tumblr dot com
we're not kids anymore.
styofa doing anything
blake kathryn
Cosmic Funnies
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
taylor price
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
No title available
shark vs the universe
Show & Tell
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Monterey Bay Aquarium
izzy's playlists!
YOU ARE THE REASON
NASA
Cosimo Galluzzi
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
will byers stan first human second
seen from France
seen from Israel
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Algeria
seen from United States
seen from United States
@redrydersrequiem
Master list of many
This is a masterlist of my story’s and all my favorite fics I’ve found on tumbler check out the original peoples pages to
My works
Library of FanFiction
Dc masterlists
Marvel Masterlist
StarWars masterlist
Anime masterlist
Book fanfictions
Tv and movie masterlist
K-pop/bands masterlist
this is your gentle reminder to stop fighting against your adhd and instead structure your life around it
buy a pack of chapsticks and put one in the pocket of all of your coats and jackets because you always forget to bring one and chapped lips is sensory hell
leave important things where you can see them. if they go in a box or a drawer you will forget they exist
put any appointments or deadlines in your phone calendar As Soon As you get them. set a reminder for a week before, a day before, an hour before, as many as you need as often as you need them.
when that little voice in your head says "i dont need to write that down, ill remember it" that is the devil talking!!! write it down anyway!!
plan for down time. have a few hours at the end of every day to just do fun stuff like engage in your hyperfixations. even if you didnt get all of your work done that day, have the rest anyway. you probably spent the whole day beating yourself up for not doing what you Should be doing, so you still need the break.
if you never eat vegetables because its too much effort to chop and cook them, get the frozen or canned shit. it doesnt go off for ages and you just have to microwave it. theres no point buying fresh vegetables if they just keep going off and being left to rot in the bottom of your fridge
if you struggle to decide what to have for dinner every day, take the decision out of it. choose a set of meals and eat those on rotation until you get sick of them, then choose some new ones and do it again.
its not stupid if it works! our brains literally have a chemical deficiency. you are allowed to accommodate yourself. go forth and stop making your life more difficult than it has to be because "this shouldn't be this hard". it is hard, so make it easier.
You are allowed to accommodate yourself.
MelodyMeadows MasterList Pt. 1
Updated every day at 2:30 PST
Hazbin Hotel x Human!Reader
Recommendations: Read the comments, there's often more fun content ❤️💙
Info
Pre-Pilot Episode
Pilot Episode Pt. 1 2 3 4 5 6
Intermission between episode
Episode 1 Pt. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Intermission between episodes 2
Episode 2 Pt. 1 2 3 4
Intermission between episodes 3
Episode 3 Pt. 1 2 3
Intermission between episodes 4
Episode 4 Pt. 1 2 3
Intermission between episodes 5
Episode 5 Pt. 1 2 3
Intermission between episodes 6
Episode 6 Pt. 1 2 3 4
Intermission between episode 7
Episode 7 Pt. 1 2 3
Intermission between episode 8
Episode 8 Pt. 1 2 3 4 ?
S2 Episode 1 & 2 Pt. 1 2 3 4 5
Intermission between episode 9
S2 Episode 3 Pt. 1 2 3 4
Intermission between episode 10
S2 Episode 4 Pt. 1 2 3 4 5
Intermission between episode 11
S2 Episode 5 Pt. 1 2 3 4 5
Intermission between episode 12
S2 Episode 6 Pt. 1 2 3 4 5
Intermission between episode 13
S2 Episode 7 Pt. 1 2 3 4 5
Intermission between episode 14 Pt. 1 2
S2 Episode 8 Pt. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 ?
Soulbond
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Taglist
@the-autistic-moth @moonwalker0504 @mellowfailure666 @mistressnya @emmeow03 @akiisp @artisticbishoujorin @acehyacinth @eirlysswiftie @zamadness @m30w43vr @i-like-to-cry @fantasyhopperhea @tjmaxx556 @noneofthemany @cedarrsticklycavern @rayndr0p @animesimp420 @paintbrushofanimeuniverse @sunset-toast @qc0rminix @introvertreader20 @danngerouslikeari @asheve @misshyori @btsgangleader @jazztato @the-bookish-artist @chubbi-berry @cluelessteam @sallymoon135 @sam-san-sam @itwaszzmoon @luleck @tumblblob @mxvoid26 @lovehazbinhotelandangie @i-want-a-targaryen04 @aslayerofmonsters @pandaquick @devilslittlehelper @lorelei0405 @0acidtears0 @yukiandeiraishere @harkenizalone @ari-hatake00 @lucfermorningstarkingofhell
#Please little bird
I love that the modern-day tumblr post equivalent of chain emails only requires me to reblog a relatively pleasant image instead of forward an email to a bunch of my friends and family members to quell my raging anxiety.
february will be good february will be good february will be good february will be good february will be good february will be good february will be good february will be good february will be good february will be good february will be good february will be good february will be good february will be good february will be good
you're gonna go far | masterlist
summary: a scientist arrives on pandora (unwillingly) a year after the exile of the rda. now she must deal with the likes of a clan leader, a great warrior, and a thanator rider. . . jake x neytiri x tsu'tey x f!reader
read on AO3 | main masterlist
CHAPTERS
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
Nature of the Human Soul
Platonic! Hazbin Hotel x Teen! Non-binary! Reader Father Figure! Alastor x Teen! Non-binary! Reader
General Warnings: Hazbin Hotel covers difficult topics and has 18+ humor. Please be aware of what you are comfortable with.
Book 1:
Follows the Events of Season One
Prologue: Dying in the Roses
Chapter One: Welcome to the Hotel
Chapter Two: Commercial Problems
Chapter Three: Controlling Television
Chapter Four: New Hotel Guest
Chapter Five: Bonding through Battle
Chapter Six: Memories of Life and Death
Chapter Seven: King of Hell at the Hotel
Chapter Eight: Trouble at the Hotel
Chapter Nine: Going Clubbing goes Wrong
Chapter Ten: Deals and Darling Overlords
Chapter Eleven: Convincing through Song
Chapter Twelve: Preparing for Battle
Chapter Thirteen: Fight for their Souls
Chapter Fourteen: Show Goes On
Book 2:
Follows the Events of Season Two
Chapter One: Reopening the Hotel
Chapter Two: Guaranteeing Good Service
Chapter Three: Planning verus Plotting
To be continued...
Specials:
Pride Specials: 2024, 2025
Halloween Specials: 2024, 2025
Christmas Specials: 2024
Teasers for Book 2: Playlist, Trailer
Taglist:
@kyalov
@pandaquick
@boredwithlifeatthispoint
@jaytheaceenby
@paastaboi
@bettybabys
@gxdoesstuff
@grippleback-galaxy
@just-here-reading
@dmitrytherat
@a-small-tyrant
@marxo5
@rory-cakes
@andsoigotabutterfly
@theblueslytherin
@romyoia
@ray-rook
@thereeallink
@pandaquick
@funkyexistence
@theyaremorethanjustfictional
@lanxianschoenheit
@justyourfriendlyneighbourhood1
@ringsofpersonti
@futureittomainn
@enderpearltv
@oo0lady-mad0oo
@falsemain
@a-huge-bi-nerd
@lost-in-the-hellaverse
@tagthetrekkie
@amberforest08
@picklehat3r
@lunalixya
@rl800
@crystal-freak24
@deadgirldreaming
@elaemae
@im-making-an-effort
@kitkatlover015
@snowy-violet
@wonderlandfandomkingdom
@anomymous-0
@justasillylittlehumanperson
@yappydoo
@introvertathome
@rillylogers
@ilse235
@shroombloom95
@yummycement
@katethedilfhunter
@nevermore-lost-love-lenore
@pain-in-the-ashe
@weallreadbookshere
@xystia
@gigist4r22
@0-gremlin-0
@oceangodsss
@g0thicst-m
@danishclover
@sunset-toast
@emmeow03
@bagofrice
@kanjiharitama
@zamadness
@sugarrush-blush
Masterlist
Masterlist
To view on quotev: Anonymouse
To view on ao3: Anonymousewrites
Character Spreadsheet: Here
There’s a Will; There’s a Way
Bungou Stray Dogs
Dazai Osamu x Fem! Reader
Chuuya Nakahara x Original Female Character
On Hold until more Bungou Stray Dogs content
Of Two Worlds
Jujutsu Kaisen
Fushiguro Megumi x Fem! Half-Curse! Reader
Ryomen Sukuna x Original Female Character x Uraume
Complete
Portal to My Heart
Marvel Cinematic Universe/LOKI Tv Show
Loki Odinson/Laufeyson x Fem! Reader
Complete
Adolescent Antichrist
Netflix Lucifer
Father figure! Lucifer and Non-binary! Reader
Original Character x Non-binary! Reader
Complete
Logos and Pathos
Star Trek: The Original Series
Star Trek: Alternate Original Series
Spock and Non-binary! Empath! Reader
Complete
A Study of the Heart and Brain
BBC Sherlock
Father figure! Sherlock and Non-binary! Reader
Complete
A Good Day for Death
Netflix Wednesday
Wednesday Addams x Non-binary! Reader
On Hold until more Wednesday Content
Clan of Three
Star Wars The Mandalorian
Father Figure! Mandalorian and Non-binary! Reader
On Hold until more Mandalorian content
One Hell of a Love
Black Butler
Sebastian Michaelis x Non-binary! Demon! Reader
On Hold until more Black Butler content
Nature of the Human Soul
Hazbin Hotel
Platonic! Hazbin Hotel and Teen! Non-binary! Reader
Platonic! Alastor and Teen! Non-binary! Reader
Book 2 Coming December 10th
Burden of Truth
Marvel Cinematic Universe/Moon Knight Series
Father Figure! Marc Spector and Teen! Non-binary! Reader
Father Figure! Steven Grant and Teen! Non-binary! Reader
Mother Figure! Layla El-Faouly and Teen! Non-binary! Reader
On Hold until more Moon Knight content
A Not-So-Disastrous Romance
Saiki No Psi San/The Disastrous Life of Saiki K Series
Saiki Kusuo x Non-binary! Reader
Complete
Pearl of the Sea
Pirates of the Caribbean (Curse of the Black Pearl, Dead Man's Chest, At World's End)
Found Family! PoTC Cast and Teen! Non-binary! Reader
Complete
Apple of My Eye
Disney Descendants (1, 2, and 3)
Harry Hook x Non-binary! Child of Snow White! Reader
Complete
Lavender for Royalty; Sage for Wisdom
Ouran High School Host Club (Manga)
Kyoya Ootori x Non-binary! Reader
Complete
Nobody's Soldier
Supernatural (Seasons 4-15)
Found Family! Supernatural and Non-binary! Reader
Dean Winchester x Castiel (Slow Burn)
Eventual! Jack Kline x Reader
See Yourself Become the Villain
The Boys (Prime TV)
Found Family! The Boys and Non-binary! Supe! Reader
Platonic! Starlight/Annie January and Non-binary! Supe! Reader
Platonic Yandere! Homelander and Non-binary! Supe! Reader
Staking a Claim Masterlist
Pairing : Alpha!Billy Russo x Omega!Reader
Status : Complete
Rating : R (18+ only, minors DNI)
Plot Summary : Your life isn't going great; you're having doubts about law school, your job sucks, and you've finally just broken up with your cheating boyfriend. So, the last thing you need is to wake up in bed with an attractive, older alpha with no memory of the night before and a sinking suspicion that your whole life is about to change...
Chapter List : Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Epilogue
Illegal
MASTERLIST POST
mob!bucky barnes x fbi!reader
summary: You’re an FBI agent sent undercover to get close to the most dangerous mob boss in the city. But the deeper you go, the harder it gets to remember which side you’re really on.
WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! CONTAINS SPOILERS; angst, smut (specifics will be listed in each chapter), curse words, gore, dirty talk, violence, mafia, gangsters, mob, drugs, fbi, police, guns, knifes, weapons, money laundering, illegal stuff, manipulation, toxic relationship, alcohol usage, family trauma, pregnancy, parenthood, deaths, blood, injuries, panic attacks, hospitals (may add more later as I write).
playlist | pinterest board
A/N: Obviously I do not work for fbi, i have no idea how exactly they work so please keep in mind that this is a fanfiction 😭 take with a grain of salt!! i got inspired by playing gta v online so that’s kinda the vibes i am going for with this series—los angeles, heists, illegal businesses and yk… all of that. also this fic is very self-indulgent ngl.
Chapter One — „Sinker”
Chapter Two — „Feelings”
Chapter Three — „Breakdown”
Chapter Four — „Bruises”
Chapter Five — „Liars”
Chapter Six — „Mess”
Chapter Seven — „Hope”
Chapter Eight and more coming soon…
⋆⁺₊✧ MAIN MASTERLIST
Green and Silver
Prince Nuada Silverlance x fem reader
Fem reader x Adopted siblings Hellboy and Abe
A/n: Sooooo… this has been in my drafts for a little under 2 years 😅 and this week I was determined to just go ahead and finish it. It’s kinda long about 12,800 words and it’s kind of a slow burn. Also I gave the reader plant related powers. Enjoy!
Warnings: lemon and probably a lot of things that don’t go with canon
Summary: The reader is determined to help mediate the conflict between man and magical beings, through her efforts Nuada ends up falling for her.
Entering your old room, a smile graced your lips as you saw that all your plants were alive and well. Someone must have been caring for them in your absence, you thought as you stepped over the healthy vines and roots that had spread over the tile floors. At first you assumed it had been Abe, but seeing how overgrown some of the plants had become, it seemed more likely that Red had been the one watering them.
You worried your lip wondering if maybe he didn’t hate you after all?
Things have always been rocky between the two of you. Constantly butting heads since you were children, always seemingly on opposing sides on certain topics, fighting for father’s attention.
You had always suspected that there was a little jealousy as well. Unlike Red, you could blend in with everyone else, you weren’t forbidden from leaving the compound, or forced to live a life in hiding.
It all came to a boiling point when you made the decision to leave. He wouldn’t look at you when you said goodbye. When he had found out the night before while you were packing up what you could, he was furious and both of you said a lot of things in anger. You immediately regretted it right after.
You left fearing that Red would never speak to you again, but your abilities were better suited out there, not on missions hunting down paranormal enemies.
You wanted to help, really help. You wanted to bring forests back to life and assist in places that had been ravaged by wildfires and deforestation. Staying here felt like you were doing more harm than good.
To make matters worse, shortly after your departure, Liz admitted herself into the hospital and then father died. When you returned to mourn his death with your family, Red tore into you. He blamed you for all of it, claiming if you had been around none of it would have happened.
You hadn’t been back since then.
Looking around your room, you couldn’t help but notice how homesick you had become. So much of your life was spent in this compound. You never intended to be gone for so long.
Your room was designed similar to a greenhouse with a glass ceiling to let in plenty of sunlight. Various sized pots filled with plants and vibrant flower beds lined the walls. Right in the center of the room was a hammock where you used to take midday naps. Your old record player was still sitting on your desk collecting dust along with all your books and art supplies.
Your father had made sure that you, Abe, and Red had some space to yourselves that suited your needs. He always so thoughtful of your individual needs.
You picked up an old frame, wiping the dust away with your sleeve to reveal the photograph under the glass. Your fingers traced over the familiar faces smiling back at you.
You had truly missed them all.
“So,” a voice suddenly spoke up from the entrance of your room. “You really did come back.”
You spun around to see Red leaning against the door frame. You laid the picture back on your desk. “I saw the news… Hellboy is everywhere right now. Thought maybe I could help.”
You swallowed thickly as the two of you stared at each. God, you didn’t think it would be this weird and tense, but simply being in the same room didn’t feel right. You wished you knew what else to say to fix it, but you got the feeling he didn’t want to talk.
“Well guess that’s it, I just wanted to see it for myself,” he shrugged and turned away, heading back down the hall.
All you could do was watch, wondering if it would ever be like it used to.
…
“He spoke to me at least,” you sighed, shoulders slumping while you sat on the edge of Abe’s tank with your feet dangling in the water. “I honestly expected worse, another screaming match or something like that.”
Abe’s head bobbed in the water as he swam closer to you and noticed how your frown deepened, “And that makes you… more upset?”
You groaned, throwing your head back, “I know, I know, it sounds crazy, but if he had yelled and maybe even slammed a few doors too, it would’ve felt more normal, more like it used to be.”
Abe chuckled a little, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. The yelling would be far more familiar.”
It was true that you and Red growing up always seemed to be fighting or arguing. It was just the nature of your relationship while Abe and Professor Broom were the mediators. Which was why it was so unnerving to be treated like a stranger, so coldly, by the person you had come to think of as your brother.
“I’m glad Liz is back,” you added. “She’s always been good at keeping him more level headed.”
“Me too,” Abe nodded, carefully climbing out of his tank. “And I’m glad you're back as well.”
“Got somewhere to be?” You asked.
“Director Manning is bringing in someone new,” he explained. “I believe he wanted the entire team to be present for introductions.”
“Ah, I see.”
“You could join us, if you’d like,” Abe offered, putting on his goggles and breathing collar.
“I probably shouldn’t, I’m not officially back,” you sighed, rising to your feet. “Pretty sure the government still wants these types of things confidential.”
You walked with Abe down the stairs, your wet feet leaving behind dark footprints on the red carpet. You smiled at him as he left the room.
Without much else to do, you made yourself comfortable in the library. About an hour or so later, you were curled up in one of the arm chairs invested in a first edition copy of ‘The Time Machine.’
Immediately you perked up when you heard everyone bustling about and on the move.
“What’s going on?” You asked, setting your book aside and standing.
“We’re loading up,” Red stated without his usual enthusiasm. “To go on a goddamn wild goose chase,” he added with a scowl.
You furrowed your brow giving Abe and Liz a confused look.
“We’re going to the east end of the Brooklyn Bridge,” Liz explained while going in for a quick hug. “It’s good to see you,” she added.
You hugged her back. “The Troll Market…?” You questioned, putting it together. “Thought we gave up on that myth.”
You heard Red snort loudly, “Yeah, but this time will be different.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head as someone new approached you.
“Ah! You must be Ms. Y/n,” the strange figure said with a thick German accent. He was dressed in a suit that resembled vintage deep sea diving gear. “I am Dr. Kraus,” he introduced himself.
Your eyes widened for a second, realizing that there was no head or face beneath the helmet, just a strange mist. “Uh, yes, nice to meet you,” you half smiled.
“Will you be joining us?” He asked eagerly. “On the mission?”
Your eyes flickered to Red who seemed irritated but not completely against it.
“I suppose I could.”
