Remmick ⋆ smut/NSFW stuff ⋆ Remmick smut ⋆ female reader ⋆ yearning men ⋆ submissive men ⋆ blood kink ⋆ pathetic men ⋆ vampirism ⋆ Jack O'Connell ⋆ evil men ⋆ toxic relationships ⋆ manipulative men ⋆ psycho men ⋆ Brette (eden lake) ⋆ James Cook ⋆ masochistic men ⋆ dom women (me) ⋆ sluts (both Remmick & me) ⋆ degradation kink ⋆ Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal ⋆ selfshipping (with Remmick) ⋆ dark content
i’m bored and i thought this would be a fun idea so here’s how it works!
send me an ask telling me a little bit about yourself (personality, things you like/don’t like, hobbies, your vibe/aesthetic, if you want you can add stuff about your appearance but that probably won’t affect it too much) and then i’ll match you with one or two of jack’s characters, and if i have the inspiration or time i’ll write a lil tidbit on how i think your relationship would look like! (warning i don’t have any faith in my writing skills so pls don’t expect something great)
characters included
remmick
jimmy crystal
paddy mayne
lion kaminski
james cook
eric love
patrick sumner
oliver mellors
roy goode
brett (eden lake)
kyle budwell (maybe idk that much about him but he has a vibe)
OK I THINK THATS ALL I HOPE THIS IS FUN FOR YOU BECAUSE IT SOUNDS FUN FOR ME
pairing : james cook x reader
summary : you've taken a liking to putting on a show for your friendly neighbor james
warning :this story contains explicit sexual content, including graphic descriptions of sex acts and other adult themes, if you’re under 18 or easily offended, this isn’t for you.
w/c: 1.5k
Living next door to James Cook is like living next to a fire. He is loud, wild, and always looks like he is looking for trouble. He always has a smirk on his face.
For the first few weeks, you think you're safe. You took down the curtains in your bedroom because you wanted more light. You thought no one could see inside. You were wrong.
It happens on a warm Tuesday evening. You just got out of the shower. Your skin is wet and warm. You're standing in your room wearing only a small white towel around your waist.
As you reach for your clothes, you feel something. You feel like someone is watching you.
You slowly turn your head toward the window.
Across the small alley, Cook is sitting on his windowsill. He isn't even hiding.
He is staring at you with wide eyes. He looks hungry, like he has found something he really wants. He has a cigarette in his hand, but he has forgotten to smoke it.
Your heart beats fast, but you don't scream. You don't close the blinds.
Instead, you look him right in the eyes.
You feel a thrill of excitement. You see him look down at your body, scanning your waist and your legs.
Slowly, you let the towel slide down. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely naked. You just stand there and look at him, letting him see everything.
Cook doesn't move. He looks shocked and desperate. He is breathing hard. In that moment, you realize you have the power. He thought he was spying on you, but now you are the one in control.
From that day on, it becomes a game. You start to notice when he is there. You can feel his eyes on you.
Whenever you feel him watching, you don't hide. You give him a show.
When you get dressed for school, you go very slowly. You stay in your underwear for a long time, knowing he is watching. When you're in bed, you slide your nightgown up your legs and smile at the window.
Your bedroom is now a stage, and Cook is your only audience.
You love the way he looks at you. You love teasing him and making him want you more and more, waiting for the moment he finally breaks.
Weeks passed, and the game became almost like a routine.
Every day, you would feel his eyes on you, and every day, you would tease him. You loved knowing that he was obsessed with you, and he loved every second of the show you gave him. It was a secret that only the two of you shared.
One afternoon, your parents were getting ready to leave for a trip. You stood in the driveway and said goodbye to them, waving as their car pulled away. As the sound of the engine faded, you noticed something moving by their garage.
It was Cook.
He was leaning against the wall, looking as chaotic as ever. He had a mischievous glint in his eyes and that same smirk on his lips. When he saw you looking, he didn't look away.
Instead, he raised a hand and gave you a slow, lazy wave.
He pushed off the wall and walked toward you, his steps confident and slow. He stopped just a few inches away from you, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of cigarettes and cologne.
He looked around the quiet street and then looked back at you, his voice low and raspy.
"Your parents are gone," he said, his eyes scanning your face. "You all alone in there, love?"
You didn't answer right away, but you gave him a small, challenging smile. You could feel the electricity between you, the same tension you felt through the window, but now it was ten times stronger because he was actually touching your space.
Cook stepped even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Can I come in?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He just stared at you with that hungry look, the look of someone who had spent weeks watching from a distance and was finally tired of waiting.
He wanted to see if the real thing was as good as the show you had been putting on for him.
You stepped aside and let him in. Since you hadn't expected any visitors after your parents left, you weren't dressed for company. You were just wearing an oversized white t-shirt and a pair of very short shorts that hugged your curves.
As you walked ahead of him into the house, you could feel his eyes glued to you. The house was quiet, and the air felt heavy with a sudden, sharp tension. You stopped in the living room and turned around to look at him, but you caught him mid-stare.
Cook wasn't looking at your face. His gaze was locked firmly on your chest. Because it was a bit chilly in the house, your nipples were hard, poking clearly through the thin white fabric of your shirt.
He didn't even try to hide it. His pupils were blown wide, and he let out a slow, shaky breath, his tongue sliding over his bottom lip.
"You know," he rasped, his voice sounding deeper and more dangerous than usual, "the view from the window is great... but this? This is a whole lot better."
He took a step toward you, his eyes still fixed on your chest, making it clear that he had no intention of behaving himself now that he was finally inside.
Cook didn't wait for a response.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between you in one sudden move. He grabbed your waist with his strong hands and pulled you hard against him, the impact knocking the breath out of you.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the rough leather of his jacket against your skin.
He groaned, a low sound in his throat, and buried his face in the crook of your neck.
"You have no idea," he rasped, his voice vibrating against your skin, "how many times I've imagined doing this while I was staring at you through that glass."
He carried you toward the bedroom—the room that had been his favorite view for weeks. He kicked the door shut behind him and pressed you back against the wall, his eyes burning into yours.
"You liked it, didn't you? Knowing I was there. Knowing I was watching every single move you made."
He didn't waste another second. His hands gripped the hem of your white shirt and pulled it up and over your head in one quick motion.
He threw the shirt to the floor and stared at you, his pupils blown wide. "God, you're even better than I thought. Look at you... just for me." He leaned down, his mouth capturing one breast, sucking and biting gently.
"I've wanted to taste you since the first time you dropped that towel," he mumbled against your skin, making you gasp and arch your back.
You ran your fingers through his messy hair, pulling him closer. He let out a dark chuckle as you fumbled with his belt. "Impatient, aren't we? I love it. Give it to me, then."
Once he stripped off his clothes, he lifted you and tossed you onto the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight as he crawled over you, pinning your wrists above your head.
He looked down at you with a predatory smile. "Now there's nowhere for you to hide," he whispered. "No more teasing. No more games."
When he finally entered you, it was with a forceful, desperate hunger. You cried out, and he smirked, leaning down to whisper in your ear.
"That's it... let me hear you. Tell me how much you wanted this. Tell me you wanted me in here."
Every thrust was deep and powerful, mirroring the wild energy he carried everywhere. He didn't stop talking, his voice a constant, low growl that fueled the fire.
"You're so tight... fuck, you're perfect. I'm never going back to that window, you hear me?"
As the tension reached a breaking point, Cook suddenly pulled out of you with a sharp gasp.
You blinked, confused for a split second, but he didn't give you time to wonder.
He grabbed your chin, tilting your head back and forcing you to look up at him.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice strained and thick with need. "I want you to see exactly what you've done to me."
He began to stroke himself rapidly, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that felt like it could burn.
He was breathing hard, his muscles tensing as he neared the edge. "You spent weeks giving me a show... now it's my turn," he groaned.
With one final, guttural shout of your name, he released, finishing across your cheeks and forehead.
You gasped, feeling the warmth of him covering your skin. Cook let out a long, shaky breath and collapsed on top of you, his forehead resting against yours, a triumphant, lazy smirk on his lips.
"Fuck... you're a menace," he breathed, glancing at the mess he'd left on your face. "Absolute menace."
⤿ synopsis : your husband has been working nonstop, but he makes it up to you after a particularly long day. . .
⤿ contents : afab wife!reader , mentions of injuries , praise , masturbation (f!receiving) , patrick is a hopeless romantic , slight voice kink ! 18+ MDNI
w.c. 2.3k
⩩ author notes : new character unlocked: patrick sumner! one of my favourites ♡ i’m lowkey in that part of the writing stage where i’m not sure what i’m writing anymore, i’m just typing words out and praying it fits. please enjoy this little one-shot!
┇likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! ❤︎
the rain came down hard against the glass pane of patrick sumners’ dimly lit office. heavy like hail, hurling itself down from the dark clouds that hung above the english sky. patrick stood at his desk as he urgently packed up all his necessary items, impatient to get home to you—his wife. patrick had usually been less busy, however his office had experienced quite an influx in patients over the last several days due to changing seasons. the common colds, the allergies, the injuries sustained from slipping on ice, you name it. it wasn’t uncommon for patrick to be on his feet all day, but this day in particular had him counting down the minutes until he could run out the door. he made sure everything was arranged correctly for the next day, but not as neatly as it normally was, there just wasn’t time for that. he had spent the last few days overworking himself, to the point where the few times he saw you was when he came home to you sleeping, or woke up to you sleeping. the candles were blown out, and the office was locked up. he walked down the darkened hallway of the building, passing by the offices of other specialists housed within the miniature medical clinic, all of them empty by now leaving patrick the last man out. he had meant to be home an hour ago, but patrick found it quite difficult to decline his services, especially when he knew it was an urgent matter. you were probably worried sick about him. he imagined you hopelessly staring out the window at the rain, an endless list of what could’ve happened to him warping around your mind and leaving you unsettled. in reality, you were waiting for him but not as worried as he thought you up to be. you had decided to spend your time waiting for him in the bathtub, a ritual you performed on certain nights when the home felt too cold without patrick’s presence. you stepped into the warm basin of water and held the sides to ease yourself in, letting your back rest against the cool porcelain. you tipped your head back and sighed, finally feeling soothed, although it would’ve been much better if your husband could join you. nonetheless, you let yourself get comfortable in the warm tub, scooting down slightly to cover more of your body. you reached over the side and grabbed a small bar soap and a coarse washing brush, lifting one leg out of the water to begin gently cleansing yourself. the water became considerably cloudy as a result of the soapy suds, shielding the view of your body under. your eyes were closed until you heard the unmistakable noise of the front door opening and shutting. patrick was home. heavy boots thumped up the stairway in an attempt to be gentle, patrick assumed you were already in the bed asleep until he saw the only lit room on the floor; the bathroom. the door was barely ajar, only a small sliver of light poked through from the bottom. patrick walked over to the door and slowly opened it, revealing you in the bathtub. his gaze landed on you and stayed there, not wanting to look at anything but his wife.
