It’s extremely fucked up that some ppl try to make you feel stupid and immature for hoping for a better world. You say you want world peace and mfs think you need a pacifier; dawg, I just don’t want ppl dying from violence. This idea that ppl simply must die as casualties of war is misanthropic to say the least.
fandom etiquette as a whole died when people who didn’t grow up on fandoms became stans during lockdown, yes, but why am i seeing people openly mocking fics on twitter. why am i seeing screenshots of fics with captions like “bro what is this 😭.” why am i seeing people mock fic writers for not knowing how sports or theater or college or any other organization operates in the real world.
“college is absolutely nothing like this” “why are we writing four people on the team scoring a hat trick in one game” “so tech work is nothing like this, hope that helps!”
if you don’t like a fic, and if you can’t suspend your belief enough to enjoy a fic that exaggerates or ignores real-world orgs, you don’t have to read it. you don’t have to screenshot it and put it on blast for twitter. you don’t have to post a link to it in the replies. the back button is literally there on your phone. it’s not giving baby’s first fandom anymore, it’s giving entitled asshole and it isn’t as cute as you think it is.
luvvvvvv ur work omgggggg u could do remmick fucking the reader in the middle of the dance circle…. or is that too freaky here idk if this is a safe space💔💔💔 love u mwah
..oh…
That’s not…
Nah I’m just fucking with you. You’re a nasty freak and I want to smooch you on the mouth. NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL!! Just wanted to note this isn’t the Juke Joint, a bar is mentioned, but it isn’t said nor hinted whether it’s the Juke Joint or not, that’s completely up to you if you want to interpret it as such. Also reader’s race isn’t brought up either, again, up to you readers to interpret or imagine which race reader is.
WARNINGS! Smut.. uh.. duh. Technically a weird.. orgy I don’t fucking know. None of them fuck each other aside from Remmick and reader.. but shit gets weird okay.. remember they CAN feel what Remmick feels. Also Reader is fem. No penetration but he eats her shit OUT, also jerks off. Reader’s emotions and reactions are all over the place.. I was kinda experimenting on how someone might feel during all of this in the beginning. Okay bye.
Tag cause some folks askkkkedddd: @jimmys-tiara and @porcosjaw
The chaos is loud. The rumble of feet, the pounding of drums and cries of the wicked fill the night air.
It sucks the life of the living, the fear of those being hunted by something they can’t wrap their minds around— can’t fathom being something real. This chaos, this crowd, bleeds into each other. Bleeds into everything around them.
Ties everyone into one. Into something connected, something whole.
Something deeper than flesh, deeper than bone. You can feel it, gripping itself into your whole being. Ripping and tearing your flesh straight off you and leaving you vulnerable.
It slithers its way through your stomach, up through your veins and hangs low in your throat. Every swish of a skirt, or the pull of pants, the ruffle of a jacket or shirt, you feel like it’s your own. You can feel the breeze of the wind not only brush across your cheeks, but everyone else’s.
There’s a loud howl, something you can not only hear but feel as if it’s your own, and then a loud cackle. Something that sounds like it hurts, like it holds traces of a loud cry for help, but the pure ecstasy on the new vampire’s face is far from dread or pain.
Then there’s another laugh, and another, until everyone keeps laughing between lyrics. A song twisted with laughter and joy despite its gloomy meaning.
A song that speaks of longing, of wanting to belong again— but you do. Belong. Together, with each other.
Whole.
You can just feel it, every time you brush your hand across another’s cheek or hold hands with another vamp, or laugh with someone, you feel it. That connection.
All around you, you can feel it.
It’s a massive circle, one that makes everyone face one another. Some folks move, others stomp in place. There’s a few that even go into the center, giggling and dancing before leaving again.
You feel another brush, hear someone giggle. Feel the brush of your lips against your own, despite no one being near your face to kiss you. Instead, it’s the couple across from you, making out.
You just ignore it.
People tend to get strung up by the emotion of it all, all the weight being lifted off their shoulders, all the fear being washed away. Scraped off gums and spit onto floors, or even into each other’s mouths.
You feel that tug, suddenly, between your legs. That ache, that pull. Another brush against your flesh, but this time higher up your thigh— a different couple this time, a more handsy one.
