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mill3rd · 1 month ago

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LIGHT OF THE LORD

synopsis. a woman of divine beauty, grace and fairness has plagued remmick’s mind and being. no matter where he goes, what time he’s in—you’ve been around every corner. he cannot escape your watchful eye. he knows you aren’t human but you are no vampire like him. and while he finds everything about his situation frustrating, he finds you quite intriguing.

tags and warnings. remmicks pov, hes pining unknowingly, mythical ambiguity for the most part, temporal ambiguity so lots of time skips, readers race isnt specified or specific to the story, know-it-all gf vs quickly humbled bf, fluffy, bit angsty, some discriptions of feeding

wc. 10k

1,385 years. one thousand, three hundred and eighty-five long, excruciating years in which remmick had no choice but to endure your presence—your seraphic presence. seraphic, not in beauty, but in that maddening way you carried righteousness like armor, wisdom like a curse. your face, ageless and untouched by time, only deepened his resentment. the more he was forced to see it—those eternal, untarnished features—the more unbearable you became. there was nothing soft or lovely about it anymore. your immortality was a wound that never healed, and he bled quietly beside you for centuries.

you came to him first in the rawness of your glory—nude, your flesh supple and unnervingly perfect, like something carved from the dreams of old gods. it was only weeks after the catholics had spilled into ireland, clinging to their bibles and breathing scripture like smoke. remmick, newly turned and still trembling in the dark, didn’t yet understand what he was. he thought he had died from the wounds carved into him by war and man, and he sobbed like a child beneath the stars when he saw you approaching—not through the river, but on it. your bare feet pressed the water’s skin as if it were solid, each step leaving behind a shimmer like fireflies or some underwater bloom. the stream itself was dull, lifeless. it had never glowed before. it never glowed again. only when you walked toward him like it was the most ordinary thing in the world did it come alive with light.

“the lord does not encourage such violence,” was all you said. or perhaps not to him at all—your voice was distant, almost drifting, as if carried on mist. it felt less like a warning and more like a half-forgotten thought, spoken aloud without meaning to. weightless, airy, like you were reminding yourself of some rule you no longer believed in, repeating it out of habit more than conviction. the words hung in the air, delicate and hollow, and remmick wasn’t sure if they were meant for him or the sky above.

your words unsettled him. the lord. even hearing the name turned his stomach. after everything he’d suffered—everything he’d lost—invoking the man upstairs felt like a cruel joke. it was tone-deaf, sanctimonious. so when you opened your arms, all light and grace, offering some divine comfort, he recoiled like you were poison.

“stay away from me!” he snapped, stumbling backward. “i ain't interested in walking with god’s so-called vessel.”

his voice cracked, thick with fury and something raw beneath it—betrayal, maybe. or grief.

you merely frown and watch as he scrambles off deeper into the trees.

remmick wandered deep into the woodlands, far enough that the moon vanished behind the thick weave of branches overhead. the air grew colder there, denser, and the only light came in faint silver slivers where the canopy broke. he let the owls guide him, their low, rhythmic hoots echoing like warnings through the underbrush. every step tangled him deeper in roots and bramble, the trees growing close and ancient around him, as if they were watching.

then—a sound. sharp, low, guttural. a growl, too deliberate to be the wind. it came from ahead, thick in the dark. his eyes adjusted, and he saw them: teeth gleaming like shards of polished bone, bared in a snarl that pulsed with threat. a wolf. broad-shouldered, fur rippling like smoke in the moonless dark. remmick froze.

good, he thought. maybe now, finally, it would all end.

but something inside him stirred—deep, primal, and hungry. not fear. not relief. hunger. sharp and sudden, like a spike to the gut. his throat burned. his limbs ached to move. and before he understood what he was doing, he stepped forward, slow and silent, toward the wolf.

it blinked, muscles tense, and backed away—eyes locked on him, more confused than afraid. it knew something was wrong. it sensed something unnatural.

remmick kept moving, drawn not by instinct to survive, but by something darker, something ancient coiled now inside him.

before he could even think to lunge, a light broke open behind him—blinding, radiant, pure white. it wasn’t overwhelming. no, it was no different to the faint light of a flame. it was just unnatural underneath the shade of the canopy. the wolf didn’t wait. it bolted, tail low and body vanishing into the underbrush with a panicked rustle.

remmick turned, breath sharp, pupils blown wide as his eyes locked onto the source.

you.

you, this insufferable, god-touched creature, glowing as if the stars themselves bent to your will. no flame, no torch—just you, radiating light as effortlessly as a flower bleeds scent. it was unnatural. it was maddening.

remmick let out a low, guttural growl. his body trembled with hunger, pain pulsing in his torn flesh like a second heartbeat. he was wounded, starving, half-mad—and there you stood, pristine, untouched, a walking symbol of everything he’d come to loathe.

he squinted at you through the harsh light, eyes narrowed, seething with anger and exhaustion. “wha’dyou want?” he snapped, voice rough like gravel. “i thought i told you to stay away.”

you didn’t answer. instead, your gaze drifted lazily to his face, head tilting slightly, eyes calm—almost amused.

“you are drooling,” you said, voice soft and unbothered.

remmick wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, scowling as he turned away. “can’t blame a man for being hungry,” he muttered, bitterness coating each word like tar.

you only smiled, a slow, knowing curve of your lips, and without a word, followed him—silent, steady, undeterred by his resentment. his anger rolled off you like water on stone.

“you will have to learn how to control that hunger,” you said, voice light, almost distant, like the words weren’t really meant for him alone, “you are not the man you used to be. not anymore.”

there was a quiet finality to it, as if the truth had already settled in the soil around you, waiting for him to catch up.

“what am i then?” remmick asked, voice rough and brittle, like dried bark about to snap. there was a weight behind it, something choked and bruised, the kind of heaviness that clung to a man who’d wept alone through too many sunless nights—because the sun, once warm and welcoming, had turned its back on him completely.

your expression didn’t shift. your voice was steady, almost cold.

“inhuman.”

“an’ what about you?” remmick’s voice cut through the air, a mix of frustration and suspicion. “you look human, but you ain’t one.”

you nodded slowly, your gaze steady, almost serene, as if every word you spoke was steeped in something far beyond him.

“a keen observation, remmick,” you replied, your voice soft yet filled with an ancient grace. “i am not human, nor have i ever been. i merely wear this face, this form, for as long as my time among mortals endures.”

remmick jumped at the sound of his name, the echo of it like a whisper from a past he hadn't invited. he never told you his name. never gave you the right to know it. yet, there it was, hanging between you like a thread woven from the air itself.

the world around him swayed, and it wasn’t from too many drinks of ale or beer. it was something far heavier.

“how did ya know my name?” he demanded, voice tight with disbelief, as his hand shot out, gripping your shoulder with an urgency that bordered on panic. “what even are ya? there’s something... unorthodox about you. nobody radiates light like that! and absolutely nobody galavants around naked, óinseach!”

you regarded him with an almost sorrowful expression, lips pressing together in a faint frown.

“i apologize,” you murmured, your tone gentle but laced with something ancient. “i can tone down my appearance if it frightens you.”

remmick froze, his pulse stuttering in his chest. then, before his very eyes, you shifted—your form bending, stretching, warping, as if reality itself could no longer hold the weight of your true essence. a blur of faces spun before him—his younger sister, laughing beneath the sun; his mother, her tired eyes soft with love; his wife, her smile warm, full of memories that felt like a dream; his older brothers, strong and brash, voices echoing through the corridors of his past; and his daughter, her innocent eyes full of questions, a life he’d lost forever.

each face flickered in and out of your shifting form, leaving a trail of aching familiarity in their wake, and remmick’s breath caught as the weight of it all settled over him.

a terrified yell ripped through remmick’s throat, his body jolting with a surge of panic as he stumbled backward, scrambling away from you. his legs carried him without thought, driven by instinct, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum of war.

he didn’t dare to look back. the images—the faces—clung to him like a curse, and the sight of them twisted something deep inside him.

this time, you didn’t follow.

you stood still, an immovable figure in the shifting darkness, watching him retreat with quiet understanding. your gaze lingered on the space where he had been, serene yet filled with a sorrow that was not yours to bear.

that was his first encounter with you and now he wears you like a burden. you didn’t show up for days after that and remmick began to believe you were a fever dream. something he made up due to delirium.

but then, just as suddenly, you appeared—the sound of waves washing softly on the shore marking your arrival. your natural glow was the only light beside the pale moon, soft and unearthly, illuminating the world around you in quiet brilliance.

remmick groaned in frustration upon seeing you, his shoulders sagging in resignation. “i thought ya’d have written me off by now. labelled me a lost cause.”

you shook your head, the motion slow and graceful, your presence like a steadying breath in the chaos of his mind.

“no,” was all you said, the simplicity of it carrying a weight beyond words.

without waiting for him to respond, you sat down beside him, where the sand darkened with the lingering traces of water’s touch. the cool salt air swept over you, and the ocean’s rhythm seemed to pulse in time with your being. the salty water kissed your skin, as though it had been waiting for you to arrive.

“i found some clothes so i would not stand out,” you chirped, your voice light and carefree as though nothing had transpired between you. remmick didn’t want any part of this conversation, but you were relentless.

he nodded, barely looking at you, pulling his head closer to his knee. “good on ya.”

“i wanted to give you space after our last conversation,” you continued, tone softening. “i realize i was... insensitive. and for that, i want to apologize.”

remmick raised an eyebrow, the bitterness in his voice sharper now. “if i accept it, will ya leave me alone?”

you laughed—a sound so unexpected and pure that it caught him off guard. the first time he’d heard it, and it was like a breath of wind through still air. “not forever, no. but for now, will that suffice?”

he sighed, letting go of the tension in his shoulders for a moment. “i forgive ya then.”

and just like that, you were gone. not with a quiet fade or a dramatic burst of smoke, but simply—gone. one second, remmick could hear the steady beat of your pulse, the rush of blood flowing beneath your skin, and the next, the world was empty, save for the sound of waves and the distant echo of his own heartbeat.

he waited in silence, the stillness of it pressing in on him, until his hunger clawed at him again, and he turned his focus to the water, waiting for a fish’s heartbeat to break the quiet.

it took remmick a long time to understand what he had become: a vampire. it wasn’t until he encountered others like himself that the true weight of his transformation hit him. in their eyes, he saw only the reflection of something monstrous—unnatural, evil. but remmick wasn’t evil. his life had been stolen from him, ripped away in a moment of violence, and now he was left to survive on instinct, just like any creature would.

that wasn’t evil. it was simply the harsh truth of nature’s cold hand. survival, stripped down to its most primal form. natural selection.

they taught him what it truly meant to feed, the raw satisfaction that came with fully indulging his hunger. feeding on humans—it felt strange, yes, but it also felt right, as if his body had been designed for this purpose and nothing else. there was no one to tell him there were other ways, no gentle voice reminding him of the choices he still had.

in truth, he hadn’t seen you in a long while. he hadn’t felt the comforting warmth of your light, nor the unsettling pull of your golden blood since that brief encounter at the beach. he had told you to leave him be, and you had listened—something he hadn’t expected but couldn’t help but feel grateful for.

still, as time passed, something gnawed at him. it was subtle, like a missing note in a melody, a strange emptiness in the quiet that followed your departure. part of him was glad you were gone, but there was another part—a part he couldn't ignore—that felt... unsettled.

when you finally appeared, remmick was nestled at the edge of an ancient castle ruin, tucked into the jagged rocks and rubble. the moonlight filtered through a gaping hole in the stone wall, casting silver beams across his form, and he lay there, eyes closed in quiet stillness. moonbathing, he called it. though, when you approached, he shot you a disgruntled look, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

“moonbathing?” you asked, your head tilting in quiet curiosity, “i understand that the sun darkens the skin, but why would you try to tan in the moonlight?”

remmick shrugged, not bothering to lift his gaze. “ha'fta keep my pale complexion up to date," he muttered with a dry smirk, clearly unbothered by your confusion.

“so you have no intention of tanning?” you ask, still standing in the frame of the hole in the wall. remmick shakes his head, “if i tried to tan, i’d get a little more than sunburn.”

you nodded slowly, a thoughtful motion, but before you could speak, remmick waved a hand and grunted, “move outta the way. you’re blocking the moon.”

he hadn’t exactly told you to leave, so you quietly stepped over the rubble, your movements as fluid as mist, and settled down beside him, folding your body against the cool stone as if it belonged there.

“do you know about constellations?” you asked after a pause, turning your head to face him, your voice gentle, like a breeze trying not to wake the earth.

remmick kept his eyes closed, but he could feel your gaze on him, steady and curious.

“no,” he muttered, “ya gonna give me a random fact o’ the day?”

you smiled faintly and nodded, undeterred by his sarcasm.

“many constellations are tied to the zodiacs,” you began, your voice slipping into that melodic cadence you often carried when speaking of old things. “twelve of them form a path the sun appears to follow throughout the year. the ancients charted them to navigate the seas, tell time, even predict their fates. and if you look just there—” you lifted a hand, pointing skyward “—you can see libra, the scales. it is faint, but present. balance, even in darkness.”

your words trailed off into the night, soft and steady, like starlight dripping into silence.

remmick grunted, finally cracking one eye open to glance at you. “fascinating,” he muttered dryly, “write a book about all that and they’ll string you up as a witch.”

“no one knows i exist,” you replied, calm and matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather.

remmick sighed and let his head fall back against the stone. “iontach. so i’m the lunatic talking to the ghost nobody else can see.”

“i am not a ghost either,” you said with a soft smile, the kind that barely touched your lips but somehow warmed the space between you. “i am sure you have figured out what i am by now.”

remmick let out a dry chuckle, the sound low and a little hollow. “my best guess?” he said, eyes fixed on the sky. “i’m seein’ things. you’re not real—just something my mind cooked up to keep me company when the silence gets too loud.”

“if that is what you believe,” you replied, your tone quiet, unreadable—neither confirming nor denying, as steady as still water.

then, without another word, you rose, movements fluid and precise. you stepped lightly across the scattered bricks, your figure momentarily silhouetted in the moonlight as you reached the jagged hole in the wall.

“until next time, remmick,” you said over your shoulder, voice echoing just slightly, like it belonged to the night itself.

remmick watches as you disappear but he swears your hand lingers on the brick for a second longer. he’s left in silence now until your words echo, until next time. he groans, what about never?

he does see you. again and again and again. your visits get more frequent until you’re both caught unexpectedly in war. the eleventh century. remmick thought he had escaped your watchful eye and found himself hitching rides with strangers in their carts, hiding under thick velvet rugs until nightfall where he bid his goodbyes and wandered off. he should’ve known you’d find him.

remmick stood at the edge of the treeline, deliberately keeping himself in the shadows, avoiding the last vestiges of sunlight that hung stubbornly in the sky. his eyes scanned the valley below, where the battle raged fiercely, men clashing in a frenzy of steel and blood. the air was thick with the sounds of war—shouting, the clang of weapons, the stampede of hooves. it was chaos, but he was content to watch from afar, detached from the madness.

and then, as if summoned by some unseen force, you appeared. he didn’t need to see you fully to know—it was the light that gave you away. a soft, golden glow that seemed to push back against the fading daylight. it clung to you, hovering just at the edges of your presence, and for a brief moment, it felt like the world itself dimmed just to make room for you.

“ain’t bored o’ me yet?” remmick muttered, his voice laced with annoyance and something else—something he refused to acknowledge.

you didn’t answer immediately. instead, there was a slight rustle in the air, a shift in the atmosphere as you moved closer. when you did speak, your voice was serene, effortless. “not at all.”

he couldn’t see it, but he could feel the subtle shake of your head, the shift in the air that told him you were amused. you always were, always so certain and unbothered by his disdain.

he huffed, rolling his eyes and returning his focus to the battle below. you were like a persistent, unavoidable breeze—always there, no matter how much he tried to ignore you.

its silent between you two as you both experience the rage of the battle of hastings below, the cries of men filling the air as blood stains the earth beneath. the dying light of the sun casts long shadows across the field, and the sky is a mixture of fading reds and purples. you stand at the edge of the treeline, your presence almost otherworldly, that strange divine glow surrounding you like a halo. it's the kind of light that would make anyone believe you're something holy, untouchable, perfect. but remmick doesn't care about any of that.

he stands next to you, his arms crossed, eyes bored as they track the chaos below. his face is hard, indifferent—he's seen enough of human suffering to not bat an eye at it. to him, they're all just ants. he turns his attention to you, though, the faintest hint of annoyance crossing his features. it’s the same thing every time. you show up, radiating light, acting like you’ve got a hand in this world’s fate. he’s sick of it.

you speak, your voice a soft, almost ethereal whisper. “do you ever wonder if they know what they are fighting for?”

remmick scoffs, the sarcasm dripping from his words. “i’m sure they’re all very aware of their ‘noble causes,’” he mutters. “but it don’t matter, do it? they’ll die anyway.”

you give him a sidelong glance, those piercing eyes of yours studying him like you always do. “do you think death is all they’re meant for?”

“i think most of them wan’ it,” he responds flippantly, his gaze flicking over to the chaos below. “or maybe they're just too stupid to know when to stop fighting.”

you shake your head, a quiet sigh escaping your lips, your tone almost sad. “you’re so jaded, remmick.”

he looks at you then, an eyebrow raised. “and you’re so holy.” he leans against a tree, crossing his arms tighter. “if you think they’re all so deserving of your pity, why don’t ya help ‘em out?”

you ignore his question, your gaze fixed on the battle once more. it’s almost as if you can’t help yourself—you have to watch, to be present. but then something catches his attention. the flicker of an arrow in the last rays of sunlight. it's a fleeting thing, but remmick notices it.

before he can react, the arrow strikes you.

it’s quick. too quick for him to fully process. he hears you gasp, and then you stumble slightly, your hand clutching at your side. the arrow, so perfectly aimed, has found its mark in the divine part of you, piercing through the space where your beauty and immortality should be untouched.

he doesn’t react immediately. instead, his gaze lingers on you, observing the way your breath hitches as the golden blood begins to seep through your fingers. his mouth curls into something that might have been a smile, but there’s no warmth in it. there’s nothing but quiet satisfaction in the knowledge that he’s right.

you’re not as untouchable as you think.