“aw patrick, i’ve missed you. please, sit” you smile gently at him, and gesture towards the small wooden stool beside the tub.
he walks forwards and makes himself comfortable on the stool. one wet hand reaches out from the water to tenderly caress his beard, small droplets of water dripping down his neck and to his knee. he holds your hand in place with his, and you wince at how cold he is.
“i apologize for my timing, it was not on purpose that i come home to you this late” his tone is gentle and soothing to your ears. the kind of voice you could fall asleep to. his tired eyes scanned over the barely visible figure of your body beneath the water, and then back up to your face.
“it is not your fault, my love. it is merely what you signed up for.”
“i never wish to have another day as long as this one. i thought of you the entire time i worked” he quietly admits.
“really?”
“you plague my every waking moment, my darling” he says it as if it were obvious.
his words never failed to make you feel special. patrick had a habit of talking with formalities, even with you, but he meant every word he said to you. he treasured you like no other person could.
you leaned upwards nearing his face before he got the hint that you wanted a kiss. he bent his head down slightly and pressed his lips against yours softly, careful not to ruin the moment. you let your lips linger near his before leaning back down, your eyes never leaving his.
“would you tell me about your day?” you ask him sincerely, but not wanting to press him incase he didn’t wish to debrief.
“you truly want to hear about it? it’ll bore you to sleep, i’m sure” patrick huffs a small laugh.
“please do, i have not heard the sound of your voice in what has felt like ages,” and it was true; patrick had been working a little more than he usually did, and you could see the exhaustion in his face. “and please come closer, put your hands in the water, my love” you grab his hand, signaling him to scoot forward, his abdomen pressed up against the side of the basin. you pull one hand against your collarbone, and he immediately feels the difference in body temperature. you roll up the sleeve of his white dress shirt.
patrick relaxes against your touch, finding comfort when in contact with your body. he begins, “as you know, i started my day early. my walk towards the office was dreary, but that is to be expected at this time. as soon as my doors were open, my practice became flooded with patients. all different types of cases and such,” patrick talked with a smallness in his voice, some words whispered and others softly spoken. during his talking, you would slowly drag his hand beneath the foggy water, closer to your breasts. he noticed you were moving his hand, but he refused to do anything about it just yet.
“it becomes difficult to distinguish the differences between common illnesses, all of them seemingly blending into each other. at the end of the day, i can only believe i have made the most correct decision for each patient,” you continue to pull his hand lower before placing his hand on one of your breasts. patrick doesn’t seem to falter in his speech as he lightly squeezed the fat of your breast, cupping them and smoothing a thumb over your nipple. you continued to stare at him as he talked, admiring him with a heavy lidded gaze. what were the odds that you would end up married to a man so easy on the eyes? he carried on with his talking with his hand simultaneously moving lower and lower, finger tips scraping over your midriff delicately. his profession consisted of touching the skin of many people, however your skin was much different to him, he could touch it all day without getting tired of it.
“i treated a young patient who had fractured his elbow after sliding on ice, it is certainly a painful area to injure but he was a strong boy, barely shedding a tear. then a woman came in claiming she may have contracted chickenpox” his hand was at your navel now, rubbing back and forth to the sides of your waist. you whined quietly at the ticklish sensation, and it made patrick’s eyes move to meet yours, already understanding what it is that you wanted. normally, he would’ve asked you outright what you desired, but this time he was going to let something happen without involving words. his gaze flicked back down to where his hand was, and brushed his fingers against your mound.
“are you sure you want to hear all the details of my day? you don’t seem to-” he began to speak again but you interrupt him, holding his hand under yours.
“keep talking. all i want is your voice” you say with lust practically dripping from your lips, pushing his hand down all the way to where you want it to be. you feel his hand freeze against you, breath hitching, but quickly relaxes. the pads of his fingertips dusted over your nakedness. you moan quietly and lean your head back, closing your eyes in the process.
“very well then, my dear. as i was saying, the woman had chickenpox. she was inconsolable over it, but i assured her that it would clear up over the course of a few days. then i sutured a man’s gash closed,” his fingers slowly ran up and down your slit, collecting whatever slick liquid that was beginning to seep out. every time his fingers moved upwards, he would press down slightly on your clit, eliciting a shaky breath from you.
“it was a deep cut. he had told me he sustained it from a rough night out, he couldn’t quite remember how it happened but judging by the look of it, it must’ve been done by a perpetrator with a blade” now he was rubbing small circles over your clit, and little noises were starting to break out of you. he wondered how you could get off to his gruesome stories, but you weren’t exactly listening to his words, more so his voice. the way it rumbled and rasped when he spoke quietly, aware of how loud his voice sounded when speaking full volume in a small echoey bathroom. patrick was not the type of man to raise his voice, he was quite a soft speaker, never really projecting his voice unless he wasn’t heard the first time. this translated into the bedroom as well. he was vocal enough to let you know it felt good, but he stayed quiet as he much preferred to listen to yours over his.
“the rest of my day became a blur, i believe i may have overworked myself. i spent more time thinking of you than my patients, which i assume must make me irresponsible. it is something i cannot help. i will indulge in my thoughts of you if my mind so pleases” you whimpered both at his words and his fingertips pressing harder against you, his pace unchanging. you open your eyes, and examine his starved expression. this is what he had been waiting to do all day.
“talk about me, now” you mumbled.
“i may not tell you very often, but you are one of the only things that keep me going in this life. i have no purpose if i cannot serve you.”
you bucked your hips into his hand, a clear indication his words were getting you off.
“o-oh patrick mmph” your words made him go faster, the water around his arm creating small ripples.
patrick watched how your chest rose in and out of the water every time you breathed, a tiny portion of your breasts poking out beneath the clouded water, wet skin shining against the candle light.
“i remember, the day i met you, that you would be the death of me. i never believed i would’ve been able to find someone after my time india, but you changed everything.”
the sensitivity in your core had you clenching around nothing. he knew exactly how to stimulate you and he wasn’t wasting any time with it. his fingers were now rubbing your clit at a moderate speed, and you could feel that euphoric sensation building up. your hips continued to jerk forward every time he became a little more rough.
“it’s so good—please—patrick”
“please what, angel?”
“g-god…please continue!”
“you want me to tell you more? how your mere existence consumes every part of me? how i cannot stand when you are not by my side? how i wish to touch as i am now every time i see you?” he was flustered from how much was spilling out of him, how vulnerable he was being. he couldn’t help himself if he tried, his feelings just tumbled out of him. he held your eye contact as slowly watched you nearing your finish. at this point, you could only nod and whimper at everything he said, words becoming too difficult to form. you reached out to grip patrick’s shoulder, but he grabbed your hand instead with his other free arm and held it to his chest.
“you’re close, aren’t you?”
“mhm! v-very..”
“come for me, my darling.”
you closed your eyes to help yourself focus, every rough drag of his fingers pushing you closer towards the finish line. you took a few deep, ragged breaths before it all came out. you finished with a loud whine and a buck of your hips up into his hand, chasing more friction. patrick watched the way your face contorted in pleasure, the way your eyebrows furrowed, your tongue when your lips parted and the sounds that would fall from them. god—it was such a beautiful sight.
“that’s it, thaatts itt. there you are. so good for me” he said, almost whispering to himself. he continued to circle your clit but very slowly and lightly now, pulling small aftershocks out of you. then he leaned down once again, lips locking against yours. one wet hand came up to caress the back of his head, dampening his hair slightly. you kissed him deeply as a thank you.
“patrick..” you pull away, lips mere centimetres from his.
in-ear monitor oh j, MY DEARLY BELOVED, i so appreciate you and your kind words. you genuinely never fail to make my day, i get so giddy when i see u pop up. giving u all my kisses and hugs, as per usual. YK HOW MUCH FUN I HAD WRITING THIS LIKE UGHHHHH just shove it in *sigh*. aside from that, i tweaked sum stuff just a liiiil bit, tiny smidge. but you'll understand bcuz boy do i love a scratched up man. let's kick off the celebration right with my fav!!! again j, as always, u are my shining star and i hope i did right by u my love!! enjoy ;) — (also did i skip over giving synopsis this time? yes. curiosity is the spice of life so enjoy filth w no preamble, as god intended)
PATHETIC TEARS SLATHER LION'S THICK LASHES, HIS LOUD WHIMPERS TRYING SO HARD NOT TO ESCAPE PAST HIS TIGHTLY PURSED LIPS.
They do nothing to cool his flushed face from the sheer exertion he should’ve been saving for this fight. Instead his strength focused on you, his needy girl, using him to fuck yourself stupid before a match. You’ve set a merciless pace, your ass recoiling upon impact, the action soaking your cum onto Lion's crotch, making a sticky mess between you both and the shorts you barely bothered to pull all the way off sitting atop his thighs. He swears his eyes roll into the back of his skull as he watches the arch in your back deepen as you slam down onto his cock.
“Buh–baby I–”
Lion chokes out, his incoherent begging falling on deaf ears. His knees dig hard into the cold concrete of the locker room floor, his bare back knocking against the metal lockers hard enough to leave faint impressions and scratches. You brace yourself over the worn bench, bent over and white knuckling the old rotting wood, keeping him exactly where you want him. Your own labored breathing falls in sync with Lion’s own sharp ones—all choked gasps and moans, making the thin line between who is who blur rapidly as the angle pulls your jaw slack, lips parting in a silent, trembling “o”.
Angling your neck to look back at him is what cracks your composure. You lean farther over the bench, breasts pressing harder against the rough wood, the edge digging in as the fabric of your bra strains and shifts. The movement pushing you further from him, and when you glance back at Lion, the sight of him hits you all at once—hair a mess, breathing ragged, eyes blown wide.
He looks absolutely fucking wrecked.
Your eyes dilate at the sight of the thick webs of your arousal pulling and sticking, as if trying their hardest to beckon you back. Following the mess, you trace the thick prominent vein tracing the underside of his cock that hooks deliciously at the right angle, slathered thick with a creamy white ring. The sight alone has your pussy clenching around the thick head of his cock, the action pulling a pitiful whine out of Lion as his hips jerk involuntarily at the feeling.
Lion is far past gone, his cheeks and the plane of his chest blooming a soft, pretty pink under the yellow fluorescents — and his hands, half lost in that stunned haze, fumble, for your hips as if to anchor himself and wrap your cunt back around him to fill the space you’ve put between the two of you.
A rough, guttural sound rumbles from his chest; before his fingers can anchor themselves, his gaze fixes on the glimmering film of sweat pooled in the dimples at the base of your spine. The sight nearly undoes him—one bead trembling there looks so wickedly enticing, that he’d trail it with his fucking tongue in a heartbeat, just to savor it.