“Fantastic,” Dr. Kraus clapped his hands. “I look forward to seeing your abilities for myself. I have read extensive dossiers on all of the team, including you,” the doctor explained. “Your powers seem quite… intriguing.”
“Why would you read my file?” You inquired. “No one knew I was coming back, and technically I might be here but I’m not with BPRD anymore.”
“Ah, yes, but you see I’ve heard stories about your missions from a good friend,” he explained. “So I asked for information that pertained to all of you.”
You looked at the doctor uneasy, before following the back of the group as they made their way to the hangar.
Arriving at the destination, agents filed out of vehicles and began prepping the area with practiced efficiency. Liz directed them where to install the cameras while Red and Abe discussed plans with Dr. Kraus. You tried your best to stay out of the way, simply resigning yourself to observe everyone else at work.
“Aren’t you going to go with them?” Liz asked as she grabbed the bird cage that held a little canary.
You shook your head, “I think it’s best if I stayed here. I don’t want to press my luck or step on any toes.”
Liz pursed her lips and nodded, “It’ll get better y’know, Red just needs time.”
“Yeah, I hope you’re right.” As much as you wanted to be part of the action, just like in the good old days, you knew Red already had enough on his plate as he unwillingly adjusted to Dr. Kraus’s lead.
“Help Manning keep an eye on things,” she instructed with a slight eye roll. “I’ll be back shortly.”
You looked back at Director Manning who was still completely astonished that the little old lady was actually a troll.
“What a hideous creature,” he muttered to himself, staring at the monitors. Eventually he peeled his eyes away and turned to look at you, seemingly forgetting what he was going to say as he saw you through the lenses of the Schufftein glasses.
You lifted your brow, “What? Do I have something on my face?”
“You’re… very glowy,” he answered, somewhat entranced.
You chuckled, “Thanks.”
His eyes followed the swirls of green that traveled along your figure like vines.
“Better keep watching the fragglewump,” you suggested with a small smirk.
“Yes, of course, you’re absolutely right,” he said, turning his chair back around.
You, Liz and Manning stayed behind, keeping an eye on surveillance. Over the radio, Red shared how amazing the troll market was. A part of you wished you had gone with them, but it was too late now. Maybe one day you’d be fortunate enough to return and see it for yourself.
With a heavy sigh Liz stood up and left the back of the truck.
“Everything alright?” You asked her, immediately joining her outside.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she muttered, fidgeting with her hair then her jacket.
“Liz,” you said gently, knowing her well enough to see that something was bothering her.
She rubbed her forehead and took a deep breath releasing it slowly. “I’m pregnant,” she admitted.
“Oh,” you blinked in surprise. “Oh wow, that’s huge!”
“Yeah, tell me about it. I still can’t believe it myself.”
“Who else knows?”
“Just you and Abe right now,” she answered, kicking some gravel away with her boot. “I can’t seem to find the right time to tell Red.”
The two of you stood side by side watching cars and pedestrians passing just taking in the moment. You couldn’t be happier for Liz and Red. Your small family was getting a little bigger which was also a comforting thought especially after so much loss.
“Ah!” You suddenly shouted, unintentionally scaring Liz in the process as you started jumping beside her. “I’m going to be an aunt!”
She laughed, “Yeah, I guess you will be. I hadn’t really thought about things like that.”
“I’m so excited! We’re all going to love this kid!” You promised.
After making sure she was good, you returned to the truck giving Liz some space, not to mention you knew leaving Manning alone wasn’t the best idea. He wasn’t what anyone would call helpful in an actual crisis.
…
The BPRD truck rocked and swayed as the ground below started to rumble.
Curious if it was just a tremor, Liz opened the doors to the truck, Director Manning stepped back as you and Liz walked out onto the street to see what was going on.
For a brief second everything stilled, everyone’s eyes searched the surrounding area collectively wondering if it was over. Then suddenly the road abruptly cracked like an egg with large thick vines breaking free.
Automatically you recognized that the creature was plant like, leaves covered its body and its head reminded you of a closed flower bud. For a moment you simply took it in, amazed that such a creature existed.
People began screaming and fleeing from their vehicles as the green monster further sprouted from the ground almost resembling a beanstalk.
You remained entranced as strangers ran past you, until Red retrieved a large gun affectionately nicknamed ‘Big Baby’ from the truck's armory.
“Wait! Please!” You pleaded, placing a hand on Red’s arm. “Let me try to reason with it.”
“Are you out of your mind? Look at that thing!” Director Manning argued from the back of the truck.
You ignored him, instead looking at Hellboy for permission.
“You got 2 minutes, Green,” Red instructed as he continued to load his gun. “After that, I’m going in for the kill.”
You stared up at the massive creature, its tentacle-like limbs thrashing around it. The green glow from its center and head was similar to your own, you wondered if it was like you? Would you be able to control it like other plants even though it was sentient?
It was funny to think that you might have more in common with this forest god than you did with anyone else on the planet.
You shrugged off your sweater, dropping it to the ground. Your eyes began to glow as you slowly approached the creature with your hand outstretched. Swirls of glimmering green light traveled down your arms to your palms.
Its flesh felt smooth, waxy, and cold but there was also a subtle pulse beating beneath your hand. Looking up at what you believed was its face, you met its glowing eyes which were warm and very much alive.
The beast howled, using one of its long tendrils to swat a helicopter away.
“Please stop,” you begged. “I don’t want them to hurt you.”
Another tendril came slamming down too close for comfort, successfully smashing a car flat.
“Listen!” You yelled at it. “They’ll kill you.”
You could sense its rage and its fear as it screeched and wailed, thrashing about. It didn’t recognize this world. Where were the tall trees, the giants, the other gods?
“The world has changed,” you said softly. “I’m sorry, this isn’t your world anymore.”
Its body slumped as it whined at you, head tilting to the side.
“It’ll be alright.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s time for you to rest,” you urged.
The creature’s glowing eyes dimmed as it started to fold in upon itself slowly, almost as if it was falling asleep. It started to shrink back down almost in the same fashion when it sprang from the earth, until finally it was a small seed again,
You crumpled to your knees, your own soft green glow fading as the danger seemed to pass. Examining the still crowded street, you noted the damage it caused, it was severe but it could’ve been much worse. A large breach remained in the ground, the cars that were the closest were crumpled like cans.
You cupped the seed in your palm. It was frightening to think that all you had to do was add some water to grow a huge plant monster from this little bean.
“You didn’t destroy the forest god,” the princess said in complete awe, kneeling beside you.
“I couldn’t let it be killed,” you explained, still admiring the seed. “I’ve never seen anything so terrifying yet so beautiful before.”
“That’s quite accurate,” she smiled. “The gods were the Givers of Life and the Destroyers.”
You looked over your shoulder, all the rest of the team and the other FBI agents were busy dealing with crowd control.
You turned towards Princess Nuala offering her the seed.“Here, you probably know more about it than any of us do,” you said, but in all honesty, you just didn’t want it to end up in Director Manning’s hands or the FBI’s. The BPRD already had enough trophies.
The princess looked at you full of curiosity, carefully accepting it and tucking it away in her dress. “Thank you.”
You stood up and joined the rest of the group.
Dr. Kraus informed you that the casualties were minimal considering all the destruction caused in such a short period of time.
Your eyes met Red’s who gave you a nod of approval before you all departed to return home.
…
“Hello, my lovelies,” you greeted your plants as you shuffled into your room after a long hot shower. Dressed in a long silk robe, you strolled past all your ferns and flowers, reaching around to turn on the irrigation system near the wall. “There we go,” you hummed as water slowly started to trickle out.
Stretching your arms over your head, you approached your hammock and climbed in, reclining on your back with one of your legs hanging off. Using your foot, you pushed it against the floor, gently rocking yourself.
Laying there, you admired the night sky, watching thin wispy clouds floating across the full moon. Your mind drifted back to the forest god, Nuala had mentioned that it was the last of its kind. You started imagining a world full of magical beings like that, it seemed wondrous. Perhaps you made the right choice coming back. You were happy that you saved it.
You squinted once you realized you were absentmindedly humming along to a Barry Manilow song. Swinging your leg over the edge of the hammock, you sat up. The music seemed to be coming from below.
Your feet softly padded through your room towards the door, wondering who in the world was blaring ‘Can’t Smile Without You’ this late at night.
Focused on the music you allowed it to lead you through the halls. You and Red almost ran into each other, stopping outside the golden doors. You both stared awkwardly at each other.
He had an open can of Tecate in one hand and the rest of the six-pack in the other. He sniffed, eyes darting to the door, “Wanna see what the hell is going on in there?”
You nodded, but as soon as he pushed the large doors open the music changed, going from Barry Manilow to a classical piece.
“Ah,” Abe said, jumping a little, clearly not expecting the sudden intrusion. “Hello Red and y/n, you’re both up late.”
“What are you listening to?” Red grumbled.
“Oh, uh, Vivaldi,” Abe answered quickly. “Il cimento dell’armonia.”
You narrowed your eyes and shook your head, “Don’t play dumb. I distinctly recall hearing Manilow just a few seconds ago.”
“Not here, I’m afraid,” Abe said sheepishly.
“Hey,” Red said accusingly, pointing at Abe while stumbling forward. “What’s that?”
“It’s just a remote.”
Red’s eyes moved to Abe’s other hand.
“Oh, this, yes…” Abe mumbled revealing the CD case.
You peeked over Red’s shoulder, reading the title out loud, “Popular Love Songs?”
You and Red had completely different reactions as it dawned on you both.
“You fell for the Princess?” You and him asked at the same time. Red appeared to be in total disbelief while you looked utterly delighted.
Abe sat on the steps in front of the fireplace as he delved into the details of his growing crush. Both you and Red joined him, sitting by his sides.
“You’re in love,” Red announced. “Have a beer.”
Abe tried to politely decline but Red wasn’t having it, practically thrusting the can into Abe’s hand.
Red sighed, freeing another beer from the plastic rings and looked at you, “And well, you’re back, so you get one too.”
You graciously accepted Red’s version of an olive branch, cracking open the can and taking a sip.
“So what track?” he asked, returning to the reason that brought the three of you together tonight.
“Eight,” Abe answered, then explained his love and connection to this particular song. Lifting the remote, he clicked a button and ‘Can’t Smile Without You’ began to play again.
“I wish father were here,” Red confessed, taking another drink of his beer. “He’d know what to tell you… us.”
The sentiment was one you all shared. Each of you were facing new problems, dealing with complicated feelings of loss and love. Professor Broom always looked out for the three of you, offering advice and guiding with a gentle hand.
Abe began to sway with the music, singing along with the lyrics. You weren’t sure if it was the beer or the music, but soon you and Red both joined in belting with him.
You couldn’t quite recall the last time the three of you hung out like this. Red, Blue, and Green back together again, it felt right.
Eventually you parted ways, the boys leaving to get more beer and talk about their girl troubles while you retreated back to your room. Your heart and mind felt lighter now, your relationship with Red seemed to be on the mend, relieving you of a weight that had been crushing your spirit for too long.
…
“How did they stop it?” Nuada asked as he flipped through another book before tossing it aside. “How were they able to return the forest god to a seed?”
Nuala's eyes briefly darted to the red emergency button on the wall before answering her brother.
“One of them was able to… speak to it.” She wasn’t sure if that’s exactly how it worked, it seemed more as though you had willed it back into its dormant form. It was a curious thing, you like so many of the others she had encountered here were so strange and unique, to be able to have control of such a powerful and ancient being was truly impressive.
Nuada snapped another book shut, “They spoke to it?”
“I’m not sure how else to describe it,” she said, shrugging her shoulders slightly.
“Where is it now?” Nuada pressed.
“I have it.”
“They returned it to you?” He asked skeptically, furrowing his brow.
Nuala nodded, reaching into a pocket of her dress and revealing the green seed. “They trust me,” she responded. “They have been… better than I expected, kind and honest.”
Nuada scoffed, casting aside another book. “Do not do this, it won’t work,” he turned his head away, sneering. “I will never trust their kind or the ones that help them.” He carelessly grabbed another book before dropping it on the floor with the others.
“I’m simply telling you what happened,” she argued. “The one who saved the forest god didn’t want to see it destroyed, she said it was beautiful.”
Nuada paused, fingers resting on the spine of another book, deep down he was glad that the elemental wasn’t killed. It was, unfortunately, the last of its kind, perhaps using it was selfish of him. If they would have killed it instead, its death would have weighed heavily upon him. An entire race would have been completely eradicated and he would’ve been the culprit who ordered the last one to die.
That was the last thing he wanted, there was already so little of his world left to save. When he closed his eyes he could still picture the world as it was, how it should be.
“Perhaps you can give these people a chance,” Nuala reasoned.
“No,” Nuada said sharply. “The Golden Army is the only way.” He had already sacrificed too much to give up now, killed his own father, lost his good friend, Mr. Wink.
Upon hearing the conviction in her brother’s voice, she knew that her words could not sway him without any other options, Nuala quickly pressed the emergency button.
…
You were laying on your bed, warm and relaxed, your eyelids heavy and your body drained. You hazily dreamt about giant magnificent creatures and exploring the wonders within the troll market. Red had mentioned how incredible it was, how every creature, no matter how strange, walked freely without stares or causing a commotion.
Ever since you were little, you found yourself longing for a place that encapsulated the best of both worlds, a place that balanced the ordinary and the fantastical. It was an intangible dream that slipped through your fingers like dust or smoke.
Suddenly alarms began to blare and red lights above flashed. You sprang up and scrambled out of bed, almost tripping on your silk robe as you ran towards the door.
But you stopped midstep, taking a second to think things through. Swiftly turning back around you opted to use the exit that led straight to the library.
You ran down the narrow spiral staircase, taking two steps at a time, hoping you wouldn’t be too late.
Everything seemed to stop when you stumbled down the steps past Abe’s tank and saw the scene unfold before you, a white haired man with a silver spear was preparing to strike while Red was distracted.
You acted without thinking, grabbing the man from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist tightly as you tried with all your might to hold him back. All you knew was that you had to stop this man from killing your brother.
Your fingers curled over his chest and you planted your feet firmly on the floor, you acted as an anchor using all your weight against him.
Vines sprouted from your hands, they twisted around his arms curling around his fingers right before the spear could plunge into Red’s chest.
Nuada’s eyes went wide, he couldn’t budge. He felt the warmth of your person pressed against him. Looking down at your hands on his chest and waist, his eyes followed the vines. He could barely wiggle his pinky finger within the fabricated restraints.
As he recovered from his stupor, he found himself amused by such a brazen tactic. He could feel your heart pounding in your chest and your breath tickling his neck.
It was a desperate move but effective.The prince suspected that you could keep him bound like this with ease if you chose.
Abe quickly tended to the Princess. While Red rose to his feet and dusted himself off. Confidently he approached Nuada, his glare was full of fury while his stone hand curled into a tight fist by his side.
The men didn’t exchange a single word as they stared at each other. Eventually, Red turned his attention to you. “You did good, Green.”
…
With his arms now bound behind his back, Nuada sat silently in an interrogation room. His face was expressionless like a stone statue. Even with his current status as a prisoner, there was an air of superiority.
He stared at you coolly from across the table. His yellow eyes had already analyzed his surroundings and now were focused on you.
You were different from the Red one, far less aggressive with calm eyes and a peaceful presence. He doubted the demon would have sat in silence as patiently as you had.
“I get it, you know,” you started quietly. “That’s what makes this whole situation so complicated, because your motivations make sense, they’re relatable wanting to protect your people, your way of life.”
Nuada curled his lips in disdain, he didn’t want your sympathies, pity, or your ‘understanding.’
“We aren’t blind to the blight you and your people face,” you pointed out. “All fae folk deserve better. If only we-“
“How would you know?” He seethed, interrupting you. “Your world isn’t the one that’s vanishing!”
You shook your head, “Like my brother, I’m caught between worlds, while I’ve come to love humanity for what it is, my true home is in nature… and with that I’ve had to bear witness to mankind’s abuse to the natural world-”
You closed your eyes, anger from years past resurfacing. You had dealt with your own internal struggle, hoping to find a balance between the man made world and the natural world.
“If I could I would change the hearts of man, make them all see what’s truly important, what’s really at stake here.”
Nuada narrowed his eyes. “So…” he drawled, putting the pieces together. “You’re the one that spared the forest god.”
“And you’re the one that sent it to die for your cause,” you retorted, more heatedly than you intended.
He looked guilty for an instant, eyes downcasted, “My people, our way of life, this is the only way I can save them… the truce between mankind and elves has only brought us loss.”
“If I’ve learned anything,” you sighed. “It’s that you can’t blame humans for their nature, not when you have lived for thousands of years, while a human life is so quick and fleeting,” you explained. “With such little time, it makes sense that they’d act with the greed and selfishness of a child. Even in old age they are practically children.”
“You speak as though you are not human,” Nuada noted.
You glanced at your hands, anyone who simply looked at you would assume that you were human just like them, but you weren’t and unfortunately you didn’t have any answers as to what you were or how you came to be.
“I don’t know what I am,” you said without divulging any additional information.
You leaned forward on the table. “Give us a chance to help, to find another way, no more lives lost… no more races or species extinguished.”
He sighed, his shoulders slumping, not in defeat but in exhaustion. All he wanted was to save his people, and somehow that goal became twisted and sour.
“What do you propose?” He asked, sounding broken. “My people have given up, the Golden Army was the single source of hope that I had clung to… I see no other way.”
“We change the truce,” you suggested. “We create a way for both species- for all species to thrive.”
Nuada’s eyes flickered to yours, still not convinced, “You make it sound so simple.”
…
“Prince Nuada has made it clear,” Manning shared exasperatedly. “He won’t work with anyone else but you.”
You could feel the blame and judgment radiating from Manning, he didn’t like this deal and neither did his superiors, but the prince’s threat of the Golden Army was still very real. Rocking the boat, especially after your ‘negotiations’ would surely lead to war.
Manning leaned back in his chair, “We could use this to our advantage,” he considered. “You can gain his trust… and simply take the crown pieces when he least expects it.”
You immediately rose to your feet. “Ugh, I can’t believe you people sometimes, always looking for an easy way out, instead of doing what is actually right,” you spat. “Maybe the prince has a point…”
“Oh come on now agent-”
“I’m not an agent,” you reminded him, eyes narrowed. “I don’t follow your orders or your commands. I’m going to do what’s right.”
You stared daggers at the man, not hiding your hostility towards him, “They had the opportunity to eliminate humanity a millennia ago, instead of proving them right, maybe we should focus on proving them wrong… the truce needs to change.”
