The click of the lock was the only sound that pierced the heavy silence of my small, off-base apartment. It was late, the kind of late that bled into the next day, and I was coiled on the sofa, a book forgotten in my lap. I knew they were coming. They always did.
Smoke, ever the gentle giant despite his profession, closed the door with a soft thud. His eyes, usually bright with boisterous energy, were heavy-lidded. He shed his tactical vest and gear with a series of tired clicks and sighs, piling it neatly by the door.
Stack was a shadow behind him, silent and watchful. He moved with a predatory grace that never seemed to leave him, even in the supposed safety of my home. His scars, stark against his skin, told stories I knew but never asked about. He unstrapped his own gear, his movements economical and precise.
I didn't say anything, just watched them. Words weren't needed yet. This was a ritual: the shedding of the mission, of the soldiers they had to be out there, to become the men they were in here. With me.
Smoke was the first to approach. He crossed the room in three long strides and sank to his knees in front of the sofa, burying his face in my lap. His blond hair was damp with sweat, and I could feel the tremor of sheer fatigue running through his massive frame. My hands immediately went to his hair, carding through the short strands, scratching gently at his scalp. He let out a low groan of contentment, a sound that vibrated through my thighs, cushioned by my own softness.
“Long day, schatje,” he murmured into the fabric of my pants, his voice thick with his southern accent.
“I know,” I whispered.
A heavy hand settled on my shoulder, and I looked up into Stack’s intense gaze. He stood over us both, a silent guardian. His touch was firm, grounding. He squeezed gently, a gesture that spoke volumes he wouldn't. We’re home. We’re safe. I reached up, placing my hand over his. He intertwined his fingers with mine, his calloused skin a familiar, rough comfort. He leaned down, pressing a firm, brief kiss to my temple before straightening up.
“Shower,” Stack’s voice was a low, gravelly rumble. It wasn’t a question. Smoke grunted his agreement without lifting his head. I felt the shift in the air, the heavy weight of exhaustion beginning to mingle with a different kind of tension. The need for comfort was slowly, surely, transmuting into the need for connection a deeper, more physical solace that the three of us had perfected.
I helped Smoke to his feet, and the three of us moved as a single unit towards the bathroom. In the small, steamy space, clothes were discarded in a heap on the floor. The harsh lines of their gear were replaced by the powerful sculpture of their bodies, a roadmap of muscle and scars. I was softer, curves generous between them, but I was the anchor. The shower was hot, washing away the grime and the tension of the day. Stack stood under the spray, letting the water sluice over his head and shoulders, his eyes closed. Smoke took the soap, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he began to lather my back, his thumbs pressing into the knots of my shoulders.
I leaned back against his solid chest, sighing as he worked, feeling utterly enveloped. His hands slid around my waist, soaping my stomach, his thumbs circling my navel. I felt his breath hitch, his body hardening against my back, pressing against the soft curve of my lower spine. I tilted my head back, and his lips found mine, a kiss that was wet and searching and desperate. From behind the curtain of water, Stack watched. His eyes were dark, hooded with a raw hunger that made my stomach clench. He stepped forward, closing the space between us. He took my face in his hands, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones as he replaced Smoke’s kiss with his own. His was different fiercer, more possessive.
He tasted of water and a deep, simmering intensity. His hands left my face, gliding down my body, one hand finding my breast, thumbing the nipple to a hard peak, while the other slid lower, through the slick curls between my legs.
I gasped into his mouth as his fingers found my clit, circling with an expert pressure that had me arching against him. Smoke’s arms were still around me, his own arousal pressing insistently against my backside. His hands joined Stack’s exploration, one cupping my other full breast while his other hand snaked down, his fingers dipping inside me, stretching me, preparing me.
I was trapped between them, a willing captive to their dual affections, the hot water and their hotter touches melting me into a puddle of pure sensation. “Bedroom,” Smoke breathed against my ear, his voice ragged. Stack lifted me with an ease that always stole my breath, carrying me from the bathroom. He laid me on the bed, my skin still damp and slick. They followed, two predators closing in on their cherished prey. They knelt on either side of me, their bodies caging me in a haven of muscle and heat, a delicious pressure against my thighs and hips. What followed was a beautiful, desperate chaos. A symphony of touch and taste and sound. Stack’s mouth was on my neck, leaving a trail of biting kisses down to my breasts, his tongue rough against my sensitive skin, while Smoke’s tongue replaced Stack’s fingers, lavishing attention between my legs. I cried out, my fingers fisted in their hair, my hips bucking as the pleasure built into an overwhelming wave.