Without warning, you slam right back on him, a loud plap! goes lost under Lion’s sharp cry at the sudden movement and tightness of your cunt wrapping back around him. The sudden fullness has your own vision blurring, the feeling settling deep in your lower stomach to hit you just right on your cervix. The sudden impact slams him against the jagged edge of the lockers; he knows the metal is biting harshly into his skin—welts now, bruises later—but the thought barely registers through the haze clouding his mind.
“B-baby… m’gonna—hah—”
Your words tumble out on a shaky breath, breaking into small hiccups before the sentence is even finished. At the same moment, Lion’s hands finally lock onto your hips, fingers tightening until his knuckles bleach white. His vice grip steadies you both for a heartbeat, his rough exhale rasping as heat pulses through his palms.
He’s been holding his breath, eyes skittering everywhere but your body, picturing how he’ll leave the match with cash in his pocket to spend on you, just so he wouldn't blow his load early.
“I– jus’ wan’ s–see”
He doesn’t even recognize how raspy his voice comes out, his words slurring together at the effort and the indulgence dripping from his words. You don’t even hear his words but then you feel it, strong hands gripping onto your ass, flattening his palms as his fingers dig into each cheek—oh.
Lion’s face tightens in complete and utter pleasure, he watches as your rhythm stutters at the halting grip, every shred of his restraint leaving his body. He knows it’s a small stretch for you at how hard his palms are digging into your flesh as he spreads you wide for him to see, your tight hole puckering at the slight burn. He blinks hard, refusing to let a film of tears cloud the moment he wants to see perfectly.
His hands suddenly glide upward until both palms settle flat against the small of your back; the firm heel of his hand presses in, sealing the moment like a final, decisive push. Summoning the last of his strength, he sends you pitching forward, breath hitching as momentum steals the air from your lungs and the world narrows to heat and pressure as he slams your hips right back, effectively burning the stretch and slip of your tight pussy sucking in his cock to memory. His vision blazes white, the rush overtaking him as he pumps you full, his cum spilling in thick ropes. You cry out as your own orgasm washes over you, his palms still firmly planted into the meat of your ass through it all, holding you flush against him until every last tremor fades and his front is flushed against your back in exhaustion.
Your breaths collide in the charged hush, bodies aching and buzzing. You’re the first to move, easing back while he still feels boneless beneath you. The moment shatters when a sharp clang rattles the locker room door and Lion’s name is barked impatiently off Stan’s tongue.
In Lion's line of work, even a seasoned boxer can’t completely hide the faint tremble in his knees—or the thin ribbon of dried blood trailing down his back where the dented metal vents on the lockers scraped him. The battered locks left their marks, too, mismatched numbers stamped faintly in red just beneath the left arm of the cross tattooed on the side of his torso.
⤿ synopsis : after working your asses off, you and lion take a well needed vacation together. . .
⤿ contents : afab reader , lion is scared of flying :( , slight possessiveness (if you squint) , manhandling , rough p in v , breeding kink ! 18+ MDNI
w.c. 2.7k
⩩ author notes : i don't really know how i feel about this part, i don't hate it, however i think i'm running out of ideas. to whoever wanted a third part of this series, i hope it satisfies your craving! i'd be willing to make a fourth part (and most likely final part) if given ideas for it. let me know how i should close off this series!
┇ likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! ❤︎
the moment you and lion became official, it was nearly impossible to separate from him and vice versa. you were lion’s first ever girlfriend, and he was ready to make the most of it. you on the other hand had been in previous relationships before, most of them lacklustre or devoid of that burning passion you felt for lion. no one ever made you feel as wanted, as loved, or as special as lion did. he was unlike anyone you ever met. and with you by his side, lion’s performance continued to skyrocket with every gig he took up, advancing him further and further in the ranks. while it lined stan’s pockets, a lot of it was placed under the care of lion and unlike stan, he actually used his money right. he wasn’t reckless, didn’t buy copious amounts of drinks, food, and clothing. instead, he was using it to fund a secret trip he had been planning for the both of you. he only proposed the idea of course, lion didn’t have a single clue on how to book a hotel or a plane ride, he had never even been in an airport before. when lion had told you one night while relaxing on the couch, your head in his lap, you immediately felt a surge a giddyness rush through you at the thought of a vacation with lion. you remembered flying upright, meeting lions’ gaze with a shocked expression.
“wait, are you actually serious?” you scooted closer to lion, needing his full confirmation before you would climb all over him.
“yeah, i’ve got some money saved up. we just needa’ book it. we can go wherever you want, baby” lion says, chuckling at your reaction.
you wrapped your arms around lion’s neck and pulled yourself onto him, squealing into his neck excitedly. all he said was vacation and that was enough to make you act up. in truth, you two had been working really hard the last few months, so the idea of a getaway felt immensely liberating. you pulled your head away from the crook of lion’s neck and smacked your lips onto his cheek.
“eek! i’m so excited lion! aren’t you excited?!”
“i am that you are. i needa' be away from stan for a bit.”
“don’t think about stan, think about me. think about us, somewhere in another part of the world, maybe by an ocean, or we could be in a jungle, or a mountain” you started to drift off into your own imagination, listing every possible place you be in.
“mmm, i like that.”
“what were you thinking?”
you combed your fingers through lion’s fluffy hair as he thought about what he wanted to do.
“somewhere warm with an ocean. i wanna be somewhere we can relax, not a big city or anythin’” lion said, his words trailing off as he thought more about it, the idea of you and him laying down on warm sand, sun blazing, you in a bikini. he wiped that thought away for now.
“you’re absolutely right. any specific places?”
“you want me to pick?”
“i want to know where you’ve always wanted to go, since you’ve never…been anywhere.”
lion started thinking again, you let your fingers fall from his scalp to rest your hands behind him.
“any thoughts so far?”
“y’know, as kids, me and stan always used to see those ads for vacation trips in the bahamas. the ones where they let you get room service and all that. we would imagine ourselves there, chillin’ in the pool with some piña coladas. ‘course we never got to go-”
“you can go now!” you interrupted lion, excited at the idea of the bahamas. it was a pretty popular place, but you wanted to go wherever lion wanted.
“that’s where i was goin’ with my story.”
“aw, lion i love that idea!”
“i’m glad” he said earnestly, feeling at peace with the consensus.
you would spend the next few days looking over possible hotel options, many of them piquing your interest but always having certain factors such as being too expensive or being fully booked out. eventually, while in bed, lion at your side peering at the computer screen, you stumbled across a highly rated all inclusive with stellar reviews, and it was affordable! lion immediately told you he was into it, and you knew then that this had to be the one. you booked a basic room for one week, and booked the flights right after.
“oh my god, i can’t believe my man is taking me on a vacation…” you say to lion after turning the bedside light off, rolling closer to him and holding him tight.
“you deserve it.”
“we deserve it.”
you kissed lion’s forehead in the dark, and fell asleep at his side.
“it really should’ve been me comin’ on this trip, bro” stan said as he pulled out the luggage from the trunk of his car, not knowing if he was joking or not.
“there will be plenty of trips to come, stanley. wait your turn” you reply playfully knowing it would get on his nerves.
“easy for you to say, princess” stan muttered under his breath, pulling the lid of the trunk down.
lion stood on the curb, looking towards a plane in the distance taking off in the direction of god knows where. he hadn’t anticipated how nervous he was going to be, having never flown before. you kept reassuring him, telling him it wasn’t going to be as bad as he imagined it to be, and he believed you but he still couldn’t shake the anxiety off. his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden feeling of stan hugging him tightly.
“i’m gonna miss you so much, bro. love you, and stay safe, yeah? don’t fall for any of those tourist scams or whatever they got going on down there. and take lots of photos for me” stan said, pulling away and holding onto lion’s shoulders.
this was the first time lion was going to be away from his brother for a long period of time, and it was a little scary not having his guidance. however, lion trusted you way more. stan moved over to you and wrapped an arm around you, embracing you in a casual side hug.
“keep my brother safe, okay? and uh don’t forget to send me some selfies while you’re at the beach.”
“you’re gross.” you laugh, sensing his perverted undertone.
“only bein’ honest” he says shrugging. stan looks back at lion and catches him zoning out again.
“hey lion.”
lion’s focus snaps back to stan.
“you’re gonna be okay.”
lion nods, trying to look optimistic.
you and lion wave to stan as he drives out of the terminal. you help lion get through security, which you could tell he was intimidated by until he actually went through it and realized how simple it was. you made sure to look at everything he packed just to make sure he wouldn’t try to bring something that was against airport rules. when you were seated on the plane, you let lion take the window seat so he could see outside when flying. you could tell a small part of him was excited, a boyish smile painted on his face as he looked down at the earth below him. you didn’t know you could fall deeper in love with him at that moment.
the hotel was situated off the coast of the atlantic ocean, and it was the most beautiful sight lion had ever seen with his own two eyes other than the sight of you. lion was addicted to the window as you drove through the city towards the hotel, taking in the fact that he wasn’t in massachusetts anymore. you checked into the hotel and got your luggage taken up to the room, allowing you and lion to explore the hotel a little bit. the hotel was mostly open air, and had a massive pool area including a bar. the whole place was decorated with local plants which made it look 100x more expensive than it was. lion was enamoured by the view, too distracted to realize he was sweating from the insane heat.
“sooo, what do you think, baby?” you pull him close to you, satisfied by his reaction to everything.
“s’fucking magical. thanks for bringin’ me here” he smiled.
“anything for you” you kissed his cheek, feeling the light sheen of sweat coating his skin.
you and lion went up to the room, which had a king sized bed, a marbled bathroom with a stone shower and tub, and a balcony facing out to the ocean. lion immediately crashed onto the bed, the weight of the heat outside had made him sleepy. it was late afternoon by now, so you and lion decided to keep the activities light by chilling out by the pool. that night, you and lion got room service for dinner, something he always wished of having. you watched him chow down his food as he sat cross legged on the bed, clad in a fluffy robe. you snuck a photo of him without him noticing, just for the memory.
“you okay?” you said giggling at the mirror. you were stood in the bathroom fixing your hair when you noticed lion creeping near the door frame behind you, basically drooling at the sight of you in your bikini.
“don’t mind me..” he said, eyes still glued to your ass.
“oh i’m definitely minding you. why don’t you come a lil closer?” you say playfully.
lion walks into the bathroom and you turn around to look at him. now it was you doing the drooling. he stood there in his swim shorts, hair tousled from the humidity, and his muscles on full display for anyone who wanted to look. you visibly eyed him up.
“mmm, i don’t know if i can let you outside looking like that…”
“what do you mean? do i look stupid? should i change?” he takes your words seriously.
