#taken vampire

[wickedsrest-rp]

Deacon Brooks He / him

"I buried him. Buried myself too. Only one of us stayed down."

SPECIES: Vampire OCCUPATION: Unemployed AGE: 132 Years Old (Looks to be in his late 30s) PLAYED BY: Nate FC: Tom Hopper

BIOGRAPHY:

Deacon was born and raised in a quiet coal town tucked into the hills outside the city, a place where life was hard but simple. His days were spent underground, carving a living from stone and soot. He wasn’t a man of ambition—just someone who worked hard and looked after his own. The men in his crew were like family. He never imagined the mine would be the last place he saw them alive. 

One night, while deep below the surface, his crew uncovered a tunnel that didn’t belong. It wasn’t marked on any map, and the rock didn’t feel right. Then came the scent—metallic, wrong. And then the vampire.

It hit them fast. Blood hit the walls. Deacon fought as best he could—bare hands and miner’s strength—but the creature was faster. Stronger. It tore through the others. Deacon, bloodied and reeling, managed to destroy a support beam and collapse part of the shaft, trapping the monster and himself in a side tunnel.

Broken and bleeding, the vampire dragged itself through the rubble, half-buried but grinning like it had already won. It didn’t strike again. It didn’t need to. Instead, it crawled closer, slow and deliberate—mocking Deacon with every movement.

“You’ve got fight in you,” it rasped, voice rough and taunting. “I like that. You’ll be useful. I’ll come find you one day.”

Blood poured from a deep gash in its neck, thick and dark. With a sudden lurch, it pressed its wrist to Deacon’s mouth. The taste hit instantly—hot, metallic, wrong. It burned its way down like liquid fire.

Deacon tried to turn away, but he was too far gone—no strength left, no breath to curse it.

The vampire laughed, low and satisfied. Then the tunnel gave way, and everything went black.

Deacon didn’t die. Not fully. The vampire's blood wormed through his veins, anchoring him in a cursed half-life. Buried beneath the earth, his body should’ve rotted—but it didn’t. He slept for decades, though it was no true sleep. The hunger gnawed constantly. Memory faded. Only the thirst remained.

Eventually, the land shifted. A flood, a quake, or perhaps a new excavation site—something disturbed the skeleton of the mine. The weight lifted, just enough. Deacon clawed his way out of the dark like something born wrong. The world above had changed beyond recognition.

He wandered, barefoot and filthy, consumed by hunger. He didn’t understand what he was—only that he wasn’t human anymore. And when the thirst became too much, he fed. He didn’t mean to. But the man had been there, offering help.

When Deacon came to, the body was cold and the guilt unbearable.

Now, he moves through the shadows, trying to control the hunger that defines him. He’s searching—not just for answers about what he’s become, but for purpose in a world that left him behind.

PERSONALITY:

Loyal · Gritty · Haunted · Isolated · Stoic · Self-Sacrificing · Morally Conflicted · Reserved · Violent Under Duress · Curious

OTHER INFO:

Turned into a vampire during a supernatural mining accident ~100 years ago.

Buried underground for a century before re-emerging.

Has no understanding of vampire society—functions as a rogue fledgling.

Experiences fragmented memories and vivid dreams of his transformation.

Consumed by guilt after accidentally killing someone upon waking.

Physically powerful with enhanced senses, but haunted by his instincts.

Disoriented by modern life—technology, culture, even language.

Believes the vampire who turned him may still be out there.

[lunarcovehq]

WELCOME TO LUNAR COVE, REMMINGTON MCALLISTER

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Agender, They/Them

DATE OF BIRTH: March 7th, 1989

OCCUPATION: Mechanic

RESIDENCY: Downtown

FACECLAIM: Elliot Page

IF I DIE YOUNG

SPECIES: Vampire

CLAN POSITION: Member

AGE AT TRANSFORMATION: 30

LAY ME DOWN IN A BED OF ROSES

Trigger Warnings: Alcoholism, Child Neglect, Military/War Violence, Assault (stabbing, beating), Blood, Death, Parental Death Mention

Remmington’s story started out just like everyone else’s-- a child born to two parents who weren’t exactly ready for a child, reluctantly trying to live out what they perceived as the “American Dream”, forced into roles neither really wanted to play. This became even more so when Remmington’s mother died just a few hours after giving birth, and the husband and father she left behind would blame the child for her death. 

As Remmy grew up, they learned rather quickly how to fend for themself. Their father turned very quickly into an alcoholic, leaving Remmy home alone for days at a time sometimes. Having no supervision meant Remmy was able to do whatever they wanted, even fall into bad crowds in high school. They’d never been that good at school anyway, but with other kids who were left to their own devices, the group of them began getting into trouble. This trouble culminated in Remmy getting caught vandalizing the school property, completely wasted. Expelled from school, Remmy’s life was shaping up to be just like their father’s, and while Remmy had never truly known what they wanted to do with their life, they knew they didn’t want that.