“oh, look at that,” he murmurs, the words coated in a kind of cruel humor, “a little scratch. guess you ain’t as perfect as everyone thinks.”

he watches for a moment longer as you stand there, your form still glowing faintly even as blood drips from you. you’re not the same now. you’re broken. you’ve been touched by the same death that touches everyone, and for some reason, that gives him a sense of relief.

you look at him, and there’s a flicker of something in your eyes—concern, maybe. or maybe just a question. but remmick isn’t interested. he’s never been interested in your divine presence. he’s only been stuck with you because you follow him, despite the fact that he wants nothing to do with you.

he takes a step back, turning his gaze away from you. “well, i’ve seen enough,” he says flatly, his voice devoid of any emotion, “you’ll be fine. immortals like you don’t just die from an arrow.”

he called you immortal because he didn’t know what else you were.

and with that, he turns, disappearing into the trees, leaving you there. blood staining the ground, your divine light flickering weakly.

he doesn’t care if you survive. in fact, a part of him hopes you don’t.

he leaves you there, under the dying light of the sunset, and walks away without a second thought. the darkness of night soon envelops him, and for the first time, he feels a strange sense of relief. maybe this is what he wanted all along—an escape from your presence, from your light, from the divine pressure of your existence.

he doesn’t look back. he doesn’t even think about it. he’s long gone, disappearing into the night.

remmick hadn’t seen you in over five hundred years. for a while, he thought the peace would last. the solitude had been... bearable. a century of living on his own terms, without your relentless light or your judgmental eyes, was a relief. he wandered through europe, a ghost in the shadows of history. he watched the rise of new dynasties, the endless wars of vikings, the decline of the roman empire, and the brutal reign of genghis khan. centuries passed, each one feeling like a whisper in time, and he thought he had finally outrun you.

but the renaissance? that was the point where it all fell apart. it was the 16th century in france, and somehow, against all logic, he had managed to convince the royal family that he, too, was royalty—a lost prince from some forgotten kingdom. he was skilled in deception, after all, and no one really questioned an enigmatic figure like him. they believed his stories, and the royal family, desperate to flaunt their connection to ancient lineages, eagerly threw a ball in his honor.

“to celebrate the visit of prince remmick i,” they announced, and the court was abuzz. everyone was charmed by the mysterious foreigner, the one whose origins were as hazy as the fog that rolled across the french countryside.

as the night stretched on, lit by shimmering chandeliers and the glittering eyes of aristocrats, remmick found himself drifting through the crowd, always watching, always smiling with that knowing smirk.

he should have known. he should have known that your light would pierce through the shadows of his false life. and yet, he didn’t hear your footsteps, didn’t see your radiance until you were already standing before him, like a vision from another time, another world.

"ain’t bored o’ me yet?" remmick asked, half-amused, half-resigned. he starts the greeting the same way he started the last one you had.

you smiled softly, as if you'd never left, "not at all," you replied, your voice soft as always, yet carrying a weight he could never ignore. you seem to remember too how he greeted you.

remmick’s fingers curled into his palm, nails digging into the flesh. how long had he really been free? how long could he ever escape your watchful eyes?

the music swirled through the air, soft and alluring, as the orchestra in the corner of the ballroom played their delicate tune. the sound of strings filled the grand hall, echoing off the gold-trimmed walls. remmick held you close, his hand firm on your waist as he led you in the dance, effortlessly twirling you through the sea of guests. each step felt like a rhythm he had known forever, like he'd danced this dance with you a thousand times, even though it was only now that he realized you were real—more than just a haunting image from his mind.

you moved with an ethereal grace, laughter bubbling from your lips like a song he couldn’t help but chase. when he spun you, the light caught in your hair, and for a brief moment, it almost felt like the entire room faded away—just the two of you, floating through time. his chest tightened as you laughed, that soft, knowing sound, and he couldn’t help but notice how your presence filled the space around him. he’d never let himself feel this before, not for someone like you.

but before he could think on it too long, the dance shifted. your hand slipped from his and suddenly, you were in the arms of another man—an older figure, no doubt a noble, with a grasp on your waist that was far too close, intimate. you laughed again, a bright, airy sound that made remmick's stomach twist and churn.

this is the moment remmick realises you have a physical manifestation and you truly weren’t apart of his imagination.

he stood still for a moment, watching as you moved away, the warmth of your hand no longer in his, replaced by the weight of something heavy that clawed at his insides. his eyes narrowed instinctively as you, effortlessly, slipped into another’s embrace. the man held you close, spinning you with a tenderness that made remmick’s skin prickle.

it shouldn’t matter, but it did.

he swallowed down the odd bitterness that had risen in his throat. it was absurd. he wasn’t allowed to feel this way—this possessive ache. but still, he couldn’t help himself, watching the way you laughed in his arms, the way your eyes shone so brightly for someone else.

remmick shook his head, forcing himself back into the present. the princess he had been dancing with swirled into his arms, but his gaze never wavered from you. he couldn’t look away. it was as if the room had ceased to exist around him—there were no voices, just the sound of your laughter and the light that shimmered around you.

he knew it was futile to hold on to any of it, but for as long as he could, he would keep you in his line of sight, hoping you wouldn’t slip away again, like you always did.

as the music reached its final notes, remmick's gaze never left you. he watched as you slipped gracefully from the arms of your partner, your presence like a flicker of light lost among the throngs of well-dressed nobles. the man—his face now blurred by the growing distance between them—seemed unaware of the way you had subtly detached yourself, drifting into the crowd of silks and velvets, where the shadows danced just as intricately as the guests.

remmick felt an inexplicable urgency seize him. his fingers grazed the princess’s hand, and with a smooth smile, he pressed his lips to her delicate knuckles in a gesture that seemed far more rehearsed than genuine. “my apologies, princess,” he murmured, the words slow and languid, “but i’ve promised myself a moment alone. something about cutting the cake, you know? a royal tradition, i suppose.”

she blinked, clearly satisfied by the excuse, her smile warm and unsuspecting. “of course, prince remmick. go enjoy your cake.”

and with that, she was lost to the crowd of swirling dancers, her attention already diverted. remmick didn’t waste a second more. he gave her a lazy bow and watched her retreat into the gilded glamour of the ballroom. then, with a fluid, practiced motion, he slipped into the labyrinth of bodies around him, the rich fabric of coats and gowns folding into a soft blur of color.

he didn’t care about the cake. he didn’t care about any of it. all that mattered was finding you again before you vanished into the shadows once more. his heart pounded as his feet carried him swiftly through the crowd, his eyes darting over the sea of faces, seeking that unmistakable glow that had haunted him for centuries.

there. between the columns of the balcony, under the flickering candlelight. your silhouette, radiant even in the midst of so many others, a beacon amidst the chaos. remmick’s pulse quickened, a feeling—half desire, half something darker—stirring deep in his chest.

“long time, no see…” you breathe, your voice soft as you stand at the edge of the courtyard, staring out into the cool night. the moonlight catches the edge of your dress, making it shimmer in a way that feels almost too ethereal. “remmick.”

he swallows, his throat dry, and his eyes track the curve of your silhouette in the dim light. there’s something about the way the dress clings to you tonight—it suits you better than anything he’s seen you wear before. he can’t help but notice, even in the midst of everything else, how striking you are, even when you're so distant.

“yeah…” he hums, his voice rougher than he intends. “how long’s it been?”

you don’t turn to face him, but he knows you’re listening. “ah, five hundred years. it was quite the break from your presence,” he adds, with a hint of bitterness that slips from his lips before he can stop it.

you give a small nod, the movement subtle, but it feels like you’re acknowledging something deeper, something unsaid. your gaze doesn’t waver from the distant horizon, the city lights far below barely flickering. “it was quite the goodbye. if i remember correctly, you left me to die.”

remmick laughs, a hollow, cold sound that doesn’t reach his eyes. “you remember correct. i’m quite fond of that memory, actually.” the words fall out like a joke, but the edge to his tone betrays him. there’s something about it that feels unfinished, unsaid.

you remain silent for a moment, your eyes still lost in the night. then, slowly, your head falls into your hand, your fingers pressing lightly against your temple as if to hold back something that could break through. remmick watches you, his smile fading, the silence stretching between them.

he doesn’t say anything more, because he knows—no words would make this any less complicated.

so, he let’s you speak first.

“why did you leave me like that?” your voice is quiet, but it cuts clean through the space between you. you still don’t turn to face him, your figure leaning into the cold stone railing like it might offer some kind of answer he won’t give. the moonlight brushes your skin like a veil, softening the tension in your shoulders, but remmick can still see it—the weight you carry.

“i got quite the scolding after that,” you add, almost like an afterthought. “that was your… one hundred and fifty-sixth second chance.”

the number hangs heavy in the air. remmick shifts behind you, a half-sigh caught in his throat. he wasn’t keeping count—but of course you were. of course you would remember every time he failed to live up to whatever cosmic expectation you held over him.

you don’t sound angry. not really. just… tired. like the years haven’t worn you down, but his choices have.

“glad to know someone’s keeping count,” remmick mutters, easing in beside you. the stone railing presses into his spine as he leans back, angling his body just enough to catch a glimpse of your face in the moonlight.

your eyes drift to his—slow, reluctant—and for a moment, something catches in his chest. if he still breathed, it would’ve hitched, tight and sharp. you weren’t supposed to look like this.

he’d seen your face in every imaginable light: serene, righteous, unreadable. you always wore that same celestial calm like armor. but now… now you just look exhausted. not weary in the way mortals age and sag with time—but a deeper sadness, old and quiet, like the fading echo of a hymn long forgotten.

remmick isn’t sure what unsettles him more: the silence between you, or the way you won’t quite meet his gaze.

he swallows when you don’t respond, the silence stretching longer than he expects. so he tries again, voice lower this time, almost unsure, “if i’m on my one hundred and fifty-seventh chance… why didn’t you give up ages ago?”

you still don’t answer, and that unsettles him more than any sharp retort would have.

he shifts beside you, the corner of his mouth twitching in a crooked attempt at a smile. “seriously. you should probably reevaluate your standards after that.”

it’s meant to be a joke, light enough to pull you from whatever place your mind’s wandered to—but it lands heavy, as if even he knows it doesn’t quite cover the question he’s really asking.

after a long, deathly silence, you finally lift your head and meet his eyes. there’s no lightness in your expression—just that same quiet, ancient sorrow that’s lingered beneath your skin for centuries.

“do you want to know what i am?” you ask, voice soft but unwavering. “i am sure you have been wondering for a while.”

remmick lets out a dry chuckle, one corner of his mouth curling up. “you’re right about that,” he says, eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for the answer there.

“i am an angel of the lord,” you say, finally standing upright, your voice calm, absolute. “i was sent down to watch you—because god knew you would be trouble. that you would walk on both sides of the line between chaos and order.”

remmick stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. his eyes narrow, brows knit in disbelief, but somewhere beneath the confusion, it starts to make a horrible sort of sense.

“an angel?” he mutters, almost to himself. “an actual angel’s been breathing down my neck this whole time?”

he lets out a bitter laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face. “no wonder i couldn’t stand you.”

“you say that in past tense,” you note, stepping toward him, “it could not be that you havee grown fond of me, could it?”

remmick smirks, “it could be.”

“you are angry. i have seen it,” you say quietly, stepping down from the balcony into the courtyard, your voice almost drowned by the hush of the wind through the hedges. you gesture for him to follow, and after a beat, he does—reluctantly, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable.

you walk side by side beneath the open sky, your glow washing over the stone path, brighter than the moonlight itself.

“when everything first happened—when the celts came, preaching christianity,” you begin, eyes forward, “it was not meant to be violent. but vikings... they are unpredictable, as you know. they brought fire to what should have been light.”

remmick stays quiet, glancing sidelong at you.

“god wanted someone to keep a close eye on you,” you continue. “he saw your heart. the way you could bend the world. not out of malice—but defiance. if left to your own instincts, you would unravel the threads of his design.”

you look at him then, calm, steady. “so, he sent me.”

remmick stops in his tracks, brow furrowed. “i’m sensing a but,” he mutters, voice dry. “there’s always a but.”

“but,” you say, and the word hangs in the air like judgment, “after a while, he realized you could not be saved. not in the way he intended. salvation was never going to come easy for you.”

remmick stiffens under your gaze, caught in the weight of your eyes—ancient, unwavering. he doesn’t need you to say it. he knows exactly when that shift happened. the moment everything inside him twisted beyond repair.

you step closer, your voice softer now, though no less resolute. “it took me five hundred years to convince him to let me walk the earth again… to stay in your shadow. because even if you could not be redeemed, you still needed watching. without guidance, you would leave only wreckage behind.”

remmick clenches his jaw, but doesn’t look away.

“i thought,” you add, quieter, more human somehow, “if i told you the truth this time… maybe you would finally be open. maybe you would stop running long enough to let something reach you.”

the silence that follows is thick with everything unsaid.

“you seriously believe i can change?” remmick asks, his voice low, edged with disbelief.

you don’t nod. instead, you shake your head slowly and keep walking, the gravel beneath your feet crunching softly beneath your light steps.

“no,” you say. “you cannot change what you are. that isn’t the point.”

your voice is calm, measured, not cruel—just certain.

“what drives you is not redemption,” you continue, “it is motive. it has always been motive. family… yes? connection. people who see you. who understand you. who can stand to be near you without fear.”

you glance at him, eyes catching the dim moonlight. “that is what keeps you from falling completely.”

your voice fades as you round the edge of a hedge, soft as mist, leaving remmick behind for a moment in the quiet. he blinks, then stumbles forward, hurrying to catch up, boots crunching against the earth. there’s something in the way you move—slow, graceful, unbothered—that makes him wonder if you see him more clearly than he’s ever let on.

he walks beside you in silence for a beat, eyes narrowed in thought. then, low and uncertain, he asks,

“why’ve i been given another chance?”

the words feel foreign in his mouth, like they don’t quite belong to him.

“partly because i begged for it,” you admit, “but also because the fates favour you.”

remmick raises a brow, “favour me?”

you nod, slow and deliberate.

“they do,” you say, voice like distant thunder softened by the night. “you have been offered two paths. one carved from selfishness, where every step takes you closer to your own undoing. and the other…”

your eyes lift to the stars, catching their faint shimmer.

“the other is compassion. it asks more of you, but it gives something in return—quiet, contentment, maybe even joy. and one day, if you choose it, you might find yourself watching the sunrise not with dread, but with purpose.”

“so you know how i go out?” remmick asks and you nod, confirming his assumption. he wants to bombard you with questions but you hold your hand up, “we should head back.”

he listens without a protest.

before you part with him at the balcony entrance, you offer him some words of advice, “do not take my words lightly, think about your actions and do not rely on me to tell you what to do.”

remmick watches you as you glide through the crowd, mingling effortlessly with the nobility, your light drawing them in like moths to a flame. it’s a scene so far removed from him—so foreign—that the ache he had felt earlier surges back, tight and gnawing at his insides. it pulls at him, twisting his stomach in ways that leave him feeling hollow, desperate.

he tries to shake it off, but the hunger claws at him, demanding attention. he stumbles away from his place, moving quickly through the high, echoing halls of the palace. the walls, steeped in rich history, stretch endlessly before him, their reflection of his shadow twisted and distorted as he moves through them, a ghost within his own skin.

the overwhelming scent of life all around him hits like a wave, drowning his senses. the guests, oblivious, stand in clusters, their warmth and the steady pulse of their blood flooding his senses. it's all he can focus on now. the desire to feed is primal, insistent. there’s no escaping it, no distraction from it. not when the banquet is brimming with potential prey.

at the end of the hall, a figure catches his eye. the princess, the one he danced with earlier, stands alone for a moment, separated from the throngs. the hunger takes over before he can stop himself, and he jogs toward her, the rhythm of his steps faster than he intends.

“your highness,” he greets, bowing low, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. she smiles, a demure expression. she asks him about the cake, her voice light and innocent. he tells her, with a playful tone, how divine it was—how it tasted like nothing he had ever known.

she seems to believe him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, but her guard is down, naive to the danger she’s unwittingly stepped into. with the fluid ease of someone accustomed to getting what he wants, remmick guides her away from the crowd, leading her into a quiet, dimly lit chamber.

the door closes softly behind them.

he doesn’t waste time. with a practiced movement, he presses her against the cold wall, his fangs sinking deep into her neck. the warmth of her blood fills his senses, and the ache, that terrible, gnawing ache, begins to fade with each drawn breath. he feeds greedily, thirstily, until there’s nothing left to take.

when it’s over, the room is silent, save for the faint echo of his own breath. her body slumps in his arms, lifeless, pale. he lets her fall to the floor, her blood staining the carpet beneath her.

remmick stands over her for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he surveys the damage. a small flicker of something—guilt, maybe? regret?—crosses his mind, but it’s fleeting.

he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his hunger sated, but the emptiness inside remains. the cycle repeats. it always does.

he’s not going to change.

not long after that night, remmick fled paris—your footsteps trailing his despite his growing resentment. he never lingered anywhere for long, slipping through cities like smoke through fingers. yet, somehow, you always followed. unwillingly bound or stubbornly tethered, you were there.

he dragged you through the winding streets of spain, the frostbitten stretches of russia, the misty peaks of the balkans. he even wandered through the dense, humming cities of asia for a time, lost in a sea of languages and lanternlight.

but no matter how far he roamed, his footsteps always led him back to ireland. something about the damp green hills, the crash of waves against the cliffs, the ache of memory in the stone—his heart answered to it like a song half-remembered. it was the one place that still felt like his. or at least, where the ghosts felt familiar.

you’d washed up on the english channel in 1888, clothes heavy with salt and divinity, and drifted through london’s smoke-stained streets before finally making your way toward ireland. but your journey was delayed—four months, to be exact—by a detour you hadn’t planned.

a pitstop, as remmick called it.

he confessed with a twisted grin that he’d developed a taste for the blood of london’s street women. easy prey, he said. no one missed them, and no one looked too hard when they vanished. they came willingly, and their fear made their blood taste as sweet as it was tangy, he added, and left quietly.

you spoke to him as you always did—with the calm patience of eternity. you reminded him of light, of the path laid by the divine, of mercy, and restraint. you quoted scripture, invoked parables, and offered him alternatives. but he only scoffed, sharp-eyed and smirking.