They switched, their movements fluid, a dance they knew by heart. Now it was Smoke’s rough, bearded chin scraping against my inner thighs as he kissed his way up my stomach, his lips tracing the soft curve of my belly, and Stack’s mouth devouring mine. His fingers were inside me now, two of them, then three, a delicious fullness that had me writhing. “Please,” I gasped, not even knowing what I was asking for, only that I needed more. I needed them. They understood. Stack moved between my legs, positioning himself at my entrance. He was thick and hard, and the sight of him made me ache, a wonderful kind of ache. Smoke moved behind him, his hands on Stack’s hips, a silent support. “Look at me,” Stack commanded, his voice a low rasp. I met his gaze as he pushed into me, a slow, deliberate slide that filled me completely. I groaned, a long, keening sound of pleasure and pain, my body stretching to accommodate him. He was huge, filling every part of me, but it was a perfect fit. He held himself still, letting me adjust, his eyes never leaving mine. Smoke moved to my side, his lips finding my ear. “So good, schatje. You take him so well.”
His hand found me again, his fingers finding my clit and resuming their relentless rhythm. Stack began to move, his thrusts powerful and deep. He set a punishing pace, and with Smoke’s fingers working their magic, my climax was a foregone conclusion. My vision blurred, the world narrowing to the feeling of Stack inside me, the sight of his intense eyes, the feel of Smoke’s hand, and the sound of their guttural groans mingling with my own cries. I shattered, my body convulsing around Stack as a searing orgasm ripped through me. He grunted, his own control snapping as he followed me over the edge, his release flooding me with heat. But they weren't finished.
As Stack pulled out, breathless and spent, Smoke was there to take his place. He turned me onto my stomach, his body covering mine like a warm, heavy blanket. He entered me from behind, his thickness a different kind of pleasure, hitting me in a way that was deeper, more primal. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling my ample body tight against his chest as he began to move. Stack crawled up the bed, his body curling around mine from the front. His arms wrapped around me, his mouth finding mine again for a long, slow kiss as Smoke drove me towards a second peak.
I was surrounded, filled, and utterly claimed. Caught between the quiet intensity of one and the boisterous strength of the other. It was here, in the tangle of their limbs and the heat of their bodies, that I felt most complete, cherished in every curve. Smoke’s climax came with a roar against my back, his body shuddering with the force of it. He collapsed on top of me, his weight a comforting pressure. For a long time, the only sound was the ragged panting of three bodies entwined. Eventually, they shifted, pulling the covers over the three of us. I was settled in the middle, my head on Stack’s chest, his arm a heavy bar over my waist.
Smoke was pressed against my back, his arm thrown over both of us, his hand resting protectively on Stack’s. “Sleep now,” Stack murmured, his voice softer than I’d ever hear it outside these walls. Smoke kissed the back of my head. “We’ve got you.” And they did. Cradled between my two soldiers, my silent shadow and my gentle giant, I was safe. I was home. I drifted off to sleep, secure in their shared embrace, completely at peace.
Dark Wine and Velvet Eyes – Part III: The Space Between Heartbeats
Remmick x Reader | Genre: Gothic Romance, Intimacy, Vulnerability
Days passed. Maybe a week.
Time had started to behave strangely since that night.
You kept your routine—waking up, working, pretending things hadn’t changed—but your thoughts always drifted back to him. The way his eyes held centuries of longing. The way his touch lingered without ever bruising. The kiss—God, that kiss—haunted you more than it should.
He hadn’t come back.
Not physically.
But the dreams were different now. Clearer. You’d find yourself standing in that black-stone chamber again, alone at first—until you’d feel him behind you, wordless, watching. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was a tether.
Tonight, you stopped pretending.
You lit a candle, just like the ones in his threshold, and whispered his name. Not loud. Not desperate.
Just honest.
And he came.
Not with a flourish or a storm, but quiet, like mist curling in around your ankles. One moment the room was yours. The next—Remmick.
“You called,” he said softly, as if he’d been standing outside time, waiting for permission.
You nodded, throat tight. “You left.”
His eyes searched yours, and the edge of guilt flickered across his perfect features. “To protect you.”
“I didn’t ask for protection.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “You asked for understanding.”
He stopped just short of touching you, gaze flicking down to your lips, then back to your eyes.
“Tell me,” you whispered, your fingers brushing his coat. “Do you feel it too?”
He exhaled slowly—as if it pained him to admit anything. But still, he whispered, “Yes.”
Your breath caught.
“I’ve felt many things,” he continued. “Lust. Obsession. Bloodlust. But this... this feels like warmth. Something I forgot existed.”
You took his hand—bare again, cold and long-fingered—and placed it over your heart. It was pounding. Loud enough for even him to hear.
“You think you’re the only one afraid of this?” you said.
Remmick stared down at your chest, at the beat he couldn’t remember having for himself. Then, very gently, he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His touch was careful, reverent—as if you were something holy.
His voice was at your ear. “If I let myself fall, I will fall forever. Do you understand that?”
You leaned back into him, eyes closed. “Then don’t fall. Stay.”