“no i mean, i don’t want other girls looking at you if you look that good. you’re only mine to look at.”
“‘could say the same f’you, that bikini isn’t coverin’ much” he says, noticing how thin the strings of the bikini were.
“just enough for the imagination” you wink at him before grabbing your beach bag off the sink counter.
you grab his bicep and you two leave the room. at the beach, you and lion laid out on the sand under a palm tree just reading and talking, and occasionally you went into the water to cool off. you were there for hours without even realizing it. when you came back from the beach, you and lion stopped at the bar to have something to eat, and then went back to the room to nap.
everyday went a little similar; you and lion would wake up, go down to the bar for breakfast, hang out by the pool or the ocean, eat lunch, explore the local surroundings outside of the hotel, and get dinner. it was the most relaxed lion had been in awhile, and he almost imagined himself and you living here, experiencing this reality everyday. although, he couldn’t deny the slight feeling of homesickness creeping up on him. you were more than halfway through the trip, sitting out on the balcony watching the waves crash over under the setting sun, when lion randomly blurted out something you hadn’t expected him to say.
“is it weird that i kinda miss boxing?”
you looked at him, slightly perplexed.
“really?”
“i dunno, i guess i’ve just been so inactive these past few days. back home, i did boxing almost everyday.”
“i mean, you could teach me how to box” you say giggling, and lion immediately understood the connotation.
“not fallin’ for that again” he shakes his head.
“oh c’mon, why don’t we go inside and have a proper match. i can’t promise you’ll win though, since you’ve been off your game.”
that’s how you ended up on the bed, laying on your side while lions’ thick arm put you in a chokehold, his cock plunging into you roughly. you had playfully wrestled for awhile, with lion tackling you to the bed. he let you get on top a few times, letting you throw pretend jabs at his face before he finally put you into the position you were in now.
“s-so good lion! oh fuckk!” you had encouraged lion to be a little rough with you, wanting it to feel like a workout in itself. you felt the head of cock ramming into your sweet spot with every thrust, driving your eyes backwards into your skull. you could’ve been drooling all over his forearm without even realizing.
“you like that, baby?”
“ye—s i do…i l-love it!” you say hiccuping.
lion was holding one of your legs up in his free arm, making sure he could reach a deeper angle inside of your warm cunt.
“m’not hurtin’ you, am i?” lion mumbled out of breath near your ear.
“n-no feels so good—oh god—don’t stop!” you whine out.
in reality, his grip over your neck was a little tight, but you liked that. it made you feel lighter and dizzier, which amplified the delicious feeling of his cock splitting you open. he was thrusting a little too fast, resulting in his cock accidentally coming out of you. he mumbled a small curse before you reached over between your sweating bodies and guiding him back inside you, but making sure to rub him between your slick covered folds first. he resumed his rough pace, and whimpered into your ear from the sudden tightness.
“c-cum inside me—please! ‘want it so bad..” you whined so loudly you thought the neighbouring residents could hear you. you begged lion to come inside you even though you were aware he was wearing a condom, but you preferred to pretend he wasn’t.
“yeah? you want me to knock you up? you’d probably like that.”
“yes please! lion—augh!”
you’d had sex with lion many times now, but you were sure this was the best time you had done it. it felt unrealistically good when he had you in this position, manhandling you like you were nothing to him. of course, lion didn’t see it that way since he was such a sweetheart, but ever so often you would catch yourself imagining him being more rough, in the same way he was in the ring with another man. that fire in his eyes, and the determination he had to win. right now, you felt closest to that version of lion, the version of him that could knock another human into the next day.
your orgasm was building up, and so was his. you let your fingers drift downwards towards your clit, only needing a small amount of friction to finish since lion was doing most of the work.
“m’so close, baby, don’t f-fucking stop!” you cried out softly, wanting to keep quiet even though you felt like screaming.
“almost there, i g-got you. cum for me.”
and you came. hard. hard enough to jerk your body forwards, your sweaty legs slipping out of lions grip for a moment. you tried to breathe through your orgasm, even with shallow breaths from the slight asphyxiation. lion came right after you, whimpering and groaning into the crook of your neck. of course, he didn’t actually come inside of you but that was to be expected. lion was very stubborn about not wearing condoms, every time you would ask him not to wear one, he would shoot you a weird look. however, you appreciated lion wanting to minimize danger. lion slid his arm out from under you and propped himself up, pulling the thin sheets over his naked lower half. you did the same.
“did that satisfy your boxing urge?” you giggle, running a hand over his sweat covered hair that stuck to his forehead.
“s’good enough.”
you kicked his leg under the sheet.
“ow, i’m kiddin’. of course it did, baby” lion said chuckling. he continued, “what was all that stuff you were sayin’ before…”
“mm nothing, just a fantasy..”
“you sure?”
“for now it is.”
“one day, i promise”
“promise what?”
“i’ll knock you up..” he looks away timidly, the thought of it too overwhelming. you just snort at him.
“don’t be shy about it, it’s okay.”
“‘just wanna make you happy.”
“you, more than anything, make me the happiest, okay? i love you” you caress his cheek, and leans into it.
ᰋ ˓ . content. established relationship, unprotected p in v, prone bone, cum inside, rough sex, messy sex, size kink, marking, dirty talk, praise kink. mdni 18+
The motel door barely clicks shut before you have your hands on Lion.
He laughs against your mouth, breathless and surprised, though there’s hardly any room in him for real surprise when you’ve been looking at him like that since the final bell. Since he lifted his bruised fists under those cheap lights with sweat shining down his chest and blood drying at the corner of his mouth.
You kissed him in the hallway before Stan could finish talking, kissed him again by the ice machine, and by the time he gets you inside the room, you’re already tugging at his shirt like you’ll die if there’s one more layer between you.
“Baby,” he murmurs, voice rough from adrenaline, from shouting, from all the pain he swallowed in the ring. “I gotta shower.”
“No,” you breathe, catching his bottom lip between your teeth until he groans low in his chest.
That does something to him.
You feel it in the way his hands tighten on your waist, in the way his eyes go dark and soft all at once, like he can’t decide whether to be gentle with you or ruin you for making him feel wanted while he’s still damp with sweat, still sore and buzzing—still half-wild from the win.
He kisses you—deep, messy—with open-mouthed kisses that taste like salt and blood and victory, his hands roaming beneath your clothes with a clumsy hunger that only makes you need him worse.
He backs you toward the bed until the backs of your knees hit the mattress, then follows you down without breaking the kiss, his body heavy over yours, warm and solid and trembling faintly with leftover fight.
“You were lookin’ at me like you wanted to climb in that ring yourself,” he says, mouthing down your jaw.
“I did.”
Lion huffs a laugh, but it catches when you pull him closer by the waistband, shameless with it, needy enough that his face changes and the teasing slips.
His mouth finds your neck, and he kisses there first, sweet and hot, then harder, teeth grazing until your back arches. He leaves marks because you ask him to without words, because your fingers dig into his shoulders and your breath breaks every time he sucks another bruise into your skin.
By the time he has you turned over beneath him, your cheek pressed to the motel pillow and your body stretched out under his, he’s lost the last of his restraint.
He’s still in his fight-worn skin, still warm with sweat, still breathing like he’s trying to keep himself together, and the thought of it makes you dizzy.
Lion leans over you, one hand braced near your head while the other grips your hip, and bends low enough to kiss the corner of your mouth from behind.
“You sure?” he whispers, rough but careful.
You don’t answer with words. You just reach back, shove your own pants and panties down your thighs in one frantic tug, kicking them off one ankle so they bunch around your knee. Lion’s hand is already at his belt—quick, clumsy, the buckle clinking once before he yanks his jeans open. He doesn’t bother pushing them down past his hips. He just hooks his thumb under the waistband of his boxers, shoves them roughly beneath his balls, and pulls his flushed cock out.
You push your ass back against him in answer, and his composure breaks.
The first blunt press of his thick, heavy cock makes your breath catch into the sheets, your fingers curling tight in the blanket as your body struggles to take all of him at once. The fat, flushed-dark head leaking thick, shiny strings of precum that smear messily between your cheeks and make the stretch wetter.
He sinks in inch-by-inch, forcing you open wider than you thought you could go, the sensitive head twitching hard every time your hole clenches around it.
Lion groans like it hurts him, like the tight heat of you is punching straight through his chest and straight to the needy, desperate cock he never knows what to do with until it’s buried inside someone who wants him this bad.
He kisses your shoulder, your neck, the side of your face, messy and desperate, his mouth dragging over your skin as he eases in slow enough to make you feel every veiny inch, every pulse, every helpless spurt of fresh precum that just keeps dripping out of him the deeper he gets.
“Christ,” he breathes, voice shaking.
He’s trembling above you, trying so hard not to lose it right there, but the way his hips twitch—chasing the wet heat like he can’t help it—tells you he’s already fighting that embarrassed, needy edge that always undoes him.
You can barely answer. You only whimper his name, and that ruins him.
He starts slow because he has to, because even when he’s rough, Lion can’t stop being Lion. He watches the way you tense, listens for the little sounds you try to hide, kisses the back of your shoulder when you tremble beneath him.
But once you start pushing back, once your hips meet his and your voice turns needy, his grip tightens and the rhythm changes into something harder, deeper, less polished.
The bed creaks under you. The cheap headboard taps the wall. His body covers yours completely, hot and solid, his chest brushing your back as he leans down to kiss you again, awkward from the angle but so hungry it makes your stomach twist.
His mouth catches yours over your shoulder, all tongue and breath and broken noises, and every thrust drives the kiss messier until neither of you can keep it clean.
“You like me like this?” he pants against your mouth. “All sweaty after a fight?”
You nod helplessly, and he gives a rough little laugh that turns into a groan when you squeeze around him.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, then your jaw, then the marked-up side of your throat. “I know. Couldn’t even let me wash up first.”
“You won,” you manage, breath hitching as he rolls his hips deeper, that sensitive blunt head grinding right against that spot and making his cock twitch hard inside you.
That makes him curse under his breath. His hand slides up your body, fingers spreading over your spine, holding you down with just enough pressure to make your head go light.
He isn’t cruel with it, but he is rough now, needy, his hips snapping harder while his mouth keeps finding places to mark.
Everything turns up. The room full of skin against skin, the filthy wet sound of his cock plunging in and out of your dripping hole, breathless praise, the broken sound of your name in Lion’s mouth.
He keeps kissing you wherever he can reach, like he can’t help himself, like he needs to remind you he’s there even while he’s taking you apart. His tenderness makes the roughness worse somehow, makes every hard thrust feel intimate enough to ache. He’s leaking so much inside you now that it’s squelching obscenely with every snap of his hips, precum and your slick coating his heavy balls and dripping down your thighs in warm trails.