“nothing beats an easy target,” he muttered once, licking the blood from his fingers as if it were honey.

and that was when you realized: some pitstops aren’t delays. they’re tests.

remmick came home that final night drenched in blood, the crimson soaking through his shirt and shining beneath your glow like oil on water. you didn’t ask where he’d been. you already knew. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and flung the bloodied fabric into a dark corner of the hostel you’d both occupied for months. you didn’t meet his eyes. instead, you recited, quiet and firm,

“violence shall no more be heard in your land, devastation or destruction within your borders; you shall call your walls salvation, and your gates praise.”

remmick snarled at the sound of scripture, his lip curling as if the words burned him, “i told you to quit spewing that holy bullshit around me, angel.”

he said your title like a curse, like something he’d spit into the dirt.

still, you smiled—an expression that almost reached your eyes, though it never truly did.

“you live in a world built from devastation and oppression,” you said gently, stepping closer, “but the real prison, vampire, is the one in your own mind.”

remmick, in a sudden fury, swept a plate of fine china off the rickety wooden table. it sailed past you and shattered against the headboard of your borrowed bed, shards of porcelain raining down like splinters of his frustration.

“ain’t nothin’ wrong with my mind,” he barked, chest heaving. “i’m livin’ off what i know. what i am!”

your frown deepened. the glow around you dimmed, like a flame shying from wind.

“rough night?” you asked softly.

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face, smearing blood across his jaw.

“nearly got caught,” he muttered. “some fella interrupted my meal.”

you nodded slowly, walking toward the mess he’d made, stepping carefully over broken china.

“you have built quite the reputation for yourself,” you said. “jack the ripper, they are calling you now.”

remmick scoffed, holding up a hand as if to physically reject the accusation.

“that ain’t me,” he said. “there’s a difference. he—he guts ‘em. rips ‘em open like game. i just puncture the neck, nice and neat. drain ’em sideways, clean as i can. i got some standards.”

your eyes narrowed. “do you?”

“for my kind, i do,” remmick mutters, casting you a sidelong glance as he sinks onto the edge of the bed. the frame creaks beneath his weight.

he feels it again—that phantom pump, the ghost of a heartbeat that only stirs when you’re near. if blood still moved through his veins, it might’ve rushed to his face, warmed his skin. instead, he remains pale, a static figure carved in cold ash and shadow.

you don’t move. you stand there, still as a monument, graceful and ethereal. divine. everything about you—your poise, your silence, even the way the light bends to wrap around you—makes his chest ache with something unfamiliar. something like longing.

your glow brushes his skin like the edge of sunlight, and in that moment, he swears he can feel your heart. or maybe it’s his own, trying to remember how to beat. he shakes his head, breaking the moment like glass.

“i’m leaving tonight,” he says, voice flat. final.

you just watch him—silent, as always—as he picks up his old acoustic guitar. it fits in his hands like it was always meant to be there, an extension of him. he’s always had a gift for music. even in the earliest years, before he knew what he was, he’d whistle back at the birds when they sang at sunrise, tap rhythms into the bones of tables, the sides of carriages, the hollow of his own chest. it was instinct. but once he found the guitar, it all came together.

remmick doesn’t look at you as he starts to play, but you can see his shoulders ease. his fingers move fluidly over the strings, coaxing out a tune that feels older than this life. you pull out a chair and sit, the wood creaking softly beneath you. no words pass between you. for once, there’s no biting sarcasm or divine reprimands. just the melody, soft and unhurried.

he plays like it’s the only honest language he’s fluent in. and you listen, like it’s the only time you truly hear him. it's brief, but in that moment, there’s peace.

remmick knows it, you know it. you’ll follow him wherever he goes.

remmick stayed in ireland for three decades, tucked away in green hills and rain-soaked stone villages. of course, you were there—always there. disappearing for weeks, months even, only to reappear when he least expected it, glowing like a bad omen he couldn’t shake.

then came 1921. something called to him—a sound, delicate and haunting. a woman playing an instrument so beautiful it made his dead heart ache. he boarded a ship of irish immigrants bound for boston, chasing the echo of her melody. he claimed he wanted to reconnect with his roots, to find the family he’d left behind. the truth was more selfish.

the voyage was a disaster.

desperate to reclaim what he thought he’d lost—music, love, belonging—remmick tried to turn them all. everyone on board: children, parents, the elderly. but vampirism is no gift, and none of them survived the transformation. blood ran like wine below deck, and the woman with the gifted hands? lost to the chaos. he never even learned her name.

when the ship docked three days later, reeking of death and silence, he slipped off unnoticed. another new instrument slung over his shoulder like a trophy. the only thing he managed to save.

but you? you were gone.

no glow in the shadows.

no soft footsteps trailing behind him.

for once, he was truly alone.

the last time he saw you—really saw you—was at a juke joint deep in the mississippi delta, about twenty years later.

he’d been lingering just outside the shack, half-shrouded in trees and night, the thrum of blues rolling out of the open door like the sweet aroma of pie out a window. his mouth was wet, glistening—thick ropes of blood and spit clung to his lips, soaked into the collar of his shirt, cooling on his skin.

he was a mess. a predator fresh from the hunt.

but even in that haze, he felt it. that pull. that warmth.

you.

your light slipped through the trees before you did, soft and steady, brighter than the porch lamps and louder than the music.

he didn’t need to feel warmth anymore to know it was you.

he’d always know.

"i should be more surprised that you’re here," remmick groaned, not bothering to turn around. he didn’t need to see your face to know what expression you wore—he could picture it perfectly: the sharp furrow of your brow, the disappointment etched into every line.

he leaned against a tree, dragging a bloodied sleeve across his mouth.

"why now?" he muttered. "gonna try and talk me down again? throw a bible verse at me like it’s some kind of holy water? think i’m gonna suddenly grow a conscience 'cause you showed up glowing?"

his voice was tired, bitter.

"you always show up when i’m at my worst. like clockwork."

“you are straying from your righteous path,” you say, your face unreadable but your voice heavy with sorrow. “are you sure you want to do this?”

remmick waves a dismissive hand, “i’m sure.”

you shake your head slowly. “you did not heed my warning.”

he arches a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “you warn me all the time. how’m i s’pposed to know which one?”

he knows exactly which warning you mean. but remmick aims not just for the best—he strives for something beyond that. his selfish path feels carved into stone, unchangeable. you’ve spoken of another way, a second path meant to offer hope. but he never entertained that hope. not once.

“i know what you think i do not know,” you begin, your voice steady, eyes fixed on the back of his head, “there is more for you, if only you listen to my age-old warning.”

remmick clicks his tongue in frustration, something sharp and bitter rising in his chest.

you continue, voice gentle but firm,

“life is beautiful, remmick—whether you see it or not. and i know you are unable to, not anymore. you have grown bitter, i have watched it happen, piece by piece. but it does not have to stay that way.”

your eyes focus on his form, steady and unwavering.

“you still have time. you can make peace with them, with yourself. you can reclaim what you have lost. not everything is beyond reach.”

you pause, searching for something in his body language—anything.

“do not do this. do not spill the blood of good people just because you have forgotten what goodness looks like.”

your calmness feels like mockery. he snaps—like a wire pulled too tight—spinning around so fast it startles you.

“you can’t seriously expect me to listen to anything you have to say,” he growls, eyes burning, “not after you vanished for twenty damn years just because you finally saw what i was capable of! how are you supposed to be my guardian angel when you’re so unbelievably shit at your job?”

you think your heart breaks—and remmick thinks he hears it. not a dramatic crack, but something quieter, crueler. like dry glass splintering under pressure.

his eyes flash a deep, dangerous red. for a moment, it looks like he’s considering it—really considering tearing into something holy.

he’d been cruel before, callous beyond belief. but something about tonight lands differently.

you don’t shout, you don’t plead, you don’t fall apart.

instead, just a few tears slide down your cheeks, slow and soundless.

and that’s what gets him.

he never thought he’d see the day an angel would cry. from what he knew, you were carved from calm, built to endure without cracking.

but now, standing under the weak light of a crooked moon, he sees it. sees you.

not a symbol, not a mission. just someone deeply, utterly tired.

you don’t let him linger in your sorrow. as soon as you feel the tears, you turn away—too proud to let him see what he’s done. too divine to shatter completely in front of him.

your wings unfurl—slow, deliberate, and unlike anything he’s ever seen. vast and radiant, feathers pure as untouched snow, glowing faintly with a divinity that makes the dark around him feel smaller, weaker. they catch the breeze like sails on a departing ship.

remmick freezes. not because he’s scared, but because he understands.

this is it.

you’re leaving.

and this time, you won’t come back.

a part of him, the part still clinging to something human, wants to call out. wants to say don’t.

but he doesn’t.

he stays silent, hands clenched at his sides, jaw tight as he watches with empty eyes.

you offer him one last verse—your final tether, a hope you quietly beg he'll remember.

“judge not, that ye be not judged. for with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.”

your voice echoes long after your wings do.

with a single, mighty flap, the earth stirs beneath you. dust kicks up, grass bends, and then—

you’re gone.

all that remains is the soft imprint of your departure, a shallow crater in the earth where heaven once touched down.

his heart no longer beats in faux rhythm.

and when the sun finally rises, catching him where the shadows fail, remmick doesn’t flinch. doesn’t snarl or thrash or claw at the light like some cornered beast. he doesn’t beg, doesn’t run.

he just stares.

the light crawls across his skin, golden and relentless, and for the first time in one thousand, three hundred and eighty-five years, he lets it. he watches the sunrise not with fear or hatred, but with something else—something closer to awe.

his inhuman eyes brim with tears, not from pain, but from peace.

he knows you’re near. he can feel it. after all this time, he can still sense the pull of your presence like gravity. maybe you’re watching the same sunrise from some rooftop or ruin, silently praying for what’s left of him.

and maybe—just maybe—he’s praying too.

he imagines his ancestors waiting for him, the ones he lost to time and blood and tragedy, their arms open and music playing. but more than anything, he hopes you're there too.

and as the fire takes him, a slow, searing bloom that begins at his chest and spreads outward like a star going nova, he closes his eyes.

not in fear.

but in surrender.

in peace.

and he smiles.

you stand over the scorch-marked earth where remmick had burned. there’s no trace left of him—no body, no ash, just the faint smell of smoke clinging to the morning air and a body of water that moved indifferently as if remmick was never there.

you do not cry.

you knew this ending. had seen it coming centuries ago.

but still, your chest aches in a way that feels foreign. not divine. not righteous. just… human.

quietly, you kneel by the edge of a shallow stream, its waters catching the soft gold of the rising sun. your hand, steady and sacred, slips beneath the surface. it doesn’t take long. the chain finds you, just like he always did.

you pull it from the water—his gold chain, warm despite the cold stream, still whole.

your fingers trace its pattern, each link familiar, worn from centuries of wear.

you smile. not wide. not bright. but soft. pained. knowing.

“goodbye, old friend,” you whisper.

the wind stirs the trees behind you, and the morning continues.

you would not see his soul in the holy place.

not because he was born into darkness—he wasn’t. not because he was forced to live as he did—though that part was true.

but because remmick’s choices stretched far beyond instinct, beyond what was natural. he had time. he had chances. and every time, he chose wrong. knowingly, willfully.

and heaven does not make room for those who choose to burn.

#remmick x reader #sinners 2025 #remmick sinners #althea writes #remmick #jack o'connell #mill3rd

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jinx-xxed · 1 month ago

Text

Silver Chains

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; I’ve already watched Sinners 4 times and became obsessed so I fear it’s necessary for me to write a fic for Remmick at least once 🤕 this is my first time writing vampires and blood like this so please forgive me if it sucks 🙏 also if I’ve written anything in relation to the movie incorrectly please tell me so I can fix it! I have some other ideas brewing that I might write as well so I hope you enjoy :P!

Summary; A hunt gone awry leaves you caught by vampire hunters with the threat of the sun looming over you.

Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, vampire reader, vampirism, vampire hunters, blood and injury, death, feral behavior, you almost die, protective/possessive Remmick, very dependent relationship, bloodsucking, blood eating as kink, a lot of drool, he comes with it what can I say, feeding off Remmick, putting those claws and teeth to good use, eating out, fingering, piv sex, multiple orgasms, little bit of aftercare, soft Remmick

Wc; 7.2k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

The stench of blood assaults your nose.

It’s not the tantalizing, mouth-watering scent of someone else’s, no, it’s your own. It smells all sorts of wrong, impure and old with decay only to a thing like you.

Your blood runs down your skin in rivulets, staining it a deep, shiny red. Droplets fling from your body as you thrash and jerk against the heavy, silver chains that bind you to a thick and sturdy tree. The pain of the bark digging into your back is nothing compared to the agony of the chains burning your flesh away, steam rising from your injuries like you’d been placed on burning coals. It makes you wild, desperate to get away but with nowhere to go.

There’s no chance of you escaping the chains that sit against your neck, arms, waist, and legs in sets of two, even despite your struggling and the way you try to launch yourself from the tree with the slight leeway you have with your feet. Your unnerving eyes gleam in the moonlight, wide and frantic with fear, your bloodstained, jagged teeth showing in your open mouth. You feel as far from human as you possibly could be, snarling like an animal and chained just like one too.

The men watching you seem to think the same thing.

There’s five of them, two sit on their horses while the other three steadily pace the small clearing they have you in. God damn vampire hunters, armed to the teeth with everything they need to kill the likes of you. Silver bullets, silver chains, garlic and holy water, wooden stakes on their belts. It’s like they’re surrounded by a bubble of protection that you can’t penetrate, that’ll hurt you if they get too close—which isn’t that far off.

You curse yourself over and over. You and Remmick made damn sure to stay away from Choctaw land and yet here you are, caught and beaten. This is a new type of hunter, one you’d never had the misfortune of coming across before. They hunt in the dead of night, they enjoy watching you thrash and suffer, and their methods are cruel, meant to draw out your punishment.

You’ve never heard or seen a lick of them prior to tonight when you’d been ambushed and chased through the woods.

A gunshot had pierced your shoulder, one that brought more pain than your typical lead bullet. It had left you stumbling with a choked yell, steam rising from the hole in your shoulder blade. Then you’d heard the rustling in the underbrush, the hoots and hollers of men with a different kind of bloodlust than what you’re used to. Oh you’d ran, you’d ran as fast as your legs could carry you through the rough terrain of the forest, clearing fallen logs and scraping your bare arms on branches and thorns.

They’d caught you with another bullet to your thigh and a rope around your legs, pulling snug as soon as you tried to take another step and sending you thudding onto the hard ground. They’d wrapped you in silver soon after, seemingly experts on how to maneuver around you to avoid your snapping teeth and deadly nails. The first touch of the silver made your skin bubble and burn, a scream tearing out of your throat against your will. They’d dragged you crying for you don’t know how long behind their horses, all the way to the edge of the forest that overlooks a field that’s flat for as far as the eye can see.

You don’t know where they came from, they’re clearly unrelated to any other group or tribe of hunters, instead being just a gaggle of men who have dedicated their lives to eradicating yours. The history of your kind isn’t widely known, isn’t readily available to the public, so in your pain-addled brain you still wonder where they heard your tales, still wonder what else you might have to worry about if the knowledge is growing.

Your head thumps back, your breath coming ragged through your lungs. You shut your eyes tight for just a moment, trying to force away any more tears and clear your head. You haven’t felt pain like this in a long, long time, especially because Remmick has always been there to keep an eye on you, to keep you out of harms way. But not this time, not when you strayed too far and got too distracted to be vigilant about your surroundings. You’d been stupid and you know that, so part of you thinks you deserve this.

“Just stake me and be done.” You groan, ultimately defeated as the silver chains bite through your skin to the bone. It’s not like you want to die necessarily, you just want to be released from your own agony. You hate the way they’re toying with you, watching like wolves as you writhe and bleed.

One man shakes his head, his face shadowed by the cowboy hat he wears. “Nah, we like to watch y’all burn.” He looks to his watch and then up at the sky. “Ain’t gon’ be much longer now.”

You can’t help looking as well, your eyes finding the ever lightening night sky. The stars have been chased away, the moon laying itself to rest on the other side of the earth. You can feel the threat of the sun as the air steadily warms, as time tick, tick, ticks away. If you had to guess, you have about thirty minutes left at most before yellow rays peak over the horizon line.

You force a swallow down your torn throat, your breathing stutters as panic kicks up in your chest. You figure seeing the sun in your final moments won’t be the worst thing, it has been seven years after all, but nobody wants to be burned alive. You don’t want to feel your skin cook and be engulfed by flames, you don’t want your last memory to be pain. Tears fall down your bloodstained cheeks without you realizing, dripping to the forest floor as your head hangs.

Then there’s a rustle in the trees beyond that makes your attention snap back up. That’s when you sense it, when the tiny hairs on the back of your neck rise. It’s like a blanket of eerie quiet was laid over the clearing, quieting any crickets or frogs or birds and leaving just the whispers of an old wind through the trees. There’s a flash of red, the familiar smell of ancient blood and earth hitting your nostrils. It’s an instant comfort.

Your own reaction has caused the hunters to become alert, clutching their guns a little tighter and looking into the trees. They don’t even realize what’s happening before the screams start.

The first man goes down—the first is always the easiest. The horses startle in turn, rearing up with loud, shrill whinnies that make the men on their backs shout. One falls off his beast while the other gets dragged from the saddle with a yell. The horses shake their heads and shriek before crashing into the forest, leaving their riders behind to get their throats torn open.

You could sob in relief at seeing Remmick, his claws extended and his fangs bared. He looks feral, his hair wild and his eyes wide and gleaming bright red. Blood coats his chin and his neck, staining the collar of his button up as he rips into his victims as messily as he pleases. The two men left got enough of their senses to try and fire their guns, to use the weapons they so carefully prepared. One wields a wooden stake and runs at Remmick who grabs the man’s wrists to prevent the stake from being buried into his heart.

They grapple briefly before the man is being slammed onto the ground with a terrifying ease, something within his body cracking. Claws are raked across his neck in a quick slash, urgency spurred by the cock of a gun, the sound of the shot being fired making you flinch as it rings through the clearing. It misses its target by just a hair and it’s unable to reload fast enough to prevent Remmick from jumping on the final hunter. The man goes down with a choked scream and you hear the familiar sounds of flesh being devoured and blood being drained. There’s only a sickly silence that follows.

All of the spilled blood has thick strings of drool dripping from the corners of your mouth, your hunger flaring up from the lack of food you’d gotten tonight and the exhaustion of struggling against the hunters. You lean forward instinctively, desperate for a taste, before the silver chains binding your body remind you of where you are. You jolt back with a whimper, pain biting into you tenfold.

Remmick’s head snaps up, those sinister red eyes finding you as the bloodlust and blind rage fades, as he seems to remember you. He’s up in an instant, hurrying over and flinching away with a snarl when he realizes what’s wrapped around your body. “Shit.” He spits angrily, doing it again when he looks to the horizon and sees the slow infiltration of the oranges and yellows of morning into the purples and blues of night. Ten minutes left.