A military recruit was at the school the day Remmy was cleaning out their locker. The woman told Remmy if they signed up, the military would provide them a job, an education, a place to be. A second chance. The military could set Remmy right and give them a good life. How could Remmy deny that? They signed up on the spot, took their physical the next day, and shipped off a few months later, packing all of their belongings and leaving their broken father behind. This was a second chance they weren’t going to mess up. During boot camp, Remmy was signed up for an AA group, passed their GED exam, and realized that they had quite the knack for numbers. Numbers always came easy for Remmy. Numbers and details. They made sense. They had patterns and rules and they never strayed from those. Two plus two always equals four. It wasn’t long before Remmy’s affinity for numbers granted them the opportunity to move up in the military. They signed up for the Airforce once they’d finished their circuit, with hopes of getting into the engineering program-- but their lack of education didn’t allow them to be accepted. Instead, Remmy was put on the Explosive Ordnance Disposal team. Remmy didn’t mind. Because bombs, like numbers, always followed rules. They were easy to figure out, once you knew the basics.

So Remmy stayed there, in the military. Where else would they go? They had nothing left for them anywhere but here. Even if being in the military wasn’t the most open or inclusive place. Even identifying as female didn’t exactly grant Remmy a free ride. Even if they weren’t even sure they were a woman. Actually, they were very sure, but that wasn’t something people talked about in the military, even if DODA had been redacted, it didn’t mean people were suddenly okay with atypical things, like being non-binary or queer. So Remmy kept it to themself and hoped that maybe one day that might all change. 

But life went by unchanging for several years. Until it happened. It was a normal day, just like any other-- blazing hot sun, runs around the camp, security checks before heading out. Remmy’s team was on their way out on intel about possible bombs placed in a nearby city. And they found the bombs alright. But something was wrong with Remmy, something with their eyesight-- something they’d been ignoring for a while now. So when they tried to disable it, they set it off instead. They ran, the bomb exploded, Remmy didn’t remember much after that, ears ringing, head spinning. 

The team waited, holed up in a basement for hours, but all their efforts became meaningless the minute they decided to make a break for the Hum-Vs. They were all shot and killed, except Remmy. They’d been shielded from the onslaught by the medic who had been helping them walk and they woke up hours later still under his limp body. Pushed their way out of the rubble and over to the Hum-V, radioed for help, then passed out at the wheel. 

And even though Remmy woke up again, days later, in a hospital, they still felt like they were in a dream. A terrible dream. It even still felt like a dream when they were discharged from the hospital, when they were told they couldn’t rejoin the military due to their disease-- a hereditary one, apparently. Leber optic neuropathy, apparently. Remmy didn’t know what that was-- they said this resulted in being disabled; or when they were standing up on the podium accepting their medal for bravery, or when they were moved into a veteran’s half-way house in Boston. Even when they realized this was going to be the rest of their life. They had lost their purpose.

The deep depression that Remmy fell into felt inevitable to them. They went back to the drinking and late nights out, trying to find a way to keep the nightmares away, trying to find a way to feel something again. To be something again. Their life was turning back into a cycle of pain, from trying to numb themself at clubs, to starting bar fights, to gambling. It was on one fateful night that Remmy was introduced to the world of underground ring fighting, brought there by an old friend. 

It wasn’t hard for Remmy to fall into the excitement and fervor for it. The cheering, the overwhelming noise, the flickering lights. The smell of metal and sweat. This, this Remmy knew. This was a life Remmy had lived. Their entire life had been violence, it was all they knew. And without realizing it, they wanted a fight again. A struggle. To scrape and claw their way through life because life had only ever given them that. Before they knew it, they were climbing into the ring. The whole world went quiet and seemed to slow down. They felt at home again, at peace. Even as fists flew and people shouted. When the fight was called, people dragging the two of them away from each other, Remmy wiped blood from their nose and sweat from their forehead and remembered the way their body had burned each morning they made the circuit around camp. 

There was something comforting about it all, and so Remmy kept coming back, no matter how much it hurt, inside and out. 

And things went really well for them for quite a while. It didn’t matter if they were coming home with bruises every night, they felt as if they could finally start living again. The extra money meant getting a better apartment, meant getting physical therapy for their old injuries, meant they didn’t have to try and get a job in a world that wasn’t built for people like them. It meant they were even able to get a service dog, a large, friendlier than anything, Leonberger. They even felt safe enough to finally come out as agender. It was a good thing. And better yet, something they were good at it. So good that they were even picked up by a sponsor, a coach. His name was Ray, an older man, who had once been a professional MMA fighter. He was jaded and apathetic, but he saw something special in Remmy. Something he wanted to stoke.

There were official tournaments for these fights, where bigwigs would come and gamble on the winner. Ray thought that Remmy had the potential to win and no one had ever thought Remmy was special before. So of course they did whatever it took to make Ray proud. They grew close over the years after Ray recruited them, and he came to love them unconditionally.

Finally, word came of a large tournament that was being set up. One with some big, important names that would be there. People who could take Remmy out from the underground and up into the real world of MMA. It was a great opportunity for them, and for the whole network. Imagine if someone like Remmy, an ex-vet, a random passerby who happened to find the fight, became a professional boxer? It was an insane thought.

So insane, that, apparently, there were people who were willing to pay anything to make sure that didn’t happen. 

When Ray approached Remmy, pulled them aside, and told them they needed to throw the match, Remmy was confused. This was their chance, their one chance, didn’t he want them to succeed? Didn’t he want them to win? But Ray was Ray, so when he insisted, Remmy agreed.