“You feel so good,” he says, voice wrecked. “God, baby, you feel so good.”
You reach back for him blindly, and he catches your hand, lacing his fingers through yours against the sheets.
For a moment, even with his weight over you and his hips moving hard enough to make you sob into the pillow, there’s something soft in it. Something almost shy in the way he presses his forehead to your shoulder and groans your name like he’s grateful.
Then you push back into him again, greedy and trembling, and he loses that softness to hunger.
He pins your joined hands down, kisses the side of your face, and drives into you with a rough, breathless rhythm that has you falling apart beneath him, all heat and sweat and bitten-back cries.
Lion follows you there, shaking against your back, his mouth open against your neck as he spills out praise between ragged breaths, telling you how badly he needed this—his cock pulsing hard as he floods you with warm ropes of cum, the sensitive head twitching with every spurt.
And afterward, when the room finally goes quiet except for the buzz of the old lamp and the sound of both of you trying to breathe, he stays right where he is for a minute, his lips brushing the newest mark he left on your throat.
“Still need that shower,” he mumbles.
You laugh weakly into the pillow.
Lion kisses your shoulder again, softer this time. “You comin’ with me?”
You turn your face enough for him to kiss you properly, slow and sore and sweet, and he smiles against your mouth like winning the fight was nothing compared to this.
pairing : au Remmick x female reader
summary : Remmick had been searching for someone like you longer than he cared to admit. It wasn’t just the coincidence of streets or the luck of passing faces—it was something deeper, quieter.
warning: This story contains explicit sexual content, including graphic descriptions of sex acts and other adult themes. If you’re under 18 or easily offended, this isn’t for you.
a/n : this has been sitting on my drafts for like almost a month now, edited it for almost a week - i had so much fun writing the smut part
w/c : 8.2k
PART ONE
Your fingers tightened around his instinctively.
The contrast between you was impossible to ignore—your skin warm and alive against the coldness of his hand wrapped carefully around yours. He held you with gentleness, as though he wsas deeply aware of how fragile you were compared to him.
Or perhaps afraid of what he might do if he forgot.
Neither of you spoke as he led you away from the park.
The path stretched out in front of you as the evening grew darker. Fallen leaves crunched under your feet with each step. Around you, everything carried on as normal—cars passed by in the distance, and people laughed somewhere beyond the trees—but it all felt far away, as if you weren't really part of it anymore.
Remmick walked beside you in complete silence.
Yet you could feel his attention on you constantly.
Every shift in your breathing. Every nervous glance toward him. Every tiny tremor in your hand.
He noticed it all.
“You’re shaking,” he said quietly after a while.
You hadn’t realized you were until he mentioned it.
“I think I should be more concerned than I am,” you admitted softly.
Remmick gently brushed his thumb across the back of your hand. The small, casual touch felt surprisingly intimate and made your stomach flutter.
“Yes,” he said. “You should.”
The honesty of it made you glance at him.
His expression remained calm, but there was tension buried beneath it now, something tightly controlled. Up close, you could see how unnatural he really was. Too still. Too graceful. Even the way he moved felt wrong somehow—silent and smooth like a predator gliding through water.
Dangerous.
And yet your body kept betraying you. The more he touched you, the more familiar it felt.
Tiny, incomplete memories flickered in your mind—cold stone under your feet, dim candlelight, and the brush of dark fabric against your skin.
You stopped walking for a second. Remmick stopped immediately, turning toward you.
“What is it?”
You pressed a hand briefly to your temple. “I keep seeing things.”
His eyes darkened with sharp focus. “What things?”
“I don’t know.” You let out a shaky breath. “Pieces of something.”
For a moment he said nothing. Then, more quietly: “They’ll come back slowly.”
The certainty in his voice sent another chill through you.
You looked down at your joined hands again.
His hand was much larger than yours, almost covering it completely. His cool fingers held yours gently, with a kind of care that made it feel important to him.
“You really think I’m her,” you murmured.
Remmick’s gaze lingered on your face for a long moment before answering.
“I think,” he said carefully, “that death failed to keep you from me.”
His words made your heart skip. He noticed your reaction immediately. Of course he did. A faint expression crossed his face—gentle, but with a hint of possessiveness. It was as if knowing he had that effect on you filled a space inside him that had been empty for years.
You should have pulled away.
Instead, your grip on his hand tightened. The reaction in Remmick was immediate.
His eyes flickered downward briefly, watching your fingers curl around his, and something about that small act seemed to affect him more deeply than anything else so far. His jaw tightened slightly, restraint flashing once again across his features.
“You trust me too easily,” he said at last.
You looked ahead quietly. “I don’t think that’s what this is.”
“No?”
A nervous smile tugged faintly at your mouth.
“It feels more like…” You hesitated. “Like I missed you before I even knew you.”
Remmick stopped walking.
You turned slightly toward him, startled by the sudden stillness.
You stopped breathing for a moment when you saw the look on his face.
He looked devastated by you. Completely undone in a way that felt ancient and terrifyingly sincere.
Slowly, carefully, he lifted your joined hands and pressed the coldest kiss imaginable against your knuckles.
“My love,” he whispered hoarsely, “you have no idea what those words do to me.”
Remmick kept your hand cradled carefully in both of his, his touch impossibly gentle despite the strength you could feel restrained beneath it.
Then he lifted your knuckles to his mouth. The kiss was cool against your lips, soft and full of care.
And the second his lips touched your skin, the world around you fractured.
A sharp breath caught in your throat as something crashed through your mind all at once—
Sunlight spilling across a wide green meadow.
Laughter.
Yours.
You were lying against soft grass with your head resting in Remmick’s lap while the wind moved through tall wildflowers around you. He looked different somehow—less hollow, less haunted—but unmistakably him. His fingers moved slowly through your hair while he sang quietly in a language you didn’t understand anymore, low and beautiful and meant only for you.
You remembered the feeling of safety.
Of loving him so completely it frightened you.
Another flash—
Nighttime.
Candles burning low beside a bed draped in dark fabric.
Remmick above you, his hands braced carefully against your waist while he kissed you with unbearable tenderness, like devotion itself had taken physical form. You remembered the sound he made when you whispered his name against his mouth. The way his cold hands roamed slowly over warm skin. The weight of him between your thighs—
Heat flooded violently through your body.
Your breath broke.
The memory vanished instantly, but the feeling remained.
Warmth pooled low in your stomach, sudden and dizzying, your thighs pressing together instinctively as your pulse leapt out of control.
Remmick’s head snapped upward. He heard it.
Every frantic beat of your heart.
Every hitch in your breathing.
And judging by the way his expression darkened instantly, he knew exactly what you had remembered.
Your face burned with heat.
“I—”
The word caught in your throat.
Remmick still held your hand against his mouth, though his composure looked dangerously close to shattering now. His eyes searched your face with devastating intensity, watching realization bloom there piece by piece.
“You saw us,” he said quietly.
You couldn’t answer. Because you had.
Not dreams. Not imagination. Memories.
Your body knew that before your mind did.
The lingering ache between your thighs only made it worse, your entire body reacting to him as though no time had passed at all between then and now.
Remmick noticed the slight movement when your legs shifted unconsciously.
His eyes darkened immediately.
A strained sound escaped him—low enough that it almost didn’t sound human.
“You remember that,” he murmured.
The way he said it made heat climb even higher into your face.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“You never could hide your reactions from me.”
The softness of his voice somehow made it worse.
Your breathing turned shallow as another fractured image flickered through your head—your fingers tangled in his dark hair while he kissed down your throat, his voice rough against your skin as he whispered how good you felt for him—
You made a small sound before you could stop it.
Remmick’s restraint snapped visibly tighter.
His eyes closed briefly, jaw clenching hard enough to sharpen the lines of his face. You suddenly became acutely aware that you were alone with something ancient and starving, something trying desperately not to consume you whole.
And yet he still touched you like something precious.
When his eyes opened again, they fixed onto yours with terrifying focus.
“Tell me to stop,” he said hoarsely.
Your heart pounded harder, because despite the danger surrounding him—
Despite the fact that every instinct told you this man could ruin you completely—
You didn’t want him to stop at all. You should have stepped back.
You should have pulled your hand from his grasp and run the moment you saw the look in his eyes.
Instead, you stayed perfectly still. Waiting.
Remmick lifted one cold hand to your face slowly, giving you every chance to stop this. His thumb brushed lightly along your cheek, and the tenderness of it nearly hurt more than the hunger did.
Then he kissed you.
Softly at first.
He kissed you gently, holding himself back with so much effort that you could feel the tension in him. But beneath that control was something much deeper—a longing he had carried for a very long time, all poured into that one kiss.
The moment your lips met, memories exploded through you.
You gasped against his mouth.
A ballroom glowing gold beneath chandeliers.
Your laughter echoing as Remmick spun you across polished floors, his eyes fixed only on you while music swelled around you.
Another flash—
Rain pouring against stone windows while you sat curled in his lap beside a fire, your fingers tracing his face while he looked at you like you were the only living thing left in the world.
Another—
Your body tangled with his beneath dark sheets, his cold hands sliding up your thighs while your breathless moans filled the room. The feeling of his mouth against your neck. His voice rough with devotion as he whispered, mine, mine, mine—
The force of it nearly made your knees buckle.
Remmick caught you instantly, one arm wrapping around your waist as the kiss deepened despite himself.
And God—
He kissed like a starving man.
Not rough. Not careless. Worse.
Like someone who had spent lifetimes denying himself this exact moment.
Your fingers instinctively grabbed the front of his coat, and the reaction it pulled from him was immediate. A low sound vibrated in his chest, almost pained, as his hand tightened at your waist.
More memories crashed into you.
Remmick kneeling before you with blood on his hands.
His forehead pressed desperately against yours while he begged you not to leave him.
The unbearable grief in his eyes as you lay weak in bed, your trembling hand against his face while he whispered over and over that he was sorry.
Your chest ached suddenly.
The kiss broke with a sharp inhale.
You stared up at him, shaken and breathless, while tears burned unexpectedly behind your eyes.
“You loved me,” you whispered.
The expression on Remmick’s face shattered completely.
“There has never been anything else for me,” he said hoarsely.
The rawness of it stole the air from your lungs.
His forehead lowered slowly against yours, cold skin resting against warm, and for a moment neither of you moved. He simply held you there like a man terrified this might still be a dream.
You could feel it now.
Not fully.
But enough.
Enough to understand why your body reacted to him before your mind could catch up. Enough to understand why being near him felt less like meeting a stranger and more like returning home after centuries lost.
Another fragmented memory flickered—
Your voice whispering vows against his mouth.
His answering promise: Even death will not keep me from you.
Your breath trembled.
“Remmick…”
The way you said his name nearly undid him all over again.
His eyes closed briefly. When he looked at you again, the hunger in his gaze hadn't faded. If anything, it was now joined by something even more dangerous.