“I agree with Ms. Y/n,” Dr. Kraus said. “I’ll contact my superiors at Interpol. We should all work together on this.”
You excused yourself from the meeting, feeling frustrated and angry despite Dr. Kraus’s support. No wonder Nuada had no hope, that the only solution he could see was eradicating all of humanity.
Even you had to remind yourself that not every single person was like Manning. Somehow, someway, you wanted to bring all magical beings out of the shadows, give them a place where they could exist, where they could strive.
You threw open the doors to the library, ready to share all your grievances with Abe but unfortunately he wasn’t inside. Instead you found Red.
“Hey,” he started slightly startled by your abrupt entrance.
“Hey,” you muttered back, your fists still tightly clenched by your side.
“So, it looks like the meeting went well,” he joked, noting your tense body language. He knew it took a lot to make you this mad, but once you were, it was like setting off a bomb.
You rolled your eyes and began pacing the room. “I can’t believe those idiots are in charge!”
He nodded, all too familiar with it. He missed the days when father was around to handle all the administrative crap.
“They’re all absolute imbeciles, literally the worst!” You continued to rant. “I hate all the red tape and bureaucratic bullshit… Can you believe that Manning suggested I try to steal the crown pieces? After all this? I manage to find a peaceful solution and he’d rather I betray the elves because it’s easier… the selfish bastard! I’m so glad I left!”
You stopped in your tracks and sighed, recalling how Red and Abe were practically stuck here, trapped into being part of the BPRD. “I’m sorry Red, I’m so sorry for leaving you and Abe here to deal with this alone.”
He shrugged, “y’know I’ve given it some thought and I figured if given the chance, if I could blend in like you, I’d probably would’ve left a long time ago.”
“Still,” you added, taking a seat next to him. “I wish things were different.”
For a while you and Red sat, sharing stories and memories of the good old days before drifting into a comfortable silence. Eventually, you retired to your room. Unsure what to expect over the next few weeks or months or however long this ‘mission’ took.
First things first, you’ll be accompanying Nuada back to his clan’s palace. Maybe you should start packing a bag, you wondered. It was strange, you had just arrived and now you were leaving again, at least Red wasn’t pissed at you this time. In fact, he had already agreed to keep watering your plants.
You stood there admiring your plant babies, thinking back to how you acquired most of them. Professor Broom would come home from some mission with a pleased look on his face as he gifted you a single seed from wherever he had been. Every time you were so eager to see what would grow, you loved them all as much as you loved your father.
A knock at your door snapped you out of your thoughts.
“Princess Nuala?” You asked, surprised to see her at your door. You stepped aside, allowing her into your room.
Her eyes lit up as she saw all the green. “Incredible,” she whispered, her fingers brushing over the delicate petals of a gardenia.
“Thank you,” you murmured, watching as she took in your little version of paradise.
“I heard that my brother has agreed to work with you,” she shared, redirecting her attention from all your plants to you.
“For now, at least,” you sighed, still feeling overwhelmed. “I’m pushing for the terms of the truce to be upheld as well as updated,” you added. “Magical beings need more, deserve more…”
Nuala smiled, “An ambitious plan, but I’m sure you’ll find support from our people.”
“I hope so. We’ll need all fae folk to be willing to give this a try.” Although in truth, what concerned you the most was making sure the officials of the BPRD held up their end of the deal.
“I believe you’re quite capable of accomplishing this. Abraham speaks highly of you,” she said.
“He’s a good brother that’s why,” you chuckled. “He has a lot more faith in me than I do.”
“The three of you are quite close,” Nuala noted.
You nodded, “We’ve always been there for each other, without them, without our adoptive father, we’d each be all alone.”
Nuala’s eyes returned to your exceptional garden. It reminded her of how the world used to be, back when her people lived in the forests and the wilds.
“Here, I want you to have this,” she said, holding out her piece of the crown.
Your eyes widened and you shook your head, “I can’t.”
Nuala held the piece out closer to you. “You were the one who convinced my brother to choose another path, you spared the life of an ancient being,” she explained. “I believe you’ve earned it.”
“I don’t feel right accepting it,” you muttered, eyeing the piece of gold in her hand.
“All the more reason for it to be in your care,” she countered.
Finally, you relented and accepted the crown piece, tucking it into your pocket until you could find a safer place for it. One thing was for sure, you wouldn’t be letting Manning know about this exchange.
“Will you be coming with us?” You asked the Princess.
She shook her head, “I’ll be staying here for now. Especially considering that your people still believe that I have the last crown piece.”
She gave you a knowing look, showing that she already understood that people like Manning couldn’t be trusted. “With me here, they’ll feel more… in control, I believe if I were to leave they’d assume I’d eventually betray them and help my brother awaken the Golden Army.”
…
Arriving at the palace it was nothing like what you pictured in your mind. You expected bright halls and lush gardens, but instead it was dark, gloomy, lifeless. You could practically feel the oppression outside these walls pushing in, the constant threat of humans looming over them.
Nuada didn’t exactly look happy to be back, his facial expression was rigid and tight. However, the feeling seemed mutual. The elves who were present for his homecoming didn’t receive him with open arms, in fact there was a wariness in the air as they kept their distance from the prince.
You could feel their cautious stares fall upon you as you stepped forward to introduce yourself. The silence was unnerving, you could hear your heart beating anxiously in your ears.
You exhaled slowly, trying your best to relax. “Hello, I’m y/n, I’m with the BPRD and we’re hoping to work with you and other fae folk in an effort to uphold the truce.”
Nuada sighed, then quickly spoke up, reiterating what you said in elvish or at least you hoped that’s what he did.
You mustered up your best smile and the rest of your confidence and continued to explain the plan, going into how you wanted to improve the life for all magical beings. You watched as their expressions changed, from anxious to curious. A few elves worked up the nerve to speak to Nuada, probably asking him questions about what transpired and if you could be trusted.
Your gaze moved upwards, watching discolored leaves fall. “What’s wrong with the leaves?” You asked yourself, but Nuada overheard you.
“The tree is dying,” he answered simply.
“Can I see it?”
Nuada hesitated, closing his eyes for a moment, before nodding. He gestured for you to follow him.
He walked at a fast pace making it difficult to keep up. As you struggled to follow him, the rest of the palace passed as a blur. Suddenly, he came to a halt at the entrance of a rather barren courtyard. Looking at what remained, you could tell it had once been a lush garden, full of wildflowers, ferns, and shrubs.
Despite Nuada being difficult to read, he seemed bothered by the state of the garden. His gaze was hard as he tried to look past the dead land as if he didn’t want to acknowledge just how bad it had gotten.
In the center was a magnificent old tree with a thick and tall trunk and sprawling branches. However, even from a distance, you could see the tree was sick, the bark was discolored and flaking. Some of the branches were brittle and dry. Just looking at it made your own bones ache.
“May I?” You asked quietly.
Nuada shrugged, approaching the tree with you.
One of the elves suddenly spoke up, sounding rather peeved that Nuada brought you here, but the prince was quick to put the elf back in his place, with a sharp and direct order.
You could sense the web of roots under your feet, they were desperately trying to keep the tree alive. You circled the wide tree trunk, dead leaves crunching with each step you took.
Rolling up your sleeves, thin green spirals appeared on your arms as the light moved towards your hands, making them glow. You pressed your palms to the trunk of the tree. Instantly, you felt what you could only describe as a thirst. Your powers felt like a cool spring as your energy bled into the tree.
After several silent moments, you lifted your hands from the tree.
Long thin branches grew and cascaded down like curtains, shielding you and Nuada within. You watched in awe as small green leaves fluttered down like rain underneath the canopy. The entire courtyard was revived, new grass and plants filled the once barren ground. Clusters of wild flowers bloomed around your feet and climbed up the trunk of the tree.
While you were distracted by the surrounding beauty, Nuada continued to watch you, his stare focused and determined. Quiet, with a hunter-like pace, he crept closer towards you.
He didn’t understand it, he didn’t understand you. It was like beholding a miracle.
You blinked in surprise when you realized how close Nuada was. His expression was unreadable as he observed your face, his own merely inches away from yours.
Your eyes widened as his hand rose towards your face. You gasped when his fingers lightly touched your hair, retrieving a single leaf that had landed on the crown of your head.
He held your gaze for a moment, his mouth opening slightly only to snap shut.
“Prince Nuada,” you said softly, somehow finding your voice. The leaf fell from his fingers landing gently on the grass.
But the moment was broken as the murmurs of the other elves grew closer, they spoke to one another in awe, examining your work closely.
Immediately, Nuada backed away.
A few elves that spoke English, eagerly engaged you in conversation. They were all obviously delighted with what you had done, it was as if you had revived their spirits along with that old tree.
Nuada followed behind as a group showed you around the rest of the palace. They discussed preparing a big feast for later in the evening to celebrate your arrival and the new parameters of the truce.
…
Lilting music filled the dining room as trays of food were brought out. Your eyes widened over all the options, each dish was executed artistically, looking more like artwork than food.
Nuada leaned towards you, filling your glass almost to the brim with a deep red wine. Then stood up and raised his own glass. All eyes were on him as he made a simple toast to new beginnings.
You noted a subtle change in his mood from when you first arrived. He was more relaxed now, conversing casually with his subjects as he ate. He was also unexpectedly attentive towards you, checking if you were alright, translating for you mid conversation when needed, and telling you about elven culture.
You suspected that he missed this, missed being a prince during his exile. It wasn’t that the hardened warrior side of him had vanished, instead another side of him had emerged. This side of him was charming, social, an ambassador capable of persuading even the most stubborn leaders.
It was quite refreshing to get this opportunity to laugh and speak with him and not worry about all the pressures you had been feeling all day.
After dinner, everyone began filing out, one of the servants stayed behind and offered to show you to your quarters, but Nuada dismissed them.
He led you out and towards one of the wings of the palace and up a grand staircase. “You did well today,” he commented as you walked a step behind him.
“Thank you.”
“In a few days we will be hosting officials representing the goblins and trolls in order to inform them of these changes.”
You nodded.
“Until then the palace is available to you, think of it as your home, free to explore and entertain yourself, I recommend visiting the library and the gardens.” He stopped outside of a room, opening the door and stepping aside to let you in.
Standing on opposite sides of the doorway, Nuada looked at you for a moment before adding, “Should you need anything feel free to ask, as your host, it’s the least I can do.”
You grinned at the formality of his words and the change in his behavior compared to your first encounter.
He lifted his brow, giving you a questioning look in return. “What?”
“Sorry,” you smiled wider. “Just didn’t think I’d get the opportunity to see you be so… accommodating.”
He rolled his eyes and turned away. “Goodnight,” he said while heading further down the hall to his own room.
…
You paced around the library, occasionally selecting a tome and perusing its contents before returning it. You were in desperate need of a distraction from how anxious you were feeling, but nothing seemed to work.
All morning the only thing you could think about was the meeting taking place later today. There was a lot of pressure to make all this work, pressures from the BPRD as well as hopeful expectations of the elves.
It was up to you to get the trolls and goblins on board with this plan. Despite how much faith people seemed to have in you, you never saw yourself cut out for all this diplomacy. Fortunately, Nuada would be there, he seemed to have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, and you were grateful for it.
“Lady y/n,” a servant called, snapping you out of your thoughts.
“Yes?”
“It’s almost time for the summit,” she explained. “You should get dressed.”
“Oh, of course,” you nodded.
As you returned to your room, you found a sage green dress waiting for you on the bed. The dress had a similar shape and design to the ones Nuala wore with a lovely band of gold along the waist. Lifting it up, you noted the weight of it.
“How many layers does this dress have?” You wondered out loud, unsure how you were going to get it all on.
You did your best, struggling more than you’d like to admit, as you changed into the dress. You recalled all those movies that showed aristocratic women getting dressed and how they always had a servant around them to help, it made a lot more sense now.
You exited the dressing room and examined yourself in the mirror, fixing a few areas around the collar to show off the fine embroidery and checking your hair.
Nuada stood a few feet away from the doorway, taking a moment to admire you without you noticing. He was satisfied to see the color he picked suited you so well, and that the style of the dress .
Finally, he rapped his knuckles against the door alerting you of his presence.
You tilted your head blinking curiously when you noticed what he was wearing, it was a small change, but instead of his usual black and red ensemble, it was black and green, the same shade of green as your dress.
“It’s time to go,” he announced. “Our guests aren’t known for their patience.”
“Oh right,” you nodded, quickly following him out.
Nuada led the way, his hands clasped behind his back as you walked a few steps behind him. Without being asked, he slowed his pace, matching it to yours, his pace going from a brisk march to a casual stroll just for you.
“Any tips?” You asked him as you both stopped outside the thick oak doors.
He smirked, his eyes lighting up playfully compared to their usual seriousness, “Afraid they’ll be immune to your charms?”
“Charms?” You questioned, blinking. “I don’t believe my ‘charms’ have ever worked in my favor.”
“They were certainly effective on my people,” Nuada elaborated.
You laughed, “You’re confusing charm with skill, I believe I impressed them with my powers.”
Nuada shook his head, “It’s more than that, it’s the way you speak and act… you’re…” he paused, mulling over his next words carefully. “Endearing, genuine.”
You looked surprised at the compliment, “I didn’t know they felt that way.”
“That surprises you? Even after you won m-“ Nuada stopped himself from finishing that statement.
He cleared his throat, “Goblins like precious metals and gems, intricate devices and designs, and of course flattery. Trolls are not as bright as other creatures, they prefer honest loyal people who are clear with their intentions. Speak too fast or too complex, they’ll immediately distrust you.”
“Flattery and honesty, I can do that. Thank you,” You nodded, letting it all sink in as the doors slowly opened revealing the large throne room.
Nuada chuckled, “Are you sure you’re not royalty?” The prince smoothed his hands over his attire and pushed his shoulders back. The stern expression that you were most familiar with returning to his face.
“My friends,” Nuada greeted. “I am pleased to see you all here in good health.”
Trolls occupied one side of the room, while the goblins sat at the other, yet all eyes fell on you as you emerged, standing at the prince's side. The high ceilings looked small compared to the giant mountain trolls that managed to cram themselves into the back of the room.
“Allow me to introduce our guest, representing humanity as their ambassador, Lady y/n.”
Unsure what the proper etiquette was for a situation like this one was, you nervously bowed as Prince Nuada finished introducing you.
You followed Nuada as he made his rounds, personally introducing you to important goblin and troll figures. He tried his best to conceal his amusement as he watched you quickly put his advice to work, easily charming various goblins and trolls with a smile and a few simple words.
“She’s not as human as I expected.” Nuada overheard one of the goblins share with his comrade. His smile grew at the comment, glad he had trusted you so far and that the others were beginning to recognize that you were something special.
Gently taking hold of your upper arm, Nuada guided you back to the front of the room. As you crept up the steps, a hush fell over the room. All in attendance were eager to hear what you had to say.
Nuada stood behind you, his hands clasped behind his back allowing you to address the whole group.
You explained the changes that had been made to the truce, specifically the part that specified that each magical species would be granted land that suited their needs. You added that the mountain region that had been granted would need to be shared or divided amongst the goblins and trolls.
There were some murmurs amongst them, but it didn’t sound as though they were completely against the idea.
Nuada stepped in from there, answering questions and directing the two groups on what to do next. It was obvious to you that this man was meant to be a leader, it seemed to come to him so easily.
“This could actually work,” he murmured thoughtfully, chin resting in his hand as he watched the trolls and goblins discuss the terms of sharing a territory and rather peacefully in fact.
You smiled and nodded, “it will work.”
…
Over the next few weeks, you traveled to several hidden fae cities and communities with Nuada. Similar to the Troll Market, all sorts of beings congregated in secret, hidden from humanity. You were amazed by the ingenuity of the fae folk and how they managed to find a way to endure, although you knew full well that this situation wasn’t ideal.
Nuada actually seemed excited to bring you along, getting to show you all these unique places that existed right under the noses of humans. And despite his somber appearance, he also seemed to be in high spirits over the plan, over the restoration of the palace, and the allegiances being formed.
To your surprise, you had actually enjoyed these past few weeks with him. He demonstrated that he was more than a warrior, that he was also an intellectual who had interests in engineering and art, and that underneath it all was a man that simply cared for those he viewed as his people, elves and other creatures.
You had worried that working with him was going to be difficult to say the least, that you would have to listen to long lectures about everything wrong with humanity. Instead, he had focused his efforts to unite the fae and become a true leader for his people. He often spoke of the past with a longing in his eyes, one that tugged on your heart strings. You had a similar longing, one where there was harmony between nature and people and now also magic folk.
Browsing through one of the troll markets, you paused when you smelled something delicious, the aroma of vanilla and nutmeg wafting in the air around you.
Nuada chuckled as he observed you. Without asking, he took your hand and led you to a food stall nearby. He spoke briefly to the vendor and handed something in exchange for the pastry that Nuada was now handing to you.
“Thank you,” you beamed. You inhaled deeply before taking a large bite. You hummed in appreciation, the bun was so soft and warm and was filled with something similar to custard.
While focused more on eating than walking, you accidentally knocked into a troll.
The troll growled something in a language you didn’t understand, but you could tell from his tone that it wasn’t anything nice.
Immediately, Nuada lashed out, coming to your defense. He started shouting back at the creature, his voice dripping with venom and his eyes full of rage.
The troll roared, thumping on his chest, looking rather eager to fight.
Clutching Nuada’s arm, you attempted to hold him back, having never seen him this angry before. He reached for his lance, gripping the hilt tightly.
At the sight of the silver spear, the troll seemed to come to his senses, finally backing away, but Nuada didn’t care, all he saw was red.
“Nuada,” you murmured softly, tugging at his arm, hoping to de-escalate the situation. “Come on, don’t let this ruin our day.”
“But-“ Nuada sighed, his rage subsiding as he looked at your face. “Fine,” he relented. “However, next time anyone speaks to you that way, I’m beheading them.”
…
Returning to the palace almost felt like returning home. This time around, the reception of your arrival was warm and welcoming as many of the elves gathered for your and Nuada’s return.
After another large feast, the prince quietly slipped away while everyone else mingled. You tilted your head, watching as he snuck out through the wooden double doors. Excusing yourself from the table, you followed him.
“Nuada,” you reached out, taking a hold of his arm. Successfully stopping him in the hall.
“Hm?” He turned to face you.
“Here,” you slipped the third crown piece into his hand.
He couldn’t hide his utter confusion as he felt the cold metal in his palm, “This is…”
“The final crown piece,” you answered.
“Why?” He asked, his eyes boring into yours.