Except when they stepped out into that ring, when they heard the crowd cheering for them and the world slowed down like it always did in these moments, they weren’t sure they could do it. Ray had told them to make it look believable, so Remmy fought their hardest at first. And then the moment came-- they looked out into the crowd, into the coach’s corner and locked eyes with Ray. Wiped the blood from their nose. There were three tall men behind him, one had his hand on Ray’s shoulder. Remmy didn’t know who they were and they thought Ray almost looked scared. They didn’t know why, though. Their heart pounded and the bell rang. They stepped out for the last round and held up their fists. All they had to do was let their opponent get in one good hit and they could crumple and pretend to be incapacitated. 

But the swing came and it was aimed right for their ribs and in the last moment, Remmy moved. They just couldn’t do it. One quick uppercut knocked the old reigning champ down and the crowd went wild. Remmy had won. Remmy had won. But when they searched the crowd of jumping bodies for Ray, he was nowhere to be found. 

The locker room was empty, too, when Remmy finally made it back there. There wasn’t much time to react before they were jumped by two men. They fought back as best they could, but it didn’t matter-- it was as if these men had a super strength Remmy just couldn’t compete with. And a superspeed that beat them to the door and slammed their head into the tile. The world went black.

When Remmy woke, they were tied to a chair. Beside them was Ray, who was also tied up and unconscious. He was bleeding from a wound on his head badly. Remmy had cried out to him, for him, but he hadn’t answered, only groaned in pain. A shadowy figure with malicious eyes approached them finally, glowering down at Remmy. Through their hazy vision, they thought they saw fangs.

The man in the suit explained to them how they’d lost a lot of money because of Remmy. They had paid Ray a lot of money to have Remmy throw the match and they’d ruined it. So this was their punishment. Remmy watched in horror as one of the men came up behind Ray, lifted his head by his hair, and slit his throat. When the men approached Remmy next, they didn’t even resist as they felt fists slamming against their body, defeated. Or when they felt a knife sliding between their ribs. They only fought back when what felt like sharp teeth bit into their neck, sucking away all the blood that was leaking from their body. The one good thing in their life had been taken away again. They lashed out in one last fit of rage for Ray’s death and bit into the person’s arm who was biting them. They tasted blood, but it tasted different somehow. Strange. They held on as tightly as they could, blood filling their mouth and draining down their throat until the man managed to get them to let go, repeatedly slamming his fist into the side of their head. Their vision went black for a moment and their face pressed against the cold cement floor. The last thing they saw was Ray’s lifeless eyes, staring at them as if to say he was sorry.

Remmy had never expected to open their eyes again. But it happened again. They did. They didn’t know how long it had been, but the stench of blood filled their nose and drowned out any other senses they had. They were so hungry. Without hesitating, they bit into the flesh and drank and drank and drank. And then they passed out once more.

When they woke next, they were still on the floor of that warehouse, but the smell of fresh blood no longer filled their nose. It was, instead, the putrid smell of rotting flesh. They could hear too much as well. The sounds of horns way off in the distance, the water crashing against the barricade that kept it at bay, birds squawking outside. It rang so loudly in their right ear they almost forgot they were deaf in the other. They could even feel the cold cement of the floor through their shirt, the slick wetness of their own blood soaking it. Quickly, they sat up and found that, somehow, they didn’t hurt. So they stood and stumbled out and went home. Showered off, climbed into bed, and curled up. All they wanted to do now was forget.

But forgetting wasn’t going to be possible when the hunger clawed angrily at their stomach still. They wanted more, needed more. Blood. It didn’t feel real. Remmy felt as if they were back in that nightmare, their life ripped from them again. There was something wrong with them, and on top of that, their blood and fingerprints were all over an old storage house with a dead body in it. They couldn’t stay here. They needed answers.

When Remmy snuck back into the fighting ring, they hadn’t known what exactly they were looking for. But one of the women that was always there, a kind-hearted soul named Lucy, noticed Remmy trying to slip into the back and stopped them. She was surprised Remmy was still alive and all it took was Remmy telling her about what happened and how they felt afterward for her to turn serious and drag them into the back. There, she grabbed a piece of paper, wrote something down, and handed it to Remmy. It was the location of a town, Lunar Cove, with directions on how to get there. 

You’ll find your answers here. That was the last time they would hear Lucy’s kind voice, the last time they would see this stadium, the last time they would go home to their apartment. They had no life here anymore, just like when they’d been discharged from the military. But maybe what they truly needed was a fresh start, and Remmy could only hope this Lunar Cove was the right place for that.

While Remmy did find answers in Lunar Cove, though, they were called back to the old world when their father passed and, apparently, his will left it all to Remmy, still. So, after dealing with that, returning to Lunar Cove felt strange, distant. Now, Remmy had to deal with the fact that they had no family left in the world, and the fact that they now had the possibility to live forever. At least they have a while to figure it out.

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Name: Victoria "Vic" Larsson Species: Vampire Occupation: Stay at Home Mom / Window Painter Age: 310 Years Old (Looks about 30) Played By: Julie Face Claim: Alicia Vikander

"Sooner or later, everyone sits down to the banquet of consequences."

Some people weren’t meant to be parents.  In 2024, if Vic had been a fool who tried therapy, that’s what one of the quacks would have said.  They would patronize her about childhood, telling her that father’s constant, persistent dismissal of her wasn’t her fault.  Maybe they would ask that she try and grant him grace.  After all, plague-ridden Sweden in 1714 wasn’t peaceful for anyone, especially a man with a dead wife and a stubborn daughter who refused to conform.