Hope.
Hope looked wrong on him.
Not because it didn’t belong there.
Because it looked ancient. Fragile. Like something buried so long beneath grief and hunger that exposing it to the world again might destroy him.
Remmick’s hand trembled faintly where it rested against your waist.
You realized with sudden clarity that this man feared very little.
But he feared this.
You.
Losing you again.
The thought wrapped tightly around your chest.
“You remember enough now,” he said quietly, though his eyes searched yours as if bracing for rejection. “You should decide whether you still wish to come with me.”
The words sounded controlled.
Careful.
But beneath them, you heard the truth:
Please choose me again.
Your fingers loosened slightly against the front of his coat, sliding upward until they brushed the side of his throat. Cold skin. Immovable muscle beneath it. He went utterly still at the touch.
“You’re giving me a choice,” you whispered.
“I never stopped giving you one.”
A faint crease formed between your brows. “What does that mean?”
Pain flickered across his face.
For a moment he said nothing at all.
Then:
“The night you died,” he said softly, “was my fault.”
The air left your lungs slowly.
Fragments immediately stirred behind your eyes again—
Blood.
Candlelight.
Your own shaking breath.
Remmick covered in it.
“No,” you whispered instinctively, though you didn’t fully know why.
His gaze dropped briefly, unable to look at you for the first time since meeting you.
“I loved you selfishly,” he said. “I wanted forever with you so badly that I ignored what it was costing.” His jaw tightened. “You grew weaker every year after I changed.”
Changed.
The word settled heavily between you.
Not human.
You knew that already.
But hearing it aloud still made something cold move through your spine.
Your voice came out barely above a breath, “What are you?”
Remmick looked at you then- really looked at you.
Like he was deciding whether honesty would damn him forever.
“A monster,” he answered quietly.
The simplicity of it frightened you more than denial would have.
And yet— your hand remained against his throat.
His eyes flickered downward toward it, something aching crossing his face.
“You always touched me like this,” he murmured, almost distracted by the memory of it. “Even after you knew.”
A pulse of emotion hit you suddenly—not yours.
His.
The weight of his loneliness was so immense that you nearly lost your balance.
You inhaled sharply.
Remmick froze. “You felt that.”
It wasn’t a question. You stared at him, shaken, “I don’t know what that was.”
His expression darkened with realization.
“Our bond is returning faster than it should.”
“Bond?”
He hesitated. Then slowly removed one glove with his free hand.
Your breath caught.
In the dim evening light, his hand looked almost normal. His fingers were pale and elegant, with faint blue veins showing beneath his cold skin.
Except for the mark burned into the inside of his wrist.
A black symbol shaped like intertwining thorns.
The second you saw it, pain lanced through your head.
Another memory slammed into you—
Your own wrist in Remmick’s grasp.
A blade.
A whispered vow.
His mouth against yours as something ancient and binding wrapped around both your souls.
You gasped sharply, stumbling. Remmick caught you instantly.
“Easy,” he murmured, pulling you against his chest before you could fall completely.
His body was cold everywhere, but his arms around you felt devastatingly familiar.
Your forehead pressed instinctively beneath his chin while you struggled to breathe through the rush of memories tearing through you.
“I remember the mark,” you whispered.
A shudder moved through him, “Yes.”
Your fingers curled weakly against his chest. “We did something.”
“We bound ourselves to one another.” His voice lowered, “Soul to soul.”
Your eyes lifted slowly to his.
“That’s possible?”
“For creatures like me?” A faint, humorless smile touched his mouth. “Love becomes dangerous very quickly.”
The way he said love made your chest ache.
Not infatuation.
Not obsession alone.
Something older.
Something eternal enough to survive death itself.
You became suddenly aware that his arms were still around you.
Holding you carefully.
As though he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to.
And despite everything—the fear, the confusion, the impossible reality of what he was—you melted closer without thinking.
Remmick shut his eyes.
A rough sound escaped him under his breath.
“That,” he said quietly, “is exactly how you used to destroy my self-control.”
The drive there had passed in a blur.
You barely remembered the streets or the turns he took through the city. Your mind remained tangled in memories, in fragments of him, in the terrifying finality of his words.
By the time the car finally stopped, night had fully settled over the world.
You stared up at the house uncertainly as Remmick opened your door for you.
It was nothing like what you had expected.
Not some crumbling gothic ruin hidden beneath dead trees.
Not darkness and decay.
His home stood quiet at the end of a private road wrapped in iron gates and climbing ivy, the tall windows glowing softly amber against the night. Elegant. Isolated. Beautiful in a lonely sort of way.
And warm.
That surprised you most.
As soon as you stepped inside, the warmth of the house surrounded you, driving away the evening cold. Soft lights filled the spacious rooms, casting a golden glow over the dark wooden floors and shelves packed with books. Somewhere deeper in the house, a fire burned quietly in the fireplace.
It smelled like him. Not cold. Not death.
Him.
Smoke and cedarwood. Old paper. Rain. Something darker beneath it that you were beginning to recognize instinctively as uniquely Remmick.
Home.
The thought startled you.
Remmick noticed the slight shift in your expression as he closed the door behind you.
“You expected something else,” he said softly.
You glanced around carefully, “I don’t know what I expected.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“You expected coffins and misery.”
Despite everything, a nervous laugh escaped you.
“A little, yeah.”
The sound affected him instantly.
You saw it happen—the way his eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as though hearing you laugh inside his home fulfilled something he had imagined too many times to count.
God.
The way he looked at you still did dangerous things to your heartbeat.
Remmick removed his coat slowly, draping it over the back of a nearby chair before turning toward you again.
Without it, he somehow looked even more unsettling.
And more beautiful.
The dark fabric of his shirt clung slightly to the lean lines of his body, the sleeves rolled just enough to expose strong pale forearms marked faintly with veins that looked almost silver beneath the warm light. His movements remained unnaturally graceful, silent even against the wooden floors.
Predatory.
But controlled.
Always controlled around you.
“You’re safe here,” he said quietly, watching your face carefully as though trying to judge whether you believed him.
Strangely enough—
You did.
That realization should have alarmed you more than it did.
Remmick seemed to notice your acceptance immediately. Something softer flickered briefly through his expression before he stepped back slightly, giving you space.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he murmured. “You’ve been overwhelmed enough for one night.”
Your eyes drifted around the room again. There were traces of him everywhere.
Books stacked neatly beside chairs. Half-burned candles. A crystal glass resting near the fireplace untouched. Music sheets scattered across a piano in the corner as though someone had abandoned them mid-thought.
And unexpectedly—
Photographs.
You blinked.
Remmick followed your gaze instantly. A strange tension crossed his face.
You stepped closer to one of the frames sitting atop a dark shelf.
The photograph looked old. Faded at the edges.
A woman stood beside Remmick beneath summer sunlight, smiling brightly at the camera while his gaze rested entirely on her instead.
Your breath caught.
It was you.
Or someone who had once been you.
The same eyes.
The same mouth.
Only dressed in clothing from another century.
Your fingers hovered near the frame without touching it.
“She was beautiful,” you whispered.
Remmick went completely still behind you.
Then quietly; “She still is.”
Heat crept unexpectedly into your face. You turned toward him slowly.
For a moment neither of you spoke.
The fire crackled softly somewhere nearby.
Remmick finally broke the silence first, his voice gentler now than you had heard it all evening.
“Do you need anything?”
The question sounded painfully sincere.
Not polite.
Not performative.
Like he would tear the world apart to provide whatever answer you gave him.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly at that realization.
Because after everything that had happened tonight—
After discovering monsters existed and memories could survive death—
The thing unraveling you most was still the way this ancient, terrifying creature looked at you like you were the center of his entire existence.
The room fell impossibly quiet after his question.
Do you need anything?
You looked at him across the warm glow of the firelight, and suddenly the distance between you felt unbearable.
Not physical distance.
Something deeper.
Like standing inches away from a life you almost remembered and being forced to wait while your own soul clawed toward it.
Your chest tightened painfully.
Remmick must have seen the shift in your expression immediately, because his entire focus sharpened onto you at once.
“What is it?” he asked softly.
You crossed the space between you before you could second-guess yourself.
Slowly.
As though drawn forward by something inevitable.
Remmick did not move.
But you felt the tension gather inside him with every step you took closer.
When you finally stopped in front of him, he towered over you in complete silence, dark eyes fixed intently on your face.
Your hand lifted hesitantly.
The second your fingers brushed his cheek, Remmick inhaled sharply.
Cold skin met warm fingertips.
You felt him go perfectly still beneath your touch.
Not because he disliked it.
Because he felt too much.
His eyes closed briefly as your thumb traced slowly along the sharp line of his jaw, and the expression that crossed his face looked almost painfully vulnerable.
You stared at him quietly.
At the exhaustion hidden beneath his restraint.
At the centuries of grief still lingering in his eyes even now.
And suddenly the waiting felt unbearable.
“I need to remember you,” you whispered.
Remmick’s eyes opened instantly- every ounce of his attention locked onto you.
“All of it,” you said shakily. “I c-can’t—I can’t stand these pieces anymore.” Your fingers tightened slightly against his face. “It feels like I’m losing my mind every time I almost remember something.”
Pain flickered across his expression.
“My love—”
“I want to know you,” you interrupted softly, your voice trembling now. “Not fragments. Not flashes.” Your breath shook. “You look at me like I was your whole world, and some part of me feels the same way but I can’t reach it fully and—”
Emotion caught painfully in your throat.
Remmick’s hand closed gently around your wrist.
Not stopping you.
Holding on.
His thumb brushed slowly against your pulse.
“You’re remembering faster than you should already,” he murmured carefully. “If I force too much at once—”
“I don’t care.”
The words came out instantly.
Desperately.
His gaze darkened at the raw need in your voice.
You stepped even closer without realizing it until your body nearly brushed his.
“I’m tired of feeling empty every time I look at you,” you whispered. “I want to feel everything.”
A strained expression crossed his face.
Dangerously close to breaking.
Your fingers slid from his cheek into his dark hair instinctively, and the second you touched him there, another fractured memory burst through you—
Your hands tangled in his hair while he kissed you breathless against a stone wall.
His low groan against your mouth.
The feeling of him lifting you effortlessly into his arms while you laughed—
You gasped softly.
Remmick caught the sound instantly. His eyes shut hard for one brief second.
“Careful,” he whispered hoarsely. But you barely heard him.
The memories were getting stronger now.
And worse— so was the wanting.
You looked up at him, breathing unevenly, your hand still buried in his hair.
“I want to feel you,” you admitted quietly.
The confession wrecked him.
You saw it happen in real time.
Remmick’s composure cracked visibly, something dark and starving flashing across his face before he forced it back under control.