He turned you slowly in his arms, brushing his thumb along your jaw.
“I don’t know how to love like a man,” he admitted. “Only like a monster.”
You tilted your head into his palm. “Then I’ll love the monster too.”
That broke him.
Remmick leaned down and kissed you again—but this time, it was softer. Slower. A confession instead of a conquest.
He kissed you like he was learning what it meant to be wanted, not just worshiped. And you let him. You held him. You showed him what it meant to be home.
So I want to post but have to go back and see what I posted. I have all my fics written in my notes app on my phone which I usually don’t have to transfer to my laptop. I need to go through and like mark what I posted already.
Grace Chow had the man of your desires and dreams. Unfortunately for her once baby Lisa arrived he started to pay more attention to the woman outside of his marriage who was always out to play a dangerous game of cat and mouse....
The air in the dimly lit back room of the juke joint was thick with the scent of spilled liquor and something else… something sharper, more primal that always seemed to cling to Bo Chow. You leaned against the cool brick wall, the remnants of a clandestine meeting still buzzing in your ears. He moved with a quiet grace that belied his imposing frame, the shadows seeming to dance around him as he approached.
His dark eyes, usually narrowed in guarded suspicion, held a different kind of intensity tonight. A flicker of something you recognized – a dangerous spark of desire – danced within their depths. He stopped mere inches away, the heat radiating from his body a tangible thing.
"You shouldn't linger in places like this," he rumbled, his voice a low growl that vibrated through you. "It's not safe."
"Oh, I think I can handle it, Bo," you replied, a playful yet pointed edge to your tone. "Unlike some people, I don't have a wife waiting at home to worry about me." The words hung in the air, a deliberate jab at the unspoken tension that always simmered between you.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. The playful glint in his eyes hardened, replaced by something darker, more challenging. "You like to play with fire, don't you?" His voice dropped, the threat now palpable.
"Maybe I do," you shot back, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "Especially when the fire is so… forbidden."
He closed the remaining distance between you, his large frame looming. He caged you against the cool brick wall, his hands planting on either side of your head. "You have no idea what you're toying with."
"Oh, I have a pretty good idea," you said, tilting your chin up defiantly. "A man who's used to getting what he wants, even if it's… borrowed."
The air crackled with a dangerous energy. His nostrils flared, and for a moment, you thought he might actually strike you. Instead, a cruel smirk twisted his lips. "You want to push me, don't you?"
"Maybe I want to see how far you'll go," you whispered, your voice a deliberate taunt.
His eyes raked over your body, a possessive, almost brutal assessment. "Fine," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You want to see how far I'll go? I'll show you."
Without another word, he surged forward, his mouth crashing against yours in a hard, punishing kiss. It wasn't about tenderness or desire; it was about dominance, about silencing your sassy remarks. His teeth grazed your lip, a deliberate act of aggression.
You gasped, but instead of pulling away, a rebellious fire ignited within you. You kissed him back with a fierce intensity, meeting his force with your own. His hands left the wall to grip your hips, pulling you roughly against his hard body, the blatant evidence of his arousal pressing against your stomach.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue invading your mouth with a brutal possessiveness. You could taste the anger and frustration simmering beneath his lust. One of his hands slid down your body, cupping your thigh roughly, his thumb digging into the muscle.
He broke the kiss abruptly, his breath hot against your ear. "You want to talk about my wife?" he snarled, his voice low and menacing. "Let's see if you're still thinking about her in a minute."
Without waiting for a response, he lifted you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. He didn't bother with finesse, carrying you deeper into the shadows of the back room. He slammed you against a dusty table, the rough wood digging into your back.
Your breath hitched, a mixture of fear and a strange, twisted thrill coursing through you. His eyes burned into yours, devoid of any tenderness. "You wanted to be a smartass?" he hissed, his fingers fumbling with your belt buckle. "Let's see how smart you are with your mouth full."
He didn't wait for your answer, his actions brutal and efficient. The encounter that followed was rough, devoid of any pretense of affection. It was a raw display of dominance, a physical manifestation of his anger and your defiance. Every thrust was hard, every touch bordering on painful, a deliberate act of asserting control.
You met his harshness with a stubborn silence, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a whimper or a cry. But despite your defiance, a perverse part of you, fueled by the forbidden nature of your encounter and the dangerous edge of his anger, found a twisted sort of satisfaction in his brutal attention.
By the time he was finished, leaving you breathless and bruised on the dusty table, the air was thick with unspoken resentment and a raw, animalistic tension. He stood over you, his chest heaving, his eyes still smoldering.
"Don't ever bring her up again," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You have no idea what you're playing with."
He turned and stalked away, leaving you alone in the shadows, the bitter taste of his anger and your own reckless defiance lingering in the air. The encounter had been a brutal reminder of the dangerous game you were playing, a game where the lines of desire and disrespect had become irrevocably blurred.