But that would’ve been bullshit. 

She didn’t remember when her desperation for his affection flipped to apathy, but before long, she was married off. Never did Victoria think that ego and pompousness could be so entrenched in one disgusting human, but she was learning quickly that life had its way of surprising her.  Victoria hated feeling like she belonged to someone, and some childish piece of her assumed that feeling might go away once she was out of her father’s grip.  It didn’t.

But marriage did have a perk. One that exuded a brightness so strong that Victoria couldn’t deny, not even to a quack 2024 therapist, that she would have picked a marriage to her husband over anyone else.  Because where her husband was a deep, dark boil on the ass of humanity, his sister was the opposite: a constant light, inching its way deeper into Victoria’s heart the longer they spent together. There was always a reason to smile around Lyra, and what started as an innocent fascination turned into an intense entanglement.  Victoria had never felt this way about another person, nor had those feelings ever been reciprocated.  

She should have expected life ripping her away.  But she stupidly got herself caught up in the flurry of it all- the way Lyra made her feel electric with just a touch, or how a simple walk together could make her feel on top of the world… Everything made sense, until it didn’t.  There was no warning before it happened- Lyra never grew cold, nor did she give any indication she wanted what they were doing to stop.  Maybe that’s why her betrayal cut so deep.

Victoria never knew the circumstances that led to her execution.  There was no trial, no chance to plead her case.  No chance to question what was happening..  But there, inches away from death, Victoria was grateful to be done with life and all the bullshit that came with it.

But life loved to play tricks on Victoria. Most of the people who came to watch her die left quickly, satisfied that she was gone.  As soon as Victoria was sure she was leaving this life behind, there was a sudden, sharp pain in her neck, and someone urging her to drink, and she was ushered into another form of entrapment.  

Victoria held a deep resentment for her sire, despite her guidance and adept training.  She was just another being determined to hold her down, and from the beginning, she was the enemy.  Her sire, instead, seemed amused by Victoria’s unwillingness to conform, but this would be her downfall. After years of calculated planning, Victoria got rid of her swiftly and violently, venturing alone after that.

Being a vampire wasn’t easy. From the moment she turned, she had a deep sense that vampires were the truest evil in the world.  The thoughts running through her mind, the fantasies of murdering people in cold blood, the cravings-... it was all too much.  It wasn’t long after gaining control that she decided she needed to destroy anyone who shared her …condition.  The best way to do this, of course, was betrayal.  A victim herself, Vic knew the best ways to destroy vampires: lure them, gain their trust, and turn them to slayers when they least expect it.  There was no counting how many vampires she’d betrayed, unless you counted the sum of money she’d acquired doing so. 

Victoria, now strictly referred to as Vic, found her way to Wicked’s Rest ten years ago, thanks to a tip from a hunter. Normally after that amount of time, she’d find new horizons, but Wicked’s Rest  was a goldmine for her.  She never planned to stick around for so long. It just happened.  It was easy, after a while, to let her guard down.  What started out as a few acquaintances with neighbors or patrons from the bar she worked at quickly developed into friendships that caused her to question everything she believed about the world for centuries.  Soon, Vic was a total wreck, and she’d stopped trying to destroy vampires altogether. 

But the most undeniable turning point in Vic’s journey came one unexpected night when a pair of old friends (hunters she met when she’d first arrived in town) knocked on her door in desperation.  When she reminisced about that night, it was a blur. She could barely remember all that transpired: A bounty on their heads they couldn’t escape from.  No family or friends to care for their baby… And then suddenly, Vic hailed as the solution.  Her first answer was no, of course.  There were numerous ways it could’ve gone wrong, numerous ways to lose control. 

Vic knew more than anyone that some people weren’t meant to be parents.  Least of all her, with her apathy and impatience and general disdain for society.  But before she could realize what she was doing, Vic agreed to take the baby in.  

If living in Wicked’s Rest made Vic go soft, motherhood practically melted her, at least in regards to guilt about her past actions.  Now, Vic was determined to right her wrongs.  Her main efforts went into joining the neighborhood watch, misleading anyone who might have gotten even a whiff of vampire activity. She was still leery about being around other vampires, especially letting a now three-year-old Rosie anywhere in their vicinity, but for the first time in her unlife, she began to feel like she was where she belonged.

Character Facts:

Personality: Scrupulous, resourceful, patient, cynical, vengeful, calculating

She still holds a small job to keep up appearances, but most of Vic's acquired (and quite large) net worth is from her former years trading insider information about fellow vampires and their whereabouts and secrets to hunters

Vic has a deep love of painting, and she spends most of her spare time perfecting the craft. Most of her paintings are of her memories of the flower garden that was planted by her mother back in Sweden.

Vic has a bracelet from her time as a double agent that, when activated, hides her vampire status from slayers for 5 hours. It’s getting old and has the tendency to malfunction, and she’s desperate to find someone who might be able to fix it or secure her a new one soon.

Vic bought her Rottweiler, Winnifred, about 5 years ago, both to act as a guard dog and a threat to those who dare try to speak to her.  No one warned her that Winnie would be the friendliest dog on the planet.

Vic is proud that her adopted 3 year old daughter, Rosie, is bilingual, loves the minions, and has impressive color theory for someone her age.  Vic WILL gloat about her parenting skills whenever the opportunity arises.