“Rem- Remmick- please, please get me out- it hurts, Remmick, please.” You beg, your babbling words warbling with pain and emotion. You don’t want to be left behind, not again, not by him. It’d hurt more than the searing kiss of the sun.

“I ain’t leavin’ you, darlin’.” He says with finality through gritted teeth, even as every instinctual thing inside him whispers to leave you here to die, to save himself and let you be engulfed in the flames of your mistake. He circles behind you, taking a deep breath before beginning to tug at the chains, hissing as they burn the calloused skin on his hands. Despite the pain, they steadily come undone, dropping to the ground around you so you can finally take in a gasping breath.

“I told you to stay with me, didn’t I? Would it kill ya to listen for once?” Remmick snaps as he undoes the last of the chains around your legs, leaving you to stumble forward. You’re charred and covered in wounds, but now your body can finally begin to regenerate. You look a mess and you feel like one too, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you struggle just to stay standing.

Before you can even get out an apology, he’s grabbing your wrist and tugging you with him. His own blood smears on your skin, the smell threatening to cloud your mind. “C’mon, or else we’ll both be fried.” His tone is low and angry and focused, telling you to save whatever you need to say for later.

You eagerly follow him, doing your best to keep up as you both run to outrace the rising warmth of morning. Panic hangs heavy around you, knowing how quickly those final minutes tick by, feeling the heat licking at your heels. Your skin threatens to begin sizzling again, sweat gleaming on your forms.

But by the grace of some cursed god, it turns out the hunters had dragged you not too far from where you and Remmick have made your home in a tiny little house hidden in the trees. It’s temporary, of course, and you’ll no doubt be moving again after tonight, but in the moment it’s like finding a blessed sanctuary in the midst of damnation. You both fly up the porch steps and burst into your home just as the sun clears the horizon line, its beams filtering through the trees while you slam the door in its face.

You fall to your knees instantly, panting and heaving like a dog as your deep injuries throb and ooze. Your whole body is shaking, weak from a pain and hunger you haven’t experienced before. You can feel the ache in your teeth, the drool that still runs down your chin despite how many times you’ve wiped it away.

Remmick is less fazed, simply shrugging off his sweat and blood soaked button up and tossing it aside, his suspenders falling loose around his hips and leaving him in his once white tank. The thin gold chain around his neck glints in the dim lighting, a twin to the gold band on his ring finger. He’s cut it close enough times in his long past that he’s familiar with the sensation of the sun at his back, but he’s been more careful with you. He makes sure to have you both fed and back with time to spare, but everything seemed to go wrong tonight. Though, he supposes the scare was probably good for you. Teach you not to wander off again.

He looks idly at his hands, at the blisters that are already beginning to fade. He’s always healed pretty fast, while you on the other hand aren’t as fortunate. The scent of your blood fills his nose, fills the room of the house. You’re both lucky his hunger was satiated earlier, otherwise he’d be on you like a leech. Even after he turned you, your blood stayed just as mouthwatering, just as delicious to something twisted inside of him. It proved to him that you were something different, something he’d been searching for without really knowing it.

“Are you upset with me?” You sniffle, quite pathetic really. But it’s been a long while since you’ve felt this much shame and embarrassment, and your body doesn’t quite know what to do with it besides force it out through tears.

Remmick stands in silence with his thoughts for a moment more before he sighs, defeated. “I ain’t angry with ya, sugar. Just worried, is all.” He turns, his steps marked by the too-soft thud of boots against hardwood. You see the toes of his shoes in your vision, but you still can’t make yourself lift your head, to look at him—so he does it for you. He crouches down, taking your face in his hand, making you meet his eyes. “Fuck, darlin’, they almost killed you.”

You can see the concern etched onto his eternally young face, the memory of seeing you chained in silver and presented like a sacrifice to the morning sun. You can’t even begin to understand the fear he’d felt; hearing all the commotion far off in the woods, hearing your screams and hoping he ran fast enough to reach you. He could smell the way your blood poured from your body, the way it burned under your confines. He’d sensed your terror too, your emotions sitting just behind his own like a second pair, locked together by a bond too ancient to be understood. You’d called out to him without your voice and he answered without a second thought.

Oh, how he’d raged seeing you against that tree, begging your captors for a quick death. Your face was covered in tears and blood, you’d looked to the horizon with a mixture of acceptance and panic, something he’s seen plenty of times before. He never should have let it happen, should have known to keep you closer, should have known you were still too young into this and got too excited over fresh meat. Hell, he didn’t even know how you managed to sneak off but he’d looked away for one damn minute and then you were gone. He’d been a fool to trust that you’d come back before a gunshot rang through the forest.

Killing those men was one of the easier things he’s done. Remmick barely even registered their deaths, the only thought in his mind being eliminating any threats to you and getting some food out of it as well. Their wards and stakes and silver bullets did nothing to deter him, they were weak and weightless—the opposite of the other hunters he’s come across, the ones with real strength. No, those men were new and ultimately inexperienced, and yet still stupidly dangerous.

He’d worry about them later. They’re dead and gone while you’re still bleeding and sniffling in front of him.

You lean into his touch like a cat, desperate for comfort. “Yer starvin’, ain’t ‘cha?” He murmurs, running his thumb along your cheek. He can see it clear as day in your gleaming eyes, the drool that won’t stop, and the way your wounds are refusing to close because you don’t have enough sustenance. You nod sadly, your head bowed while tears of frustration burn behind your eyelids. Remmick is quick to wipe them away. “Shh, don’t cry, sugar. You’ll be alright. You got food right here.”

You look at him with confusion before seeing the way he’s presented his thick forearm to you, underside up. Your eyes widen and you almost jump immediately at the opportunity, your teeth aching painfully and hunger howling within you. He nods his head towards his arm. “Go on, darlin’. You know I wouldn’t let ya go hungry.”

You sit up, acting on autopilot as you grip his arm in both of your hands, your drool dripping onto his skin before your teeth sink in. Blood immediately comes to the surface of the puncture wounds, and you take every drop you’re offered. The iron-sweet tang on your tongue instantly brings out your hunger tenfold, your fangs digging even deeper into the soft skin. Remmick makes a low noise, something between a groan and a grunt, watching with satisfaction as you take from him.

It’s rare when he lets you do this. Typically there’s enough food for the both of you, enough to keep you happily satiated until the next time that primordial hunger comes knocking. But sometimes there’s nights when the hunt fails, nights like tonight when the need to feast is bad enough to kill you if it’s left too long, when you need to rely on your last resort. However, no matter what, Remmick will never let his lady go hungry.

The age of Remmick’s blood blooms in your mouth, rich with an aftertaste of ancient iron and old, hidden stories. Only people like you would know how much you can learn from someone’s blood, from the life force of their body. The whispers of the lives they led running along your tongue as you feast, the emotions they held within hopes and dreams. It’s fascinating, and it was something Remmick was eager to show you when you were first turned, teaching you the crimson stained wonders of being what he is.

You relish the feeling of his blood flowing through you, working to heal the wounds littering your body. His other hand rests firmly on the back of your neck, his fingers occasionally squeezing and letting you feel the pricks of his claws that have begun to slide from their sheaths. He keeps you there, encouraging you to take and take and take.

You eventually pull back, twisting out of his hold on you and releasing his bloody arm with a pop. Your breath comes as pants through your open mouth, blood staining your lips and teeth, the gleam having returned to your eyes. Your bites have always been cleaner than Remmick’s, less gruesome and destructive, leaving his forearm with tiny wounds that will heal quickly. The sight of red beading from them still makes you salivate but it’s easier to reel yourself in now, dragging your hunger back by a leash around its neck to keep it from going rabid. It allows your fangs and claws to be more willing to retract, your mind no longer running in restless, desperate circles around the concept of food.

You notice the way Remmick has been looking at you, full of some type of reverence mixed with relief, you think. Relief at the fact you’re not a sniveling, bleeding mess on the floor anymore, your usual shine quickly coming back. Your wounds have stitched themselves back together, bone no longer showing and just the outermost layers still being torn and burnt. It makes you feel like you can breathe again, every movement free of the horrible agony.

“C’mere.” Remmick says, voice dropping a few levels as he continues staring at your blood stained mouth. He pulls you in before you even have the chance to sit up properly, your lips meeting in a clash of tongues and teeth. He groans when he tastes his own blood on you, practically taking it from you with the way he licks you. You gasp against him as he fully invades your space, your back hitting the wooden door so that there’s nowhere else to go, his body effectively caging you in. His hands easily roam over your form, knowing every inch and detail with the precision of a man who’s explored them a hundred times before.

Hands come to rest on your waist and before you know it, you’re being hoisted up with a startled noise that Remmick quickly swallows with a kiss. His muscled biceps flex as he easily holds you against him, your legs coming to wrap around his hips and your hands gripping at his shoulders for purchase. You’re carried upstairs with a newfound urgency, Remmick kicking open the bedroom door and roughly laying you onto the soft sheets of a bed that used to belong to somebody else—before you two took over, of course.

Blood, sweat, and dirt immediately stain the covers beneath you, smearing across the fabric as you move. It’s nothing new, this happens just about every time you return from an exhilarating hunt. You both barely ever have the foresight to wash off first before climbing into bed together. Remmick follows after you, your hands resting on either side of his face to draw him in, never wanting to be apart for too long. His fingers pull at the shirt that was tucked into your pants that are too big on you, the ones you always wear on a hunt that are now ruined by the burn marks of silver chains.

His touch is always just on the side of too cold, a consequence of being undead, the same one that you suffer from. It’s something you were quick to grow used to, along with the way his temperature fluctuates depending on how much fresh blood he has coursing through him. His ring bites like ice beneath your shirt as he eases it up and over your body, tossing it somewhere into a corner to be picked up later.

“Mm, Remmick..” you mumble, your hands coming up to run through his short black hair, his bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat. His bloody chain dangles from his sternum, hanging just above you like a taunt.

“I know, sugar.” He responds, feeling the way your legs rub together beneath him, your body quivering with anticipation. His kisses trail from your lips to your jaw, then to your neck, past the spot where he bit you all those years ago. He licks away stains of the dried blood remaining from your sealed injuries, groaning like an animal at the taste that leaves him drooling.

Saliva smears across your skin on his way down your body, stopping briefly at your breasts. He takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling it against his tongue and teasing it between his thankfully normal teeth as you arch into him, little breathy moans and gasps tumbling out of you. He envelops the other breast in his calloused hand, squeezing and rolling the soft flesh between his fingers. “So beautiful… so good fer me, sugar.” He murmurs against you, his nose nudging at the space between your breasts where more blood has dried. It doesn’t take long for him to clean it off.

He makes quick work of your pants, undoing the buttons deftly and lifting your hips to tug them free. His hands run along your thighs lovingly, goosebumps rising in his wake. He straightens, red eyes roving over your now exposed body with appreciation. Drool beads at the corners of his lips, steadily building and running down his chin while you smile at him.

“Pretty thing, all fer me.” Remmick says it like a confirmation and a vow, even though he needs none. There’s nothing that could separate you two besides a stake through the heart or the sun’s warmth. You gave yourself to him completely the day you let him bite you, let him take your life and forge it into something new, something unholy and damned.

“All yours.” You agree, stretching your arms above your head like a cat. You give him a sly grin. “Now stop teasing.”

His eyebrows shoot up, a deep chuckle leaving him, even as he hooks his fingers beneath your underwear and tugs it off. “Always impatient, huh?”

You hum as he kneels, his strong arms coming up to wrap around your thighs and settle them nicely on his wide shoulders. “I just know how good you feel. Can’t a girl be excited?”

Remmick smirks, huffing a laugh. “Shoot, I don’t see why not.”

His breath fans across your cunt, already wet and glistening with your arousal. The red in his eyes smolders like coals, burning brighter with his desire as he looks at you like you’re his next meal. He leans in, that first connection acting like lightning shooting through you, your body arching and mouth falling open. His tongue licks between your folds, collecting your slick and dragging it up to your clit where he toys with the bud, circling it with little flicks and pecks while you moan above him.

Remmick sucks your clit into his mouth, the rest of you immediately responding in turn as you jolt from the pleasure. He knows how to play you like his banjo, how to keep you easy and pliant while he works you to climax. He knows your body like it’s his own, the bond you share allowing him to hold a presence within you, to tell your emotions and thoughts. Most of all, he knows how you like to be licked, his tongue dipping into your hole as your noises raise a pitch.

“Remmick.. fuck-“ You moan, hands coming down to run through his hair, tugging after a particularly harsh kiss to your clit. He groans into your pussy, the sound reverberating through you as he swallows down your arousal with an eagerness he doesn’t even display during feedings. His drool makes your cunt shine, mixing with your slick to the point you don’t know where he ends and you begin.

He practically buries himself into your cunt, licking and kissing and taking whatever you have to offer. His hands are like vices on your thighs, the unmistakable tips of his claws occasionally pricking your skin as they again slide from their nail beds with his excitement. You can feel the way pleasure courses through you, tightening your muscles and creating a familiar knot in your lower abdomen that will steadily build until it’s ready to come loose. It won’t be long with the way Remmick eats you like he hasn’t had a meal in years.

His nose nudges at your clit, his tongue circling your hole before slipping inside, collecting the wetness you continually drip for him. You whine loudly, pulling harder at the black strands of his hair, your thighs attempting to clench around his head. “Shit- feels so good Rem, fuck-“ You curse, falling back against the pillows, chest heaving.

You writhe under his ministrations, his hands having to move up to your hips just to keep you still, his biceps flexing against your legs. He knows how close you are so he ramps it up, licking from your center to your clit and drawing it into his mouth, his brows furrowed in concentration. Your moans and whimpers are music to his ears, listening to the way you call his name with a breathy gasp as he makes you cum.

It crashes over you like a wave, that knot coming undone and pleasure wracking your body. Remmick drinks it all, not letting a single drop of it go to waste as his eyes burn red. He’s quick to slip a hand between your legs, two fingers sinking into the plush heat of your pussy, his claws sheathed just for now. He pumps them in and out while you ride through your orgasm, scissoring your gummy walls to stretch you even further. He doesn’t let up, even as you grab at him to try and get him off, the attention bordering on overstimulation. He continues to kiss at your clit all the while, his fingers and his mouth bringing you straight into another orgasm that has you seeing white.

Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, overly sensitive and leaving your legs twitching. Remmick licks you clean with as much care and diligence a man like him can muster, his fanged teeth occasionally scraping against you and making you shudder. His fingers slip out of your warmth covered in your cum, your walls fluttering and aching at the emptiness that you know won’t last long.

He finally releases your thighs, letting them fall from his shoulders as he lifts himself from between your legs. The lower half of his face is covered in a shiny mixture of drool, cum, and blood, making him look all sorts of a mess. You couldn’t care less, knowing that no matter what he does, it’s going to be a little messy—and you love that about him.

He slowly makes his way back up your body, kissing from your clavicle to your ribs, to your breasts, and then up the column of your neck before at last reaching your lips. You’re eager to kiss him, hands tugging at his shoulders to pull him in, keeping him as close as possible. You taste yourself on his tongue, along with a familiar iron tang that has your hunger flaring again. You pull away only to lick along his chin, eagerly collecting the bloody mixture until there’s none left. Your fangs released without you even realizing.

“Yer still hungry.” He says it as a statement rather than a question, seeing the blatant craving in your dazed eyes, feeling it within himself as if it was his own. You’ve tried to subdue it all this time, not wanting to take more than you’re allowed, but it still makes your stomach clench, your teeth ache. Your body is too weak to resist the pangs, still too busy patching up whatever damage can’t be seen externally. Remmick coos at you, “c’mon, s’okay. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

You begin to protest, your more human sensibility allowing guilt to take charge. “You already gave me-“

He shakes his head, silencing you. “Sugar, ya won’t last long if yer starvin’. I think I ate enough for the both of us anyhow.” You think back to all those dead hunters in that clearing, their bodies strewn along the forest floor and their blood splattered on the grass like paint. You can still smell their foreign iron-laced scents on Remmick, and it only serves to make you crave more. Drool falls down your chin, and he just smiles knowingly. His head tilts, the skin on his neck becoming taut as he bares it to you. “C’mon now.”

There’s a singular moment of hesitation, where you look into those red gleaming eyes of his for a type of confirmation, and all you find is that he’s just watching you expectantly. Well, if a meal’s going to be served to you on a silver platter like this, you’d do good to take it.

Your jaw goes slack, your teeth sharp and ready, before your body lunges up to latch onto his neck. As the first drops hit your tongue, he grunts, his form falling over yours while he wraps an arm swiftly around your waist so you can both fall back onto the bed. His other hand slams down next to your head while his blood fills your mouth and you gulp it down like there won’t be a tomorrow.

Being fed on is always jarring for Remmick, his body still not used to it after the centuries of him being the only one to feast. His neck is so much different than his arm, he realizes, something dangerous being set off within him this time as a result. But it turns out he’d do just about anything for you, so he makes himself ease into the sensation, even as his claws dig into the bedsheets and his fanged teeth grind together hard enough to shatter, the primal part of him fearing that, for once, he’s being preyed on.

“That’s it, sugar.” He says with a husky laugh. “Shit.”

Past the initial shock, it’s easy for the pain to shift into pleasure. It is quite erotic, really, the way he can feel his own blood coursing through your body. The little noises you make while you feed on him, the trickles of blood mixing with spit on your chin, your strength returning all because of him. It fills him with a twisted sense of pride, knowing that he’s the one satiating that bone deep hunger, knowing his blood is mixing with yours and becoming one inside you. “Take it all, darlin’, suck me dry.” He groans, the tips of his claws making little pinpricks in your sides as he holds onto you.

It’s almost involuntary, the way his hips rut against you, his cock straining in his pants and demanding attention. It has his hands fumbling between your bodies, eager to undo the thick buckle of his belt with a clink, the buttons of his trousers following after. You nearly choke on his blood when you feel his shaft rubbing between your folds, coating himself in the mixture of your cum and his drool. He does a few slow, experimental thrusts, not sinking in just yet but simply feeling you instead. It has you groaning against his neck, your teeth digging in deeper and greedily drinking at the ambrosia that is Remmick’s blood while he pants above you.