Alright y'all I only know a little bit about voodoo/ hoodoo its not my culture or my ancestors type of magic but love and appreciate it for what it is and the culture behind it but please don't cancel me for this I beg of you :( I thought it would be a nice instead of those plantation daughter ones. If I got anything wrong please let me know.
Again, I do not know anything except what I've learned.
Enjoy!
The humid night air clung to Remmick like a second skin, each breath he took thick with the scent of jasmine and the maddeningly sweet perfume that drifted from behind the heavy wooden door. He’d come to her with a purpose, a need for an alliance he believed only she could offer. But the encounter had taken an unexpected, torturous turn.
Earlier, she had appeared briefly in the doorway, a silhouette framed by the warm, inviting glow within. The mere glimpse of her bare shoulders, the sway of her hips as she’d shifted her weight, the knowing glint in her eyes – it had been a deliberate, intoxicating tease. She hadn't spoken much, just a few cryptic words laced with double meaning, her voice a low purr that had sent shivers down his spine. Then, the door had closed, leaving him standing in the oppressive darkness, his initial purpose overshadowed by a gnawing, primal hunger.
Now, his composure, usually a carefully constructed shield, had fractured. He rapped his knuckles against the wood, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night. "Woman," he growled, his voice rough with a desperation he hadn't intended to reveal. "Let me in."
Silence. Only the chirping of unseen insects answered him, each chirp a mocking reminder of his mounting frustration. He clenched his fists, the urge to break down the door almost overwhelming. He was a man who took what he wanted, yet here he was, reduced to pleading.
"Damn you," he muttered under his breath, the words laced with a strange mixture of anger and raw desire. He pressed his forehead against the cool wood, the scent of her lingering on its surface a fresh wave of torment. "I need what you possess. But you… you're playing a game."
Another agonizing moment of silence stretched before he spoke again, his voice lower, more urgent, the carefully constructed barriers around his desires crumbling. "Please," he rasped, the word feeling foreign and shameful on his tongue. "Just… let me in. I can't… I can't think straight out here." The image of her from the doorway flashed in his mind – the way the candlelight had kissed her skin, the promise in her smile. It was a brand seared into his senses.
He waited, every muscle in his body tense, listening for any sign, any sound from within. The silence stretched, taut and heavy, amplifying the frantic beat of his own heart. He was a predator reduced to a whimpering dog at her door, all because of a fleeting glimpse, a tantalizing whisper of what lay within. The power dynamic had shifted in an instant, and he, the formidable Remmick, found himself utterly at her mercy, driven by a desire that burned hotter than any ambition.
Finally, a soft click echoed from behind the door, followed by the slow creak of hinges. The sliver of light that appeared framed her once more, and the sight of her sent a jolt of pure, visceral need through him.
The humid night air hung heavy, thick with the scent of jasmine and something wilder, something ancient that clung to the very walls of your sanctuary...
The creak of the door was an invitation, a promise whispered on the humid night air. As it swung inward, the candlelight spilled out, illuminating your form. You leaned against the frame, one hand resting languidly on the wood, your eyes dark and knowing as they swept over Remmick's tense frame. The air thrummed with the unspoken desires that had been simmering between you.
"Patience, Remmick," you murmured, your voice a silken caress. "Such eagerness… it can be… quite appealing." You stepped back, allowing him entry into your dimly lit sanctuary. The scent of incense and exotic herbs enveloped him, a heady aroma that seemed to heighten his senses.
He stepped inside, his gaze never leaving you. The room was a tapestry of shadows and flickering light, filled with strange and intriguing objects. But his focus was solely on you. The memory of your brief appearance at the door, the tantalizing glimpse of your skin, had taken root in his mind, a persistent ache that demanded to be satisfied.
"You know why I'm here," he said, his voice rough, the earlier desperation now replaced by a raw intensity. "But you… you make it difficult to focus."
You moved with a slow, deliberate grace, circling him as you had before. Your fingers trailed lightly over his arm, sending a shiver beneath his coat. "Perhaps that is the point, Remmick. Power and desire… they are often intertwined, wouldn't you agree?"
He caught your hand, his grip firm but not rough. He turned you to face him, his dark eyes locking with yours. "Then show me the extent of your power," he breathed, his gaze dropping to your lips. "And I will show you the depth of my… appreciation."
You smiled, a slow, knowing curve of your mouth that promised things unspoken. You raised your other hand, your fingers tangling in the short, dark hair at the nape of his neck. The heat radiating from his body was palpable.
"Appreciation is a start," you whispered, pulling him closer until your bodies were mere inches apart. You could feel the tension coiled within him, the rapid beat of his heart mirroring your own. "But tonight, Remmick, I think we can explore… far more intimate forms of exchange."