His hand slid from your wrist upward until he was cradling your jaw carefully, almost reverently.
“You have no idea what you’re asking me for,” he said softly.
“Then show me.”
His eyes closed again.
A shudder moved visibly through him.
When he looked at you this time, the hunger in his gaze was devastating—not only physical hunger, but longing so deep it had become part of him.
“You always became impatient when you wanted answers,” he murmured.
A faint, shaky smile touched your lips. “Did it drive you insane before too?”
A low sound escaped him, “Constantly.”
Warmth bloomed unexpectedly in your chest at that.
God.
Even now this felt natural.
Like slipping unconsciously back into something that had always belonged to both of you.
Remmick studied your face for a long moment, searching for hesitation.
Finding none.
Finally, he leaned down slowly, his forehead resting lightly against yours.
“If I help you remember,” he said quietly, “there may be no separating yourself from me afterward.”
Your heart pounded harder.
Maybe it already couldn’t.
You swallowed softly.
“I think,” you whispered, “some part of me already belongs to you.”
The words nearly undid him.
His breath caught—unnecessary, involuntary—and suddenly his arms were around you, pulling you against him with controlled desperation.
Not rough.
Never rough with you.
But possessive enough to steal the air from your lungs.
His face buried briefly against your neck as though the scent of you alone threatened his sanity.
“You say things,” he murmured against your skin, voice strained, “that make eternity feel very dangerous for me.”
A tremor ran through you.
Then Remmick lifted his head slowly and looked into your eyes one final time.
Giving you one last chance to stop.
You didn’t.
So he kissed you again.
And this time—
He stopped holding back- Remmick kissed you like a man resurrected from grief.
Not rushed. Not careless.
Every kiss was filled with careful self-control, stretched to its limit by years of longing. He kissed you deeply and gently, as if he were rediscovering something precious he thought he had lost forever.
Your fingers tightened instinctively in his hair.
The reaction it pulled from him was immediate.
A rough sound vibrated low in his chest as his hands slid carefully along your waist, holding you with impossible control despite the hunger trembling beneath his skin. The coldness of him should have felt wrong against your warmth.
Instead, it made your entire body ache for more.
Memories flickered with every kiss.
His mouth against yours beneath moonlight.
Your laughter tangled with his breath.
The feeling of his hands lifting you effortlessly years—lifetimes—ago exactly like this.
You gasped softly when his arms suddenly wrapped fully around you.
Then the floor disappeared beneath your feet.
Remmick lifted you as though you weighed nothing at all.
Your breath caught instinctively, fingers clutching tighter at his shoulders while his mouth never truly left yours for long. He carried you through the dim light of the house with ease, one hand spread securely against your back while the other held beneath your thighs.
And God—
The look in his eyes when he pulled back just enough to look at you nearly unraveled you completely.
Wonder.
Disbelief.
Devotion so raw it hurt to witness.
Like some part of him still feared you might vanish if he blinked.
The bedroom was dark except for the low amber glow spilling in from the hallway and the faint light of the fireplace burning low near the far wall.
You barely had time to take it in before Remmick laid you carefully against the bed.
Carefully.
As though placing something infinitely precious down where it could never be harmed.
The mattress dipped softly beneath your weight.
Then he stopped moving altogether.
You looked up at him, breathing unevenly.
Remmick stood at the edge of the bed staring at you in complete silence.
The sight of you there seemed to undo him more than your kisses had.
His gaze moved slowly across your face like he was memorizing every detail all over again—the flush in your cheeks, your swollen lips, your hair spread dark against the sheets.
His wife.
Back in his bed.
Back in his home.
Back in his arms.
You saw emotion hit him so hard he almost looked unsteady beneath it.
For one terrifyingly vulnerable moment, Remmick looked less like an ancient predator and more like a man standing in front of a miracle he didn’t trust himself to touch.
“You’re real,” he whispered.
Your chest tightened painfully.
He moved toward the bed slowly then, almost cautiously, before lowering himself beside you. One cold hand lifted carefully to your face, brushing trembling fingers along your cheekbone like he still needed physical proof you existed.
“I searched for you everywhere,” he murmured, eyes fixed completely on yours. “For years after you died, I thought if I crossed enough oceans or waited long enough…” A faint, broken smile touched his mouth. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”
“No,” you whispered immediately.
His gaze softened at the sound of your voice.
“You used to say my name exactly like that,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
Another memory stirred suddenly—
Your body tangled with his beneath these same dark sheets.
Your fingers tracing his mouth while he watched you with this exact same unbearable devotion.
You inhaled sharply.
Remmick noticed instantly.
“What did you see?”
You swallowed hard, your fingers slipping slowly across the front of his shirt.
“This room,” you admitted softly. “Us here together.”
The hunger in his expression deepened immediately, though grief lingered beneath it too.
“You belonged here,” he said hoarsely. “You filled every part of this place.”
Your heart twisted.
Because somehow—
Even now—
It felt true.
You pushed yourself up slightly on your elbows, unable to stop staring at him.
“How long did you mourn me?”
For a moment he said nothing at all. Then quietly; “I never stopped.”
Silence settled heavily between you.
You looked at him then—not as the terrifying creature from the park, not as the stranger who had frightened and fascinated you hours ago.
But as someone who had loved you long enough for death itself to become meaningless.
Your hand rose slowly to his face again.
Remmick leaned into it unconsciously.
The small movement shattered something inside you.
“You found me,” you whispered.
His eyes closed briefly.
“Yes.”
The single word carried centuries inside it.
When he looked at you again, the restraint he wore around you remained—but thinner now. More fragile. Want and devotion burned openly in his gaze as he leaned over you slowly, one hand braced beside your head.
“You have no idea,” he murmured against your lips, “what it has done to me to touch you again.”
You caught the edge of his shirt with trembling fingers and pulled.
Remmick let you.
His gaze never left yours as his shirt is lifted slowly over his head, revealing the pale strength beneath. In the low amber light his body looked almost unreal—lean muscle, old scars faded silver against cold skin, every line of him elegant and dangerous all at once.
Your hands moved over him instinctively.
Cold.
Smooth.
Familiar enough that your chest tightened painfully.
Remmick watched your expression change with frightening focus, as though every flicker of recognition mattered more than anything else in the world.
“You remember touching me,” he said softly.
You swallowed hard. “My body does.”
The words hit him visibly.
A strained breath escaped him before his hands found the hem of your shirt.
Unlike your urgency, he moved slowly.
Almost gently.
His fingertips skimmed your waist before he lifted the fabric upward, exposing warm skin inch by inch while his eyes followed every movement like he was starving for the sight of you.
When your shirt finally fell away, Remmick went still.
Completely still.
The look on his face made heat bloom across your entire body.
Not because he looked hungry.
Because he looked overwhelmed.
Like after centuries of grief and longing, he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to see you like this again.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
The raw sincerity in his voice nearly hurt.
Then he leaned down and kissed your throat.
A soft gasp escaped you instantly.
His mouth lingered against your pulse, cold lips brushing sensitive skin while his hands settled carefully at your waist. He kissed you slowly, deliberately, each touch full of restrained devotion that made your breathing turn uneven.
Your fingers slipped into his hair again.
Remmick shuddered.
The reaction pulled another memory from somewhere deep inside you
Your hands tangled in those same dark strands while he kissed you breathless beside a fire, your laughter breaking against his mouth when he pulled you into his lap—
The image vanished as quickly as it came, leaving warmth rushing through you.
Remmick noticed immediately.
“You saw something,” he murmured against your skin.
You barely managed a nod.
His lips moved lower.
Kisses trailed from your throat to your collarbone, gentle and worshipful, like he was letting himself feel every inch of you after lifetimes apart. The coldness of his mouth against your heated skin made every touch feel sharper, more intense.
When he reached your chest, he paused.
Not out of hesitation.
Out of emotion.
You felt it in the way his hands tightened faintly at your waist, in the rough breath he dragged in despite not needing air at all.
“Remmick…” you whispered softly.
His eyes lifted to yours.
There was something devastating in them.
“You used to look at me exactly like this,” he murmured. “Like I was something worth loving.”
Your heart clenched painfully.
Without thinking, your hand slid to his face again.
“You are,” you whispered.
The expression that crossed his face shattered whatever control remained.
A low sound escaped him before he kissed lower again, mouth moving across your skin with growing hunger tempered constantly by tenderness. Down your ribs. Across your stomach.
Every kiss felt intentional.
Possessive in the gentlest way possible.
As though he was memorizing you all over again.
When his lips brushed the soft skin low on your stomach, another memory hit suddenly—
Remmick kneeling between your thighs centuries ago, looking up at you with those same dark, devoted eyes while your fingers trembled in his hair—
Your breath broke sharply.
He froze instantly.
His eyes lifted slowly to your face.
And the moment he saw recognition there, hunger flashed violently across his features.
“You remember us,” he said hoarsely.
You could barely breathe, “Yes.”
Remmick’s hands rested at your waist for a long moment, almost as though he was asking permission without words.
When you didn’t pull away, his fingers slid slowly lower, gathering the fabric of your skirt with unbearable care.
His eyes never left your face. Watching you.
Reading every breath, every flicker of uncertainty, every tremor that moved through your body as he gradually undressed you completely.
The cool air brushed across your exposed skin, but the heat in Remmick’s gaze made your pulse race harder instead of cooling it.
He looked at you like a man seeing something holy.
Not greedily.
Not carelessly.
With awe.
And yet beneath that awe, you felt something else now.
Something deeper than desire.
Hunger.
The feeling around him was so intense that it seemed alive. It spread through the room and settled beneath your skin, awakening a response you couldn't explain.
Your breath caught. It wasn’t only physical attraction.
It was that strange bond between you awakening further—his emotions brushing against yours, ancient and consuming.
Need.
Devotion.
Possession.
You felt all of it.
Remmick noticed the exact second your expression changed.
His body stilled immediately.
“You feel me,” he said softly.
You swallowed hard, unable to look away from him. “It’s like…” Your hand pressed shakily against your chest. “You’re inside my veins.”
A dark, aching look crossed his face.
“That bond once tied our souls together,” he murmured. “It recognizes you before your mind can.”
The intensity of it made your whole body tremble.
Your eyes followed the movement instinctively as he removed the rest of his clothes piece by piece, exposing pale skin and the powerful lines of his body fully to you.
Beautiful.
Terrifyingly so.
Every inch of him looked sculpted from something colder and more dangerous than flesh, all elegant strength and restrained power. Scars marked him here and there, remnants of centuries you couldn’t yet remember, but nothing diminished the overwhelming presence of him.
Your breath faltered.
Not from fear alone.
From realizing just how much larger he was than you.
How easily he could overpower you if he wished.
And judging by the look that crossed Remmick’s face, he saw the exact moment that realization hit you.