[saintes-rpg]

● SIX HUNDRED FORTY TWO ● VAMPIRE ● CIS FEMALE ● ARTIST ●

"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all."

As a princess, Katherine’s only purpose was to marry someone to secure an alliance with whatever kingdom her father deemed necessary. She was the first daughter of the King’s second wife and did everything expected of her in order to compete with her elder siblings. She assisted her father at every chance she got and learned all the skills expected of a noblewoman like herself. With her hard work and perfectionism, she soon became her father’s favorite. Nevertheless, his favoritism didn’t save her from a life of misery.

At a young age, she and her sister were sent to a potential suitor, expected to compete for his affections and hand in marriage. Unsurprisingly, the man had chosen Katherine and she was soon married and pregnant, regardless of her thoughts about him. Joyfully, her first child happened to be a son and Louis ensured her husband an heir. One wasn’t enough, and by the time Katherine’s father had passed away, she and her husband had three children.

While her marriage had been uneventful thus far, with her father’s passing went along any protection Katherine had from her husband’s true side, especially since her older brother resented her for being their father's favorite, Katherine’s only worth to her husband was the blood flowing through her veins and he constantly demanded more and more children from her.

After a straight year of failure, he had Katherine imprisoned in her own room with little entertainment or hobbies. She was to be available for every opportunity to procreate and Katherine was slowly beginning to lose her sanity.

When he got what he wanted and she was again pregnant, Katherine was finally released from that room. She knew that her freedom was fleeting, and the moment the child was born, she would be once again trapped in her room. After six months of planning her escape, she finally achieved it, finding refuge at a nearby monastery that took her in with no question.

She gave birth at the monastery and was able to spend a few moments with her newborn child. It was a stroke of luck that Anna had decided to seek refuge at the monastery as well. She heard Katherine’s story and took pity on the young woman. While she was safe for now, the monastery wouldn’t have the resources to feed her forever and it was only a matter of time before her husband’s men came barging through those holy gates so Anna offered Katherine a chance at freedom. In exchange, she would have to abandon her previous life, including her children.

With a heavy heart and knowing that she wouldn’t see them again anyway because her husband would be locking her up for the rest of her life, Katherine accepted Anna’s offer. The newborn was wrapped in their mother’s fancy clothing, a sign to the father that the child was in fact his, and he was informed that Katherine had died during childbirth. Katherine couldn’t even stay long enough to see the child safely in their father’s arms–her only option was to place her faith in the people who rescued her. Her perfectionist personality didn’t leave Katherine after death and she did her best to learn under Anna. They traveled together for a period of time before Katherine ventured off on her own to build a life for herself. Having always had a passion for art, Katherine soon started selling paintings, taking on different names and trying different styles throughout every human generation. She built an easy fortune off her works and had a distinct eye for the art of all her contemporaries throughout history.

As the years went along, Katherine was getting tired of running, and hearing that Anna had died was the final push, why avoid the inevitable? She was about to give up when she met David, he swept her off her feet, everything felt new again when he was by her side and for the first time in her life she fell in love.

Katherine Adler is played by A, 31, She/Her, BRT

[cryptocism]

"just as I did, in 1983."

you'd never know my favourite parts of the show are the fucked up insane bits when my first instinct is to draw the cheesiest thing imaginable

[doctormori]

I love this book to death, so here's some things I noticed <3

[derpwithit]

Fiddlestan but vampire and werewolf!

[userarmand]

May I finish this dance? If he'll have you, sister.

[jinx-xxed]

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

[edwardsdeathcabcd]

i've said it before but it will forever and always make me insane that jacob's ending is to join the cullens for the sake of bella not having to give anything up. they find out jake will be immortal & tied to renesmee forever, so bella gets to smile & say "my family is finally complete! ^-^" but jake already HAS a family. he has a father and 2 sisters. quil, embry, seth and sam are like his brothers. jacob and leah were planning to run away together. he's always been welcome in emily's home, sue has been a family friend since before his birth. bella abandons her mortality by choice because she feels no connection to the people around her, but jacob has really strong bonds. it's clear that every character we meet in la push is like family to him, he's an active member of the community. jake would've graduated high school and been a mechanic, would've grown into a young man. a good friend, a fun uncle, a present son. he's set up to have such a rich life. and he's just magically compelled to give that up. beyond his control, he loses sight of everything, because his high school crush's baby is now the singular most important thing to him. he's perpetually 18 with his perpetually 18 year old girlfriend, running around vancouver or alaska or wherever with the girl who friendzoned him at 16 & her in-laws (who were antagonistic to him for months). and i'm just supposed to say omg yay now he doesn't have to let go of bella! everyone is happy! it's complete madness

[lgbtiwtv]

gotta say armand thinking he’s serving silly style in the glasses not realizing he’s about to be served divorce papers is sooooooo fucking funny

[wickedsrest-rp]

Maxine "Max" Diaz She / her

"Don’t worry! I’ll make it painless… for me."

SPECIES: Vampire OCCUPATION: Writer AGE: 103 Years Old (Looks to be about 37) PLAYED BY: Sunny FC: Aubrey Plaza

BIOGRAPHY:

TW: Infidelity

Coming from Puerto Rico to New York in 1917 after the passing of the Jones-Shaforth Act, Salvador Diaz signed a contract with the military determined to make a better life for himself. But fate had other plans when a young Irish woman, Aggie O’Brien, caught his eye and the two fell deeply in love. Four years later, in 1921, Maxine Isabel Diaz was born to two people who loved her dearly and tried to give her the sun, the moon, and the stars, despite how impoverished they were. But no matter how hard they tried, it had never seemed to be enough for Maxine – a little girl with big dreams, but a personality that contrasted everything Salvador and Aggie believed in.