Your gaze flickered down to his mouth again, and this time, you didn't hesitate. You leaned in, your lips brushing his, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt of electricity through both of you. A low groan rumbled in his chest as his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.
The kiss that followed was not gentle. It was a claiming, a merging of desires that had been simmering beneath the surface. His lips were firm and demanding, and you met his intensity with a hunger of your own. The world outside the candlelit room faded away, leaving only the two of you, bound by the potent magic of attraction and the unspoken promise of the night to come. The air crackled with a different kind of energy now, a tangible heat that spoke of boundaries about to be crossed and desires about to be unleashed.
The kiss deepened, becoming a slow burn that ignited a different kind of magic in the room. His hands roamed your back, pressing you closer, while your fingers tangled further in his hair, tilting his head to deepen the connection. The scent of incense mingled with his own earthy aroma, creating a heady brew that heightened the senses.
Breaking the kiss, you trailed your lips down the line of his jaw, the faint taste of him both familiar and intoxicating. "The spirits are restless tonight, Remmick," you murmured against his skin, your breath warm against his ear. "They sense the stirring of powerful energies… the kind that bind."
He shuddered slightly, his grip on your waist tightening. "Bind us how?" he rasped, his voice thick with desire.
You pulled back slightly, your eyes locking with his. In the flickering candlelight, your pupils seemed to dilate, taking on a deeper, more mystical hue. "In ways that go beyond simple agreement. In ways that touch the very essence of who we are."
You reached for a small, intricately carved wooden doll that lay on a nearby table, its surface adorned with feathers and beads. As you held it, your fingers tracing its contours, a low chant began to emanate from your lips, a rhythmic murmur in a language ancient and unknown. The air in the room seemed to thicken, the shadows dancing with a renewed intensity.
Remmick watched you, a mixture of fascination and something akin to awe in his dark eyes. The raw, primal desire was still there, but it was now intertwined with a sense of the arcane, a feeling that he was stepping into a realm beyond his usual understanding.
As the chant intensified, you took one of his hands, your touch sending a jolt of energy through him. You turned his palm upward and with a slender, obsidian-tipped tool, you gently traced symbols onto his skin, each stroke accompanied by a soft, whispered incantation.
"This is a binding of intent, Remmick," you explained, your voice low and hypnotic. "A weaving of our energies. With each mark, our paths become… more entwined."
He watched, mesmerized, as the symbols bloomed on his skin, a strange heat spreading through his hand. When you were finished, you pressed his palm to your own, the connection sending a visible shimmer through the air between you.
"Now," you breathed, your gaze intense, "the spirits bear witness to our joining. And the price of this alliance… it is paid not just in words, but in the language of the flesh, the language they understand best."
You moved closer again, your body brushing against his, the heat of your skin seeping into him. The chanting had ceased, but the air still vibrated with unseen energy. You reached up, your fingers tracing the sharp angles of his face, your touch now imbued with a subtle, almost electric charge.
"Show me, Remmick," you whispered, your lips a breath away from his. "Show me how deeply you desire this… this binding."
And as his lips met yours once more, the voodoo magic in the air seemed to coalesce, weaving a spell of shared sensation, a potent blend of the earthly and the arcane that promised a night unlike any either of you had known. The flickering candlelight cast your entwined shadows on the wall, a testament to the powerful forces at play within the secluded sanctuary. Your hands gripped Remmick's shoulders, your nails digging slightly into the taut muscles as his mouth trailed down your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. The scent of disturbed herbs and burning incense mingled with the musky aroma of arousal, creating a heady, intoxicating atmosphere.
He lifted you onto the edge of the cluttered table, scattering more of your arcane tools, the clatter momentarily lost in the intensity of the moment. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your bodies pressed so tightly together you could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your own.
His hands roamed freely now, cupping your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples until they were hard and aching. A low moan escaped your lips, and you arched against his touch, the friction sending waves of heat pooling low in your belly.
"Tell me what you want," he growled, his voice thick with lust, his gaze burning into yours.
"You know," you whispered, your breath catching in your throat. "You know what I crave."
He surged forward, his mouth finding yours in a deep, possessive kiss. His tongue plunged into your mouth, mimicking the deeper joining you both craved. His hands slipped lower, finding the slick heat between your thighs, his fingers teasing and probing, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you.
The rhythm of your breathing became ragged, punctuated by soft moans and gasps. You clung to him, your body arching and swaying as he continued his sensual assault. The voodoo magic in the room seemed to pulse with your escalating arousal, the shadows on the walls growing deeper, more alive.
He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with desire. He reached down, his fingers expertly navigating the folds of your desire, and you cried out as a sharp, exquisite pleasure shot through you. Your hips bucked against his hand, your body begging for more.
"Please," you gasped, your head falling back, your neck exposed.
He obliged, his fingers moving faster, harder, until the tension coiled within you reached its breaking point. A shudder wracked your body as you climaxed, your muscles clenching around his hand, your cries echoing in the small room.