Immediately, his expression softened.
He moved closer slowly, carefully, until one cold hand brushed lightly against your thigh.
“Hey,” he murmured gently.
Your eyes lifted back to his. The hunger remained in him but so did restraint. So did love.
“I’ll be slow with you,” he said quietly. “Gentle.”
His thumb stroked softly along your skin.
“But I will take my time.”
The promise in his voice sent heat rushing through your body despite your nervousness.
Remmick leaned forward then, pressing a tender kiss just beneath your knee, his eyes never leaving yours.
“You never had to fear me here,” he murmured. “Not in my arms.”
Your chest tightened painfully at that.
Because despite everything impossible about him—
Some deep, buried part of you believed him completely.
You pulled him back into you before either of you could think to hold back.
The kiss deepened instantly—no longer careful, no longer restrained. It carried everything that had been building between you: fragments of memory, aching recognition, the unbearable pull of something that felt older than either of your lives.
Remmick made a low sound against your mouth as if the restraint he’d been holding for centuries was finally beginning to crack.
His hands moved over you with reverent urgency, as though he was trying to reassure himself you were real—warm, here, present.
Every touch was careful even in its intensity, guided more by devotion than hunger, though the line between the two was becoming impossible for him to hold.
He broke the kiss only briefly, forehead resting against yours, breath uneven. You felt his left his hand reached between your thighs, then down to your core.
“You feel like you always did,” he murmured quietly, voice roughened by emotion he could no longer fully hide. “Like I could never forget you even if I tried.”
Your breath trembled at the closeness of him, at the way his control wavered when you pulled him nearer again. You felt him insert a finger into you, stretching you, preparing you for what was about to happen.
The bond between you felt alive now.
It pulled at your thoughts, your pulse, and your emotions. He didn’t just seem near you anymore—it felt like he was inside you, in ways you couldn’t fully understand.
Remmick paused again, his gaze searching your face, checking—always checking—that you were still with him, still choosing him.
“You can stop me,” he said softly, though his hands didn’t leave you. “Any moment.”
But you didn’t move away.
And that was answer enough.
Something in his expression shifted—devotion overtaking restraint, relief cutting through centuries of longing.
He kissed you again, slower this time, as though surrendering to something he had waited too long to deny.
The world around you faded into warmth, into breath, into the steady rhythm of him holding you like something he had finally, impossibly, found again.
And in that closeness, everything else disappeared.
You trembled beneath him, the space between patience and need finally collapsing into something you couldn’t hold back anymore.
Your voice came out small, breathless, honest in a way that stripped away every layer of hesitation.
“Please, Remmick… I need you.”
For a fraction of a second, everything stopped.
His body went completely still above you.
Then the sound that left him wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t controlled.
It was raw—sharply broken from somewhere deep in his chest, like something ancient in him had been made awake all at once. A sound of restraint finally snapping under the weight of centuries of longing.
The air itself seemed to shift around him.
Remmick closed his eyes, jaw tightening as if he were trying—failing—to contain something far too big to fit inside him anymore.
When he looked at you again, his expression had changed.
Not just hunger.
Not just grief.
Devotion stripped bare, unguarded and overwhelming.
“You don’t understand what you’re doing to me,” he said hoarsely, voice trembling at the edges.
But even as he said it, his hands were careful—still holding you like something precious, like something he had lost once and refused to lose again.
His forehead lowered to yours, breath uneven.
“I’ve waited so long,” he whispered, almost like it hurt to say it. “So many lifetimes of not being allowed to touch you again.”
His grip tightened slightly—not enough to trap you, only enough to anchor himself.
Then, quieter:
“If I start… I won’t be able to hold back the way I have been.”
His eyes searched yours, checking, asking without words.
A choice. Always a choice.
The world between you felt suspended—warm, trembling, impossibly close—like standing at the edge of something that would change everything the moment it was crossed.
And Remmick waited for you to decide what came next.
“Then don’t.”
For a moment, Remmick didn’t move at all.
The silence that followed felt heavier than words—like the entire house had gone still around the two of you, waiting for what he would choose.
Then something in his expression broke open.
Not loss of control.
Surrender.
He kissed you again, slower this time, but deeper—like he was finally allowing himself to stop holding back everything he had been burying for centuries.
Every touch carried meaning, memory, need, and something far more overwhelming beneath it all.
His hands held you carefully, as if you might disappear if he wasn’t gentle enough.
He moved with deliberate patience, staying close, grounding himself in you rather than the hunger that had been haunting him since he found you again.
You felt it in the way he paused often—checking you, reading you, making sure every reaction was real, chosen.
Remmick lifted his gaze to yours between breaths.
And the way he looked at you—
It wasn’t just desire.
It was recognition so deep it bordered on painful. Like seeing something he had once loved beyond reason and thought he would never see again.
“You’re still here,” he murmured quietly, almost disbelieving.
His thumb brushed your cheek softly, reverent.
“I kept thinking if I ever found you again… I’d lose control completely.”
A faint, strained exhale left him.
The vulnerability in it hit harder than anything else.
The moment lingered—thick, suspended, burning quietly between you—until he finally kissed you once more, slower, lower, and lower until he was between your thighs.
You felt his breath on your core, his fingers exposing you, he mumbled something before proceeding with licking your insides with such devotion.
You felt like you were in a haze, his mouth making you feel so much emotions, his fingers pushing in and out of you, stretching you for him.
You felt his other hand slowly make its way up to you breast, fondling it, pinching your nipple and you felt him stop. He was looking up at you, his lips glistening with saliva mixed your juices.
You felt him add another finger into you, his gaze never breaking with yours.
He took his time watching you tremble on his fingers, feeling your walls tighten around them, your body responding to him with helpless enthusiasm.
His gaze darkened, pupils blown wide with predatory satisfaction as he observed every shiver, every arch, every gasp that escaped your parted lips.
"That's it," he murmured, and the vibration of his voice against your most sensitive flesh sent electricity sparking up your spine. "Let me feel you. Let me feel how much you want this."
His tongue returned with devastating precision, tracing slow, deliberate patterns along your slick folds.
He licked into you deeply, curling the muscle inside your entrance while his thumb maintained steady pressure on your clit, circling with practiced expertise.
The coldness of his lips against your warmth felt shocking. You gasped, your fingers gripping his dark hair as you pulled him closer, overwhelmed by the feeling.
He was worshipful, relearning your body with every stroke—what made you breathless, what made you moan, what made your hips buck seeking deeper contact.
He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue, and you felt the orgasm building like a wave.
When he finally lifted his head, his lips were swollen and glistening with your arousal, his eyes blown wide with black, endless desire.
He crawled over you, the lean, powerful lines of his body casting shadows in the dim amber light, and you felt him then—hard and heavy and thick against your thigh, proof of how desperately he wanted you, how long he had waited.
"Tell me again," he demanded softly, though his hands remained gentle as he positioned himself carefully between your spread legs, the broad head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance.
"I need you," you whispered, arching up toward him. "Please, Remmick. I need you inside me."
The words seemed to unlock something final and primal in him.
He pushed inside slowly, inch by inch.
The stretch burned deliciously, your body adjusting to the thick intrusion after so long, after lifetimes of aching absence.
Remmick's jaw tightened, his breath coming in harsh exhales he didn't need but couldn't stop, every muscle in his arms trembling visibly as he restrained himself from plunging deeper too fast.
"You're so warm," he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his hips stilling as he seated himself fully inside you, balls-deep and pulsing. "So perfect. So tight. Just as I remembered."
He began to move with deliberate, devastating patience—pulling back until only the tip remained, then sinking in to the hilt, grinding his pelvis against your clit with every inward thrust.
The friction sparked forgotten memories with every stroke, the bond between you flaring alive, his pleasure echoing in your chest, your pleasure feeding back into his in a loop of sensation that made the room spin.
Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him closer, deeper.
Remmick responded with a broken sound, his hips snapping forward harder, losing some of that careful control as your nails scored down his back, leaving red welts that healed almost instantly.
"More," you begged, voice ragged. "Harder. Please."
He gave it to you.
He went from slow and worshipful to hungry, his thrusts deep and hard, the bed shaking with the force of centuries of pent-up desire finally let loose.
He fucked you like a man possessed, the wet slap of your bodies echoing in the room, your moans rising together in a symphony of pleasure.
He changed the angle slightly and you gasped as he hit that perfect spot inside you, that place that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
Again and again he struck it, his cock dragging against your front wall with every thrust, the head bumping your cervix in a way that bordered on too much but never crossed the line.
"Look at me," he commanded, and you forced your eyes open, dazed and overwhelmed, pupils blown wide.
The sight of him above you—hair disheveled and damp with sweat that shouldn't exist, lips parted and swollen, eyes burning with devotion and animal hunger—sent you hurtling toward the edge.
He reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again, slick with your combined arousal, circling in tight, demanding strokes in time with his thrusts.
"I want to feel you come apart," he growled against your ear, his cock driving deep and staying there, grinding. "I want to feel you remember me. Come for me, my love. Come on my cock."
The pressure built impossibly, your body tightening around him like a vice, the memories and the present colliding in a blinding rush of sensation.
When you finally came, it was with his name screaming from your lips like a prayer, your release crashing through you in violent waves that seemed to go on forever, your body clenching and fluttering around him so intensely that he groaned—actually groaned—like a man in agony and bliss.
"Fuck," he snarled, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing rhythm as he chased his own peak. "You feel—you're still—"
He buried himself deep and stilled, his face contorting in a look of transcendent relief and agony as he spilled inside you, pulse after pulse of cold, endless release filling you, marking you as his once again after all this time.
You felt every twitch, every throb, the way he swelled slightly at the base as he emptied himself completely.
Minutes after, neither of you moved, both shaking and breathless.
Remmick collapsed carefully beside you, still half-hard inside you, gathering you against him immediately.
His arms wrapped around you like he could shield you from anything that might try to take you away again, one hand stroking possessively down your hip, your thigh, anywhere he could maintain contact.
"I remember you- everything, mo ghrá," you whispered into the darkness, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the arm he had draped across your waist, feeling his seed warm inside you despite his cold nature.
He pressed a kiss to your hair, lingering there, breathing you in, his chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths.
"Welcome home," he murmured, his hand sliding down to cup you possessively between your legs, feeling where they were still joined, his essence leaking from you.
"My wife. My love. Finally home."
And for the first time since you'd awakened into this strange life, the words felt true.
a/n: I just screamed like a maniac, I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M POSTING THIS. This one took so many nights to write, I had to research anything about vampires and bonds and blood sharing - though I did not include the last part here since I'm thinking about writing a part three? Who knows, but yeah, I'm ecstatic to post this one. This has been like my greatest work ever- okay? Just let me boast about my work. Let me know about your thoughts xx