You release him with a sharp gasp when the head of his cock catches your entrance, at last pressing in with slippery ease. His moan is throaty and guttural, a shiver running through him at the way your walls draw him in, enveloping him in plush warmth. He sheathes himself completely and he stays with his hips flush to yours for just a moment, allowing himself to enjoy the initial pleasure. It amazes you how he never gets tired of it, even after his centuries of being alive and his years of fucking you.

You pull him back down with hands on either side of his face, encouraging him to kiss you. He does, of course, his mouth enveloping yours just as he begins to thrust, drawing almost completely from your cunt before slamming back in. His tongue roves over yours, licking away any remnants of his blood and swallowing down your moans. He pulls away with his chest heaving, a sharp groan falling from his open mouth, fangs on full display just beneath his lips.

There’s a sudden wetness against your collarbones that makes you jolt, looking down to see blood from Remmick’s neck splattered along your skin. The wound you’d bitten into him is still bleeding, droplets coming loose with his thrusts and the way he’s bent over you. He smirks, lifting two fingers and drawing them over the bite marks, collecting the blood smeared there. “Clean up yer mess, sugar.” He tells you between breathy pants, bringing his fingers to your mouth.

You take them eagerly, swirling the pads against your tongue, licking off every bit of blood and enjoying the earthly, metal taste. He watches you in awe, his eyes burning bright red in the dim lighting, full of adoration and reverence and desire. Your spit coats his fingers generously, leaving them shiny when you let go with a wet smack. He buries his head into the side of your neck with a disbelieving chuckle that quickly morphs into a moan, his hot breath fanning across your skin as your hands clutch at his bloodied white tank.

You use the opportunity to mouth at the bite on his throat like an animal, like a cat grooming its mate. You whine suddenly when he hits that spot at the top of your core, the one that has you keening and pleasure sparking like lightning beneath your skin. “Fu-fuck, Remmick-“ You mewl, claws digging into the expanse of his back, even through the tank. He growls appreciatively at the pain, at the red, angry lines undoubtedly rising along his skin and beading with blood.

Remmick nips hungrily at your neck, his hands digging harshly into your sides. He’s practically laid over top of you while he thrusts his cock deep into your throbbing pussy, keeping you as close as possible. There’s something possessive and raw about it, about the way he breathes you in, clutching at you desperately, biting you as if to prove you’re there.

“Ain’t never lettin’ you out of my sight again. Nearly fuckin’ lost ya.” He snarls with a groan, his claws digging in a little deeper at the memories of what happened just hours prior. Though your body no longer holds proof of it, he won’t forget anytime soon. He’ll chain you to him if he has to, just to make sure you’re safe.

“I- I know- I’m sorry-“ You say, moans stuttering with the way his hips slam into you, fueled by his declaration and the feral desires that howl a constant song within him. It’s not often that Remmick reveals any kind of vulnerability to you, instead letting you guess at it based on what you can gather from the bond you share. But it seems the very real idea of you bound in silver and burning brought it out of him, even if only a little.

You’re both nearing release, the pleasure burning in your core while his movements grow choppy and uneven. The noises he makes change, becoming breathy at the edges as his brows furrow, his nose nudging at your jaw. “Rem- Remmick- shit-“ You whine, feeling the way you’re so close to tumbling off the edge.

“I got ‘cha, sugar.” He says, voice rumbling right next to your ear. One hand comes between you, his calloused fingers finding your clit and swirling it in hurried circles, your mouth falling open and your eyes pinching shut as your muscles tense. His response is near instant, his free hand pinching your chin like a reminder, “nuh-uh, look at me, darlin’.”

You have no choice but to oblige him, meeting his gaze through tear stained lashes. You learned quickly how obsessed he is with seeing your face, seeing your eyes. No matter what position you’re in, he’ll make sure he can still see you or else you’ll find yourself flipped around to rectify it. You think he does it as a way to ground himself, a near impossible feat in an immortal body that’s hundreds of years old. You let him use you as an anchor, keeping him tethered here with you, two lonely souls finding company in one another.

It feels like all the breath gets knocked from your lungs as your third orgasm overtakes you. You whimper and whine and moan Remmick’s name, your hands scrabbling at him desperately. The way your cunt spasms around him makes him quick to follow after you with a loud curse, his cum hot as it paints your walls white, filling you to the brim with him. He rides out his high, emptying every last drop into you with small jerks of his hips and soft words, encouraging you to take it all.

“Fuck, sugar, yer somethin’ else.” Remmick pants, muscled chest heaving, straightening just a little to look at you in your fucked-out state. Hair wild, skin flushed, looking almost human if it weren’t for the unholy gleam in your eyes. There’s sticky trails of blood and spit all along your forms, remnants of both the hunt and your copulation. It’s made a further mess of the sheets below you, but quite frankly, you’re too tired to care.

He slowly pulls out with a groan, cum dribbling from your abused hole with his cock no longer there to keep you plugged full. You wince at the feeling, your energy spent and your body rightfully exhausted. As much as Remmick would love to keep you ruined with the reminders of what he did to you, he knows how you hate sleeping while sticky—and he needs you to be able to rest. He gently pries himself from you, even as you continuously try to wrap your arms around him again. “I’ll be right back, darlin’.” He promises, finally getting free despite your grumbling.

He gets a washcloth from the bathroom, wetting it with warm water before returning. Your arms are open for him, welcoming him back into your embrace so you can feel him against you, so you can feel complete. He holds you like something precious, cleans you like you’re made of delicate glass. He wipes the blood off with no issue, his appetite blissfully satiated for now, and he’s gentle between your legs, this routine so familiar that he could do it with his eyes closed. You go limp from his touch, your body pliant beneath him. He kisses you more than once, unable to help himself when you bask so nicely in the afterglow.

When he’s finished, Remmick tosses the cloth absently into a corner somewhere, followed by his bloody tank that joins his button up on the floor to be washed later. He then settles into a non-soiled part of the bed, sitting back against the headboard and easily pulling you on top of him. You simply follow wherever his hands want you to go, more than happy to relax in his lap with your head pressed to his bare chest and his thick arms enveloping you. His scent floods your nose—sweat, iron, dirt, and old leather, making you hum appreciatively.

“My sweet girl,” Remmick murmurs against your hair, his hand running along your back in soothing lines. He pulls one of the spare quilts free and wraps it around you and you nestle into its comfort, the heavy material soft against your bare skin. You nuzzle against Remmick, too tired to resist fully giving in to those base desires for warmth and safety, knowing he’ll give you exactly that. There’s a kiss pressed to your forehead. “Rest. Y’need it.”

“You’ll still be here?” You mumble, barely able to muster a sentence, eyes already beginning to shut. Sometimes there’s days when you need that extra confirmation, his promise that he won’t leave you behind, that he’ll still be waiting for you by the time you wake up. You feel his grip on you tighten, just for a moment.

“‘Course I will, sugar. I ain’t ever leavin’.”

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

Tags; @vesnaragast

#finally finished this wahoo!!!#I like his arms a lot I hope that shows #he’s taken over unfortunately #need that little weirdo #remmick #sinners remmick #remmick x reader #remmick smut #vampire fanfic

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yasministration · 2 months ago

Text

do a flip! - harry potter

summary: harry tries to find out who your crush is, and you give him a negotiation: you'll tell him if he tells you his. you're confident he doesn't have one, having been dumped only three weeks ago. he proves you wrong. wc: 1.7k+ part of my wolfstar!daughter au :)

Your dad’s loud voice boomed in the entryway at the sight of his best friend. Crossing your arms over your chest, you leaned against the wall with an unimpressed look on your face, making brief eye contact with your aunt Lily, who held the same expression. Your dad and uncle James always had to act as though they didn’t leave next door to each other, both houses overlooking the same large lake.

Harry pushed past the two men to enter the house, rolling his eyes playfully at you, greeting you with a shove to your shoulder. You scoffed, turning around to make your way to the kitchen, where your second dad was already grabbing things from the fridge. Lily made her way to greet Remus with a hug, and you pushed yourself up to sit on the counter top, wearing nothing but shorts over your bikini.

James came into the room, announcing “Okay, so all the meat is in this cooler, drinks with Lily, and Harry’s got… What have you got again, love?”

“Quaffle.” Harry replied with a grin and you snorted, watching as he threw it up in the air once. A light tapping on the window caught your attention, and you hopped off the counter at the sight of a dark owl. You opened the window, your dad’s words muffled in the background. “Should we start getting things outside? James, I’ll leave the barbecue to you, mate, alright?”

Unhooking the letter from around the large owl’s clawed hand, you shuffled around the room to find it some treats, scratching its head. The owl’s wings fluttered and it leaned into your touch, hooting quietly. You giggled, shutting the window when it flew away and flipped the envelope over.

It was addressed to you.

The letter was from Theo, who you’d tutored this past year in charms, and he was raving about how his parents were finally going to let him on a trip abroad with his friends now that his grade had recovered. You grinned, chuckling quietly as you read over the crossed out curse words, eyes finally landing on the ‘You’re literally my hero, have a good summer Lupin’

“Letter from your boyfriend?” Your eyes flitted up at Harry’s teasing comment, and you noticed he had attracted the attention of your parents, who stood frozen in place. “Sorry, don’t you have your own relationship to worry about?”

“We both know she broke up with me.”

“Oh how could I forget; it’s all you’ve talked about for three weeks.” James chuckled at your retort, watching his son huff and put his hands on his hips.

“I just want to know why! She never told me!”

“It’s probably because of that haircut.” Harry’s hands shot to his hair in insecurity, but then he saw the way you laughed and immediately dropped them, glaring at you. He had only cut his hair last week.

“Love, you have a boyfriend?” Asked Remus, but you shook your head, snatching a cherry tomato from the vegetable platter he held, popping it into your mouth. “No. Harry’s just jealous there’s another man in my life.” Lily’s eyes lit up, and she smiled fondly as Harry’s face immediately flushed. He shook his head frantically, beginning to deny what you said instantly.

“I’m not! But you don’t meet up to tutor someone twice a week!” “Harry, he was failing. And besides, I got paid for it.”

“Paid for it how?” You gasped loudly at the insinuation behind his comment, ignoring the surprised looks on all the adults’ faces. Lily scolded her son with a loud call of his name, but your next comment was already tumbling out of your mouth before you could help it.

“Please, if either of us here are whores, we both know it’s you, Mr. lets the slytherins win a game in exchange for head.” Harry grimaced and you bit down on your bottom lip, aware that you had revealed too much in front of his parents.

“You did what!?” James cried, Lily stunned into silence. “It wasn’t an important game.” Harry defended weakly as his dad went on to rant about the importance of integrity and competition, and, well, quidditch. You shifted your weight from one foot to another, sending Harry an apologetic smile. “Should we all go take a dip in the lake?” You suggested in a poor attempt to change the topic of conversation.

“You guys go ahead,” Began Lily, placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder, “We’ll follow you in a bit.” Nodding eagerly, you grabbed Harry’s wrist, dragging him outside through the backdoor of the house.

“I’m gonna jump!” Harry cried dramatically in response to the situation you had just escaped, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he ran towards the small wooden dock leading into the lake. Shimmying out of your shorts, you giggled, increasing your pace as you cupped your hands around your mouth, yelling “Do a flip!”

The boy complied, twisting his torso to face you as he jumped off the dock, flipping back into the water. Breaking into a run, your feet separated from the wooden platform underneath you, and you tucked your legs into your chest to cannonball into the water, splashing water all over Harry as he resurfaced. He spluttered, shaking the water out of his hair when you broke out of the water’s surface with a proud grin. You lifted your hands up to protect your face from his attack, whining softly.

A silence settled over you, and you tilted your head to the side, trying to get water out of your ear. “You know,” You started when you heard a satisfying pop of water leaving your ear. “I didn’t mean that about your haircut. You look very handsome.” Harry nodded his head in thanks, shrugging his shoulders as he said “And I didn’t mean to insinuate that Nott was paying you with sex.”

You snorted, tilting your head back until the water coated all you hair. “You know, he does like you though.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not! Trust me on this one, he likes you.” You shrugged, stretching your legs out in the water in front of you, staring at the nail polish on your toes, peeking out of the clear water. Glancing back at Harry, you swallowed thickly at the serious look on his face.

“Does it matter though? I mean, I have my eyes on someone else, so…” Harry’s head snapped towards you from where he was staring at your parents prepping the barbecue and setting a table outside. “Who?”

“I’m not gonna tell you, I’m not stupid.”

Harry swam towards you, water splattering around you at his sudden movements. “Pleaseee.” “I’ll only tell you in return for your crush.” You were proud at the negotiation, well aware that your best friend had just gotten out of a relationship three weeks ago. He didn’t have a crush, and therefore, you wouldn’t tell him yours.

“She doesn’t even like me, so it doesn’t matter.” Harry’s confession had you losing control over your limbs, waving your arms around in the water as you lost balance of your floating. “Wait, you like someone!? You were dating Ginny like two weeks ago!”

“I’ve liked her since before Ginny. Before all those other girls.” Pushing aside the pang in your chest, you forced a grin on your face as you stared at Harry with a teasing smile. “That’s so cute! Who is it?” But Harry stubbornly shook his head. Humming, you rolled your eyes in exaggeration as you floated to the water’s surface, laying on your back. “Fine. I won’t tell you who mine is either.”

“Well that’s just not fair.”

“It’s totally fair. I don’t know if he likes me, so if I’m following your logic, I shouldn’t say. What are you scared of anyway?”

“That she’ll reject me!”

“How is she going to reject you if you’re just telling me!?”

Harry went silent, his face flushing a dark red. You tilted your head to the side, jaw slacking as you took note of the way he avoided your gaze. “Harry Potter.”

“It’s nothing, it’s dumb.” “Harry Potter!” You giggled ecstatically, flipping onto your stomach and swimming over to him in three fluid strokes of your arms against the smooth water. He stared into the clear water, looking down at his feet, buried in the sand until he couldn’t possibly avoid looking at you; so close that he could see your feet kicking in the water below to keep you afloat.

He almost laughed at the sight.

“Am I your crush?” You pushed. Harry could almost hear the smile in your voice, but still, he refused to meet your eyes. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.” He huffed, on the verge of tears. But how could he cry when you seemed so happy over the revelation? It was either joy or mockery. He prayed it wouldn’t be the latter; he would never look you in the eyes ever again if that was the matter.

“Can you look at me now, so I can kiss you?” Harry’s head shot up to look at you with wide eyes, nearly bulging out of his face. But before you could kiss him, Harry put a hand up to stop you from coming any closer to him. “Why would you kiss me?”

Your shoulders slumped, and Harry could see you were putting more effort in keeping your neck above the water. He put both his hands on your hips to help lift you slightly above the surface. “Because you’re my crush too, stupid.” Harry nodded, grateful for the clarification, and mumbled shyly, “Okay, you can kiss me now.”

With a surge, you threw yourself forward, wrapping your arms over Harry’s shoulders as you slammed your lips onto his. He let out a nervous breath through his nose, his arms on your hips fully snaking around your torso to bring you as close to him as humanly possible.

A clatter of things echoed in the distance, and you heard a high pitched scream ring through the air. “It’s happening! Remus, get the camera!” The pulled away from the kiss at the obvious excitement coming from your parents, and you groaned, digging your face into the crook of Harry’s neck to hide from their humiliation, your cheeks hot with embarrassment. Harry spun the two of you around so you weren’t the one facing towards the house, and one of his hands left your waist to stick a thumbs up in the air towards both of your parents.

taglist: @c0ldstvff, @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @boromoony, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin

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suhkusa · 11 months ago

Text

THE KISS BET.

PAIRING. Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader

SUMMARY. Your friends bet you to kiss Katsuki Bakugou. Fortunately for you, they’re offering you $500 for it. Unfortunately for you, the two of you absolutely hate each other.

CW. third year, angst to fluff, light hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, mature humor, feelings, language

WC. ~2.8k

A/N. enjoy :3

You and your group of friends had a running gig. Bets.

The group would bet one person to do something, on a scale from normal to outrageous, and that person’s turn wouldn’t end until they complete that bet. Of course, depending on how crazy the bet is, everyone would put in some amount of money.

The most you’d gotten was $100 total from accepting a date from creep in the business class. Worst date of your life, but Jirou felt bad so she gave you an extra $50.

As the lot of you gather around the campfire, everyone offers up their money to Mina who had just done her bet to put laxatives in Kirishima’s drink. There were a lot of questions about the morality of it, but you ignored it and gave her a crisp $20.

“Y/N~ it’s your turn!” Ochako gleed.

You roll your eyes, “I feel like I just did my other bet, which by the way was shit,” the girls laugh at your words. “I feel like all of you get the easier ones,”

“Easy? I had to kiss Monoma, do you know how hard that was? He knows I’m lesbian so imagine how hard that was for me to convince him,” Yaoyorozu sighs with a palm to her face.

“Oh, whatever,” Mina says with a clap of her hands, “You want a hard one, Y/N?”

“I mean that’s the whole point of paying each other to do bets, they’re supposed to be hard,”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Mina smirks before standing up and pointing at you.

“I bet you $100,” your ears perk up.

“-to kiss–,” your eyes widen but listen nonetheless.

“Katsuki Bakugou,” your world falls apart.

“Mina, no,”

“Y/N, yes,” she jumps up and down, “It’s too late, I already said it,”

All the other girls are hooting and hollering, but you just sit there in silence as you stare at the flames. Are you really going to try this?

As you consider your options the other girls start placing their bet offerings.

“$75 from me,” Tsuyu calls out.

Then from Hagakure, “$50,”

“$150,” from none other than Yaoyorozu.

“I guess I’ll put in $80,” Jirou smiles at your misery.

“Hmm, I’ll even it out with $45, so $500 flat for you, Y/N,” Ochako smiles.

$500?!? You’d be outright stupid to deny such a big amount of money. But you’d even stupider to think Katsuki Bakugou would kiss you of all people.

“I think that’s impossible,” you whine as the other girls poke fun at you.

“I guess only time will tell,” Mina grabs your hands and smiles, “Good luck, Y/N,”

—

You can hear the rambunctiousness of your class before you walk in. When you walk through the doors, your eyes scan the class before your eyes lock in on Katsuki Bakugou. You groan with a roll of your eyes before stomping your way towards him.

“Hey, Katsuki,” you stare down at him, “You want to do me a favor,”

“For you? I rather eat shit,” he grumbles as he meets your gaze.

“You’re a freak,” you already knew this was going to be hard, “Please,”

“Mm, depends, what’s in it for me?”