Remmick watched you, his own breath coming in ragged gasps. The sight of your release only fueled his own mounting desire. He shifted, his hard length pressing against your slick heat, and with a groan, he surged inside you, filling you completely.
You cried out again, this time a sound of pure sensation, of being utterly possessed. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, your bodies moving together in a primal rhythm, the ancient magic of the voodoo sanctuary bearing witness to your intense, uninhibited union. Each thrust was deeper, more urgent, driving you both closer to the edge, until the room was filled with nothing but the sounds of your ragged breathing and the primal rhythm of your bodies entwined.
Spenser was for the elite. For the carefully curated. The sons and daughters of bloodlines older than sin. You knew your family name raised eyebrows—but not in the way you expected.
People whispered.
They stared—especially him.
Chase Collins.
He was supposed to be dead.
The last time someone saw him, he’d been consumed in a storm of fire and screaming magic. But there he was, leaning against the wrought iron railing by the courtyard, black coat fluttering like the wings of something fallen, watching you like you were the last secret worth learning.
“You’re not like the others,” he said one day, falling into step beside you like a shadow. “They smell like stale blood and old money. You smell like new fire.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You’ve been following me.”
He smirked. “And you’ve been letting me.”
Chase was like gravity—beautiful, suffocating, and impossible to ignore. There was power in him, yes—but also something wounded. Something twisted. You felt it echo in your own chest.
Because what no one at Spenser knew—yet—was that your bloodline had been kept secret for a reason. Not because it was weak.
Because it was forbidden.
And Chase? He could feel it.
He followed you into shadows.
You followed him into ruin.
One Night, in the East Wing (Where Students Don’t Go)
He cornered you between candlelight and spellwork, books open on a marble altar that hadn’t been touched since the Salem trials.
“You think they’ll protect you?” he asked, voice low. “Reid. Caleb. The little kings of this plastic kingdom? They don’t know what you are. What you could be.”
“And you do?”
“I feel it.”
He stepped closer.
“I burned for that kind of power. Died for it. And you—you were born with it.”
His hand hovered at your cheek, fingers brushing like a spell still waiting to be spoken. His eyes were storm blue, but darker—like something inside him was already halfway gone.
You should’ve stepped back.
Instead, you asked, “What do you want from me?”
And Chase? He didn’t lie.
He leaned in, breath warm against your throat, and said:
“Everything.”
First time trying like smutty writing 🧍🏻♀️I’m sorry if this sucks
Enjoy tho
The juke joint was quiet, except for the hum of broken neon and the low thrum of rain against metal. The city was still bleeding from the last job—so were you, in places that didn’t show. You sat on the edge of the mattress, breath shallow, clothes still clinging from the run.
Mary stood near the window, half-lit in the glow. Stack leaned against the door, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you. Watching. Waiting.
“You’re shaking,” Mary said, finally, stepping closer. Her voice was low, velvet with an edge. “Too much adrenaline.”
“You’re not exactly calm either,” you replied, glancing between them.
Stack gave a quiet huff. “You want to burn it off? Or keep pacing around like ghosts?”
Mary was in front of you now, sliding her fingers into your hair, tugging gently until you looked up at her. “Let us take care of you tonight.”
You didn’t answer—not with words. Just nodded. They moved like predators who knew exactly where to strike.
Stack’s hands were rough against your waist as he tugged your shirt off, lips dragging along your neck while Mary’s cool fingers unzipped your pants, knuckles brushing heat. Everything melted fast—fabric hitting the floor, bodies pulled together in heat and tension.
Mary kissed you hard, all sharp teeth and soft sounds, while Stack's mouth found your chest, dragging a moan from you that echoed in the room like a confession.
When you hit the bed, they didn’t waste time.
Stack settled between your legs, broad hands gripping your thighs as he dragged his tongue over your aching center—slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorize the taste of you. He groaned low in his throat when your hips bucked, and the sound of it made your whole body pulse.
Above you, Mary straddled your chest, her thighs slick and shaking. She cupped your face, eyes dark. “Touch me. Like I know you’ve wanted to.”
You obeyed, fingers gliding over her wet heat, watching her head fall back, her lips part with a gasp. She rocked into your hand as Stack’s mouth worked deeper, hungrier, until you were unraveling under both of them—caught between fire and fire. The slick heat between her thighs pulsed against your fingers, and a low groan escaped her lips. The sound resonated through you, a visceral connection that transcended the silence of the room.
Below, Stack’s ministrations grew more intense, his tongue a relentless flame licking at your core. Each stroke sent waves of sensation through you, building a frantic need that threatened to overwhelm. His hands tightened on your thighs, anchoring you as your hips began to lift involuntarily.