“I don’t want you or your people to be out of options if this falls through, I trust you,” you said simply. “And I trust you’ll do what’s right… Wish I could say the same for humans.”
Nuada stared at the gold piece in his hand, rubbing his thumb the length of it as he processed your words. He now had all three pieces and could claim the Golden Army.
But…
He lifted his head, his gaze falling upon you, you had provided him with a better solution, one that he was willing to try, to work towards. He’d keep his word, he wouldn’t awaken the army as long as there was hope for his people.
“Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice, that still conveyed his gratitude. “But it should remain with you.”
As he returned the crown piece to you, his touch lingered on your hand for longer than necessary before he said good night.
…
The next morning, sometime after breakfast, Nuada came to your room, seemingly in a hurry.
“I’d like you to accompany me somewhere,” he said vaguely.
You lifted your brow, “Um…Sure?”
“I cannot believe I had forgotten about this until now,” Nuada shared with a lighthearted tone as he took you by the hand and led you down several familiar halls.
“The library?” You questioned as you and him stopped in front of the large doors.
He shook his head, pulling you further into the large room. Nuada led you to a door towards the back that easily could be missed, in fact, despite all the time you had spent in here, you had never noticed it before.
His smile grew as he opened it, inside the walls of the small room were lined with tall cabinets that had rows and rows of tiny drawers. On each drawer were words carved into the wood in elvish. Nuada gestured for you to open one.
Sliding the small drawer open, you peeked inside to find a jar filled with seeds. “A seed library…” you murmured, eyes filled with wonderment as you realized the hundreds, no thousands of plants held in this small room.
Nuada nodded, “Most of these were collected long ago, some of these plants no longer exist.”
“This is amazing,” you started as it all sunk in. “Could I try to plant some? Perhaps I could nurture some of these back into existence.”
Nuada smiled, it was a smile you hadn’t seen before, one filled with youthful excitement, “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“So which ones are flowers?” You asked, eager to get started.
Nuada helped you select a few, explaining that these flowers had the most wonderous scent, that sometimes if he tried hard enough he could recall just how lovely they smelled.
Sitting side by side in a courtyard, you and him prepared a flowerbed, breaking up the soil, making sure it was soft and moist. You rolled a seed between your fingers, your arms glowing, but nothing happened.
“Keep trying,” he encouraged when he saw the look of disappointment on your face.
Taking a deep breath, you tried again, “Can you describe it for me, what this flower looks like? That might help.”
“They’re simple but elegant, like gardenias but larger and smell just as lovely and their leaves are a dark green and appear waxy.”
You could almost picture the flower in your mind’s eye, see it sprout and grow and blossom. Looking down into your hand, you laughed seeing that the little seedling had finally sprouted. Delicately, you planted it in the fresh soil.
“You must think poorly of me,” Nuada stated unprompted. “You must see me as a man who seeks violent solutions, solutions where I willingly sacrifice my people and allies needlessly for my own goals.”
You shook your head, “I can tell none of this has been easy for you, I know that it all weighs heavily on your conscious.”
“Still,” he sighed. “I’m not like you, I hadn’t considered any other option, I hadn’t considered that peace could still be possible. You are… admirable to say the least.”
“You’re mistaken,” you whispered, eyes staring at your hands as they padded the soil. “I may be the worst of them all…”
Nuada tilted his head, you obviously had his attention.
“Before Professor Broom,” you began, your mind drifting to your childhood. “I don’t remember much, but I do remember living in a forest, alone, I was practically feral… unfortunately, I didn’t stay hidden away forever, eventually unlucky travelers and hikers stumbled across my path and all my encounters with them ended the same, who knows how many I killed.”
The memories were foggy, but you could still picture roots wrapping themselves around strangers and coiling tighter and tighter until blood ran.
“I don’t know what was different about father when he found me, but I didn’t kill him. He patiently camped in the woods, keeping his distance from me, but stayed close enough that we could observe each other. I remember him being such a gentle soul…”
You recalled watching him from the outskirts of his camp, he started leaving little treats and trinkets for you in the same spot for you daily. Apparently, he used his experience as Hellboy’s father to help him make a connection with you.
“I have a penance to pay, to both humanity and nature.”
Nuada placed his hand over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze, “I think it’s been paid.”
…
“So,” Red started. “Once you're done with this whole truce crap, what are your plans?”
Nuada opened his mouth to answer the question, but quickly closed it as he realized he actually didn’t know the answer. He assumed that you would be staying with him, living in the palace like you have been, but in all honesty, he had no idea what your plans were, it’s not like he asked or spoke to you about it.
He felt an unpleasant heaviness within him as he acknowledged the possibility of you leaving, moving on to a new and different place to help others.
“I haven’t really thought about it,” you said, working on some needlepoint for the twins’ nursery. “I’ve been so focused on helping the fae, that I haven’t had the time to really think about what’s next.”
You and the prince were currently visiting, mostly to update the BPRD on your progress, but also to spend some time with your family and check in on how everyone was doing. Abe and Nuala appeared all lovey dovey and Liz had shared with you all her crazy pregnancy cravings.
“Well, there’s always room for you here,” Liz offered, absentmindedly rubbing her pregnant belly.
“Thanks, although I’m not sure Manning feels the same way,” you laughed.
“You’re not any worse than Red and they still put up with all his crap.”
“Hey,” he scolded playfully, glaring at Liz. “The BPRD would cease to exist without me.”
Nuada tuned out the rest of the conversation as he contemplated what to do. The thought of you far off somewhere without him stung more than it should. What if something happened to you? What if he never saw you again?
Suddenly you yelped, having accidentally stabbed your index finger with the needle, Nuada’s eyes narrowed as he watched you, he could practically feel the sting of it on his own fingertip. Looking down at his pale hand, he saw a little droplet of blood.
His stomach lurched at the realization. Without a word he withdrew from the group and went out into the hall. On the outside to any of the agents he passed he looked as calm and collected as ever, but inside he was a dam on the verge of breaking due to this latest revelation.
“Have you told her?” Nuala inquired behind him.
Nuada shouldn’t have been surprised that she had followed him, but he didn’t answer her question, he just huffed and turned away.
“Brother,” she urged.
“Have you told the blue one?” He sneered.
“I have.”
He rubbed his forehead, love was a serious matter, especially in their case, it wasn’t something that should ever be taken lightly, because for him it wasn’t something fleeting or lighthearted, it was deep and all consuming.
But when did it get to this point? When did his infatuation become love?
“She has a right to know.”
He began to pace slowly, his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s not that simple,” he argued.
“All the more reason for her to know. We had our suspicions that this could happen,” she reasoned. “That our bond, our ability to feel each other’s pain, could transfer once we each found love.”
His jaw tensed at the word ‘love’, knowing it would only become stronger, that soon you’d experience his every ache and pain and that he’d feel all of yours.
“Human love isn’t as complicated as this,” Nuada stated, glaring at his twin. “What if she doesn’t understand? What if she doesn’t want it and rejects me? What do I do then?”
His mind was already racing with worse case scenarios. The splitting pain he felt over the mere thought of you not loving him had him worried. There was no way for him to stop this, he had no control over it, you and him were now bound to each other, but that didn’t mean you had to remain at his side or even return his love.
“I can see that she cares for you, brother,” Nuala soothed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Tell her.”
…
It was nice being back at the palace, while seeing your family was great, something about being there made you appreciate the peace and quiet cultivated here. Life was simpler, calmer, amongst the elves.
Nuada, however, hadn’t been the same since returning. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but he was distant, colder. It reminded you of how he had behaved when you and him first met. It’s not as if he was actively avoiding you, but the rapport that you two had developed had seemed to vanish.
As you were walking through the halls, planning to visit the seed library, but halted midstep when you spotted Nuada training in the gardens… in the rain.
You watched mesmerized from the outskirts of the courtyard. Drops of water rolled down his back drawing your attention to the way his muscles moved and flexed. Graceful didn’t even begin to cover the sight before you.
Despite having already seen him in action, you were still impressed by the fluidity and speed of his movements. He transformed something as violent as fighting into something captivating and beautiful like an intricate dance.
Wet strands of hair clung to the front of his face as he spun with a final flourish. He stabbed his spear into the soft wet dirt, his chest quickly rising and falling while he caught his breath.
Nuada raked a hand through his hair, slicking it back as he lifted his head. He gave you a questioning look when he spotted you on the other side of the courtyard. His lips slowly parted, but before he could speak you scurried away full of embarrassment.
You tried to regain some of your composure as you sped walked through the halls, not really paying attention anymore to where you headed. Abruptly, you halted when you noticed that you were walking towards a dead end, but before you could turn around you heard Nuada say your name.
You could hear him approach, stopping once he was right behind you. Your heart sped up as Nuada possessively placed his hand over the center of your chest, his warm fingertips pressed down into your soft flesh as he pulled your back to rest against his wet chest.
Under his palm he could feel your heart beating in sync with his own. His other arm wrapped around your waist holding you firmly in place.
“This,” Nuada began, his voice low and velvety right by your ear. “This was how you grabbed me that night, do you remember?”
“Yes,” you whispered.
Closing his eyes, he sighed wistfully, his breath tickling your flushed face. “Your touch lingered for days and it was all I could think about,” He admitted, his arms winding tighter around you. “I couldn’t recall the last time someone had held me or touched me like that, with such…passion.”
His hand crept a little higher from your chest, gliding over your collarbone before his palm rested on your neck. You released a shaky breath, your head spinning from his touch and the low tone of his voice. You were barely even able to register the words he spoke, completely confused by his intentions.
Nuada exhaled heavily, “I suppose that’s when it started, my infatuation for you.”
“What?” You squeaked.
His index finger traced down the center of your throat as he lowered his hand and loosened his grip on you. “There’s an important matter we need to discuss.”
He started heading towards his room and beckoned for you to follow.
“What is it?” You asked.
He shut the door and stood in front of you with his hands behind his back. “I’ve come to care for you,” he confessed, his expression stern as if he had given you a life sentence.
“I care about you too,” you said in a soft tone.
Nuada shook his head and frowned, frustrated with himself for not being clear and not being more eloquent about it. “It’s more than that… I’m in love with you and there are circumstances that you need to be aware of.”
“Circumstances? Sounds… serious.”
His heart sank at your hesitant expression, but he continued to press on. “You are aware of my bond with my sister, yes?”
You nodded, “if either of you gets hurt, so does the other.”
“Well, I’m no longer bound to her, I’m bound to you.” His eyes studied your face as he spoke, watching your brow furrow as you pieced together what he said.
“How?”
“Because you have become that important to me,” he answered with absolute certainty.
You looked up at him, slowly closing the space between the two of you. Your fingers lightly brushed over his skin as you tucked several loose strands of his white hair behind his ear.
His hand promptly took hold of your wrist, his expression torn as if he couldn’t decide between stopping you or encouraging you.
“You need to understand,” he started, his grip tightening. “That there will be no turning back, I will never let you go.”
You were aware of Nuada’s intentions, he wanted this to be absolutely clear for you, for you to know just how consequential it was for you to start a relationship with him, even if it meant scaring you off. But, surprisingly you weren’t afraid or intimidated by the thought of being with him for the rest of your life.
Through your observations, starting from the very beginning, you had seen how lonely he was. How he was trying to repair things basically on his own. He kept everyone at a distance while he shouldered a burden alone until very recently.
In your eyes, Nuada was more than a warrior or a prince, you saw all of him… he was complex and intriguing and passionate. You wanted to be the person he shared those parts of himself with, and most of all you didn’t want him to be alone again.
“I want this,” you promised. “I want you.”
His other hand held your chin, his thumb brushing over your trembling lip as he tilted your head up. He leaned in, eyes boring into yours. “Mine forever.”
Nuada didn’t waste another second, capturing your lips with his and eagerly pushing you against the wall, his tongue swept over your bottom lip before finding its way into your mouth.
Your fingers clutched the back of his head, curling around his wet hair as you reciprocated the kiss with just as much passion. Your other hand ran down his chest, his heart racing under your touch.
His fingers hooked behind one of knees, yanking your leg upward, instinctively you wrapped it around his waist allowing him to be even closer to you, his pelvic bone now grinding against you. He pushed your skirts up so his hands could roam over your thighs while his mouth latched onto your neck.
Nuada, under typical circumstances, would be more intentional about where he left marks but right now he couldn’t care less as little pink and red marks bloomed on yours and his skin.
You had never felt this sort of urgency before, it was as if he’d die if he had to wait any longer before being with you.
In a hurried and rough manner, he undid the sash of your dress then began to tear away all the layers in his way. He moaned obscenely, feeling your bare torso pressed against his own. His lips explored the newly exposed flesh, nipping and sucking.
Even he was surprised by how desperate and animalistic he was acting, unaware of just how much his body craved your touch and your skin on his, he was practically ravenous.
You could hear him panting heavily by your ear as he undid his pants. He pushed your underwear to the side, exposing your slit. Fortunately, you were already aroused because Nuada couldn’t wait any longer.
Taking his cock in his hand for just a moment, he aligned it with your tight warm cunt. In a fluid motion, he thrusted into you completely, pausing briefly as he savored the feeling of being buried in your velvety walls.
You gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck for support as he began thrusting. His pace immediately starting out fast and hard.
Nuada’s cock was long, reaching depths no previous lover ever had. Your nails raked across his pale skin as you cling to him, yet this caused you to hiss as you also felt the sting of it.
“You are,” he panted, “enchanting, wondrous, divine…”
He sloppily kissed along your shoulder, loving every little sound you made as he fucked you. He wondered if he’d regret not taking his time with you, for being so rough with his flower, but he didn’t feel any pain, just waves and waves of pleasure.
There would be time, plenty of time, where he could make up for it, where he would be a gentle, more tender lover, who will kiss and touch every inch of you.
It didn’t take much longer before you came. You moaned his name, muscles now tightening and your toes curling.
Nuada immediately followed, grunting as he rode out his orgasm and came inside of you.
Propping himself up against the wall with his arms, he caught his breath. Leaning his head down he kissed your forehead then along the side of your face. Acting with more self control, he cupped your face, gazing lovingly into your eyes, “I am yours.”
The following morning, things progressed a lot more slowly with your new lover.
Nuada groaned as you straddled him, his back arching off the bed as you slowly took his cock. Casually he fucked you from below, rolling his hips at a leisurely pace as you rode him.
He admired you, taking in all the pink and purple splotches left from the night’s activities, but also appreciating how lovely you looked in the light of the morning.
…
“Have you packed?” You asked Nuada as he entered the bedroom. You were currently packing your own bag, excited to take a small trip back home.
A couple of days ago, you received a message letting you know that Liz delivered two healthy babies. It had been a couple of months since your last visit, so you were already due for another, but this news made it even more necessary to go.
Nuada nodded, placing his hands on your waist. “Do you need help?”
You shook your head, “No, I think I have almost everything I need.”
Nuada kissed you, right under your earlobe. “Are you looking forward to seeing everyone?”
“Of course I am… I can’t wait to meet my little niece and nephew!” You gushed. “What about you?”
“It will be nice to catch up with my sister, see how she’s adjusting to living with the blue one.”
“He has a name, you know?”
Nuada chuckled, but didn’t bother correcting himself.
“What do you think I should have the babies call me? I was thinking of Auntie Green.”
“That is… suitable I suppose.”
Suddenly you grinned as a thought crossed your mind, “This means you’re also an uncle now, because of our lifelong magical love bond.”
He shook his head, trying to hide his smile over your name for the bond. Taking a few steps back, he moved aside as you finished zipping up your bag. Without thinking, Nuada lifted it up from the bed, ready to carry it to your destination for you.
“Uncle Nuada,” you mumbled, but scrunched your nose in disapproval. “Hmmm, what about… Uncle Silver? That’s much better!”
“Must they call me anything?” He muttered.
“Hey! Don’t be like that, plus you might be a biological uncle soon.”
Nuada sighed, “I suppose you are right… in that case, I think I’d prefer Uncle Silverlance.”
He offered you his arm, escorting you out of the bedroom, so you both could be on your way.
Illyrian Mating Season
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Azriel x f!reader
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.3k
𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲: smut
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬:
mutual pining, friends to lovers, az is in heat, tiniest bitta gore, mating bond, heavy on the creampie, FITA, breeding kink, & cum play
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:
Trouble finds you when your Illyrian friends are away, and just as you’re about to meet your fate, the shadowsinger comes to save you. But now you have an entirely new issue at hand— he’s near-feral and in the peak of his heat, and you’ve both reached your breaking point.
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞:
I don’t… have any words to explain myself. Do Illyrians have a mating season? Not that we know of. Does Az have a breeding kink? SJM hasn’t explicitly said anything, but… I’d like to imagine so, yes. At least, in this fic, I sure know he does ;)
･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･
ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: ʙʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ ꜱɪᴘʜᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴇʀᴛɪꜰʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 18 ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴏʀ. ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ.
･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･
‘...Warm liquid splattered across the side of your face.
A sickening thud sounded before you and a gust of air and dirt washed over your trembling form. You held your breath, your arms still up in defense.
Another second passed before you slowly chanced a look… only to find a tall, winged figure looming over you, deathly silent. You could see the violent glint in his eyes even from your position on the ground, the sapphire of his siphons shimmering in the moonlight. They only reflected the light from the sky, not from the use of his power— no, he hadn’t needed to tap into that imposing, law-defying reserve— not in order to rip the ulf’s head clean off its shoulders; his brute strength had been enough for that…’
– - – - – - – - –
Four long days had passed since the Illyrians had left for the harsh mountains of their native lands, and in their absence, a quiet unease had settled into the House of Wind.
Family dinners had initially been amusing— with Nyx thoroughly enjoying the undivided attention of all who stayed behind. But the house still felt too empty without the three males’ presence— perhaps one in particular, for you. Ultimately, you’d dismissed yourself to the quaint little cottage you kept at the edge of Velaris in attempt to escape the longing that lurked in your heart, and the void left by the absence of a certain hazel-eyed male.
The place was stationed on a hill atop a sleepy meadow, a stone wall curbing the property and the twinkling lights of the city on the horizon on one side, the other a breathtaking view of the sea. You liked to come here for reprieve every now and then— a haven from the bustling city and the busybodies that were your friends. It had been quite some time since you last visited; your friendship with the Night Court’s “Inner Circle” had grown stronger than ever lately, and as the newest addition to their little group as in-house healer, you found yourself rarely leaving the residences they often frequented.
The cottage was just as you’d left it, if not a bit overgrown; the grasses and various plants from your garden climbing over the trellises and fences, leaves spread wide and stems heavy with luscious crops. A little slice of peace; the perfect place for your solitude.