There was never a dull moment with Maxine, but with a growing pressure of financial insecurity as the state of the country was gradually falling towards a depression was only further exacerbated by bigger problems closer to home. All experiences that were further shaping a little girl who was starting to exhibit odd behaviors such as a lack of eye contact and constantly defying the rules at school set by her teachers. But disciplining her was just as hard considering Maxine knew the right combination of charm and words that her superiors wanted to hear, even after she had been caught bullying other children. And when the pressures of trying to handle their daughter, on top of the now failing economy and the even bigger risk of losing their home, they reluctantly gave into her, allowing Maxine to continue to grow into someone who denied all sense of morals and right and wrong by the time she was an adult.

But her goals of living a big life, something she felt her father never truly found for himself, was what she was determined to do. And at eighteen, despite all the hardships her and her family faced, Max was out of the house and living on her own doing whatever it took to get there. A life of partying and immoral behavior with both men and women had led her down a path of barely getting by, but in her mind she was thriving. Working any job she could get, sleeping on any couch she could find; there was a goal. A rather messy goal, but with a lack of fear and the fates giving her a natural skill of charm and deception, Maxine was inching ever so closer to the tip top – or so she thought.

By the time she had met him, she was nearly at her wits end and the country was deep into battle for the second World War. The pool of friends and acquaintances had dried up, and she was desperate for any kind of connection she could get. With the regret of not being further along in her goal of being someone the world would remember, Maxine dove head first into a relationship with a wealthy politician who knew nothing about her past. Pleasing him in all the right ways and saying what he wanted to hear, she conned him into marrying her, but what she didn’t know was that he was expecting her to produce a family for him, and when she didn’t, things turned ugly. So in order to gain back some of her freedom and still reap the benefits of her husband’s money, she made a deal.

He had gotten what he wanted, two children to carry on his legacy, while she gained the freedom to do whatever she wanted as long as she played the part of loving wife when he needed her too. The children, unfortunately, found more solace in their nanny than their own mother. But Maxine was moving forward once again and by her mid-thirties, she felt fame at her fingertips. The “Doting Mother and Wife” role had proved to be more successful than she had thought as long as it stayed just that…a role. But it didn’t come without its costs and being married to a politician during a turbulent political environment with events like a potential rise in communism had put Maxine in a precarious position, and one that unexpectedly ended in tragedy.

With a targeted attack on her husband, Maxine had been caught in the crossfire. Perhaps a fitting end for such a vile woman, but the deal she had made with her husband had also allowed her the freedom to see other people, including his secretary; a woman entranced by Maxine’s lack of empathy and remorse and just the right undead who had given a parasitic human a second chance at an undead life.

To say that Maxine had promised not to take advantage of her second chance would be a complete and utter lie. The newfound high that vampirism had given her had been the thing she had been searching for all of her life, and she wasn’t going to waste it. Shallower than the grave she should have been thrown in, Max found an insatiable love for killing and the power that it gave her. And she spent decades showing the world just who she was, getting more and more creative with every snatched human. But the arrogance and nearly a century of playing cat and mouse with human lives was bound to have its slip-ups and when it did, Max knew that if she wanted to ride out the high she had been chasing for so many years when she was still alive, she would have to lay low and what better place than in a backwoods nowhere town thriving with rumors of people like herself and other playthings that go bump in the night.

PERSONALITY:

Sadistic · Creative · Manipulative · Parasitic · Charming · Focused · Fearless · Confident · Promiscuous · Aggressive

OTHER INFO:

Max has a Doberman named Norman, after Norman Bates from Psycho. He’s the only thing she truly cares about in this world, besides herself.

She has travelled all over the world for the sights and for the kills. Her favorite place, so far, has been Italy.

Max sees living in Wicked’s Rest as a challenge. It was a random pick on a random map because she needed a place to lay low, but staying under the radar has felt nearly impossible, and she’s struggling.

While Maxine never quite felt emotions the same way as everyone else, she did regularly check in on her parents, especially after marrying into wealth, but it was always done discreetly never wanting to risk what she had worked so hard for.

Like her parents, after her death, Max did keep up with her children from afar, ironically hoping they didn’t follow in her footsteps. She still checks on them regularly, even though they believe she didn’t survive the attack on their father.

Max has a Spotify playlist entitled “Killer Songs”, and she plays it whenever she’s doing just that. Killing. The one that really puts a pep in her step is “I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE” by Måneskin.

Maxine isn’t hurting in the wealth department from being alive over a century, but she does further supplement her income by writing Dark Romance novels under the pen name Mercy Romero. She’s even famous on BookTok.

Max is surprisingly a good cook, but most people don’t find that out until it’s too late.

