ma'am...kiss me,” he begs. “Please, need yer mouth on mine when I come. Want to fall apart in yer kiss, ma'am. Please.”

And it’s not performative. There’s no seduction in the way he says it. It’s raw.

You slid closer to his lap, giving him just enough space to continue touching himself, and leaned over his red-slicked lips.

“Fuck your hand, pet.”

When you finally press your lips to his — hot, open — he breaks for you.

He quickly regained control, squeezing and pumping himself rapidly, chasing the long-awaited orgasm and when the taste of iron blooming in his mouth as his fang accidentally nicked your tongue, he lost it.

With a loud cry, his whole body tensed, cock twitching in his own fist as he spilled across your t-shirts, thick and hot and messy. His legs shook, the free claws digging into his own thigh as aftershocks racked him.

And even after, when the tremors fade and his hand drops away, he doesn’t stop kissing you — desperate, sweet, clinging.

“Thank ya, darlin',” he purred between kisses. “Thank ya. Thank ya—”

You stroke his hair, still cradling his face.

“Such a good boy.”

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h3artz4youz · 25 days ago

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ooh maybe a drabble/headcanons about remmick with technology in a modern au? i feel like he texts like a grandpa lol. he also probably would blow up your phone with the amount of messages he sends.

ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ ᴀ ᴘʜᴏɴᴇ

ᴀ/ɴ: MY FIRST MODERN AU! i've been waiting for an excuse to make these headcanons and you've finally given me one anon!! these have been swirling in my mind for at least 2-3 weeks so it was very fun to finally get them out of my brain and onto a post. i had a lot of fun with this one, so enjoy y'all!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: just comedic unserious cutiepie remmick headcanons + tumblr formatting fuckery

y’all know that one clip from abbott elementary where barbara takes a picture of herself and says “now who took that picture of meeeee?”

yeah that just about sums up how remmick is with technology.

he’s terrible with anything that involves a screen, and understands how they work even less.

so there’s two very specific ways remmick texts (no inbetween), either like a hostage negotiator:

hello. this is remmick. are you safe. i miss you. i saw a rabbit today. thought of you. please advise. you left your socks here. i have kept them in a safe place. let me know if you require them back. can you call me. i don’t like the typing.

or like 50 messages with no punctuation whatsoever:

hi sweetheart i meant to tell you something hang on i saw a bird with red on its wings youd have liked it wait picture didnt work it’s gone now nevermind hi again i miss you do you want eggs in the morning

oh and he types with his pointer finger only so both ways take forever.

his ass can’t use emojis in the right context to save his life. i’m making soup 🐍 love you always 🔪🌹☁️🕊️🩸

please don’t try to videocall this man because you will get jumpscared. nose all up in the camera, blurry as hell, shouting “HELLO?!” like you just pulled him out of odinsleep.

also, screen brightness baffles him so bad. you once caught him squinting at his dimmed phone for half an hour before he asked you: “has the light inside it gone out?”

you showed him how to use spotify one day and he takes making playlists so seriously. each one has a full sentence title, three paragraph description, and some kind of memory attached to it. your favorites are: “for when the world is too loud and you are my quiet.” “i would have danced to this with you in 1945.” “this one made me think about your ankle.”

even a centuries old vampire loves video games just as much as you do. his favorites are the sims (painstakingly rebuilt your entire life together), animal crossing (5 star island and he does not play about his landscaping), and stardew valley (probably holds the world record for largest farm ever and you stopped asking what year he was on after 55)

he said he hated reality tv... so why do you find him curled up next to you every summer to watch love island? he’s a diehard amaya/olandria stan, of course, and he WILL find a way to work his phone so he can cast them votes.

he doesn’t trust the cloud, naturally. “why do we put our memories in it?” “what if it rains? what happens then?” “no, i won’t put your birthday photos there. the sky doesn’t need them.”

he saves every single voicemail you leave him, even if it’s just a simple “call me back.” sometimes you’ll randomly leave him one just for him to add to the collection.

he only uses social media for the animal pictures and videos so when anything else plays he just stares at the screen like 😐.

well that’s a lie he’d definitely follow a bunch of irish nature accounts and will shove his phone in your face while talking about what he remembers from each photo.

yes he does have 97 tabs open and no he won't close any of them. his excuse is always the same. “what if i need them later?”

someone texted him lmao once and he showed it to you with the most confused look on his face. “are they alright?” “it means laughing my ass off.” “…can that happen?”

in conclusion, leave the millennium old grandpappy alone.

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