Caught between their ministrations, the tension in your body coiled tighter and tighter. Mary’s rhythmic movements above mirrored the insistent pressure below, each touch driving you closer to the edge. The broken neon cast long, distorted shadows on the walls, witnesses to the raw, primal connection unfolding in the quiet hideout. You were no longer just bleeding; you were burning, consumed by the fire they ignited within you.
so you little shits instead spanning out in characters from the sinners movie y'all kept picking Remmy man is hot but also a symbol of oppression. Yes I get "but he's a sexy vampire" you know who else became sexy vampires Bo Chow and Stack. :( Y'all upset me.
The neon sign above the door flickered like it wasn’t sure if it should be alive or dead. A soft hum of blues guitar leaked out into the alleyway, thick with the smell of tobacco, sweat, and moonshine. The juke joint wasn’t exactly safe, but that’s what made it the right kind of dangerous.
You pushed open the creaking door. Warmth and music washed over you like a velvet tide. Eyes turned. A few lingered. You walked in anyway.
Smoke was already there.
He leaned against the wall near the back, shadowed beneath a flickering light. His mask caught the gleam of the overhead bulbs like a dare. One hand held a drink he hadn’t touched. The other rested near his waist, fingers twitching near his weapon like old instincts died hard.
You caught his eye, and he didn’t look away.
“Didn’t think this was your kind of place,” you said, sliding onto the stool beside him.
Smoke’s voice was low, rough, but strangely smooth. “It isn’t. You are.”
Your heart skipped a beat. He never flirted—if that was even what this was—but there was heat in the way he said it. Smoke didn’t waste words. If he said something, he meant it.
You took a sip of whatever the bartender had left in front of you. Burned all the way down. Still didn’t feel as intense as his gaze on your cheek.
The music shifted. Something slower now. Sultry. A low croon and a deep bassline that made the floorboards hum.
“Dance with me,” you said, the words out before you could stop yourself.
Smoke didn’t answer right away. Just stared. Then, slowly, he set down his untouched drink and stood.
He didn’t grab your hand—just waited for you to follow.
On the dance floor, you expected awkwardness. Hesitation. But Smoke moved like he always did—smooth, deliberate, confident. One gloved hand on your lower back, the other catching your wrist just enough to pull you close.
The mask should’ve made it cold.
It didn’t.
His breath ghosted against your ear as you swayed to the beat, chest to chest, his heartbeat steady under layers of cloth and armor. You could feel the tension in his shoulders—not discomfort. Control. Like he was holding himself back.
"You watching my back or trying to read my mind?" you murmured, eyes flicking up to meet the silver sheen of his mask.
“I don’t need to read your mind,” he said. “You wear it all over your face.”
You smiled—soft, caught. “And what do you see?”
Smoke leaned in, just enough that your pulse jumped.
“…Someone I’d burn the place down for.”
The words hit you harder than the liquor. Before you could answer, a crash echoed from the back of the joint—shouting, chaos, a fight starting over spilled booze and bad blood.
Smoke didn’t flinch.
But his hand left your back only to reach for his weapon.
“Stay behind me,” he muttered, already stepping between you and the mess.
And just like always, he was the calm in the fire. Your shield in a room full of smoke.
The world seemed to bend around Remmick as he rose, his silhouette slicing through the haze of red light. You followed, drawn not by force but something older—like gravity or fate. You should’ve been afraid. You were.
But curiosity overruled fear.
You stepped out into the alley behind the bar, but it didn’t smell like garbage or wet pavement anymore. The air had shifted—sweet, metallic, cold. Shadows clung to Remmick like a second coat, shifting unnaturally as he moved. You tried not to stare too hard. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what moved inside them.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Still sure?”
“No,” you said honestly.
That made him smirk. “Good. The unsure are the ones who survive.”
He extended one hand this time, palm up, waiting.
You hesitated. Then, slowly, you placed your hand in his.
His skin was cold—deathly so—but somehow not unpleasant. The chill climbed your arm like a whisper, like it was asking permission to enter. You gave it.
And the world changed.
One blink—you were in the alley. The next… gone. Replaced by a chamber of black stone and candlelight, filled with soft music that didn’t come from any source you could see. There were mirrors, too—but none reflected Remmick.
Just you.
Alone.
You spun to find him already behind you.
“This is a threshold,” he said, voice low, reverent. “It exists between your world and mine. Most humans don’t make it this far without going mad.”
“And what happens to the ones who do?” you whispered.
He stepped close, his hand ghosting along your back without quite touching. “They become something else.”
Your breath caught. “What did you become?”
Remmick’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, they burned—not with fire, but memory. Pain. Love. Hunger.
“Lonely,” he said simply.
That cracked something in you. He looked ancient and dangerous, yes—but also… hollow. Like all the elegance and power was armor for something long since broken.
“You brought me here to see your world,” you said. “But this is about more than that.”