“I guess you’ll find out,” you say. “Kiss me,”

It feels like the class goes silent as the two of you continue to just stare at each other. He opens his mouth then closes it.

“You– The fuck?” His eyes are scattering as the words continue to process through his mind, “What a weirdo, hell no,” then he’s pushing himself out of his seat and making his way to the door.

“You know class starts in 5 minutes right?” you call to him.

“Fuck off,” he grunts as he shuts the door behind him.

Yep, definitely hard.

—

The next time you bother Bakugou for a kiss is when the two of you are paired up for combat training. Much against his will.

“Katsuki~” you call out as you dodge another blow from him. “You can’t avoid me forever,”

“Yes-” another explosion, “I can,”

You go on the offense as you continue, “Just a peck, please. I’m a good kisser, I promise,”

“You’re shit,” he’s grumbling between dodges of your attacks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you send him a wink before getting a hit on him.

Bakugou groans, about to send another remark, when the training ends with a blow of a whistle.

The two of you meet eyes one last time, “Think it over, kay?” you smile before walking away.

—

Knock, knock.

You stand at Bakugou’s door.

“Go away, perv,”

“Aw, how did you know it was me? You missed me?”

“I can just tell by the stench,”

You laugh a little at his words, “Please, let me explain to you and maybe you’ll reconsider,”

You can hear footsteps, and you smile. When he opens the door he’s adorned in his classic black tank and some sweats.

“You should put some clothes on, perv,” you mock. “Anyways, it was a bet from my friends and there’s $500 on the line, so if you would just–”

“I don’t kiss just anyone, princess,” the nickname causes you to fluster, but you shake it off as he continues, “You gotta earn it,”

He’s got a stupid smirk on his face, and you didn’t even realize it but he’s definitely leaning closer to you. It’s sending butterflies– well maybe more like moths– into your stomach.

“What the– You’re definitely the pervert. I’m just going to ask to call it off,” you fake gag, “Later, loser,”

“You’ll be back, nerd,”

You internally groan as you hear him shut the door, ignoring the intense heartbeat in your chest.

—

“No,” Mina says.

“What?! I told you it’s impossible,” you argue, all of your friends on the other side of the argument.

“No it’s not, he said you had to earn it right?” Mina retorts, “So obviously there’s a way, you’re just stubborn,”

“You’re really not asking me to… You guys are crazy. Please, please, I’ll take anyone else, anything else,”

“Sorry, Y/N, it’s the rules,” Tsuyu looks at you with pity.

“He hates me and I hate him! That’s all there is to it. It’s not going to happen,”

“Why do you guys even hate each other? It’s our third year, get over it already,” Jirou teases.

“Because he’s a dick and I refuse to let him walk all over me! I just cursed him out one time for calling me weak. He’s the one who holds grudges because of his fragile, little heart,”

“You should’ve known he’d hold that against you, but I honestly doubt he hates you because of that,” Mina says. “He probably thought you looked hot,” she laughs.

Heat rushes to the tips of your eyes, “Whatever, all of you are weirdos. But anyways-”

“No, Y/N,” Mina states, end of subject.

“You all just want me to kill myself,” you groan as you sink into the couch. “Whatever, but I’m going to force all of you to double your offering if I actually do this shit,”

The girls cheer. You cry inside. Anything for money, you guess.

—

It seems like the universe heard about the predicament you were in, because it felt like you were suddenly around him more often ever since the bet had been set.

“You know, I don’t want to be on patrol with you either,” you grumble, kicking at rocks as the two of you walk up and down the roads of the dorms.

“Glad we agree,”

Silence washes over you both.

“Why don’t you want to kiss me? Am I ugly or something?” you ask, but it definitely comes off sadder than you intend.

“Don’t get all insecure because you don’t get a stupid kiss,” he looks the opposite direction of yours, “You know damn well you’re not ugly, so don’t piss me off,”

He had a strange way of saying stuff.

“Aw, you love me, don’t you?” you tease, poking at his arm.

“Ah you dumbass, pay attention,” you snap back into place with a laugh, “‘M just saying you’re better looking than some of these extras,”

You don’t know what to say in response to his words. Because they were surprisingly very sweet.

Realizing he had said too much, he changes the subject. “Let’s go this way,”

You follow him with a nod.

There was definitely a certain type of tension lingering that the two of you walked in near silence for the rest of the patrol.

You definitely were not repeating back his words in your head over and over again for the rest of the patrol. And Katsuki Bakugou was definitely not turning red because of what he said earlier. Definitely not.

—

After that patrol, things seemed to sort of shift between the two of you. And to say it was scary was an understatement.

Conversations wouldn’t always start off with the two of you insulting or cursing each other out. There’d be a hey or hello. If you guys saw each other in passing, he’d greet you with a nod of his head. Him being anything but passive aggressive towards you was terrifying because it was so not him.

“Y/N,” a familiar voice calls out to you, you groan as you put your pencil down.

“I’m studying, what do you want, Katsuki?”

“Come with me to the movies after school today,” it’s not really a question, more like a command.

You put your hands to your mouth in fake(?) excitement, “You’re asking me on a date?! So kind, Katsuki,”

“It’s not a date, idiot. I’m going with Ei and Denki later, they’re bringing Jirou and Mina. They were teasing me for not bringing anyone, so come,”

“If I don’t?” you muse.

“Be there or be square, nerd,” he doesn’t take your bait, but you can tell he’d prefer it if you go. He walks away before you can respond.

Well, you guess you have plans later.

;;;

You meet up with the lot of them at the allotted time. The group walks together, and you thank God your friends have a questionable taste in men so you wouldn’t be stuck with some randos. But you also have half a mind to curse them out for leaving you to fend for yourself when you all arrive at the theater.

They left you with no choice but to sit with Bakugou. Part of you really hates it, but not as much as you hate the rate at which your heart beats.

For the most part, the two of you just sit there in awkwardness. The other couples indulge in that lovey dovey shit, and it makes you feel out of place. You zone out and get into your head. Was there a motive in asking you to come out here? He could’ve invited like… Midoriya… or Ochako… Or anyone, really. But, you? Does he like you? Or were you his last option to invite? Your head hurts from overthinking.

Your hand rests in your lap, picking at the material of your pants. At least that’s what it was doing. Until it happened.

From the corner of your eye, you watch as Bakugou slid his hand into yours. His fingers finding a comfortable place between your own. You release a deep breath when you realize you were holding your breath. Is he out of his fucking mind?

Despite your efforts to try and justify how much you absolutely hate it. You didn’t even try to stop him. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t let his hand go. And even as the movie ended, you actually felt sad when he slid his hand away.

The cool air of the night shocked you a bit when all of you made it outside.

“We were thinking of grabbing a bite, did you guys want to come?” Mina exclaims.

“Ooh, that sounds good, are you down, Jirou?”

“Sure, and you guys?” they all look at you.

“I- I have a stomach ache… Butter fucks with my stomach really bad,” the excuse is kind of weak, but still holds up as they all nod in understanding.

“I can walk you to the dorm,” Bakugou offers, and you don’t really give him a yes or no, he just follows you.

Kirishima and Mina whistle and holler as the two of you part ways with the rest of them.

Part of you regrets making up some stupid lie to go home. Because this was way more awkward than getting free pizza.

The two of you are right by each other as you walk in silence towards the dorm. You wait. And wait. Wait for him to bring it up. Why did he do that? Why did he grab your hand? Was it all a front?

Why is he treating you so well?

Even as he drops you off at your room, he says nothing. Just a simple “Goodnight,” before he’s making his way to the elevator.

What an asshole.

—

So you take the initiative. The initiative in ignoring him. You weren’t some casual fling. Fuck the bet, fuck him.

When you saw him making his way towards you, you were quick to get up and rush out of the classroom. When he nodded your directions in passing, it was easy to just walk past and not acknowledge him. Whatever there was between you and him, was gone. Whatever “it” was, exactly.

But you were okay. You guess. You were down $500 or $1000, but whatever. That game was bullshit anyways. You always got the worst bets. You kind of felt bad that you were the end of it, though.

It was easy to avoid him. That’s what you thought. At least until one week later, you found yourself cornered by your dorm room with nowhere to go.

“What the fuck is up with you?” he’s angry, you’d be stupid if you thought otherwise.

You cross your arms and avoid his intense gaze, “Whatever do you mean?”

He’s getting closer, and a tiny, like miniscule, part of you finds angry-him hot. “You know what the hell I mean, you’ve been avoiding me,”

“Nuh uh,” you retort, still avoiding the subject at hand. “I’ve just been busy, sorry,”

“Like hell, Racoon Eyes said you’ve been in your dorm room everyday, so try again, asshat,”

Fucking Mina.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you poke at his chest, “Now get out of my way before I beat your ass,”

“Yeah? I’d like to see you try,” he’s smiling with mockery.

“Oh, I’m sure you’d like to be touched by me, you little virgin,” you inspect your nails in nonchalance, “Too bad, so sad, now move,”

“No, not until you answer me,” he’s a bit more serious now, you can sense it in his tone.

You groan, “Fine, not until you answer me, though. Why the fuck did you hold my hand and act like it didn’t happen? Am I like a joke to you?”

He straightens up and his eyes widen. He looks to the side, then back at you.

“You’re fuckin’ smart, why don’t you take a guess?”

“You’re not a baby, why don’t you use your words?”

You got him there.

“Maybe ‘cuz I like you, or something, idiot,”

You laugh. Laugh. Because he really thought you’d believe a stupid joke like that.

“You’re funny, but seriously, why did–”

A kiss. Katsuki Bakugou has always been known for his speed and his wit. But now you see it more than ever. As he steals a kiss from you. It happens faster than you’re able to even realize you’re leaning into it.

When the two of you part, it’s tense again. You don’t know if you should say something but he takes that choice from you.

“You think that was funny?” he asks.

“Well- no, but–”

“No buts, that’s that,”

“I didn’t even say I like you back! What if I didn’t-”

“Oh, so you do?” you jump up in realization you fumbled your words. “Good to know, princess,”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying. How was I supposed to know you liked me? You’re such an asshole, you know?”

“Really? Because this asshole just got you some cash,” he laughs referring to the bet, “But y’know, I don’t let just anyone call me Katsuki,”

You grit your teeth before throwing a punch at his arm, “Annoying! Annoying, so annoying,”

Another hearty laugh escapes from his lips as he pulls you into a hug. You didn’t even know Bakugou gave hugs. But you don’t mind it.

“You’re such a pervert, I bet you’ve been looking forward to that kiss,” he teases.

“Yeah? Well you’re a pervert for even kissing me in the first place,”

—

YOU: pay up bitches

YOU: i’m talking double btw

[164 new notifications]

You were rich and in love. What more could you ask for?

#bnha angst #bakugou angst #bakugo angst #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader angst #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha angst #raeworks

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arachnidseyes · 9 days ago

Text

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

KISSES AND PROMISES

A/N: Previous. Next. Reader & Damian are 20. Ignore the shitty title, pretend it's good. More batfam nonsense! wc: 2.2k

Damian Wayne x Constantine! Reader

The crowd is too loud.

The seats are uncomfortable.

The lights are too bright.

Of course, he's handled worse but Damian briefly wonders why he came at all.

“Ladies, Gentlemen, Distinguished guests. I am very pleased to announce, we have a brand-new act for you tonight!”

Right, that's why.

The audience eats up Zatanna’s showmanship as she ends her first act of the night with her usual dramatic flair.

“Please give a roaring welcome to my niece—"

Damian scoffs. What a lazy cover story.

"—The Amazing, The Magnanimous, The enchanting, Miss Constantine!”

In a poof of smoke, you appear right next to Zatanna. Your outfit looks much like hers, Magician's hat, white cloves, white top and all, except you have on boots instead of heels, a skirt over the trademark fishnets and a velvety cape. You give a little bow, tipping your hat.

“Helloooooo Gotham. Nice to meet you.”

The crowd is alive with anticipation. Hoots and hollers ring out. A few wolf whistles as well, to which Damian rolls his eyes. He shoots a harsh glare at Jason when he lets out his own whistle.

He knows he only came to see one act, and he hates that he knows that but he especially hates that his family also know that. His family, who completely coincidentally were also planning on attending Zatanna's big show tonight.

They could at least pretend not to take joy in his suffering, with how they all grin at him the moment you poof onto stage. At least his father and Pennyworth do a better job at hiding their amusement.

“Before we begin, a quick disclaimer: I am a professional animal handler.”

Damian scoffs. You wish, you simply have magical persuasion over demonic entities that can look like animals. He's seen you play with Titus, you have absolutely no handle over real animals.

“Under no circumstances should any stunts or tricks involving animals be attempted without a professional present… Now, may I have a volunteer?”

The crowd bursts into shouts and raised hands. You point towards a little girl in the second row, maybe around ten years old.

“You, with the pigtails, would you come on up please?”

The little girl sprints up to the stage at alarming speed. You reach behind your back and pull a microphone from thin air, holding it up to the grinning girl.

“What's your name, Sweetie?”

“Lizzie.”

“Lovely, Everybody welcome Lizzie.”

The crowd applauds and whoops. Lizzie’s grin grows wider as she fiddles with her dress bashfully.

“Now, What's your favourite animal, Lizzie?”

“Sharks!”

The little girl answers immediately.

“Oookay, I can’t do that one. Liz, can you pick another one?”

The crowd chuckles as Lizzie makes a thinking face.

“Ummmmm”

“Like…a rabbit, maybe?”

“Uhhhhhhh.”

“Perhaps a dove?”

The crowd keeps chuckling at your attempts to goad the kid into an easier option. Lizzie’s face lights up,

“A bat!”

“A bat?!”

The crowd cracks up, as you look at them with genuine bewilderment.

“Is that a Gothamite thing?”

They give you a few hoots and hollers in response. Damian rolls his eyes again as his brothers (and Stephanie) cheer louder than necessary with Cass quietly laughing at their antics.

“Ok, ok. I can work with that. Hold this.”

You pass the completely unnecessary mic to Lizzie and take off your magicians cape, placing it on a round table behind you so the velvety red fabric covers the table all the way to the floor.

You place your hat down on the table and start digging around in it, after a second you pull out a beautiful white rabbit.

Lizzie gasps and the crowd claps but you just tsk.

“No, that’s not right.”

You pass the rabbit to Lizzie and reach into your hat again, deeper than should be possible.

It’s clever, Damian thinks, placing your hat on the cape-covered table gives the audience the impression that they know the trick, but of course they don’t know it's actual magic. After some searching, this time you pull out a dove.

“No, not that.”

You pass the dove to Lizzie’s shoulder and keep searching the confines of your hat.

A pigeon, mouse, squirrel and parrot are all pulled from the hat one after the other and placed on a giggling Lizzie’s shoulders.

“Oh, a robin!”

Damian can’t help the hitch in his breath when your eyes meet his from where he sits in the elevated box. It’s only for a moment but apparently it lasted long enough for Dick to notice as he nudges Damian with his elbow and wiggles his eyebrows like an idiot.

“Is this close enough?”

You ask Lizzie, showing her the little bird and she shakes her head with a toothy grin as the robin perches on her head, due to her shoulders being occupied already.

“Alright, fussy kid.”

You peer down into the hat and then scoff loudly, placing the hat back on your head.

“Ah! Lizzie, we forgot the magic word!”

“Please?”

“No, Love. Abracadabra!”

With a swift lift of the table cloth, a rush of bats burst from where the table should have been. Shrieks, laughs and applause ring out from the audience. Lizzie squeals so loud, the ‘animals’ perched on her all conveniently flee backstage. The flurry of bats make their exit stage right as you give the praising audience a bow.

Damian's seen you smile plenty of times before but he's not sure he's seen you smile so wide. You look like you're glowing under the stage lights, soaking in the applause like you're made to be praised by an adoring audience.

─⋅⋆⁺.

You release a heavy breath when you get to the door of your dressing room. Zatanna, having walked you there after the last curtain call, huffs a laugh,

“Y’know for someone who’s just getting used to crowds, you really do a good job once you’re up there.”

“Yeah, well that’s cus no one can tell I’m shitting my pants the entire time.”

Zatanna laughs,

“It gets easier, more comfortable. The crowds, I mean.”

“Thanks… Aunty.”

Zatanna cringes and it’s your turn to laugh.

“Ugh, I told you to stop with-”

She stops herself looking over your shoulder,

“Looks like you have a guest~”

You already know who it is from her tone, exactly who you were hoping. Zatanna giggles rather childishly as you shoo her away.

“Constantine.”

You resist the urge to smile at the same monotone greeting he always gives you, turning to him,

“Wayne.”

You're both staring. You both look quite different from the last time you spoke in person, even if that was only a few months ago. Obviously your stage outfit makes for quite a difference but he’s dressed rather out of the ordinary too, in a well fitted suit that Bruce no doubt had to force him into, rich kid problems.

“I think you usually have to pay for backstage pass.”

You open the door to your dressing room and motion him inside.

“I should at least get a discount considering I’m the reason you’re here.”

You halt in your tracks.

“What?”

“If you hadn’t come to me that night, you wouldn't have taken my advice to stop fighting demons and almost dying all the time.”

Straight to the point. So matter of fact. You cross your arms, not really believing the audacity.

“I made the decision myself. You were just the catalyst. And I'm still fighting demons by the way, just less often.”

You sound childish but to be fair, he started it.

“I'm alright with just being the catalyst, I suppose.”

You scoff and turn around, checking your makeup in your vanity mirror, fixing the dark shade of lipstick you have on. He watches your reflection in the mirror and clears his throat after a minute.

“That's one hell of an intermission act”

You look at him through the mirror.

“Is that praise?”

You only noticed now how he's inching away from the door and closer towards where you stand. He clicks his tongue,

“Yes, it was an impressive performance.”

You turn around now to face him, grin lighting up your face.

“Careful Dames, I might get the impression you're flirting with me.”

He grumbles something unintelligible and shoves his hands in his pockets, looking to the side. He stops within reaching distance, looking at your face now, still with that frown. Like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

You lean against the vanity, the look in his eye has you nervous and you're not sure why. You decide to dissolve the situation in the only way you know how, being a cheeky bastard.

“And If you keep looking at me like that, I might even think you want to kiss me, Wayn-”

Before you can finish your irritating comment, he makes the split second decision to stop dancing around like a boy and be a man.

He kisses you. Simple and to the point, just like him. It's stiff and completely unexpected on your part.

You're still in shock when he separates, wide eyes looking into his unsure ones. He looks away, eyebrows furrowing like he's chastising himself and he backs away.