[lunarcovehq]

WELCOME TO LUNAR COVE, RIO TAVÁREZ

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Woman, She/Her 

DATE OF BIRTH: December 20th, 1995 

OCCUPATION: Curator at Art in Motion and Forger 

RESIDENCY: Echo Acres

FACECLAIM: Priscilla Quintana 

IF I DIE YOUNG

SPECIES: Vampire 

CLAN POSITION: Member 

AGE AT TRANSFORMATION: 27 

LAY ME DOWN IN A BED OF ROSES

Trigger Warnings: Physical and Emotional Abuse, Death, Parental Neglect

The Tavarez dynasty stood like a monolith, a looming shadow over Rio all her life. Spanning generations, her family had accumulated wealth and prestige in the human world, dominating any industry they entered. Their hands touched everything - resources in coal and oil, financial markets, business acquisition, technology development. An empire. What the world they dominated did not know was the magic that fueled their industry. Magic had been in the Tavarez family longer than the wealth had, and it fueled them. Generation after generation, magic was used to bolster their advancement. The family cared little for physical talents, there was always use for someone who could manipulate an element, but the mental magics were favoured, and exploited. White collar crime fueled their empire, fraud, bribery, insider trading, Ponzi schemes. Whatever would get their family ahead.

Their father, Luis, became patriarch of the family at a young age, far earlier than he should have after the untimely death of his father, but he was thriving, he continued to build the wealth and prestige that his family was built upon, but it was not enough, never enough. Luis wanted more, always, the world itself would not have been enough. So he forced the world to bend to him. Their family had always used their magic to be less than fair in their business dealings with human companies, but Luis increased this, causing their empire to thrive. 

This was the world Rio and Santiago were born into, the highest of luxuries, a world that you could not buy your way into, only born. From the outside it was picture perfect, they were the beautiful children of seemingly doting parents that loved them above all. However, it was a gilded cage. They attended the best schools, lived in luxury homes, had everything a child could dream of - but in return they had to be perfect. Not perfect in the ordinary sense, they had to be above reproach in their father’s eyes, look the part, smile just right, be silent unless spoken to, and if they were allowed to speak, they had to say the perfect thing. If they were not the right kind of perfect they would risk their father’s wrath. They never knew what form it would take. They were not children to him, they were merely extensions of himself and the image he wanted to portray to the world. 

Their mother was no better. She had no love for her children, they were merely her duty. The tradeoff for Luis funding her lifestyle was giving him children and cementing the Tavarez legacy for another generation. They would see her sparingly, whenever a photograph needed to be taken, or Luis had a business meeting with someone particularly family focused. They were a family in pictures only.

As soon as Rio and Santiago were each old enough, they were forced to participate, abusing their magic for their fathers benefit. Santiago, the elder and the heir, was first, pulled into Luis’s web, followed shortly by Rio. Santiago tried to protect his sister as much as he could, shield her from the shadier of their father’s activities, but it was no use, she had a natural talent that their father noticed. As they grew, Santiago grew more and more anxious about the effect their father was having on Rio, terrified that she would end up like him. He knew that he would always be the heir, the one to inherit it all, but could also see the hunger in their fathers eyes when he looked at Rio. 

So he did what he had to, he squirreled away funds, employing all the tricks their father forced on him, to try and give Rio a ticket out of the cage. 

She learnt about his plans the day he handed her a plane ticket and a bag of clothes. She was shuffled away in the middle of the night. Santiago prayed he could keep their father occupied, away from their father, away from whatever plans their father had for Rio. 

She ended up in New York with nothing but the cash in her wallet and the clothes in her bag. So she did what she was raised to do, trained to do, she bent the world to her will. Like father, like daughter. She started by using her magic for a price, raising spirits or tracking people - using everything at her disposal to make something for herself. It was not long before she started fencing supernatural wares, then fencing forgeries of paintings. Then came the cheques and bank bonds, forged with a deft hand. Forgery was where she found herself, anything you needed, she could make and fake. It had been a party trick her father enjoyed, the fake masterpieces she painted, and a trick he had exploited with her uncanny ability to forge signatures. Now, it was her life, and she used it to carve herself a little bit of a life. 

For a time life was somewhat good, she was building herself something of a family with the Selvi sisters, she had someone she might be able to love, it was starting to work. 

Then the man fell through her wall like it was water, clutching at his side as blood poured from a wound. He was oddly familiar, she had seen him in passing growing up, someone that had always been around, but never directly in contact with her and Santiago despite their similar ages. Now that she could get a good look at him the resemblance was uncanny. The slope of his brow, the sharp jawline. He looked like Santiago, he looked like her. He didn’t need to tell her that he was her brother, or her half brother, she could see it the moment she saw him. He looked uncannily like her brother, it was almost eerie, but his eyes matched hers perfectly. 

She tried desperately to stop the bleeding, all while she questioned her brother, Javier. Trying to figure out what had happened to him, why he was bleeding out in her living room. He told her about their father, about the work he had to do for him, and about Santiago. He said that their brother was gone, that their father’s work had taken its toll on him.

She believed him, of course she did, here he was, her brother, dying in her arms. 

And then he too was gone, limp and lifeless. 

Grief overtook her like a tidal wave, the loss of both brothers, the one she loved and the one she never had the chance to. The wave swept her up, crashing over her. She didn’t turn her mind towards all of the other people she loved that could be swept up in her magic, the other people that could die, she could only see Javier. It was not a conscious choice, it was the only choice, her magic flooded from her and she raised Javier from the dead and the green eyes of her half brother opened, green eyes that matched hers. 