He gave a slow nod. “I’ve watched you for a long time. Longer than you realize. You’re not like the others. Your soul—” he paused, as if tasting the word—“it’s frayed at the edges. Touched by loss. Shaped by fire. It calls to me.”
You looked up at him, heart racing. “And what do you want from it?”
Remmick stepped in closer, finally touching your cheek. His glove was off now. His fingers were cold, but his eyes were molten.
“Not to take it,” he murmured. “To understand it.”
You should’ve pulled away.
Instead, you leaned in.
Just a fraction of an inch between you now—his breath mingling with yours.
“Then understand me,” you whispered.
And he did.
Not with teeth.
Not yet.
But with a kiss—cool, deep, and somehow aching. A promise made in shadows. Not of forever, but of more. More secrets. More nights. More of him.
When he pulled back, your head spun.
“I’ll take you home,” he said, voice a little rough now. “But you’ll come back.”
The bar was nearly empty, lit only by a few red-glowing sconces and the flicker of candlelight. Jazz played low and slow in the background—scratchy on the old vinyl, but soulful. You were supposed to meet someone, but they hadn’t shown. The bartender had stopped checking on you twenty minutes ago.
And then you felt it.
A presence, like cold silk brushing the back of your neck. You turned just as he entered.
Remmick.
Tall, impossibly still, he looked like a man sketched from shadow—his dark coat clinging to him like smoke, his crimson eyes flickering faintly under the low light. He moved with elegance that didn’t belong in the modern world. Every eye in the room should have turned to him, but somehow, nobody noticed. Only you.
“You’re alone,” he said smoothly, though he already knew.
You swallowed. “I was supposed to meet someone.”
“And yet… here we are.” His smile was subtle, carved with centuries of confidence. “May I?”
He didn’t wait for permission. He sat beside you, his scent—something like old paper and blood oranges—filling your senses. You could feel him watching you, even when your eyes tried to stay focused on your drink.
“What do you want?” you asked, a little sharper than intended.
He chuckled, low and amused. “An honest question. But not the right one.”
You glanced at him, drawn in despite yourself. “Then what is the right question?”
“What do you want?” he said, voice like velvet over steel. “Because people don’t end up here by accident. Not in this city. Not near me.”
Your fingers tightened around the glass. He was right, and you hated that. You had seen him before—only glimpses, but enough to know that he was more than a man. The whispers in the alleyways, the strange dreams that lingered long after waking… all of them pointed to him.
And now he was here, close enough to touch.
“I want answers,” you admitted. “About… you. About what’s happening to me.”
Remmick leaned in, his breath cool against your skin. “That comes with a price.”
You hesitated. “How steep?”
He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he reached out, tracing one gloved finger along the rim of your glass. Then, lower, brushing your wrist where your pulse betrayed your calm.
“You let me in,” he said. “Once. Just once. And I’ll show you things no mortal ever lives to tell. The truth. Your truth. My world.”
You stared into those eyes—deep, bottomless, ancient. And in them, you saw more than danger. You saw curiosity. Hunger. And something softer he tried very hard to hide.
“…Okay,” you whispered. “Show me.”
He smiled again—sharp this time, fanged. But not cruel. And not entirely unkind.
“Very well, little flame,” he murmured, as the candlelight flickered between you. “Let’s begin.”
I've been inactive as hell and I saw the thunderbolts recently had to pull myself out of the gutter to write about my man bob.
Enjoy!
The moonlight cuts through the reinforced glass of the Thunderbolts facility, casting long shadows on the floor. You lean against the wall just outside Bob Reynolds’ quarters, hesitating. Inside, you hear nothing. Not even breathing. That’s the most unsettling part.
He’s been quiet for days.
You knock gently. No answer. You push the door open.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, hands pressed together like he’s praying—or about to break something. Gold flickers in his eyes, a dangerous glint that’s almost beautiful if you weren’t so scared of what it means.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he murmurs, voice low and hollow.
“And yet here I am,” you say, stepping in anyway. “Bob, you’ve got people worried. I’m worried.”
“I could hurt you,” he says, voice cracking. “You know what I am. What I could become.”
You sit beside him. Close, but not touching. “You’re not just the Void. You’re also Bob. You’re Sentry. You’re... mine, if you’ll let yourself be.”
His head drops, a laugh shaking his shoulders. It’s bitter, sharp. “You’re not afraid?”
“I am. Of what you could do. But not of you.”
There’s silence again, but heavier this time. He turns to look at you. Really look.
“You see me as more than the monster.”
“I see the man who tries to keep the monster at bay, even when it breaks you.”
He exhales shakily. And then, slowly, gently—like a wave pulling back from the shore—he leans into you, resting his head on your shoulder.
“Stay,” he whispers.
You wrap your arms around him, feeling the power simmer beneath his skin like a live wire. But also the need. The humanity. The desperate wish to be held without breaking the world.
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