The only person you had ever brought here was Azriel.
You had been in the heart of the city with him, in search of presents for Starfall many months in advance. You’d told the Spymaster that you had to stop somewhere else before returning to the House of Wind. You insisted that you’d manage yourself, that he didn’t need to accompany you. But he was equally as firm in joining you on the errand– finally resorting to mention the thousands of stairs that you’d have to face if you split ways.
So, he came along with you to your humble home, quiet and observant as you guided him down the winding cobble path, through the garden, and inside the quaint walls. He had given few words of acknowledgement, but he did seem satisfied to gather another scrap of information about you, for you’d caught him examining the framed art and dried flowers that adorned the walls, even going so far as to peek into your ceramic cookie jar when he thought you were busy in the other room. That night you’d hidden your small smile as he tucked you into his chest and shot into the sky, content that he found your residence intriguing.
Azriel– the male that plagued your thoughts, the elusive shadowsinger. He who was content to observe instead of join the conversation, the one who was absent half of the time as his spymaster duties so often kept him busy. Always you noticed his presence when he had the time to entertain a social gathering, always you would meander over to his side to greet him. And always would he return the gesture, saying hello with a soft smile and kindness in his warm, hazel eyes. It was a look you cherished; one that sent butterflies fumbling in your stomach and warmth trickling into your cheeks. A look that you hoped was reserved just for you.
It was only natural you had grown feelings for him. How could you not? He was the kindest, most intelligent, and by far downright sexiest male you’d ever grown close to. Even his scent of cool cedar, of a needled forest just revitalized by heavy rain drove you wild, your crush in the male was irrefutable. And by Gods, when he stood next to you. He completely towered over you, those massive wings high and proud behind his strong back. Any interaction with him always reminded you that he was in exquisite shape, too… and that he would be perfectly capable of both protecting you and having his absolute way with you at any moment he so wished.
Unfortunately, such enamor for the male only made his current absence harder to withstand. Especially under such circumstances.
Your thoughts constantly wandered to him, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was with someone right now— how many he had already taken in just the short time he and his brothers had been away. All because it was Illyrian mating season; a rare event that occurred only once every three hundred years or so, when for one week, hormones would rage in all sexes of the warrior race and the camps would inevitably become— as Mor had so eloquently put it— an all-out fuckfest.
The very camps the trio had flown off to just days ago.
You swallowed the lump in your throat and pointed your attention back to the meager meal you were making. Your stomach was painfully empty, but the idea of eating was completely lackluster, even as you sliced the plump tomatoes you had gathered on your way in with careful precision. Hunger had evaded you recently, with the queasiness that took hold of you at the notion of your beloved’s cock balls-deep inside of another.
You knew you didn’t really have the right to feel such things… Azriel had never explicitly said or done anything to suggest he desired you, and you liked to think you kept your crush a secret which only you were privy to. But he was, after all, the spymaster of the court; a centuries-old being— it was certainly possible that he was indeed aware of your feelings and simply did not return them.
Nonetheless, you hoped that he felt some similar sentiment for you– there were times when it would be just the two of you that stayed up after everyone else retired for the night, full of smirks and jokes and undivided attention. Times when you would wear something tight and sleek, and you swore you could feel his eyes burning into your curves… only to find them elsewhere when you turned to face him. And all the times he would take you as his sparring partner during the training that he insisted you take under his instruction, when he would best you and hold you there for a moment, the tip of his blade or his fist just brushing you, hazel hues locked to your gaze.
But that was all conjecture. He hadn’t once done anything beyond that for you to think his rare lingering touches and stares truly meant anything. And then, there were always rumors that he had his fair share of lovers. But that wasn’t surprising— he was one of the most handsome males in Prythian, and a powerful, mysterious one at that. It was to be expected that various fae threw themselves at his feet, legs spread and ready for the taking.
Frustration hit the bottom of your barren stomach, and you sighed as you grabbed a knife from the wooden block on the counter. You made your way to the garden at the back of the cottage to collect some extra herbs. Surely some food could help your spirits lift from the gloom they’d settled into, so long as you were able to force yourself to chew and swallow. You tried your best to rid your thoughts of the shadowsinger as you pushed the door open and wandered into the yard.
A few sconces were lit around the perimeter of the home, a lonely lamp post flickering at the end of the stone path that wound through the garden. A cluster of spindly trees loomed further on in the distance, their murky shadows nearly blending with the otherwise dark night sky. You hadn’t realized it had gotten so late; stars shone through the clouds above, their light barely reaching the moist blades of grass that tickled your bare feet. You took a second to admire their blazing brilliance; even just a short distance from the city, their dazzling glow seemed brighter.
Finally finding the plant you had been searching for, you crouched down and rubbed your fingers on the leaves, its earthy scent releasing into the air. You took a deep breath of it, savoring the pleasant, spicy aroma… until your eyes opened wide and you froze, limbs going stiff.
That smell… it was of rotten flesh and matted fur. It was…
A twig snapped behind you, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up straight. Fear shot down your throat to form a tight ball in your gut, your fingers tightly gripping the puny paring knife that would be your only weapon to defend yourself.
The ulf lunged forward at the same moment you whirled around, the tip of your knife now raised as you struck across where you hoped its throat would be.
But an emaciated, leathery arm was outstretched there, and it let out a terrible cry as you plunged the blade into the limb. Almost instantly it had struck you with its other hand, sending you flying into the cottage wall.
Your breath whooshed out of you as you collided with the rough stone bricks, your ears ringing as your skull smacked into the arm you threw up to take the brunt of the blow. Your vision shook as you sat there stunned, the doubled image of the furry beast before you merging into one just as it lept toward you.
You rolled forward, tucking out of range from the assault, narrowly missing its gnarled teeth, canines glinting in the starlight.
Just as you got your feet under you and you braced your legs to shoot up into a run, its wretched claws sank into your exposed ankle.
Your scream pierced the silence of the empty meadow, pain racing up your leg as the terrifying creature dragged you toward it, digging deep enough to scrape bone.
Tears flooded your vision but you forced them away, focusing all your strength into a kick across the creature's muzzle, and a second one straight to the neck. The impact summoned a garbled wheeze from the ulf, and it released you as it stumbled back in recoil.
You scooted back on the grass, shaking and one hand covering your fresh wound, the other reaching out blindly behind you in search of whatever you could use— something you could throw at it, stab it— anything. Your blood began to spill onto the dirt beneath you, a dark trail smearing the grass as you kept moving backward. With it was the fragile hope of defeating the beast, as though all the grueling hours of training were leaking out of you along with the scarlet.
Your wide, fear-filled eyes would not leave the terrifying beast, tracking its every movement. You took in its horrifying face, its filthy lip that curled back at you and those wicked eyes that locked onto you as it regained its bearings.
Your brain screamed into your subconscious, a desperate plea that would reach no one. Help! Please, oh Gods, help me!
There was nothing you could use to defend yourself— your tiny knife was still lodged in its flesh, and the only thing you’d managed to grab from behind you was an unripe carrot from the soil. The ulf seemed to realize it had you, for it sat back on its gnarled haunches and pounced for you.
This was it.
You closed your eyes, a whimper leaving you as you braced for impact, wishing for a quick and painless death.
A high-pitched whine. And a horrible ripping sound.
Warm liquid splattered across the side of your face.
A sickening thud sounded before you and a gust of air and dirt washed over your trembling form. You held your breath, your arms still up in defense.
Another second passed before you slowly chanced a look… only to find a tall, winged figure looming over you, deathly silent. You could see the violent glint in his eyes even from your position on the ground, the sapphire glow of his siphons shimmering in the moonlight. They only reflected the light from the sky, not from the use of his power— no, he hadn’t needed to tap into that imposing, law-defying reserve— not in order to rip the ulf’s head clean off its shoulders; his brute strength had been enough for that. The rest of the beast’s decapitated body was slumped on the soil just a foot away from you, black blood oozing into a pool that slowly crept outward.
You still hadn’t taken a breath as your gaze flicked back up the male before you— only to then realize he was shirtless. The ridges of his muscles stood out in contrast between shadows and starlight and he stared down at you, practically fuming where he stood, icy rage billowing down broad shoulders. His toned torso glittered with sweat, dark whorls of ink dancing across tan, firm skin. You wondered what he had been doing in order to glisten with exertion like so; he had killed the ulf with such ease that certainly the perspiration couldn’t have been from that.
The cool caress of shadows at your ankle managed to pull your attention, sparing a glance at the tendrils that fussed over the scarlet trickling through your digits. They wiggled beneath your fingers and you gasped as they turned colder, binding around your skin. A soothing calm seeped through the limb, and you finally dared to breathe again.
Azriel still had yet to say a word, observing as you slowly shifted to sit on your knees, unsheathing the kitchen knife from the ulf’s corpse. He seemed fine, almost– perhaps if you didn’t know him so well, he could’ve gotten away with such a judgment. But you could see how his hands were clenched into pale-knuckled fists, see that his breath was forced, coming out in clipped, ragged pants. The male was as stiff as a board, braced as though he was ready for flight or fight.
You’d never witnessed an Illyrian during their mating season– not many had. It was a sacred event that the race liked to keep to themselves, cooped up in their camps and locked away, not to be disturbed. Amren had told you of an elders’ tale that claimed that once, an army had tried to attack an Illyrian settlement during the season, thinking the warriors would be vulnerable… only to find that the winged race was tenfold more vicious and bloodthirsty, and had decimated the offenders with abhorrent devastation, leaving no survivors before returning to their ritual. It was said the race was only capable of two things during the season: fighting and fucking.
Now as you examined the male, you could imagine the fable holding some truth.
The shadowsinger was visibly pumped– even in the dark, you could tell that his muscles were bigger, making his already-impressive frame even more intimidating. Pure power and testosterone pulsed off of him, weighing down the air with cedar musk. The silhouette of his massive wings loomed behind his shoulders, making him appear even larger as you studied him from below. To any other, it would be a terrifying view to behold. But all you felt was security; absolute safety in his presence.
“Are you alright?” Azriel finally rumbled. His voice was deep, gravely as if he’d just woken up. Maybe it was another physical side effect of his current predicament.
You pushed yourself up from the ground and stood on fawn legs. “I think so..,” you said, taking a tentative step.
It took that full step for you to realize that the shadow tourniquet only numbed your pain— it did nothing to heal your wound. You whimpered and tumbled forward, mortification flooding your cheeks as soon as you began your descent.
But you never touched the grass.
In an instant, Azriel’s corded arms were wrapped around you, and you were pulled snug into his chest. You gasped at the same time he groaned, his skin a thousand degrees where it touched yours. Heat burst in your cheeks at the sound, your eyes going wide.
Not a second passed before you were off of him, his hands planted firmly at your arms’ side, thrusting you as far away from himself as possible. His head hung down toward the ground, silky locks falling into soft waves that shielded his face from you. You noted the way he panted, fingers like steel digging into your skin.
“Um… are you alright, Az?” you asked, observing the tremble that reverberated throughout his tense body.
Something akin to a growl tumbled out of him.
“I’m fine,” he replied, voice clipped and his eyes still fixed on the grass at his feet.
Maybe it was stupid to be toeing the line with him when he was in such a state… but you couldn’t help it. He had saved you from a nasty fate, he had come for you even when he was under such stress, when he was so far away. You weren’t quite sure how he knew you were in danger when he was so very far away in the Illyrian mountains— though you had an inkling. If maybe somehow… perhaps the two of you were…
You swallowed.
Reaching for him, your fingers stretched out before they met his stubbled jaw. The male stilled, unable to fight himself and pull away. His shaky exhale washed over your exposed collar, something stirring low in your stomach.
“I can’t be here,” Azriel said, his voice hard yet soft somehow. His eyes flickered toward your lips before he scrunched them closed, his form taut and coiled, like a snake ready to strike.
His statement made your heart deflate, your hand falling to your side. You crossed your arm over your middle, rubbing your forearm awkwardly. “Right, I… I’m sorry for interrupting you, you must’ve been…” you gulped, “… busy.”
Hazel flew up to meet your gaze but you wouldn’t look at him. Instead he took in the way your brow was slightly furrowed, a ghost of a pout on your pretty, pink lips.
“I wasn’t …” he paused, tongue parting his mouth. “Don’t apologize. I’ll always come for you,” the male vowed, fixing you with his intense stare.
Butterflies swarmed your stomach at his promise, your cheeks fuzzy with sudden emotion. Wordlessly Azriel closed the distance between you and you froze, wide eyes locked on his close face. And then your feet were swept out from under you and your body was secure in Azriel’s embrace, your head snug against his naked chest.
You didn’t miss the low inhale from the male, your heart racing at his attempt to subtly take in your scent. Your core throbbed and you blushed at the intensity of your body’s response to his. Never had you been up against his bare chest like this… the proximity made you dizzy, your fingers tingling with the urge to explore every inch of him. His skin was so warm– or maybe that was yours, feeling hot wherever you directly touched him. And whose heartbeat was thumping like crazy up against your chest?
Azriel stalked his way inside your home, feet heavy and strides rushed, but careful not to hit you on the doorway. His wings tucked in as he entered the kitchen, and you swallowed at his large silhouette. His head was only a short distance from the ceiling, the apex of his wings nearly dragging against the plaster.
“Did you get… taller?” you peeped up as he gently deposited you on the edge of the sturdy wooden table in the middle of your kitchen, large, scarred hands making sure you were balanced before they drew back.
Shadows slithered off into all directions, melting into the darkness of your dimly lit home. You watched them disappear before you looked at the male once again, only to find his gaze already trained on you.
“Yes,” was his curt reply, hazel tearing off of you as shadows supplied the first aid kit from beneath your bathroom sink cabinet into his waiting hands.
“Oh,” was all you could muster, not quite sure what to make of that.
Your eyes followed long, agile fingers as he opened the kit, rifling through the gauze and bandages. He wordlessly handed you one of the little vials of tonic that would help with the pain and speed up the healing process. Popping the little cork off the bottle, you tipped your head back and gulped down its bitter contents without protest.
Azriel was silent save for his burning gaze and heavy breathing. Even if you couldn’t hear his labored breaths, you could see he was somewhat off by the way his firm chest muscles heaved.
“It’s because of the season,” he explained, voice rough. His wings shuddered and then let loose a brief shake— the claws that lined each joint flexing inward. You shivered as you studied them, imagining the talons would slice through flesh like water, the hooked tips glinting with the promise of pain.
You had to admit, there was something remarkable about just how deadly the male before you truly was… and even more so in his current state. Your eyes wandered to his lean forearms when he uncapped a metal tin of salve, mesmerized by the way his veins bulged with the smallest exertion.
What else could those fingers do?
Your tongue poked out to wet the seam of your lips, just at the same time you turned to look at him. Hazel was ablaze and focused entirely on you, the corner of his eye twitching as his hands turned to fists.
“Don’t,” he warned, tone hard and unwavering.
You swallowed, wincing as he smeared the paste onto your oozing gash. A rough thumb smoothed over the adjacent skin as if to apologize for the fleeting pain, skilled hands wrapping your ankle in bandages with practiced precision.
“Don’t what?” you asked, your voice not sounding your own. The overwhelming terror that had filled you just minutes ago was completely dissipated now; washed away and drowned under fresh waves of desire.
Azriel ripped the gauze from the roll with ease, taking care not to pull too tight as he finished the job with a little bow. The male shook his head, trying to clear the lustful fog that permeated the usual disciplined walls he threw up whenever he was around you.
“If you’re okay now, I have to leave,” he said through clenched teeth, each second spent in your presence making his fight all the harder. There was no venom in his voice— but it was hard, and heavy. His words seemed empty– his body remaining still before you, a scarred hand lingering on your leg.
“Can you stay? Please?” you said, tilting your chin up so you could look him in the eye, giving him your best attempt at demurity. Normally you would never be so bold, but this was far from usual circumstances.
Azriel flashed his teeth at you in what could’ve intended to be a grin, but it came off as more of a grimace, shaking his head. He removed his hand from you, retreating a step. Shadows slowly gathered toward him, and panic flashed in your chest.
“I can’t,” is all he replied with, darkness melting into the edge of his silhouette.
“Why?” Your spine went straight, pushing yourself up to sit upright and face him fully. “Is there… someone waiting for you?” You wanted so badly to sound strong, accusatory… but it only came out as hurt, your words soft.
“No,” he denied instantly, some unknown emotion making his wings flap with indignation behind him, making scrolls scatter around the room, tiny herb jars rattling at the force. Neither of you paid them any mind. “There’s no one. I can’t—” he huffed, turning his face to the side, eyes falling to the floor. He continued, his voice low, “I’ve been alone this season.”
Relief exploded through your body, warmth blooming at his admission. He hadn’t been with anyone else? Worry quickly weaved its way into your heart— why hadn’t he been acting on his instincts? He’d been fighting his desires for the last four days? Wouldn't refraining from… fulfilling his urges have repercussions?
You frowned, taking in the sight of the male before you. He was clearly a divine specimen– there was no way that the other Illyrians simply didn’t want him. And wasn’t he supposed to be filled with an insatiable lust right now; a hunger, a need to fuck anyone who so much as looked at him? You thought harder about what you knew of the season, about the little scraps of knowledge you had discovered deep in the library catalogs.
During mating season, Illyrians are filled with an immutable need to procreate, to extend a lineage with as many partners as possible. Hormones skyrocket within the race and their thirst can only be calmed through physical exertion. Some activities may provide relief, such as violence or self-stimulation, but ultimately, the urge may only be temporarily quelled by sexual intercourse. The only circumstance an Illyrian may abstain from such primal needs is through the recognition of the mating bond. Only through such unparalleled devotion may an Illyrian remain loyal during the mating season, either choosing to spend their rut in solely their mating bed, or in extremely rare cases, solitude.
Your heart felt funny, your stomach flying up into your throat. Wasn’t it possible that Azriel was… your mate? No– because he wouldn’t keep such knowledge from you… not if he knew. But then, if he was truly alone, then it was clear that he knew he had a mate. He had come running to your call when you mentally cried out into the abyss, when you hadn’t even known who you were calling to, if anyone could hear you.
But Azriel heard you. And he had rushed here to save you, even in such a state.
“Then stay,” you said simply, hands coming to lay behind either of your hips on the table.
The shadowsinger bared his teeth, a growl ripping through him that shuddered your core. Your invitation was testing him– you were pushing him too far, and you had the audacity to bat your eyelashes at him while doing so. He was just barely shaking, muscles so tight with restraint that he looked to be in physical pain. “Can’t you see that I’m losing my fucking mind at the sight of you? I can’t control myself right now,” he groaned hoarsely, sweat lining his temple.