Javier left that night, claiming he was trying to protect her, that he would need to return to Mexico, back to their father. He said everything right, said all the things Santiago would say in that situation. He didn’t want to draw his attention to her, he didn’t want her to know where she was, and now that she had done dark magic, he didn’t want him to have that leverage over her. She genuinely believed it, every word he said. 

Despite what Javier had said, she traveled back to Mexico City, to the place she had sworn she would never return, to bid her farewells to Santiago, devastated that she hadn’t been able to when he had died. To her horror she discovered that Santiago had been alive when Javier appeared in her apartment and that he was now dead, having died the same night she had brought Javier back. She went to Javier, hoping to get him away from their father as Santiago had done for her, only for the other shoe to drop. 

Javier had been raised on stories of his sister, the ruthless image their father had of her. Javier had pictured her just like he was, a weapon of their fathers ambition, a kindred spirit. Javier wanted her back in the fold, he wanted the weapon of their fathers stories. He claimed he wanted a sister, he wanted the two of them to be their own little family, just as her and Santiago had been. 

Their father was none the wiser, he knew that Javier was in New York, he had always known where Rio was and had mentioned this to Javier, but he didn't know that Javier had intended to go to her. Javier explained to her that his original plan was to approach her, figuring he could talk her into coming back with him, but then he saw her. He had seen her with the Selvi sisters, and the small life she had managed to build for herself. He knew it wouldn’t be enough, so he decided to force her hand. 

He had orchestrated it all, figuring that if she did dark magic she would be easy to blackmail. He could force her to come home with him, and he hoped that one day she would want to stay on her own. Getting rid of Santiago was a happy coincidence, a burden that Javier wouldn’t have to deal with thanks to Rio. When Luis had found out about Santiago’s death he had apparently just shrugged, not particularly caring as he still had Jaiver and Rio, or so Javier claimed. 

Ever her father’s daughter, ever the blade he had welded her into, she made a decision that night. 

It was not a difficult decision to turn into a vampire, she loved her magic, but she hated Javier and their father more. The rage was blinding, more blinding than her grief had been. She would die, and Javier tethered to her, would die with her, never to return. Their father’s disinterest in Santiago’s death would be punished. 

Afterall, she was the child of Luis Tavarez, the ends justified the means. 

With no one left in the world, bar a few friends in a secret town of supernatural’s, it seemed as though there was nowhere else she could go but Lunar Cove, the one place her father would never set foot in. 

[varanasaur]

Vampire Perpetua because why not 🦇

[saintes-rpg]

● SIX HUNDRED SIXTY TWO ● VAMPIRE ● MALE ● CASINO OWNER ●

“No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness.”

BIOGRAPHY

The day David was born is a day in his country’s history that’s remembered as a sad day. It was the day his mother passed away during childbirth and it signified the rest of his life. His father, who seemed a good King to his people, was a dictator at home, especially to David. The King was clearly more fond of his oldest son, David’s brother. It wasn’t until a later age that David understood that his father had always blamed him for the death of his wife. He didn’t usually see his father much except when he did something wrong, punishment had become a normality in the household, so the little boy tended to stick to his nannies and mostly to his most trusted guard Jeremiah. It was through him that he learned how his mother was and although he seemed to be much like his father, he had some traits of her too. His caring side, which not many get to see, he gets from her as she was a sweet and loving woman in life.

During his teens, David became two people in one. On one side he was as strict as his father, lashing out, forcing his will on others, but only when his father was around to impress him and try to make him proud somehow. On the other side was still the boy, friendly and trying to enjoy life in general, which was rendered impossible as his father made him train almost non stop.

The boy grew into an adult, a bitter adult, who had no idea how to deal with his anger issues . Getting attention was easy for him, flaunting his wealth and title of Prince made sure he had plenty of attention. He was however very aware of his duties and knew ever since he was a young boy where his future would be. A future he didn't want at all and so falling out with his family was only a matter of time. Cast out by his father, but David wasn't bothered by it, finally feeling freedom for the first time in his life.

Freedom however came with a price, not being used to know who to trust or be around, he ended up with the wrong crowd. Then again, maybe it was the right crowd as it started his new life, the life of a vampire. His maker unfortunately got staked two years after he was turned and David knew he had to run, hide when he could, as often his anger issues got the best of him.

His journey took him to old friends, one living in Switzerland at the House of Landenberg, named Scott and hearing what had happened to him, made his blood boil. David knew how it felt to be treated like trash by family so he decided to give Scott a gift, the gift of becoming like him, even if he wasn't sure Scott even wanted it.

David didn't stay long, he couldn't seem to find the strength to stick around anywhere, always on the move and trying to stay safe as the supernatural kind wasn't accepted at all yet. It was then when he met her, a girl on the run much like him, stunning to the eye but seemingly tired of running. Like she was ready to give it all up. That girl eventually became his wife, Katherine, or Kate to friends. The woman is probably the only one who can make him regain control if he loses his temper and doesn't shy away from literally kicking his ass when needed.

Coming to Saintes was a choice easily made for them, as they wouldn't have to run anymore, a strange aspect and David is unsure how well that will work out as he is an old school vampire and therefor only feeds from veins, refusing to feed from bags unless there's absolutely no other choice. However, he does see this as a new start in life, hoping new opportunities will land on his path.

David is played by JJ, 30+, He/Him, GMT

[moonlight-nat]

sam reid you are such a comedian