He doesn't get very far before he feels some magical force pull him back and you grab his stupid fancy jacket and kiss him again.

It's deeper, you pull him in and he accepts it. A hand on your back, his lips moving against yours. You can feel him ease into it more when you run your fingers through his short hair, palm grazing his cheek.

He huffs lightly against your lips, pulling away slightly, bringing your hand away from his cheek. You still a little, worried you did something wrong, but the way he looks you in your eyes says otherwise. He tugs on each finger of your glove and pulls it off, placing your hand right back on his cheek before working on your other glove.

You let out a breath, more like a wheeze, and bring him into another kiss. He holds your hand in his and brings you even closer with his other hand on your back. He’s leaning in so close, pushing you against your vanity. It's not rushed or desperate at all, but there's a shared feeling of deep need. A wanting.

You pull away to breathe, he tries to follow your lips, much to your amusement.

He's too busy staring into your oh-so-pretty eyes to notice the shit-eating grin on your face,

“You like me~”

You whisper to him, an accusation, a taunt. He sighs, tilts his head to the ceiling and says,

“Despite my better judgement.”

Not being one to waste an opportunity, you lay a kiss on his newly exposed neck. To which he flinches and touches the area like you've pinched him.

You laugh and lean back against your vanity. He moves back just a bit, so he’s not right on top of you. A shame.

He fixes his already neat tie, taking a deeper than necessary breath before asking,

“This is your last night in Gotham. The show, I mean.”

You hum in confirmation, not feeling the need to hide the way your eyes roam anymore.

“Where are you going next?”

“Metropolis.”

You answer simply, smug smirk still prominent. He clears his throat a little and nods.

“I can be there.”

To his annoyance, your grin widens.

“Oh, can you?”

You tilt your head a little,

“You could just call me. You remember I can teleport, right?”

His scowl has returned, sitting on his face like it never left.

“I’d like to avoid you being at the manor at all. Those imbeciles still won't let me live down the last time you showed up.”

You chuckle at his expense, to which his scowl deepens and his face warms. You very much did not help with that whole situation.

“So, It’s a date then? After the show, we can go somewhere nice…together.”

You shrug and he nods while fiddling with his cuffs, who knew Damian Wayne could be so fidgety?

“I’ll be there.”

With that he makes his exit and when the door shuts you both let out twin sighs of relief.

—⋅⋆⁺.

Damian spots Alfred waiting for him next to the limo the rest of the family are huddled in. As soon as he and Alfred are inside, the limo is off. He realizes how unusually quiet it is and only then notices how everyone is looking at him.

Stephanie and Tim look like two school girls, trying to stifle their laughter. Jason is just giving him a wider than usual smirk. Duke and Cass do a better job of hiding their amusement, covering their grins, pretending to look out the window. Even Alfred and Bruce share a knowing look.

Dick, not known for subtlety, has his phone out and is taking pictures with the flash on, the dumbest grin on his stupid face.

“You got a little something on your face there, D.”

Damian’s eyes widen and his shoulders tense.

You got your lipstick all over him.

Jason, Tim, Duke and Steph all burst out laughing as Damian kicks Dick's phone out of his hands and tries to rub your lipstick off his mouth with his sleeve.

“A wet wipe, Master Damian?”

Alfred offers, the saint. Damian snatches it up with a small thanks.

“You got some over here too.”

Jason remarks, pointing to his neck. The smarmy bastard couldn’t look more pleased with himself.

“Shut up, Todd.”

He hisses with as much venom as he can muster.

He knows exactly where you kissed him, he can still feel it, like it happened a second ago. Though he’ll keep that observation to himself, much like the soft smile he notices on his father's face.

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

#they're so cute oml 😭😭🤧#constantine! reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #dc comics #dc x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian al ghul x you #damian wayne x you

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yumequeenbr · 2 years ago

Text

170#Hoot/Snake

#warriorscats #wc designs #warriors #wcdesigns #designs #warrior cats fanart #warrior cats #snake #hoot #bloodclan

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cbeargyu · 1 month ago

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7 minutes - jeno

cw: explicit sexual content, rough sex, dirty talk, spitting kink, spanking, domination/submission dynamics, power play, non-consensual elements implied (pressure/coercion in game context), oral sex, degradation, orgasm denial/edging, bodily fluids, language, public setting, alcohol use, breath play (light choking implied), emotional intensity.

wc: 1991

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 🔞

the party had been a mess from the start.

someone spiked the drinks, the living room was trashed, and half the people had already passed out on the floor, shoes still on. what was left was a circle of survivors, all flushed cheeks, glossy eyes, and dirty minds. and of course, someone had to say it:

“truth or dare.”

you had laughed, shaking your head, but ended up joining anyway — too drunk to care, too bored to leave. the dares had started simple. lick someone’s neck. take off a shirt. kiss your ex. harmless. stupid. messy. but then haechan decided to turn things up.

“y/n,” he grinned, leaning in with that look that never meant anything good. “dare.”

“of course,” you muttered.

“sit on jeno’s lap. and stay there for five rounds.”

there were hoots and whistles, someone fake-gasped. your eyes flicked to jeno — quiet, respectful, the kind of guy who always avoided eye contact too long. he looked... surprised. and kind of nervous.

you walked over and sat down anyway.

at first, it was stiff. awkward. your back barely touched his chest, your legs tense. he didn’t move, not even a breath out of place. you almost rolled your eyes. but with each round, something shifted.

maybe it was the way your hips subtly adjusted on his thighs.

maybe it was how his fingers twitched when your weight settled just a little deeper.

you felt it before you wanted to believe it — the way he tensed under you, the unmistakable hardening between your thighs. his jaw locked. you felt it when you leaned back a bit more, just to test.

oh.

definitely not as innocent as he seemed.

by the fifth round, the room had gotten louder, messier, hazier. your body was warm, buzzing with every tiny movement jeno didn’t make. his hands were gripping the couch now. his breathing was slow, deep. focused.

you didn’t dare turn to look at him.

then haechan stood up again, wicked and way too excited.

“alright, new game,” he announced. “seven minutes in heaven.”

you barely registered it before he pointed straight at you and jeno. “you two. go.”

before you could protest, someone grabbed your wrist, someone else opened the bathroom door, and suddenly you were being pushed inside, jeno right behind you. the door slammed shut.

click.

locked.

“seven minutes,” renjun yelled from outside. “don’t waste it!” jaemin added.

you turned to jeno, heart pounding.

“this is stupid,” you muttered.

“yeah,” he said quietly, leaning back against the door. “we’ll just wait. it’s fine.”

but just as the silence started to stretch, chenle’s voice rang out like a goddamn gunshot:

“don’t come out till you’ve fucked.”

the room went still. jeno froze behind you. you turned around slowly — ready to roll your eyes, maybe laugh it off.

but when you looked up, he was staring at you.

not nervous. not shy. not innocent.

his jaw was clenched, eyes dark and heavy, like he was holding something in for way too long. like he’d finally decided he was done pretending.

“you think this is funny?” he asked, voice low, rough.

you opened your mouth to speak, but before you could even form a word, his hand grabbed your throat and pinned you against the cold tile wall.

your breath hitched.

“you’ve been fucking teasing me all night,” he hissed, his body pressing into yours. “shifting your hips like that, grinding on my dick like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

you swallowed, lips parting, eyes wide. “i wasn’t—”

“shut up.” his grip tightened just enough to make your thighs press together.

“you knew what you were doing. you just didn’t think i’d do anything about it.”

his knee forced itself between your legs, spreading them, lifting you slightly until your back arched against the wall. the tile was freezing, but his body was burning — every inch of him hard, tense, controlled.

“so i’m gonna make it real clear for you now,” he growled, leaning down until his mouth brushed your ear.

“you wanted to play? fine. but this isn’t a fucking game anymore.”

his hand left your throat only to drag down your body, rough and fast, yanking at your waistband, fingers slipping under your panties without hesitation.

“i’m gonna ruin you.”

his fingers slipped past your folds like he owned the place. no teasing. no warning. just a low grunt from his throat when he felt how wet you already were.

“fuck,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear. “you’re dripping.”

you gasped, but his hand clamped over your mouth before any sound left you.

“don’t make a noise,” he growled. “unless you want them all to hear how much you love being used.”

his fingers thrust into you, deep, rough — two at once, curling just right, moving with no hesitation. your knees buckled, but he shoved his thigh between them again, keeping you upright.

“i’ve been hard since you sat on me,” he muttered, lips brushing your neck. “and you just kept moving… like a little slut who wanted to get fucked in front of everyone.”

you whimpered under his palm, hips jerking as he started fucking his fingers into you faster, harder, your whole body rocking with the rhythm.

“look at you,” he sneered. “you act all quiet. innocent. cold. but your cunt’s begging for it, isn’t it?”

he pulled his fingers out, wet and glistening, and shoved them into your mouth.

“suck.”

you obeyed without thinking — lips parting, tongue wrapping around them as he watched, eyes dark, hungry, like he was holding back a storm.

“good girl.”

jeno turned you around without warning, one strong hand on your hip, the other fisting your hair. he bent you over the bathroom counter, your cheek pressed to the cold surface.

you heard the sound of his zipper. the thick weight of him pressing against you.

“you’ve got seven minutes,” he growled. “and i’m gonna spend every second fucking the brat out of you.”

he slammed into you in one brutal thrust, no hesitation — just the full, overwhelming stretch of him filling you up all at once. you cried out, voice muffled by the counter, and jeno just grunted behind you.

“yeah,” he muttered. “that’s what i thought.”

his pace was merciless. hips snapping into yours, hard enough to make the counter rattle. your nails scratched at the surface, eyes rolling back as he fucked you like he hated you — like he’d been waiting too long to be gentle anymore.

every thrust was a punishment.

“take it,” he growled. “you wanted this. take every fucking inch.”

he yanked your hair, forcing you to look at the mirror. your eyes met his in the reflection — wild, dark, raw.

“look at yourself,” he hissed. “look how wrecked you already are. and i’m not even close to done.”

your cheek pressed to the counter, breath fogging the mirror as jeno slammed into you over and over — each thrust deeper, filthier, rougher.

you were shaking, moaning, barely able to hold yourself up.

and then he grabbed your jaw.

his hand wrapped around your face, forcing you to lift your head just enough to look at yourself. your eyes were watery, lips swollen, drool clinging to the corner of your mouth.

“open.”

you hesitated, lips parting slowly.

“wider,” he snapped.

you obeyed — eyes locked on his through the reflection, mouth wide open like a good little toy.

jeno leaned forward, spitting directly onto your tongue. the thick wet sound made your whole body jolt.

“don’t swallow yet,” he growled, pulling back just to spit again — this time on your face, the slick strand dripping down your cheek. “look at you. fuck.”

he gripped your jaw tighter, forcing your head back down as he thrust even harder into you.

“this is what you wanted, right? to be fucked like a filthy little thing in a stranger’s bathroom? to be used?”

you moaned, hips jerking back against him, needing more — needing everything.

“swallow it.”

you obeyed, the taste of him sliding down your throat as he slammed into you harder. the sound of skin on skin was loud, wet, disgusting. the room smelled like sex. your mind was a blur of pleasure and shame and need.

jeno reached down, fingers rubbing your clit roughly, circling fast.

“gonna cum?” he growled. “already? fuckin’ pathetic.”

you nodded desperately, sobbing out a yes, a please, anything.

he spat again — this time on your ass, then rubbed it in with his palm, leaving a hot slap in its place.

“then cum,” he ordered, voice low and dangerous. “cum all over my cock like the messy little whore you are.”

jeno’s hands didn’t just grab and push — they owned you.

as he fucked you hard against the counter, one hand slipped down to your ass, squeezing it firmly. you gasped, but before you could catch your breath, his palm came down hard, smacking your cheek with a sharp slap that echoed in the small bathroom.

“you like that, don’t you?” he growled, fingers digging into the flesh as he pulled your hips back to slam into him again. “how good it feels to be controlled, to be marked?”

another smack, slower this time, teasing. your skin tingled, heat flooding through every nerve ending.

“say it,” he ordered. “say you want me to keep spanking you.”

you bit your lip, words catching in your throat — but his grip on your hip tightened, fingers trailing down to pinch your skin.

“louder.”

“please, jeno,” you finally whispered, voice trembling. “spank me.”

a wicked smile spread across his face.

“you asked for it.”

smack.

your whole body jerked, the sting raw but delicious, like fire and ice all at once.

his hand moved fast, alternating between hard spanks and firm squeezes — building a rhythm that matched his thrusts. each hit made you shiver and moan, your pussy clenching around him tighter every time.

“you’re mine,” he said, voice low and rough. “marked. bruised. wrecked. and i’m not stopping until you’re begging.”

you cried out, the pleasure mixed with pain overwhelming, your world reduced to the feeling of his hand on your skin and his cock deep inside you.

“that’s it,” jeno encouraged, voice rough with need. “let it all go. show me how much you want this.”

the last hard smack landed on your burning skin, your body trembling, wet and sore in all the right ways. jeno’s thrusts slowed, but he didn’t stop — not yet. his fingers still kneaded your bruised ass, his grip tight, possessive.

“cum for me,” he growled, voice rough, eyes dark and wild.

you cried out, your walls clenching so tight around him it felt like your whole world shattered. jeno didn’t let up, pushing you over the edge harder than you ever thought possible — raw, dirty, demanding.

when you finally collapsed against the counter, panting, tears mixing with sweat, jeno pulled out slowly, lips pressing a bruising kiss to your shoulder.

“you okay, baby?” he asked, voice low but soft just for a second.

you nodded, barely able to speak.

he gave your ass one last rough squeeze, then grabbed your hand, pulling you up.

“let’s get out of here.”

you followed him out of the cramped bathroom, legs weak, hair a mess, cheeks flushed and red from his hands — totally undone.

but jeno? he looked calm, untouched — like he’d just stepped out for a breath of fresh air. his shirt was perfect, his hair neat, that cocky smirk still playing on his lips.

as the door opened, the room fell silent.

all eyes snapped to you — disheveled, flushed, breathless, vulnerable.

“what the fuck?” someone whispered.

“did they seriously just…?” another voice trailed off.

jeno caught your gaze, winked, then turned back to the group.

“yeah,” he said with a slow grin. “we’re definitely capable.”

you wanted to sink through the floor, but he just laughed, pulling you close again.

“don’t worry,” he whispered in your ear. “they’ll never forget tonight.”

#jeno #jeno lee #jeno smut #jeno x reader #nct jeno #lee jeno #nct dream #nct dream smut #nct smut #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct scenarios #jeno smut nct #jeno nct smut #jeno nct #lee jeno x you #lee jeno x reader #lee jeno fluff #lee jeno x y/n

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cavernclaw · 2 years ago

Text

not very important to the housefire au story but jumper and hoot have been forever kicked from bloodclan,

not for anything bad but they were just being a bunch of bitches to barley and the other younger warriors.

they now run a little prank stall and sometimes throw garbage at bloodclan dens, usually they get their asses whooped after they do this though.

#stupidwarriorkitties #housefire au #warrior cats #warriors #wc jumper and hoot #wc ice and snake #wc jumper #wc hoot #wc ice #wc snake

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the-flaneur · 7 months ago

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dearest darling flan would you ever consider writing for lewis 😔 i do not see nearly enough fics to justify js how attractive he is and it pains me

dont go insane (lh44)

pairing: lewis hamilton x driver!reader, platonic grid x reader

summary: when george invites some of the drivers over for a drunken presentation night, what better topic to present than your speciality? lewis' di-...outfits

warnings: suggestive mentions

wc: 1243

a/n: your wish is my command 😉 may have deviated a little bit, but dont worry i have many more fics lined up for this very attractive man

[masterlist] [request]

“ok ok everybody, thank you for joining us for the very first annual driver’s presentation night, hosted by yours truly, george russell. a connoisseur of powerpoint presentations, if i do say so myself,” george grinned.

the driver’s spare meeting room, which had been earlier crammed with spinning wheelie chairs and long white desks, had been replaced with the comfort of some old beanbags and blankets, as you, max, george, lando, oscar, charles, and alex settled in for a very long evening. as the last words left george's lips, a round of uncoordinated cheers erupted from the drunken audience. max let out an especially loud whoop before nearly faceplanting into a beanbag.

"you're all welcome," he said with exaggerated politeness. "now then, without further ado, let's dive right into our first presentation of the evening!"

he gestured grandly towards you, nearly losing his balance in the process. "everyone, please welcome the one the only, the illustrious and femioone-feminonnena…blimey…” he cackled, tossing you the screen remote, “oh you know who it is…y/n! welcome yourself up to the stage,”

"thank you, georgie poo. and hello everyone, i'm very very happy to be here tonight to present a special look back at the goat’s fashion choices. i would’ve rather regaled you with tales of his other…talents, but george made me promise to keep it pg, cause there are children here,” you giggled in front of all your friends, with a pointed look at lando and oscar, who seem to look mildly offended.

“obviously as the stunning wife of formula 1's golden boy himself," you continued, clicking onto the first slide, which showed you and lewis posed together for his recent dior collection, the boys hooting and hollering appreciatively, “i am the best and the only person able to give such a presentation, so make sure you’re listening,”

more applause and whistling followed as you clicked through to the first slide of lewis from the 2024 met gala, “of course, we gotta start off with a newfound lewis hamilton classic, the 2024 met gala. simple, classy, a great message and followed the theme, unlike so many others,” you rolled your eyes at the last bit, as the boys laughed.

“i can’t believe he disses my fashion sense, when his older met gala looks are questionable,” charles groans, swiping to show the group a photo pulled up on his phone. you sigh when you see lewis’ zig zag suit from 2019; definitely not camp enough for you or 2024 lewis.