You leaned forward, excitement sparking as his eyes immediately flew to the bit of cleavage that was revealed with the motion. Slowly, you spread your legs, your fingers trailing your inner thigh. Your face felt on fire— every part of you did. This was so uncharacteristically bold of you; the two of you had been walking on the eggshells of your attraction for so long now.
But you couldn’t look away from him, couldn't stop yourself from tempting him. You were tired of the games, tired of the questions, of the chase. You wanted him.
You wanted him now.
Your heart felt like it was beating a thousand times a minute as his gaze fixed on the apex of your legs, and you whispered, “So lose control.”
Azriel’s eyes widened, jumping to your face as shock flooded them. His shadows didn’t need to be told twice, immediately twirling around your feet and crawling up your parted legs. He stepped back after a moment of buffering, his shadows seeming to shriek with protest as he yanked them back, withdrawing further away from you.
“No— I could hurt you. This is not how this is supposed to go, we—“ he huffed, fists curled and muscles wound tight. “It’s not supposed to be like this.”
You melted inside, his sentiment sending warmth echoing through you like the wake of a stone plunged into placid water. He had thought about the two of you being together before? The pieces of the puzzle were all falling into place, your doubts dissolving by the second.
Azriel’s eyes widened, surprised he had actually just revealed that to you. A faint blush dusted his tanned cheeks, and he closed and opened his mouth, shocked at his own confession. The inner battle with his raging hormones had made his iron-clad restraints weak; letting words slip from his tongue that had been lingering there for so fucking long.
You slid off the table and took a step forward, palms open at your sides as if he were a wild animal that could be scared off at the slightest wrong move. “Az, you’re right,” you said, eyes fixed on his. “This was supposed to happen a long fucking time ago.”
The male gaped and blinked, hazel eyes wide as they raked over your advancing form.
You drank him in, too— gaze lingering on the sizable bulge that jerked in longing beneath his pants. You pursed your lips, salivating at the thought of what laid beneath. You chanced another step.
“Fuck,” he swore, his breath ragged. He licked his lips, pecs heaving with every labored pant. “Y/n please, you can’t— you don’t know what you’re doing, I’m not myself right now, I don’t want to hurt you.”
You smiled softly. Didn’t he see? “You won’t, Azriel. I trust you…”
“You shouldn’t,” he said, protests growing weaker with every second. You could tell his resolve was slipping, his shadows inching closer to you, stretching for another taste of your skin.
Azriel twitched when your hand met the hot, inked skin of his chest, throwing his head back as he swallowed a moan. His hormones were wild with the season’s influence, heavy pheromones permeating the air with infectious lust. It was becoming unbearable to be this close to you without pressing you against the nearest surface and plunging into the tight heat that was surely slickening between your legs. Kept fingernails dug into the palm of his hands as he clung desperately to the last thread of his composure.
“Please, Az,” you murmured, lips finally touching the column of his throat, as high up as you could reach, just beneath his jaw. “I can’t pretend that I don’t want you for another second.” Your tongue poked out to taste him, salt and musk ambrosial on your taste buds.
This time, the male didn’t hold back his moan, instead letting it fill the heavy kitchen air and making butterflies explode in your stomach. The sound sent a rush to your core and you clenched hard, fingernails digging into his flesh.
You squeaked when scarred hands gripped you and flung you back onto the kitchen table, hard enough to concuss. But there was only shock, no pain; for Azriel cushioned the impact, an arm curling around your waist and hand cushioning the back of your skull so you didn’t slam your head— the male fluidly moved with you, ending up pressed above you chest to chest. Your body thrummed with anticipation, excitement bursting forth in your veins.
Now you’d done it.
The last scrap of his restraint had been ripped away and now you were in for the fuck of your life. You blinked in stupor, but Azriel left no time to waste. Hazel was blown wild as he stared down at you, pinning your wrists with each of his large hands.
“Trust this,” he asserted, rutting your clothed sexes together. You gasped, the hard, huge length of him shocking even through the clothes between you, your eyes growing wide as they met his burning hazel gaze. “I am steel for you. Only you.”
His hot tongue lashed out to claim your neck, full lips joining to mark the divot between your clavicle and shoulder. The intensity made you keen, your head tossing to the side as you screwed your eyes shut and sang for him, hips rocking up against his. You could feel your panties wet with slick, his savage behavior making your body throb, readying itself for his taking.
This was insane. There was nothing that could compare to this— the need, the depravity of this, of him.
You could hardly believe that he had come for you, had saved you. Was this the gratitude every maiden in peril felt, or was this something more? Something much more? From the way the male was possessively claiming your skin with his mouth, your heart leapt into your throat, stomach twisting with hope.
But you couldn’t dwell on it, his fingers quickly traveling to the front of your blouse and promptly ripping the seam down your middle. Buttons clattered all around you on the floor below, your breasts spilling out for his eyes to devour. His mouth followed, lips quickly catching a nipple and sucking you in, nose poking into your flesh as he drowned himself in your supple skin.
Your back arched as you mewled, lashes flying shut and digits flying to curl into his hair. Soft onyx locks twisted between your fingers and you couldn’t help the grin that sprouted as he moaned your name into your skin— you weren’t the only one lost in the throes of pleasure.
You couldn’t slow for a second, couldn’t stop— he was hard as rock beneath his leathers, every piece of him lined with lean muscle. But the part of him that melted your brain most was his cock; you could feel it reaching for you, the thick outline of it pressing against your core through the layers. It made you ache, intolerably so— your pussy stirring as you imagined what that length would feel like stretching you out and filling you to the brim. Your hands reached out before you could even comprehend what you were doing.
Azriel roared when your fingers landed on the stiff forearms of his wings, his front surging forward and rutting into yours. The surprise in his gaze quickly morphed to voracity and your body shook in response, your legs spreading to curl around his waist and draw his lower half closer. You squeezed the hard appendages, fingertips sliding down to rub closer to the joints.
Shadows swarmed the pair of you and you cried at their cold touch, having forgotten them completely. But they were sure to remind you of their abilities, and you’d never underestimate them again. One second you were engulfed by darkness and the next, you were completely bare, your nakedness on full display for the shadowsinger’s ferocious gaze to drink up. The tendrils lashed out and snatched your hands from his wings, growing taught around your wrists and holding them down atop the table.
All you could see was his piercing eyes taking in every inch of the sight before him, his shadows covering his body as the silhouette of his massive wings hung high and dark behind him. Obsidian swirls curled into his hair and licked upon his skin, blending easily with the dark whirls of ink that marked his frame.
Your mind was now wholly consumed with lust; the utter primality with which he was treating you made your core stir like nothing else. Your hips wriggled as you waited for him to touch you, but immediately the shadows strapped you firm against the tabletop, your ankles dragging to the corners to expose your most intimate part right before his eyes.
Heat burst into your cheeks, embarrassment blooming in your chest at the exposure. But you saw the way Azriel’s face twisted when his eyes traveled down from your face, down past your tits and your navel and down until they fixed on your pink, glistening hole. Thick brows furrowed and you could practically see the steam from his heavy exhale, his pupils dilating til you swore his gaze had been engulfed by shadow too.
And then all you could see were the wicked talons that crested the tips of his wings, because the male fell to his knees and shoved his face directly into your cunt.
You cried out, body ringing taut when his nose shoved into your clit. The heat of his tongue flat against your entrance drew a subsequent moan out from the depths of your lungs, fingernails digging into the lacquered wood beneath you.
Azriel took you into his mouth and you melted as his guttural moan vibrated through you, your body tingling all the way to your toes. His stubble tickled your thighs as he nudged deeper, drowning himself in your essence. He dove into you without holding back, tracing your slit with precise flicks of that wicked tongue and then slipping the warm muscle inside your quivering hole. The lower half of his face was soon coated in your slick, and with every movement of his, only more wetness leaked out of you for him to savor.
Scarred hands curled around the tops of your thighs, calloused fingertips digging into soft flesh. They spread your legs wider, broad shoulders coming to hold you open as he ravaged you, pulling you closer so that no space remained between the pair of you.
You sobbed when his tongue finally trailed from your entrance, following your folds the short distance to your clit. He growled into your center in response to your garbled noise, lips taking hostage of the sensitive little pearl. Your skull smacked hard wood as your head flew back, but you didn’t care— Azriel’s hands had wandered from your thighs to your hips, slipping underneath to grab handfuls of your plush bottom. His fingers dug into the meat of your ass, pulling you apart so he could shove his face even deeper into your cunt.
“Aha– oh, Az– fuck!” you moaned as he ate you mercilessly, your limbs still held prisoner by taut shadows. No matter how hard you struggled, the void would not give– if you could only hear the things they whispered to their master, if you could only know how happy they were to assist him in his plight…
Azriel groaned against your soaked pussy, the sound echoing in waves of pleasure that rippled through your body. Your legs had begun to shake, fingers curling into fists that couldn’t grab him but desperately wanted to. It should’ve been shameful, the way you were already racing toward an orgasm. He knew just what to do to you, knew exactly how to deliver you right to ecstasy’s doorstep.
And then he drew back.
You had just enough time to open your eyes and look at him to protest, lips already forming your displeasure. But instead, you clocked him as he stood, your eyes falling from his sizzling stare down his contoured, tattooed torso… down to that delicious V that tapered down narrow hips, the ink adorning the lines of his body until—
You gasped, gaze wide. His cock stood upright— tall, thick, swollen, and hard as… steel. A translucent trail of his lust trailed down the vein that bulged along the underside, a sticky bead dripping slowly off the pink tip. Fuck, had such a marvel been within reach all this time?
Your hole clenched in welcome.
Blush stained your cheeks as the male caught the movement, a devilish smirk curling at the corner of his lip. You whimpered when he stepped closer, the tip of him nudging through your glistening folds. Azriel sighed, gripping the base of himself and rubbing the two of you together. Your cries were music to his ears, your hips flexing against the shadows to try and trace yourself onto the thick length of him.
“Oh Gods, you’re perfect,” he murmured, a hand coming to cup one of your breasts in his palm, thumbing over the hardened nipple there. Your name drifted out of him as he loosed a shallow thrust, the very tip of him dipping into your soaked opening.
You wailed when his hips drew back and he slid back in with ease, half of him disappearing inside of you. How he had slipped inside of you so easily, you couldn’t know– you were wetter than you’d ever been, yes, but his manhood was also almost too big– you didn't know if it would fit all the way inside. Your head fell back against the table once more, your quick breaths making your chest rise and fall, your breasts heaving with the action.
The shadowsinger watched the movement, unable to tear his eyes away from you. Only once he heard your sob did he realize he had thrust in all the way, and your eyes had rolled back as your body strained underneath him. You looked so angelic like that, with your cunt wrung tight and wet around all of him, your curves making both his wings and his cock twitch with anticipation.
He gave another tentative thrust, the last shred of sanity slipping from his brain as your walls hugged him, his body trembling. He’d been able to hold out on his own for the last few days by pleasuring himself, but that was leagues away from this. The inside of you was completely soaked for him, and the heat of you squeezing around him made the last of his resolve melt away into nothingness.
You could see the moment his control really slipped— his hazel gaze bleeding black on the edges. His grip tightened, fingertips digging into your flesh like claws as he gathered your hips closer to him, so your ass rested right on the edge of the table. Excitement and a little fear burst forth in your stomach as intensity radiated off of the male, the scent of his outright arousal heavy in the air.
Suddenly his hips snapped forward, and you couldn’t stop the shriek that spilled out of you. Azriel moaned too, louder than you’d imagined he would in your fantasies. Every inch of him was nestled inside of you and that was no ordinary feat. Your cunt throbbed with the thought, more of your essence oozing out for him.
Azriel didn’t waste a drop of it, finding a rhythm that buried himself to the hilt inside you with ease thanks to your ample slick. Huge, magnificent wings trembled behind him, a sign of just how strung out he was in his current state.
“Ugh, fuck— Goddess, you’re a goddess,” he praised, gaze fixed on the bounce of your tits as he rammed into you again and again.
His name fell from your lips as you panted, your hole stretched wide around the base of him. Each stroke had your mind melting, sweat starting to cling to your skin as you trembled at the intensity of the pleasure. You watched his massive cock slide in and out of you, your slick coating the inside of your thighs as you greedily took in every thrust.
“I can’t, ahh I can’t, I can’t—“ Azriel chanted, his abs clenched so hard you couldn’t help but watch sweat drip down the valleys between the prominent muscles.
Suddenly his thumb found its way to your clit and began to glide over the little nub with great generosity. You wailed and clamped onto him harder, your climax racing forth as his hips continued to slap wetly against yours.
“Cum,” he ordered, voice clipped and full of unshakable authority. The sheer dominance radiating off of the male above you was palpable, your body bending to his command. “Be a good girl for me and cum on my cock. Y’want me to cum in this pretty pussy baby? C’mon, cum and milk it out of me, good girl— oh fuck yes—“
Your cunt went tight around him and you cried out as stars flooded your vision, your orgasm hurtling into you, his filthy words sending you over the edge. Pure ecstasy pulsed through your entirety as you came, your walls pulsing as they ached for his imminent release. You felt like your entire body was aflame, and yet that was nothing compared to the heat glowing in your chest, a foreign, welcome weight presenting itself, a rope to hold onto as you nearly lost yourself in the throes of pleasure.
Azriel moaned and pushed all the way inside of you as he met his own climax. Hot streams of his seed spurted out of his throbbing cock, deep into your womb and your eyes rolled back at the heat that blossomed there. You could feel yourself filling with him— he just kept shaking and throbbing and moaning as more and more emptied out of him. Days of just barely scraping by the mating season had left him with balls painfully full and now all you could do was ride out the waves of your shared orgasm as he filled you to the brim. Sweet relief washed through Azriel’s overheated body– emanating from where the base of his cock nestled deep inside of you. With every spurt of release, that insatiable need within him extinguished until he nearly fell on top of you, shaky arms braced to catch himself.
His face fit into your neck, labored breaths cascading over your hot skin. Tremendous leathery wings draped down over his shoulders, his rough hands coming to wrap around the back of your neck and your waist, pressing your bodies together with great care. You hummed with satiety and pressed a soft kiss to his temple, floating back to the ground from your ecstasy. Your hands now released from his shadowy binds, one combed through his silky hair while the other found the divot of his spine, fingers trailing over his dampened skin in soothing motions.
For the first time in days, Azriel’s mind was clear. His eyes opened wide as he came to his senses. He had just taken full advantage of you– he was balls-deep inside of you, and you were full of his seed. His breath began to quicken, his just-calmed mind now gaining speed as the full extent of his actions now hit him.
Slowly he retreated from the solace of your embrace, just enough to catch your eye. “Y/n, I–” he began but you wouldn’t let him.
You wouldn’t let him regret this when you were still here, in the best moment of your life, the intensity of the fresh golden thread between your hearts glowing and filling your body with unbridled joy.
“I love you, Azriel,” you declared, hands coming to hold his sculpted jaw, thumbs drifting over his cheeks and chin. You imagined the tether in your mind, taking hold of it and tugging, like you were pulling your chests impossibly closer.
Surprise flooded his gaze, his brow high as his parted lips ticked up into a sideways grin. His hazel eyes softened as they roamed your face, like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He breathed out your name, voice soft as a feather, his fingers stroking your neck tenderly.
“My mate,” you whispered and Azriel visibly shuddered, long eyelashes kissing his cheeks as he closed his eyes and smiled bigger than you’d ever seen. It was the most breathtaking sight, him smiling like that– and your heart felt so full, knowing that you were the cause behind it.
The male tucked his face back into your shoulder and gathered your body flush to his, cradling you even closer than before, pressing every piece of you together as close as possible. “My mate,” he echoed, deep voice almost a purr, his happiness rippling over the bond in loud, unapologetic swells.
You pulled his hair just enough for him to lean back and see eye to eye again, sharing a loving look before your lips met. Sparks rushed through your body, his lips slotting between yours and your noses brushing together. You drew back to catch your breath, but Azriel leaned in and captured your mouth once more, unwilling to part with you for even a moment. You gasped and his tongue glided in, meeting yours with a wild tenderness you’d never experienced before. Your tongues brushed together and you couldn’t fight the small moan that crept out of you, your body moving on its own volition to roll your hips against his.
Azriel moaned back, and your cheeks flushed with heat as you felt his hard cock twitch inside of you– you hadn’t realized he’d never softened, even after that law-defying orgasm. You could feel his essence leaking from you– his member taking up so much space inside you, there was barely any room for his cum to remain within your walls.
You seemed to be on the same page, for he stepped back and you both watched as he unsheathed his thick length from you. Finally he removed himself and your hole clenched at the emptiness. Your cheeks became hot as you witnessed a river of his thick, white cum rush out, the sheer amount of it so much that the stream swiftly became a puddle that spilled over the table’s edge and onto the floor.
The sight only made you hungry for more, your bottom lip taken prisoner between your teeth. You caught Azriel’s equally-desirous gaze, throwing one more glance at his cream-covered cock before you flipped yourself over, your palms and knees now resting flat on the tabletop, careful to keep your injured ankle dangling off the table.
Your male growled at the invitation, immediately closing the distance between you two. His hands took hold of your ass, so large that his fingers could grip the curve of the soft flesh and his thumbs spread your raw pussy open at the same time. You whined as you felt more of him leak out, trailing over your clit and down your thighs.
Azriel moaned at the sight, dipping a thumb into his spend and inside your cunt, enjoying the feeling of your aching walls throbbing around him. You panted and bucked back against him, desperate for more. Now that you’d had a taste of his cock, and his cum… nothing else would suffice. The Illyrian complied with your needs– his cock already hard and dripping with precum again, the sight of you too much. The lust from his hormones was already starting to build again– or maybe that was the fresh acknowledgment of the bond– he didn’t know, nor care.
You keened when the searing tip of him pressed against your entrance once more, spread wide so he could watch your pussy swallow every inch he offered. He slipped inside just as easily as before, both of you letting out a long moan in harmony as your ass met his hips, cock hot and hard inside your throbbing walls. The stretch of him was so utterly delicious, you couldn’t stop yourself from bouncing back onto him just to feel it again, and then again.
Azriel threw his head back and allowed himself to revel in the pleasure as you set a steady pace, pussy greedily gobbling up every inch of his incredible length. You whimpered at the sensation of his tip prodding deep, deep within you– a spot you didn’t know existed revealing the very apex of your vulnerability, your pleasure.