The thundering becomes louder, feet quicker, pace quicker. A tumble towards something. The middle of the circle is empty, the empty space welcoming, urging someone forth to take its place.
It’s not long for Remmick to be that very person, always one to fold for an ancient call, and he steps in the middle.
The dirt is kicked up with each knock of his shoes, dust rolling into the wind in small clouds as he dances. He does a small circle, dust following as the claps and instruments become louder.
More chaotic, more frantic, like everyone was desperate for something. Another tug, another pull, another kiss— all of which you attempt to ignore, but everyone seems to only get worse, feverish and hungry.
You glance up at the sky, the warmth and noise becoming overwhelming, downright unbearable but you’ll be damned to leave it. Couldn’t, even if you wanted to, because he won’t allow you to.
Remmick has a way of stringing everyone along, coaxing them with soft calls in the mind, a small curl of his fingers and his feet dragging across the dirt urging everyone to follow him. It’s why everyone is in a circle to begin with, singing a song none of them knew, but somehow could recall each lyric to.
So you stay, and instead escape the festering heat by looking to the night sky. There ain’t any stars out tonight, though you could recall seeing them earlier. When you had come out for a quick smoke, lingering in the quietness, the ease of being alone and away from the tumbling of sweaty bodies or loud music. Away from the bar. But now it’s nothing but space and darkness, and something drops in your stomach. Like an understanding that the stars will never grace your sight again, that even space itself is terrified of what you’ve become.
The same stars your mama used to tell you, promised you, would always be there as a guiding point, no longer wanted to protect you. To lead you home.
And why should they. There was no home to be had anymore.
You feel a pull on your hand, this time actually for you, and you glance down only to be immediately met with red eyes.
“Come ere’, in the middle.” Remmick cocks his head back, urging you forth.
Despite your better judgment, you follow without a word. Always do, always will from here on out.
You expect him to sway away from you allowing you space to do your own thing, or to lead you in the center to try and copy his moves before shoving you back out. You don’t expect him to linger so close, or to interlock his hand with one of your own and place his other against your waist. Don’t expect him to pull you so close to the point where his chest presses against your own, nose almost tapping against yours as he gives a small breathless huff.
Despite the cold brace of death, and the lingering smell of your own blood along with many others still slathered across his flesh, you feel your muscles relax. Feel that wave of nausea, of misery, swish away again.
He distracts that heavy weight of dread squished between your ribs by swaying you back and forth, the hand on your waist guiding you through a messy dance that hardly fits the rhythm. It’s far too slow, not in the same fast paced beat set by those on the instruments.
Not that he cares. And he’s working extra hard to ensure you don’t either. He sways you away, keeping you out by only an extended arm before twirling you. Once, twice, thrice until he hears you laugh, his own following soon after. Though it’s much more quiet, cut off by a small hum before he’s pulling you back into his chest again, although this time it’s your back pressed against him.
“There ya go, just feel it, be with it.” He sways you both again, back and forth, his face tucked close to your neck. The same neck he tore into not even half an hour ago, but the wound had long healed, the blood of the living long curing the open ache of tender flesh.
He places a hand over your stomach, his nose knocking against your jaw as he takes a deep breath.
It’s much louder in the center than it was on the sidelines, everything so close and concentrated. It should be just as overwhelming, but you feel his other hand go against your chest, just above your breast.
He begins giving a steady pat, a quick thump twice. Again, and again, and again.
“Feel that,” gives another quick pat, “that’s us. One.” Gives a few more just for a good extra measure. To really reel it into your brain.
One. Whole.
You realize after a bit that he isn’t just thumping his hand against your chest for the sake of dramatics, but he’s mimicking a heartbeat. One that no longer resides within your chest. You don’t know what’s worse, the fact the same man who took your life is trying to mimic it back to you, or the fact that you find actual comfort in it.
You sigh, then nod.
“Just feel it. Take it in.”
Your body rocks side to side, slow. Far off beat, no longer with the crowd, no longer following along with their clasps or stomp of feet. Everyone is stuck in the same pattern, same rhythm, but you two.
He gives another pat.
Then, he slides his nose across your neck, breath warm as he mutters, “you still with me?”
You nod again. It’s only when you agree that he places a light kiss against you, your brows twitching into a slight furrow as you feel his tongue dart out to lick across your skin.