“hey cut the man some slack,” alex laughs, seeing your pouting face, as you continue to click through the slides showcasing his various looks. the room continues to fill with laughter and playful jabs both at your commentary and the well-meaning yet snarky comments from the other drivers.

on the seventh slide, a photo of lewis in a see-through mesh top from the early 2021 season appeared on the screen, which definitely caught the drivers’ eyes. his chiseled features were highlighted with the bright backdrop, and the material of the shirt definitely emphasised his broad shoulders and toned physique. as well as the absolutely sinful tattoos criss-crossing his biceps, yummy…

"he looked absolutely dashing here, didn't he?" you purred, voice dripping with admiration. pausing the presentation, you let the image linger on the screen as you continued, "and trust me, he cleaned up even better in private that night..."

the room erupted in good-natured eye-rolls and chuckles at your suggestive remark. lando, never one to miss an opportunity, quipped, "well, we all knew lew was a total “stud”,"

oscar snorted, "yeah, until he decides to show up to the races in a black shirt and pants with hummingbirds on it," the others groaned in agreement, recalling lewis' infamous (amongst the drivers) outfit choice from several years prior. you laughed, unfazed by the teasing, "okay, okay, i get it. but this look right here? classic lewis - sophisticated, stylish, and undeniably sexy,” pointing once again to another showstopper lewis look.

you continued to advance the slideshow to the next image, another candid shot of you and lewis leaving a glamorous red-carpet event hand-in-hand. george leaned in to whisper something to alex, both of them grinning mischievously.

george, still smitten with his own awaiting powerpoint prowess, decided to inject some competitiveness into the situation. "alright, let's not forget why we're really here, shall we? fashion, schmashion - who still really wants to hear more about y/n's insightful analysis of lewis's wardrobe choices?"

the room erupted in laughter, as you shot george a stern look, "hey now, my presentation is far more interesting than your mediocre slide designs, george!"

undeterred, george retorted, "oh yeah?”

your face grew warm at the snide remark, but a spark of competitiveness ignited in your eyes. "oh, i think i can handle whatever you throw my way, george! don’t mess with the best," with a dramatic flourish, you clicked the remote to advance the slideshow featuring a collage of george's most...questionable outfits from past casual outings events. the drivers gasped in unison, their jaws dropping at the sight of george sporting everything from neon-colored blazers to patterned socks that clashed with his trousers. even the most tame of them were at least questionable to the discerning eye.

max let out a low whistle, while lando and oscar burst into uncontrollable laughter. with a sly grin, you continued, “i wouldn’t get ahead with the insult boys…george ain’t the only one who needs to pay for fashion crimes,”

"let's start with you, maxie," you sighed, pulling up one singular image on the presentation, the red bull racing suit, “unfortunately, your one fashion weakness is that you have no variety. did you know out of almost all the media pictures people get of you, it’s like a 1 in 500 to get one of you not in your suit, let alone anything fashionably interesting. you really need to convince pr to dress you in something else. how else am i supposed to critique you?" you humph.

max held up his hands in mock defense, laughing along with the others. "clearly, it was a stroke of genius."

as your merciless fashion critiques continued, the room descended into a fit of giggles and playful jabs. even george couldn't help but crack a smile, impressed by your preparations. lando shouted as you ripped his metaphorical fashion career away from him, "you know, if you're going to tear us apart like this, maybe we should just let you design our outfits from now on."

"oh, i think i've got enough on my plate with being mrs. hamilton already. besides, i have a feeling everyone might object to me dressing up the entire f1 grid in matching juicy couture tracksuits." the group erupted in laughter once more, and max raised his glass in a toast.

"to y/n, the only person in this room brave enough to call us out on our questionable fashion choices," max declared, his voice laced with humor and appreciation, "may her sharp tongue and keen eye for style forever keep us in check," the others echoed the toast, clinking their glasses together.

“but don’t worry i’ve saved an absolute treat for last,” you giggled, clicking towards the next slide, and the drivers, not for the first time tonight, were speechless.

there, plastered across the screen was a very…tasteful selection of lewis’ best pics. and the title: best clothes = no clothes.

being mrs hamilton was so much fun ;)

permanent f1 taglist (comment or msg me to join)

@charlesgirl16 @tallrock35 @sweate-r-weathe-r @unlikelystay @alex-wotton

@daisyfreecs @euphorihan @louloucs @oikarma @dying-inside-but-its-classy

@fadingcloudballoon @princessminjikwon @nina-or-anna-or-nora

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7bites · 27 days ago

Text

── TELEVANGELISM † PREViEW

PAiRiNG 𓈒 ⛪️ kim sunoo x fem ! reader

MDNI 𓈒 reblogs &. feedback appreciated. official release estimated 06.20. 2.9k WC ♪♫

𝑽iewed as an angel sent by the heavens themselves since you were born, you’d worked tirelessly to prove your devotion and faith. Your godly grace finally pays off on the sweltering summer evening of your 20th birthday. It was that fateful Sunday, 1964, that the abandoned barn sitting just on the outskirts of your typical bike ride home shows you that sinners can disguise themselves as saints.

TAGLIST 𓈒 @gnarlyhoons † open! send an ask to join

GENRE & THEMES 𓈒 religious horror, psychological thriller, angst, mild nsfw / smutty themes here and there, toxic romance, dependency, angst, southern gothic au, some fluff because i’m not completely evil ?

AUTHOR’S NOTE 𓈒 hello everyone! sawyer here, thank you for checking out the preview to my sunoo fic, televangelism. i’m posting a sneak peak in hopes to promote the final release a bit better, so reblogs and support are super super helpful and appreciated. i’d like to clarify that this is a dark fic and will contain various dark and nsfw themes, so mdni and readers discretion advised. at the time of this note, i’ve got over 5k written up and i estimate the final product will have anywhere between 25-35k words total! so stay tuned.

CONTENT WARNINGS 𓈒 this will be a sacrilegious work of fiction. due to this being a preview and not including any dark topics thus far, i will not list the warnings until the final version releases. if leaving an ask to request to be added to the taglist, please know that there will be various darker topics ahead.

INSPIRATIONS 𓈒 @fangel ‘s harvest of purity, ethel cain, pearl and x (2022), the concept of divine intervention, southern gothic / midwestern living, nicole dollenganger, a bit of lana del rey.

The birds sang a song of rebirth, euphonious and kind amongst the ears of the many warm bodies huddled within the church, the low hum of cicadas muddled in with hushed whispers and merriment. It was a sweltering and humid summers evening, the occasional breeze bristling by just enough to give the gardenias a rustle.

It was 5:15 PM, Sunday, 1969. Today is the day you turn twenty years old. Today, you sink into the cold and shallow depths of devotion.

Chipped paint along the pews, soft linen against flushed and faintly sticky skin. You can feel your heart fluttering. You’d given your entire life’s purpose for this very moment, every prayer, every good deed, every lesson learned and taught, every holler and hoot for mistakes made… all to get here. To prove that you were worth it, that you were pure and as docile as a fawn eating straight out the palm of God himself.

It’s not that anyone had ever thought of you as anything but, not at all. In fact, you were your quiet little towns most idolized and cherished possession, the type of girl that makes heads turn and tongues tie. Always kind, never swore, the type of girl that boys told their parents about— A ‘I wanna put a ring on that girl’ girl, a ‘I wanna be that girl’ girl. Never a day passed where you didn’t make sure to do all your chores, and you always set the table. You smelled like fresh cotton, honeyed amber, and ripe fig, good for the takin’. You always dressed proper and accordingly, never a skirt or dress too cheeky, but perfect enough to not be deemed a compete prude. You were smart, humble, and as sweet as apple pie; it was hard for people not to admire you, which is why the turn out for your baptism was rather impressive.

It wasn’t very common to be baptized so far down the line, and a few of your peers always gave you a bit of shit for it– playfully, of course, but you paid no mind to it. Your parents told you from a very young age that you had to work for your devotion, to show that you knew where your intentions lay. There would be no point if you would turn and succumb to distractions, to sin. They worried that taking such an important step in the earlier stages of your life would be too risky, they feared immaturity and it’s wicked reign on your ability to choose right from wrong. You used to beg, to plead for this very moment, many failed attempts to convince your parents met with a stern ‘hush your mouth’ that never failed to make you swallow your heart. Eventually, they noticed your efforts and felt unspoken pride upon receiving praise from the other parents and adults around town, many wishing they could have given birth to an angel like you. There’d even been a running joke about how you must be a late bloomer, otherwise you’d have sprouted your wings and long since ascended from this place you called home.

You could tell it made your parents swell with a gratification that almost felt blasphemous. Almost.

“She’s a sight for sore eyes, ain’t she…?” A whispered voice had mumbled to another, brown puppy dog eyes taking you in as if his life had depended on it, like he was an addict and you were the bourbon. You’d known Sim Jake since you two were practically in diapers, blossomed and crafted by the same religion, raised with tender love. You’d consider him to be one of your closest friends, though he saw you as much more. He’d never admit it, and you’d never admit that you’d known about how he’s felt for years. Everyone’s got their secrets, after all.

“She looks pretty in white,” said the other through bated breath, also unable to pry away his timorous gaze. “She looks pretty in everything, Hee.” Jake had corrected subtly, nudging his knee against his friends all while continuing to watch as the pastor preached your name to the congregation, the sound like bliss upon the two boys’ ears. Lee Heeseung, a mutual friend of both you and Jake, whom you’d had the pleasure of meeting one chance spring day on a bike ride to the diner. You’d been running errands for your mother all day and found yourself feeling a bit worn down and blowsy, your roseate features giving it away. Jake and Heeseung had been hanging out with a few more of your schoolmates, laughing up a storm and exchanging stifled gossip. It was Jake who had noticed the moment you had walked in, his head perking up at the sound of the bell similarly to a loyal dog excited for the return of their owner, but Heeseung wasn’t much far behind. He had met your figure, trailing from your cowgirl boots up to your exposed calves, teetering the lace lined edges of your white colored dress, past your father’s oversized flannel, and finally up to your face and neck where he watched the beads of sweat get dabbed away with the back of your palm. Despite your flustered appearance, you still managed to look effortless and delicate in every movement you made, not rushed or frazzled. Just there, smiling sickly sweet.

He knew then that if he wasn’t careful with you, he’d end up with a toothache, a rooted cavity that would burn like fire and brimstone.

You’d gotten a peach cobbler milkshake that day, deciding to reward yourself for all your hard labor, but before you could pay Jake had made his way from behind you, telling the worker that he’d cover your tab. Heeseung envied the way that his friend was born with such natural charm, he couldn’t hate him even if he tried. Hell, no one could. When he’d seen the way you smiled winsomely down at your boots and thanked Jake with the flutter of your lashes and that doe-eyed stare, he knew then and there that the feelings you evoked from people were no different.

“And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.”

You felt the frigid water hugging your bare legs like it was ready to devour you whole, your gown pooling similar to a jellyfish floating mindlessly, the water seeping further and further up the fabric. Although you felt the many anticipatory stares of everyone and met them back with your own feeble gaze, in this moment you felt yourself drift, a sensation of disconnect resonating deep within you. The words of the pastor began to sound faint, muddled, as if you’d already been underwater for hours now.

“Have you received Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?”

You responded instinctively and attentively to the questions you were asked despite not rendering anything being spoken. It left your lips like a kiss goodbye from a lover going to war.

“Will you obey and serve Him as your King for the rest of your life?”

You allowed your eyelids to shut, overflowing with the beckoning call of white noise and wind chimes. Another timid agreement digging its way out from the back of your throat, solidifying faith to take host into your body, a vehement pietism.

“Because you’ve professed your faith in the Lord Jesus, I now baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”

Drying off was a bit of a pain, a towel only being able to do so much before you’re left damp and mildly uncomfortable, but you didn’t mind it too much. The gentle hum of a mindless tune left your plush lips as you made your way out from the changing room, your maryjane’s hooked around your fingers by the straps as you fled from the church with the gentle patter of your steps following suit. Typically people would change into a pair of dry clothes after their baptism, but your parents insisted it would be better to let you soak up all of “God’s gracious glory”, so you were to remain in your dampened clothes and walk home, giving yourself time to dry off. A ride home would be much more convenient, but your father would be damned to let the seats of your beaten pickup truck take on a bit of water.

A few people remained outside after service had ended, chatting amongst themselves about Lord knows what. You spotted your parents standing beside that familiar baby blue Chevy, feeling your chest swell with excitement upon seeing your bike in the cargo bed. With quick paced steps, you ushered over and watched your father haul out your cycle and set it down for you along the dirt.

“My starlet! Oh thank you, daddy!” You cooed out, placing your shoes into the wire basket along the front end and going to hug your father only for him to place two rough hands against your arms, abruptly stopping you from reaching any closer.

“Woah there, darlin’… Save it for when the sun soaks you up.” He warned, his thin lip smile causing you to cover up your faltered expression quickly, a stiff smile along your lips as you relaxed back onto the flats of your bare feet, nodding in response. “Right… sorry.”

“Supper should be ready by the time you get home long as you don’t do no piddlin’, you hear me?” Your mother said, making her way to the passenger side of the truck. You nodded once again silently, flickering your gaze off to the side only to notice a faint twinkle catching your attention. Just before your father could also bid you goodbye, you managed to choke out a gentle call.

“W-Wait!” You watched him halt his steps, turning around with an arched brow as he stared your smaller frame down.

“Could I take the radio with me? I wanna listen to the preachin’ stations,” You explained quietly, feeling your hands mindlessly clutching and toying with the handlebars of your bike. “Please…?”

After a long fleeting moment, your father let out a long exhale from his nose, a habit he often did when he’d give in to your requests, causing you to try and hide a growing grin along your face. You watched him reach back into the bed and pull out the small AM-FM radio, giving it a quick check over before settling it into your basket with a knowing look. “You know the rules.“ He commented sternly, resulting in you giving him a tight lipped look, bordering a faux smile. “I’m a devoted woman now, daddy.” You reminded, as if to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about, let alone hassle you for. He stared you down for a while before reaching up a calloused hand to place along the top of your head, giving it a gentle shake, pulling away and hopping into the truck. You gave a wave, watching them pull off down the pavement until they were far out of sight, your face falling into a more neutral expression.

It hadn’t lasted but a second upon feeling someone’s hand gently brush against your shoulder, your head whipping around as a result in a faint startle. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” You calmed at Jake and Heeseung’s familiar faces, a meek expression creeping on your own. You waved a dismissive hand, keeping one along your bike handles to keep it steady. “It’s alright, I suppose I’ve got the bearings of a church mouse s’all…” You replied, allowing a small blanket of silence to cover the three of you. You hadn’t noticed it, but Jake had became at a loss from words, finding his prying eyes gazing a tad too far down your dampened dress, being able to see it was a bit see through now that he was closer and not watching you up on a podium. He quickly had cleared his throat, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck while turning off towards the side, suddenly fixated on the crooked telephone poles in the distance.

“We were,” Heeseung decided to speak up, his voice coming out in an awkward and insecure mumble at first before he worked up a bit more confidence to continue. “We were wonderin’ if you needed a ride home…? We saw your folks leave, and we… We—“ He thought over his words carefully, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “We were just worried about you, is all.”

You kept strong eye contact with the boy who spoke, your eyes unwavering as you took in the way he talked to you and stammered over himself. For a fleeting moment, you mauled over how it was cute, but it left as soon as it came. You allowed yourself to giggle under your breath, a breeze rolling through and causing your hair to caress your face, your free hand reaching up to tame the masses. “That’s real sweet of you, thank you kindly,” you chimed, watching the way their faces had lit up.

“Great! Just tell u-“

“But I’ll be alright.”

The way their faces fell flat made something in your stir a bit, but you dismissed it and tilted your head to the side, watching the way they communicated with one another through glances. “Right… well, you just be careful,” Jake finally found it in himself to speak once again, but his demeanor had changed significantly, clearly showcasing concern along his features. “Pastor told us a storm was gonna be rolling through soon. Said it would be short, but it’ll come down like God’s wrath.” He mumbled, taking out his anxiety by picking at his dress shirt sleeves.

You laughed a bit, adjusting your bike and hiking up one leg to toss over onto the other side, propping yourself up onto the seat, balancing yourself on your tiptoes. “A storm? It’s hotter than blue blazes out here, but I’ll take your word.” Your hands reached forward into your basket, fumbling around with the antenna and knobs along your radio, “I’m a big girl,” you breathed, peering over your shoulder with an all too alluring gaze.

“I can handle it.”

The route to get to your house was quite the ways away, a rough two hour walk, but you could scrape it down to a little over forty minutes if you biked the entire way and kept a consistent pace. You had to navigate through the busier parts of town, passing by the mom n’ pop shops and various restaurants before making a turn off one of the main roads where the ground turned to gravel and dirt. You knew you were in the final stretch when you reached the prairies, the long outstretch of yellow tall grass going on for the last half hour before you’d reach your house. The homes along the outskirts were spaced out graciously, around three to five minutes apart from each other via car- Although your town was far from the city life, this kind of living was better for more private and secluded people much like your parents.

You had stopped by the store on your way out of the more convoluted area, picking up a hefty pomegranate to pick at when you got home and having it tucked in the corner of your basket for safekeepings. It wasn’t nearly as hot as it was before, the skies having clouded over and casting a gloomy yet warm hue over the vast stretch of land, the humid breeze pushing against your body as you walked your bike along the dirt, deciding on taking a break from all the peddling. Your radio crackled with the occasional static, the words of the televangelist on the station cutting in and out. You didn’t mind though, you’d heard this sermon many times before, so much so that you’d memorized the spoken gospel and filled in the gaps under your own breath, eyes boring ahead at the path before you.

“We come together today…”

The grass flowed against the wind like waves in water, mother natures vigorous ocean. The definite clicking of your bicycle chain blending into the faint static of the man’s voice coming through the speakers.

“In dark times such as these, we must all remember to look to the lord for guidance. Submit yourselves, then, to God.”

You ran your tongue along the front of your teeth, feeling the sensation of a light sprinkle starting to tatter along your skin. You glanced at the sky, stoping in your tracks as the deep rumble of thunder boomed through your ears, sending a vibration coursing through your chest– Still, you mindless muttered the preacher’s words under your breath.

“Amen.“

From the corner of your eye, a bright and quick flash caught your attention enough for you to hastily crane your head to the side, your eyes straining out into the distance with a sense of upheaval, as if the atmosphere had shifted within the span of that singular second. The preacher’s words of devotion no longer filled your ears, leaving behind a muddled flurry of static and high pitch whirring. A ways away into the fields lay a large abandoned barn that used to belong to an elderly couple you’d known since you were little, covered in faded red paint and wood rot. Unfortunately, they had both passed away several years ago, leaving the barn to fend for itself. As far as you knew, no one ever used it for anything and it remained out of sight; out of mind, only serving as a warm reminder of the pair who showed it great love during their time on earth.

So who was in the barn.

#﹙ † ﹚ 𝐤𝐬𝐧. TELEVANGELiSM #𓈃 SUNOOBiTES #✶ 7bites #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fanfiction #kim sunoo x reader #sunoo x reader #sunoo smut #enhypen x female reader #enhypen hard hours #kim sunoo smut

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