The noises you let loose as you sat back onto him each time you never knew you could make– the feeling of your bodies becoming one unlike anything you could have imagined. Your mate was just as deep in the tides of euphoria as you, rough hands steady as he guided you back and forth on his cock. You didn’t know how long you’d last, how long you’d been fucking back onto him, didn’t even know your name. All you could feel was pleasure, your mate, his pleasure, your bond.
You felt that knot tightening in your stomach again.
You cried out when you felt his thumb rove over your asshole, pressing firmly against you as he took control, his other hand holding your hips in place so he could set a punishing pace. The digit slipped inside and your eyes widened, the stretch foreign but oh so welcome. You started to shake, your orgasm nearing as he thrust hard and deep.
Azriel panted as he watched you take him, the curve of your spine bent just right, your ass up and his hands on you– in you. Your soft little body taking his hard large one so well– fuck, he could feel your climax coming through the bond and that only catalyzed his own. Words evaded him this time, your emotions mingling with his along with his Illyrian hormones; everything felt that much stronger– overwhelming. He was so close– he needed you to cum, needed you to milk him again, his mate.
Shadows slithered up onto the table and twirled around your nipples, and you tensed, crying out at the surprise stimulation. The whirls then curled around your thighs and met your poor swollen clit, the cool sensation the final straw as you clenched down and came hard.
You screamed his name, your orgasm barreling through you like never before. Your ears rang, your vision flashing white and your chest hot– searingly hot– so, so hot, and then–
Azriel cried out as he came too, pressing into you ‘til he was balls-deep, emptying into the depths of your womb. Your mate’s ecstasy careened over the fresh bond, and paired with the shadows that kept on caressing you, you sobbed as you came again, not even recovered from your initial orgasm.
Your entirety felt as though it had been dunked under complete and utter bliss. Pure pleasure totally consumed you, leaving you totally helpless with no choice but to feel everything.
Azriel struggled with the same intensity behind you, cock still pumping into you even if he had nothing left to give. His great wings shivered with ecstasy, eyes rolled back, fingertips digging into your soft flesh for dear life as he whimpered.
Eventually the earth materialized beneath you and you all but collapsed onto the table. Azriel let out a grunt of agreement, chest still rising and falling in exertion. His hand left your ass and gripped the base of him as he pulled out, watching as his seed followed, dripping onto the table once more. There was not nearly as much as before, yet still a decent amount came out. He bit his lip, tracing the outline of your soiled cunt with the head of his swollen cock, studying your pink intimacy as your body quivered.
It was unnatural that he already felt the smallest itch to go again— but his cock had been rock hard since the season started and he doubted he would ever soften now that you had recognized him as your mate. At least now his body felt his own; the need to procreate fed and tamed, for how long, he didn’t know.
Suddenly cool shadows enveloped the pair of you before depositing you both upon your bed in the adjacent room. Your head hit the pillow and you moaned in delight, exhaustion taking root in your core.
Azriel lay beside you, face to face, a small smile on his lips as he watched your eyelids fight to stay open. You shivered and scooched closer to him, and he curled an arm around you, happy to comb a hand through your hair and hold you close. His shadows pulled a thin blanket over you, meandering across your exposed shoulder and hair with a calm kind of joy.
“Rest now, my little mate,” he murmured, savoring the beat of your heart so close to his, the feeling of your warm breath against his chest. “You’ll need your strength if we’re to survive the rest of the season...”
⤷ masterlist
Heart of the Dreaming
Morpheus x Female Reader
You are the daughter of Rodrick Burgess. You find out about the "demon" in the basement and decide you want to see it. Things take an unexpected turn when your soulmate connection is made with the man you find down there. You are the one he has been waiting for, and you're being taken away from. Not for long. Dream will protect his soulmate.
☆☆☆
Chapter One - See you in my dreams
Chapter Two - Take my hand
Chapter Three - Mr Sandman
Chapter Four - Pocket full of sand
Chapter Five - What we are
Chapter Six - Blood and bonds
Chapter Seven - Burgess curse
Chapter Eight - Our purpose
Chapter Nine - Piece of me
Chapter Ten - Our two hearts
Chapter Eleven - Cracks in the glass
Chapter Twelve - Deep rooted nightmares
Chapter Thirteen - Make it count
Epilogue
☆☆☆
Queen of the Dreaming - Coming soon!!
Honeymoon Phase (Bonus)
Kofi Request
If you'd like to make request like this one NSFW (5$) or SFW (2$) . Press Here!
Little Bonus off of the Honeymoon Demon series
Will not be doing another of this series- I am out of ideas ;-;
Kurt Wagner x Female Reader
Warnings: SMUT and also Jealous sex so- Strap In darlings
Masterlist <<
<< Honeymoon Demon Series
For the last two months life could only be described as magical.
You and Kurt having been only surrounded by the soft damn near candy sweet affection of each others.
Even in the school the two of you would always be near by. Soft kisses exchanged, a gentle hug or even just locking eyes for brief moments.
Either way- It was just a reflection of your love for your husband and his love for you.
But it seems being so openly affectionate would of course cause others to notice..
"Dude every time I see them I swear they are always all over each other" Bobby snorted a laugh as he took a sip of his soda.
The small group was all seated in the staff lounge watching you and Kurt down the hall leaning against each other while talking about whatever. Rouge giving Bobby a annoyed look as Remy who only snorted a laugh.
"Leav' em alone. They are just happy"
"The honeymoon phase is just strong- Don't be jealous" Kitty chimed, However inside also was a bit sick of the constant lovey dovey stuff.
"No not jealous, Just a mixture of mildly nauseating and in awe at how they can be joined at the hip. Besides this just means they will be easier to mess with-" Morph mumbled, making Bobby glance to him.
"You think so?"
"Wanna bet?" Morph chimed back just as quick, Making Bobby smirk and sit up a bit more. Remy now sitting up as well with a grin.
"How much we talking?-"
"Mmm Why dont we do a pool? Ill start with a 20" Bobby said quickly going for his wallet.
"I don't know guys- they are just happy no harm in it" Kitty whined with a sigh, however glanced at you and Kurt again seeing the soft kiss the two of you exchanged and grimacing slightly.
"Come on it'll be fun"
"I'm not getting involved in yalls shit-" Rouge said quickly, Standing up from the table to not put herself in a guilty by association situation.
The rest of them however looked to each other- like a silent contract was being written.. Each taking out what cash they had on them like some sort of poker table.. before Kitty nodded and added a few bills in herself.
"First one to break him wins the pot"
"Deal"
It only really took till Noon for Kurt to start to break.
Kurt's tail swishing behind himself annoyed, a tick that his fell deeper then he expected as he watched Morph get close.. and Even Kitty giggling at every word you said..
He of course wouldn't say it out loud-
But it was really starting to piss him off...
He could tell you were confused by it all also, Brushing off the weird flirting by your friends-
The way you raised your eyebrow and dismissed them playfully, Even blatantly asking about what weird prank was it this time.
It wasn't your fault- He knew that, Nor did he blame you. However it did scratch this odd part of his brain in a very uncomfortable way at seeing you in this situation-
By the end of the day however, It seemed that more people were starting to join in. Ororo pitching on a 50$ when she hugged you happily in a flirty way, Remy throwing in an additional 80$ wrapping an arm around you which earned him a swift hit from Rouge...
But it seemed to be the final person who put in a 20$ bill that tipped the scale.
You shuffled through some of the papers that McCoy had given you, Humming to yourself a bit- Happy that the day was almost over and you could go home to your lovely husband.
"Oi- (Y/N)"
Logan had his arms crossed as he stared at you.
"Hey Logan? Uh what's up?"
"I got a question"
He rolled up from the wall and walked towards you. Red flags now shooting up as you got the very same feeling from earlier in the day from the others-
"Kurt- He's been treating you good right?"
"Of course I mean it's Kurt-"
"Well just tell me what he's lacking in bed and I'll show him how to improve. I also do offer lessons to you as well"
...
Your jaw absolutely dropped- a mix of confusion, being very weirded out and honestly not knowing where to even go from that!?
"W-What?-"
Annnnddd that's all it took for Logan to quite literally feel it-
It was like a rubber band snapping on his skin of Kurt's resolve breaking.
"Quite a few things in there that was incredibly wrong- However think I'll sum it No Thanks, I'm good"
You say quickly, already having a feeling there was a very targeted reason for this stunt. Which confirmed itself when you felt the familiar heavy hand land on your hip and a tail tighten around your middle like a tight belt.
"There you are Liebling. Ready to return home?"
Kurt says with a almost painfully wide smile that made your skin crawl slightly. Sort of reminding you of someone working in customer service..
"Oh, Hey baby.? Yeah has just getting ready to head out.. Logan just-"
"-Was Leaving"
Kurt filled in fast and sharp.
Which clearly surprised both Logan and yourself. The ladder of which smirking as he turned on his heel saying nothing else as he marched off. You however fixed on watching as Kurt's eyes followed Logan, similar to a cat watching another to make sure they didnt try anything.
Kurt glanced down at you calmly his lips pressed tightly together still before he turned it to you with a slightly forced smile.
It was uncomfortable in a odd way, since you knew that Kurt was clearly upset however wanted to avoid showing it to you- It was silent after that, Kurt taking the two of you home fast without a uttered word.
While uncomfortable at this point you where just happy to be home-
You toss down your bag on the couch, Still a bit confused by the chaos of the day- Already thinking of ways to mess with your friends back for this all, This had been annoying and honestly insulting. Rubbing your face in frustration.
"Hm.. Hey do you wanna cook tonight or pick something up? I don't think we pulled anything out the freezer"
You finally say with a heavy sigh. Turning to see Kurt is just standing here?
One hand pressed to the door as his tail was tapping the ground, Reminding you of someone tapping their nails on a surface annoyed.
Kurt hand slides to the lock of the door as he quickly locked the door which echoed through your home and made you jump slightly.
"Kurt?.."
He looked up to you as that same imp like smile you saw the first night of your honeymoon which made your face flush and body warm up instantly like he had already prepped you.
Or that you'd been trained..
He moved in close, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he pulled you close your back pressed against his chest as he began to pepper in kisses around your neck.
Soft whimpers leaving you as you felt this, He was almost surgical when he did this. Knowing how to hold you close, making sure you could feel his erection pressed against your ass.
You jump as you feel his tail dip past the hem of your clothes as you blush deeply.
"K-Kurt we are in the Livingroom an-"
Flushed at the realization of what was happening- The curtains half open and you needing to shower after such a long day. Thoughts going a mile a minute however it was swiftly cut off when he growled against your neck.
"It doesn't matter Schatz-"
He grumbled against your skin, Making your heart leap in surprise at the tone he used- It was new? Far darker and almost irritated? His lips still working over the sweet spots over your neck, going as far as to run his teeth over your pulse and even nipping at it.
Kurt begins to pull the both of you down, making you stumble as you landed on your hands and knees on the carpeted floor. Giving Kurt the perfect angle to pull your pants down to your knees with your underwear with them with his chest still flushed against your back to keep you trapped.
"All day.. They were on you-"
His tone clipped as you felt one hand wrap under your body, Ripping the front of your nice shirt open with ease and grasp at your breast- squeezing the soft flesh making you mewl pathetically.
"Touching..Hugging and saying dirty things to mein pretty wife"
His tail wrapped tightly around your waist as if to anchor you. His now remaining free hand dipping down between your legs circles over your clit. Soft moans breaking through you as you couldn't help to fall under his whim- Caged again him and floor.
"All to make me jealous~"
He hissed against your ear, Drawing his fingers away from between your legs- The sharp sound of his zipper seemed to be the soft warning before you felt him slowly push into you.
The stretch of him making your eyes roll and a airy moan leave you undone and pliable under his will, each inch that slowly moved within you breaking any form of sense from your head.
"And Gott did they-"
He snaps into you then, driving those last few inches into you as you gave a sharp moan in surprised pleasure.
"Scheiße"
He hissed as he rolled his hips back slowly like the tides drifting far back before a tsunami. The pull of his cock making you whine your fingers digging into the carpet below you as if it would ground you. Before feeling him so swiftly thrust into you making your head spin and jaw slack against the ground.
The carpeted floor rubbed against your knees and forearms with each thrust, the soft sting in a odd way driving you further into the abyss he was tossing you into-
Sur it hurt but.. you liked it?
Oh?
Ohh...
Surprising yourself at the new discovery as your husband was quick to snap his hips against yours making you moan loudly and have those thoughts tucked away to be delt with at a different time.
A silent scream seems to rip through you at the breaking feeling of both pleasure and pain- The burn of his fangs against the meat of your shoulder and the ungodly deep thrust into you.
"K-Kurt!~"
His thrusts were brutal, making is that you barely had time to understand everything that was happening. Just barely able to comprehend Kurt growling against your skin as his hips slammed into you harder, no doubt bruising the skin on the back of your thighs.
The way he could so effortlessly render you useless, how full he made you feel each time he thrusted into you. How your toes curled and fire shot through your system, Utterly broken by him as he hit that sweet spot inside of you each and every time-
A reminder that only HE could do this to you.
And you believed him too
Not a thought of shame on your face as you drooled against the carpet, A hiccupped moan break from you- eyes rolled as you felt that all too familiar crash of pleasure as you cum around his cock with a loud moan.
Now left gasping for air as Kurt did not let up, fucking you through your orgasm as his grip on you tightened- Savoring the sound that left you every time he thrusted into you.
It was only when you started feeling his hips start to falter against your own as you came out of your too blissed out state- a surprised squeak left you as he pulled back suddenly seemingly stopping himself from cumming inside of you completely?
But you barely had time to even register what he had just done before you where flipped on your back with a huff when you landed on your back a bit uncomfortably.
Dizzy from the speed of it all you only caught a flash of yellow eyes as they dipped between your legs in record time. Your back arching painfully at the sensation of him devouring you.
All you can really do is sob at this point, fingers gripping his hair desperately to pull him away from your over sensitive clit- Having barely a minute to settle from him pounding into you.
No moment to rest it seemed-
"K-Kurt Please!~"
You tried to scream but it was desperate and watery at best as several whimpering please fumbled from your lips- tears welling in your eyes as you tried to squirm your hips away by pure instinct from the painful pleasure, but his strong hands kept you in place.
"Too Much Too Much!!~"
Kurt only hummed as he fucked his tongue deeper into you, Driving for your cries even more as it took only for his lips to suck against your clit to make you cum once more a broken sob breaking through you.
It felt like you couldn't breath- Spots filling your vision as he sat up from between your legs. His hands still planted firmly on your hips as he stared you down.
Your mind fuzzy as you watch him lick a mixture of your cum and tinge of blood from the bite that still throbbed on your shoulder from his lips. It was involuntary but your whole body trembling at the sight alone.
Kurt clearly having caught this as in a moment the smell of sulfur hit your senses and you felt the plush bounce of the bed under you. Looking around quickly before landing back on your husband.
Meeting the gaze of Kurt as he stared down at you with a almost angry hunger towards you- one that was no doubt fueled by pure burning jealousy.
Before and all the times you'd felt his desire for you as nothing more then praise, A man in love with every part of you and wanted to experience you to the upmost degree to bring the both of you to bliss under loving hands.
This was different-
You felt more like prey about to be eaten alive...
No playing between his palms or grace to slowly tip you over the edge with love and praise.
This was to eat you alive and make sure there were no scraps to be left for anyone to dare even snip at. Nothing more then bleached bones left before him that he would also hoard-
Kurt is quick to grab your ankle and yank you towards him breaking a surprised noise from you- He was quick however to lean down, Capturing your lips against his own. Soft moans leaving you which he greedily swallowed.
You still too sensitive- already so close to your breaking point but knew this was just the start by the why he was pressed the tip of his cock in and out of you slowly before pressing painfully against your clit and repeating the process.
It was maddening
Pulling back softly with a broken moan as you squirmed from under him- On the edge of breaking and yet still wanting more.
"You know the rules.."
Kurt mumbled against your mouth, His eyes locking with your own tear filled ones. Truthfully you'd almost forgotten- you also suspected he had too till now.. The pencil thin chain that still anchored him in moments like this.
"P-Please more Kurt.. Please~"
You whimper, Unsure why you'd even said it with how much your cunt ached- But you knew you where just to greedy..
Always wanted everything he had to offer and give you.
His hands sliding down your body and landing on the back of your thighs, as he began to push them up closer to your chest.
"I-Im not as flexible Ku-"
He moved faster then your lips as he thrusted deeply into you, your legs being folded up as far as they could which made your legs burn- holding your imprisoned by his body in a mating press.
Sobs of bliss ripping through you as you grasp onto his shoulders desperately for some form of grounding as you could only feel the waves of pleasure being forced from you.
Kurt face twisted up in pure emotion- his eyes almost seemed to be glowing in the incredibly dark room. Rendering him all you could feel, smell and truthfully barely see.
You almost sound helpless from under him, a series of broken whines and moans that belonged more in a porn then your marital bed.
The sounds alone would have made you a blushing mess if you weren't distracted by the way his cock bullied its way into you which made you see stars-
It felt like a snap inside of you as you feel yourself cum as violently as he had fucked you. A scream breaking through you as you felt yourself shake from around his hold. Feeling him still thrusting into you as he neared his own high, a shuddered groan ripping through him as he pressed himself into the deepest part of you and came.
Kurt movements come to a standstill as he panted against your neck. Seemingly just reveling in the feeling of you wrapped around him and shaking from trying to come down of the high of your orgasm.
He peppered a few kisses on your cheeks and lips before slowly pulling out of you. A whimper leaving you as you felt your legs slide down his hips, The gentle tap of his tail sliding across your leg and calf as if to comfort you.
"Mein Liebling, you okay?"
His voice was soft, a bit breathy clearly having come back to whatever dimension he got thrown into you. But you managed a soft nod in acknowledgment, as he slid off the he'd leaving you there.
Laying there you felt like your limbs were nothing more then jelly, Not even strong enough to support yourself as you laid on your back, a small shiver leaving you as the cold air in the room seemed to finally settle on you.
Hearing shuffling around for a moment you feel a warm rag touch your skin as you feel the more familiar hands of your husband carefully start to clean you up. Soft mumbles of apologies coming from him as you felt the rag clean up what no doubt will be a sticky mess down the line.
You could only hum at the nice feeling, taking a few moments to even figure out the English language.
"Jealous much?"
Looking down to see Kurt face turn a bright purple as he continued his task. A airy chuckle leaving you at the sight.
"Ein wenig-" (A little)
--
Everyone was shocked to see Kurt walking in by himself the next morning. A cheerful smile on his lips as he whistled and sorted through the papers for his class as if everything was as right as rain-
A silent question going over the friend group as they all tried to gauge why you weren't there- However that seemed to be a mistake as the resident teleporter glanced at the..