His hand stops giving the rhythmic thump, instead he trails it down to your breast, where he lightly squeezes the plump flesh. You feel him place another light kiss onto your jaw, his stubble scratching at you as he slowly rubs his face against you.
You two stay like that for a bit, his hands roaming over you as he places soft pecks here and there against your neck, cheek and back. Anywhere he can reach easily. And you tell yourself it’s not just because he needs to be close, despite the ache you feel in his bones or the hollow space tucked between his own ribs that has left him starved for the soft touch of a stranger. You tell yourself it’s not just because he wants to be close, that he also is licking the blood off of you and benefitting from the tight connection that hums under your skin, all the while he gives a content sigh.
You keep repeating that he’s doing this for the sake of securing his hold back over you, but he keeps contradicting all your thoughts. His mourning is far too loud and consuming to ignore, and he’s far too gentle to chalk it up to him just being ‘nice’.
Remmick places another gentle kiss against your shoulder before muttering, “you smell divine, real good.”
You feel him press his nose against your jaw again and take a deep breath in before exhaling loudly. It’s drowned by the music, but even then, everyone seems to understand his own interest with you, all catch the same whiff of your perfume mixed with the salty tang of your sweat.
All give a small hum of content in return. As if agreeing.
You aren’t given long to respond, however, because his hand that was formerly placed over your stomach glides down to grab at your heat through your dress.
Forces you to give a small yelp and jerk forward, taken off guard.
And the fucker laughs at that, finds that real funny. He jerks you back against his chest again, places a hand back over your stomach and forces you in place. His hand doesn’t move away from the space between your thighs, if anything, he presses his palm over your clothed clit. Does that until his entire hand practically covers your clothed pussy.
Remmick hums low when you give a small gasp, “feel real good, don’t it,” his canines poke out upon him smiling at your nod in return, happier than a fucking pastor on Sunday, “Wearin’ anythin’ under?”
You nod, and it’s stupid. Real stupid, because you aren’t. Far from it, and you know he knows that. You know everyone at this point knows that, can tell by the way some of them shake their heads no or the way they scrunch their faces upon hearing you lie.
Shit, they can all feel the way your slick wets the fabric of your dress. Not willingly, but they’ll be damned if you lied when it’s so fucking easy not to.
He notices too, chuckles low and mean against your ear before whispering, “liar.”
He flips the dress up just to tuck his hand underneath it, doesn’t care about flashing anyone or the fact you’re quite literally in the middle of the dance circle. Doesn’t really give a rat's ass when you gasp and immediately drag down your dress just to have some decency.
That decency is thrown out the window anyway, a real shame, because he presses his fingers against your clit. Taps it twice.
In return, you give a choked moan, mumbling a few curses before your hips jerk against his hand. You’re squeamish, unable to stand still as you desperately try to slide yourself against his open palm, hands clutching at his wrists, seeking for purchase.
In doing so, he tries to tighten his hold and move his fingers away from your nerves, but when he figures that won’t work he shoves a foot between your own. Lightly tap his shoe against one of your own until you spread your feet apart a bit. Taps harder again to get you to widen your stance more.
“There ya go,” he mutters when you finally open up, a small smile in place. You think he’s gonna continue, maybe even be nice and actually sink his fingers inside.. but he doesn’t. Far from it actually.
Instead, he drops to his knees, pulls your dress back up and goes underneath. His hands move to the front of your thighs where he grips the soft fabric of your dress, hands coated in blood and your slick. You hear a wolf whistle off to the side, then a loud laugh that strikes a match of embarrassment inside you. Strikes shame. But most of it is shoved to the side upon you feeling a wet glob of spit on your pussy.
You hardly have time to react before you feel his tongue between your folds, licking a long stride up. With it, everyone gives a content sigh, you included. Collective relief, even the instruments transition into a smoother beat, into something more airy and light.
Remmick gives another lick, hands clawing against the fabric of your dress before deciding to just ball the fabric into his fists that rest against your thighs. It pulls the fabric tight, until the dress partially covers your front and only covers his head in the back, otherwise it’s a full show. It wouldn’t take anyone much to take one glance over and understand exactly what’s going on— this man is tearing your shit up in front of everyone, and really has no shame doing it.
Once he’s down there, he’s stuck. Doesn’t let up, doesn’t breath, doesn’t pull away for anything. He sticks his tongue against your entrance, noses at your clit and spits globs of saliva against your already drenched center.
Doesn’t stop on the account of the other newly turned vampires moaning or howling, doesn’t boast or smile at any of those who whistle or wink at you. You doubt he even knows nor cares about what others have to think of the sight.
He just keeps licking and prodding around, like it’s his afternoon snack and he’s been dying for something to eat. The only times he does anything, gives any reaction of any sort, is when you do.
When you squeal after he nips at your clit, he smacks your ass, or when you give a sharp moan, he shakes his head side to side real quick, making you moan louder. His grip tightens on your dress when he feels your walls clench around his tongue, a groan of his own following when he feels your shudder after tongue fucking your hole.
You give a breathy gasp, hardly able to hold in all the air in your lungs before your moaning again. Another loud smack is given again, this time to your thigh, your dress dropping back down as he lets go of the fabric just to grab at your waist with both hands.
He tightens his grip and urges you to move against him, to rock yourself against his face. You hear someone else give a loud moan, then another giggle before squealing in pleasure, your presume. But you can’t see them, can’t when the crowd is still dancing and singing, all molded together tight.
You feel yourself move against him, don’t even notice how you’ve begun grinding against his open mouth and his tongue.
Jesus, his tongue, the one that keeps you locked in place, squirming and giddy despite the awful shame that lingers in the pit of your stomach. The same one that is slowly— not even, it’s dragging you towards your climax, yanking you towards the edge.
Another voice, neither of yours, yells out, “Yeah baby! Just like that!”
Another chimes in, “Mhm! Ride that face, doll!”
You feel yourself grow warm with each comment, beyond embarrassed by being quite literally in open view. You think getting ripped into again would be a fate less painful than this.
But Remmick.. Remmick finds this amusing. Nips at your inner thigh with a small smirk in place, mutters something that you just know is teasing, but you can’t hear it. Just feel him talk against you before he’s latching his mouth back onto your slick.
After a few seconds, when your hips are fully jerking back against him and you're basically riding his face standing up, eyes closed and the most beautiful sounds leaving you, he moves both his hands away.
But, he smacks your ass and quickly moves away from your spit soaked pussy, forcing a loud whined plea to leave you. He ignores it, just to say loud enough for you to hear, “Turn around.”
You do, no questions asked. Your emotions curl and crash against each other, tangling into a mess of a ball, all of which leave you unable to think or act reasonably. Lust, ache, shame, fear, joy— all crash together, all too much to really handle separately. So you don’t.
You decide to let Remmick handle you for now.
And Remmick.. he’s a real sight.
He remains on the floor, both knees down onto the dirt, his clothes still dirty with sweat, blood and whatever the hell else he got into. His face is flushed, chest panting heavy breathes and his hair is a mess. Both of his suspenders are down, something you hadn’t noticed earlier, and his beard is wet with not only blood but also your cum. The small golden chain that rests on his neck also has small droplets of blood on it, but it still gleams bright against the reflected light of the moon.
He’s a mess. One you want to swallow whole.
He waves both hands over, signalling you to get close, but you're far too distracted with taking in the sight of him that he has to grab at your dress and yank you over.
Another cackle, another moan. The music speeds up again.
Remmick looks hungry, starved. Eyes your cunt even though it’s covered by your dress, like it’s his prey, his salvation and love all in one.
He goes to speak, mouth parting and teeth poking out but he’s cut off by another Vampire, one still in the circle who yells, “Put her leg up! Wanna see the sweet pussy she got on her!”
You look over to whoever said that, seeing them with a bright dazzling smile as they nod their head fast. Giddy as well. You just blink at them, unsure of what to say, what to even hit back with given how you can feel the bristle of their own joy strummed between your bones.
But Remmick seems unhappy, a small scowl crawling onto his face, but you quickly realize it’s not at the person but at you. The fact you aren’t paying attention to him.
Fuck what that person said, why the hell aren’t you looking at him?
You hardly mutter out a small ‘sorry-‘ before he’s picking up your dress again and diving back in. Funnily enough, he doesn’t put your leg up on his shoulder like requested, instead letting your dress fall back down so he can hide under it and with it hide you under it.
It’s purposeful. You know it.
You feel his tongue slather back into place, back into the warmth of your walls and slobbering all over you. He sets a quick pace, licking up and down fast while simultaneously using one of his free hands to roll his palm over your clit.
The pleasure shoots through you, down your toes and glides across your teeth that you almost lose balance. Him being under your dress doesn’t really help much, you can’t really grab at him the way you want to nor can you glide your fingers through his damp sweat hair.. but his shoulders are broad enough that you can still grasp them through the material. So you do. And you remain locked there, unable to move without the possibility of falling over.
And Remmick isn’t much help either, both of his hands are far too occupied, with one being busy playing with your pussy while the other is desperately yanking at his belt buckle.
A difficult task when you can’t hear, see or think much. Like a rabid animal, he claws at his pants, yanking at them and the belt as if they’ve started to boil into his skin.
It doesn’t take long for you to notice, given how much movement and groans of frustration you can feel.
“W-what?”
He moves away from you, again, but not too far, “can’t fuckin- can’t get my pants off.”
You shake your head, “what?”
He grows frustrated, yanking the fabric back over his head until he can meet your confused gaze, “can’t get my pants off!”
“Okay? Take them off now then.” You look down, pointedly, at his bulge and then back to his red eyes, “go on. Quick, needa cum already.”
“Right, needy thing-“
You give a small groan upon feeling his fingers leave you, blinking back your own frustration as he continues to stare at you, “Well?”
He works off his belt, quick, all the while looking at you. Doesn’t even say anything, not even a small ‘yeah got it’ just for the sake of letting you know. No, instead the only way you know he did is when he pulls your dress one last time over him and sticks his fingers back inside you.
Real nice, thanks.
Again, you're left on your own to keep yourself up by balancing on him. You’re not even sure why he made a big show of taking his belt off.
Not until you feel it. It’s more intense then the tongue on your cunt, even more intense then getting fucked in general.
The circle momentarily falters, everybody taking in a long, deep breath in. The music is off tune, slurred and lazy, caught off guard. You hear someone play their guitar too early, followed by another missing their Que in the song.
And when Remmick gives a deep groan, everyone else does too. Because underneath you, with him buried between your thighs, he’s jerking off to each moan you let out, to the taste of you on his tongue.
Each breath he takes in, each groan, roll of his hips, whimper and slick of precum that coats his dick.. you all feel. Like it’s your own.
Makes you all breath and moan together.
Makes your orgasm roll quicker, makes your eyes roll back and mouth hang open with a silent moan.
He feels you shudder, feels you flutter a little more and he doubles down. Goes quick, on both you and him. Fingers you faster and licks your bundles of nerves quickly, the sound of skin against skin becoming louder as he fastens his thrusts into his hand.
Someone gives a choked sob, another grabs onto a different random vampire just to moan into their ear causing them to get smacked away.
It takes him to just smack you on the pussy to completely push you over the edge. His mouth is open and waiting, slurping down your cum as you moan loudly, legs shaky. He’s a bit behind on his own, thrusts fast and frantic as he tries to meet you there, to fall with you while you're still drowning in pleasure.
Flicks his wrist a few times more and brings his hand down to his balls to give a small squeeze… and that does the trick.
One would’ve thought shots were being fired with how quickly everyone bowed over, with how loud everyone was. You give a sharp whine, almost screaming as you lean over, gripping onto him like a life line.
Your breathing matches each other, whimpers and pants in sync, even your moans matching.
“Fuck.. fuck..” you whisper out, trying to calm down, trying to ease yourself after having two orgasms back to back.. if it even was that. Felt like you were forced onto cloud nine and then taken higher than that all in one long orgasm.
Everyone becomes quiet, trying to catch their breaths. The music has stopped.
After a few minutes, he places a kiss against your thigh and slips out from under you, not to stand but to lay down onto the dirt.
You give him a lazy smile, and he matches it. You think you need to hibernate for a while, like a bear.
But before you can crawl away, or even attempt to leave the space in the circle, he waves you back over.
You ask a breathless, “What?”
Only to be met with a long groan, and then, “come. Sit on my cock.”