"Aw hell-" Rouge mumbled as she shook her head. Seeing Kurt look right at them all and walk over with a almost pep in his step.
"Shit shit shit..." Bobby mumbles as Kurt stood right in front of them all, Ororo glancing away trying not to laugh into her juice as they all felt the stare down from their blue friend.
Kitty coughed a bit as she looked up at Kurt with a clear 'I'm trying not to laugh bit also mildly worried' smile.
"Morning Kurt. How are you this morning?"
"Sehr gut- And I imagine all of you are good after being so funny yesterday?"
He said a bit curly despite the smile on his lips. But a simmer of irritation still in them, especially when looking at each person individually.
"Um where is (Y/N)?" Bobby finally coughed out, Still trying to look everywhere but his friends eye.
"Resting, Wanting the day to relax-"
He said all to cheerfully, however his eyes looked over everyone with a fanged grin and a gleam in his eye. Even of there seemed to be a slight twitch when Logan walked around the corner with a smirk on his lips as he walked through the group.
"No more pranks- (Y/N) can't afford to miss any more day for being sore-"
...
Kitty face blushed red and Morph looked down quick even Bobby jaw dropping in shock, as the whole group in shell shock by their usually innocent friend blunt remark-
"We all agree, Ja?"
Everyone now red faced and couldn't look Kurt in the eyes.
However Kurt's gaze lingered on Logan for a good second, Despite his grin for the older man he could read it very well in Kurt's eyes and body language 'Do that shit again and we will fight-'
Logan nodded his head with a low chuckle and gave a slow clap-
"Got some balls Elf- Well done.."
Kurt huffed a bit through a gritted smile and turned away quick to head to his classroom. Bobby slowly holding up the wad of cash to Logan who took it silently.
Mercy Made Flesh
one-shot
Remmick x fem!reader
summary: In the heat-choked hush of the Mississippi Delta, you answer a knock you swore would never come. Remmick—unaging, unholy, unforgettable—returns to collect what was promised. What follows is not romance, but ritual. A slow, sensual surrender to a hunger older than the Trinity itself.
wc: 13.1k
a/n: Listen. I didn’t mean to simp for Vampire Jack O’Connell—but here we are. I make no apologies for letting Remmick bite first and ask questions never. Thank you to my bestie Nat (@kayharrisons) for beta reading and hyping me up, without her this fic wouldn't exist, everyone say thank you Nat!
warnings: vampirism, southern gothic erotica, blood drinking as intimacy, canon-typical violence, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f!receiving), first time, bloodplay, biting, marking, monsterfucking (soft edition), religious imagery, devotion as obsession, gothic horror vibes, worship kink, consent affirmed, begging, dirty talk, gentle ruin, haunting eroticism, power imbalance, slow seduction, soul-binding, immortal x mortal, he wants to keep her forever, she lets him, fem!reader, second person pov, 1930s mississippi delta, house that breathes, you will be fed upon emotionally & literally
tags: @xhoneymoonx134
likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated! please enjoy
Mississippi Delta, 1938
The heat hadn’t broken in days.
Not even after sunset, when the sky turned the color of old bruises and the crickets started singing like they were being paid to. It was the kind of heat that soaked into the floorboards, that crept beneath your thin cotton slip and clung to your back like sweat-slicked hands. The air was syrupy, heavy with magnolia and something murkier—soil, maybe. River water. Something that made you itch beneath your skin.
Your cottage sat just outside the edge of town, past the schoolhouse where you spent your days sorting through ledgers and lesson plans that no one but you ever really seemed to care about. It was modest—two rooms and a porch, set back behind a crumbling white-picket fence and swallowed by trees that whispered in the dark. A little sanctuary tucked into the Delta, surrounded by cornfields, creeks, and ghosts.
The kind of place a person could disappear if they wanted to. The kind of place someone could find you…if they were patient enough.
You stood in front of the sink, rinsing out a chipped enamel cup, your hands moving automatically. The oil lamp on the kitchen table flickered with each breath of wind slipping through the cracks in the warped window frame. A cicada screamed in the distance, then another, and then the whole world was humming in chorus.
And beneath it—beneath the cicadas, and the wind, and the nightbirds—you felt something shift.
A quiet. Too quiet.
You turned your head. Listened harder.
Nothing.
Not even the frogs.
Your hand paused in the dishwater. Fingers trembling just a little. It wasn’t like you to be spooked by the dark. You’d grown up in it. Learned to make friends with shadows. Learned not to flinch when things moved just out of sight.
But this?
This was different.
It was as if the night was holding its breath.
And then—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Not loud. Not frantic. But final.
Your body went stiff. The cup slipped beneath the water and bumped the side of the basin with a hollow clink.
No one ever came this far out after sundown. No one but—
You shook your head, almost hard enough to rattle something loose.
No.
He was gone. That part of your life was buried.
You made sure of it.
Still, your bare feet moved toward the door like they weren’t yours. Soft against the creaky wood. Slow. You reached for the small revolver you kept in the drawer beside the door frame, thumbed the hammer back.
Your hand rested on the knob.
Another knock. This time, softer.
Almost...polite.
The porch light had been dead for weeks, so you couldn’t see who was waiting on the other side. But the air—something in the air—told you.
It was him.
You didn’t answer. Not right away.
You stood there with your palm flat against the rough wood, your forehead nearly touching it too—eyes shut, breath shallow. The air on the other side didn’t stir like it should’ve. No footfalls creaking the porch. No shuffle of boots on sun-bleached planks. Just stillness. Waiting.
And underneath your ribs, something began to ache. Something you hadn’t let yourself feel in years.
You didn’t know his name, not back then. You only knew his eyes—gold in the shadows. Red when caught in the light. Like a firelight in the dark. Like a blood red moon through stained-glass windows.
And his voice. Low. Dragging vowels like syrup. A Southern accent that didn’t come from any map you’d ever seen—older than towns, older than state lines. A voice that had told you, seven years ago, with impossible calm:
"You’ll know when it’s time."
You knew. Your hands trembled against your sides. But you didn’t back away. Some part of you knew how useless running would be.
The knob beneath your hand felt cold. Too cold for Mississippi in August.
You turned it.
The door opened slow, hinges whining like they were trying to warn you. You stepped back instinctively—just one step—and then he was there.
Remmick.
Still tall, still lean in that devastating way—like his body was carved from something hard and mean, but shaped to tempt. He wore a crisp white shirt rolled to the elbows, suspenders hanging loose from his hips, and trousers that looked far too clean for a man who walked through the dirt. His hair was messy in that intentional way, brown and swept back like he’d been running hands through it all night. Stubble lined his sharp jaw, catching the lamplight just so.
But it was his face that rooted you to the floor. That hollowed out your breath.
Still young. Still wrong.
Not a wrinkle, not a scar. Not a mark of time. He hadn’t aged a day.
And his eyes—oh, God, his eyes.
They caught the lamp behind you and lit up red, bright and glinting, like the embers of a dying fire. Not human. Not even pretending.
"Hello, dove."
His voice curled into your bones like cigarette smoke. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
You hated how your body reacted.
Hated that you could still feel it—like something old and molten stirring between your thighs, a flicker of the same heat you’d felt that night in the alley, back when you were too desperate to care what kind of creature answered your prayer.
He looked you over once. Not with hunger. With certainty. Like he already knew how this would end. Like he already owned you.
"You remember, don’t you?" he asked.
"I came to collect."
And your voice—when it finally came—was little more than a whisper.
"You can’t be real."
That smile. That slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. Wolfish. Slow.
"You promised."
You wanted to shut the door. Slam it. Deadbolt it. But your hand didn’t move.
Remmick didn’t step forward, not yet. He stood just outside the threshold, framed by night and cypress trees and the distant flicker of heat lightning beyond the fields. The air around him pulsed with something old—older than the land, older than you, older than anything you could name.
He tilted his head the way animals do, watching you, letting the silence thicken like molasses between you.
"Still living out here all on your own," he murmured, gaze drifting over your shoulders, into the small, tidy kitchen behind you. "Hung your laundry on the line this morning. Blue dress, lace hem. Favorite one, ain’t it?"
Your stomach clenched. That dress hadn’t seen a neighbor’s eye all week.
"You've been watching me," you said, your voice low, unsure if it was accusation or realization.
"I’ve been waiting," he said. "Not the same thing."
You swallowed hard. Your breath caught in your throat like a thorn. The wind shifted, and you caught the faintest trace of something—dried tobacco, smoke, rain-soaked dirt, and beneath it, the iron-sweet tinge of blood.
Not fresh. Not violent. Just…present. Like it lived in him.
"I paid my debt," you whispered.
"No, you survived it," he said, stepping up onto the first board of the porch. The wood didn’t creak beneath his weight. "And that’s only half the bargain."
He still hadn’t crossed the threshold.
The stories came back to you, the ones whispered by old women with trembling hands and ash crosses pressed to their doorways—vampires couldn’t enter unless invited. But you hadn’t invited him, not this time.
"You don’t have permission," you said.
He smiled, eyes flashing red again.
"You gave it, seven years ago."
Your breath hitched.
"I was a girl," you said.
"You were desperate," he corrected. "And honest. Desperation makes people honest in ways they can’t be twice. You knew what you were offering me, even if you didn’t understand it. Your promise had teeth."
The wind pushed against your back, as if urging you forward.
Remmick stepped closer, just enough for the shadows to kiss the line of his throat, the hollow of his collarbone. His voice dropped, intimate now—dragging across your skin like a fingertip behind the ear.
"You asked for a miracle. I gave it to you. And now I’m here for what’s mine."
Your heart thudded violently in your chest.
"I didn’t think you’d come."
"That’s the thing about monsters, dove." He leaned down, lips almost grazing the curve of your jaw. "We always do."
And then—
He stepped back.
The wind stopped.
The night fell quiet again, like the world had paused just to watch what you’d do next.
"I’ll wait out here till you’re ready," he said, turning toward the swing on your porch and settling into it like he had all the time in the world. "But don’t make me knock twice. Wouldn’t be polite."
The swing groaned beneath him as it rocked gently, back and forth.
You stood there frozen in the doorway, one bare foot still inside the house, the other brushing the edge of the porch.
You’d made a promise.
And he was here to keep it.
The door stayed open. Just enough for the night to reach inside.
You didn’t move.
Your body stood still but your mind wandered—back to that night in the alley, to the smell of blood and piss and riverwater, your knees soaked in your brother’s lifeblood as you screamed for help that never came. Except it did. It came in the shape of a man who didn’t breathe, didn’t blink, didn’t make promises the way mortals did.
It came in the shape of him.
You thought time would wash it away. That the years would smooth the edges of his voice in your memory, dull the sharpness of his presence. But now, with him just outside your door, it all returned like a fever dream—hot, all-consuming, too real to outrun.
You turned away from the threshold, slowly, carefully, as if the floor might cave in under you. Your hands trembled as you reached for the oil lamp on the table, adjusting the flame lower until it flickered like a dying heartbeat.
The silence behind you dragged, deep and waiting. He didn’t speak again. Didn’t call for you.
He didn’t have to.
You moved through the house in slow circles. Touching things. Straightening them. Folding a dishcloth. Setting a book back on the shelf, even though you’d already read it twice. You tried to pretend you weren’t thinking about the man on your porch. But the heat of him pressed against the back of your mind like a hand.
You could feel him out there. Not just physically—but in you, somehow. Like the air had shifted around his shape, and the longer he lingered, the more your body remembered what it had felt like to stand in front of something not quite human and still want.
You passed the mirror in the hallway and paused.
Your reflection looked undone. Not in the way your hair had fallen from its pin, or the flush across your cheeks, but deeper—like something inside you had been cracked open. You touched your own throat, right where you imagined his mouth might go.
No bite.
Not yet.
But you swore you could feel phantom teeth.
You went back to the door, holding your breath, and looked at him through the screen.
He hadn’t moved. He sat on the swing, one leg stretched out, the other bent lazily beneath him, arms slung across the backrest like he’d always belonged there. A cigarette burned between two fingers, the tip flaring orange as he dragged from it. The scent of it hit you—rich, earthy, and somehow foreign, like something imported from a place no longer on the map.
He didn’t look at you right away.
Then, slowly, he did.
Red eyes caught yours.
He smiled, small and slow, like he was reading a page of you he’d already memorized.
"Thought you’d shut the door by now," he said.
"I should have," you answered.
"But you didn’t."
His voice curled into the quiet.
You stepped out onto the porch, barefoot, the boards warm beneath your soles. He didn’t move to greet you. He didn’t rise. He just watched you walk toward him like he’d been watching in dreams you never remembered having.
The swing groaned as you sat down beside him, a careful space between you.
His shoulder brushed yours.
You stared straight ahead, out into the night. A mist was beginning to rise off the distant fields. The moon hung low and orange like a wound in the sky.
Somewhere in the bayou, a whippoorwill called, long and mournful.
"How long have you been watching me?" you asked.
"Since before you knew to look."
"Why now?"
He turned toward you. His voice was velvet-wrapped iron.
"Because now…you’re ripe for the pickin’.”
You didn’t remember falling asleep.
One moment you were on the porch beside him, listening to the slow groan of the swing and the way the crickets held their breath when he exhaled, the next you were waking in your bed, the sheets tangled around your legs like they were trying to hold you down.
The house was too quiet.
No birdsong. No creak of the windmill out back. No rustle of the sycamores that scraped against your bedroom window on stormy nights.
Just stillness.
And scent.
It clung to the cotton of your nightdress. Tobacco smoke, sweat, rain. Him.
You sat up slowly, pressing your hand to your chest. Your heart thudded like it was trying to remember who it belonged to. The lamp beside your bed had burned down to a stub. A trickle of wax curled like a vein down the side of the glass.
Your mouth tasted like smoke and guilt. Your thighs ached in that low, humming way—though you couldn’t say why. Nothing had happened. Not really.
But something had changed.
You felt it under your skin, in the place where blood meets breath.
The floor was cool under your feet as you moved. You didn’t dress. Just pulled a robe over your slip and stepped into the hallway. The house felt heavier than usual, thick with the ghost of his presence. Every corner held a whisper. Every shadow a shape.
You opened the front door.
The porch was empty.
The swing still rocked gently, as if someone had only just stood up from it.
A folded piece of paper lay on the top step, weighted down by a smooth river stone.
You picked it up with trembling hands.
Come.
That was all it said. One word. But it rang through your bones like gospel. Like a vow.
You looked out across the field. A narrow dirt road stretched beyond the tree line, overgrown but clear. You’d never dared follow it. That road didn’t belong to you.
It belonged to him.
And now…so did you.
You didn’t bring anything with you.
Not a suitcase. Not a shawl. Not a Bible tucked under your arm for comfort.
Just yourself.
And the road.
The hem of your slip was already damp by the time you reached the edge of the field. Dew clung to your ankles like cold fingers, and the earth was soft beneath your feet—fresh from last night’s storm, the kind that never really breaks the heat, only deepens it. The moon had gone down, but the sky was beginning to bruise with that blue-black ink that comes before sunrise. Everything smelled like wet grass, magnolia, and the faint rot of old wood.
The path curved, narrowing as it passed through trees that leaned in too close. Their branches kissed above you like they were whispering secrets into each other’s leaves. Spanish moss hung like veils from the oaks, dripping silver in the fading dark. It made the world feel smaller. Quieter. As if you were walking into something sacred—or something doomed.
A crow cawed once in the distance. Sharp. Hollow. You didn’t flinch.
There was no sound of wheels. No car waiting. Just the road and the fog and the promise you'd made.
And then you saw it.
The house.
Tucked deep in the grove, half-swallowed by vines and time, it rose like a memory from the earth. A decaying plantation, left to rot in the wet belly of the Delta. Its bones were still beautiful—white columns streaked with black mildew, a grand porch that sagged like a mouth missing teeth, shuttered windows with iron latches rusted shut. Ivy grew up the sides like it was trying to strangle the place. Or maybe protect it.
You stood there at the edge of the clearing, breath caught in your throat.
He’d brought you here.
Or maybe he’d always been here. Waiting. Dreaming of the moment you’d return to him without even knowing it.
A shape moved behind one of the upstairs curtains. Quick. Barely there.
You didn’t run.
Your bare foot found the first step.
It groaned like it recognized you.
The door was already open.
Not wide—just enough for you to know it had been waiting.
And you stepped inside.
The air inside was colder.
Not the kind of cold that came from breeze or shade—but from stillness, from the absence of sun and time. A hush so thick it felt like you were walking underwater. Like the house had held its breath for decades and only now began to exhale.
Dust spiraled in the faint light seeping through fractured windows, casting soft halos through the dark. The wooden floor beneath your feet was warped and groaning, but clean. Not in any natural sense—there was no broom that had touched these boards. No polish or soap.
But it had been kept.
The air didn’t smell like rot or mildew. It smelled like cedar. Like old leather. And deeper beneath that, like him.
He hadn’t lit any lamps.
Just the fireplace, burning low, glowing embers pulsing orange-red at the back of a cavernous hearth. The flame danced shadows across the faded wallpaper, peeling in long strips like dead skin. A high-backed chair faced the fire, velvet blackened from age, its silhouette looming like something alive.
You swallowed, lips dry, and stepped further in.
Your voice didn’t carry. It didn’t even try.
Remmick was nowhere in sight.
But he was here.
You could feel him in the walls, in the way the house seemed to lean closer with every step you took.
You passed through the parlor, past a dusty grand piano with one ivory key cracked down the middle. Past oil portraits too old to make out, their eyes blurred with time. Past a single vase of dried wildflowers, colorless now, but carefully arranged.
You paused in the doorway to the drawing room, your hand resting lightly on the frame.
A whisper of air moved behind you.
Then—
A hand.
Not grabbing. Not harsh. Just the light press of fingers against the small of your back, palm flat and warm through the thin cotton of your slip.
You froze.
He was behind you.
So close you could feel his breath at your neck. Not warm, not cold—just present. Like wind through a crack in the door. Like the memory of a touch before it lands.
His voice was low, close to your ear.
"You came."
You didn’t answer.
"You always would have."
You wanted to say no. Wanted to deny it. But you stood there trembling under his hand, your heartbeat so loud you were sure he could hear it.
Maybe that was why he smiled.
He stepped around you slowly, letting his fingers graze the side of your waist as he moved. His eyes glinted red in the firelight, catching on you like a flame drawn to dry kindling.
He looked at you like he was already undressing you.
Not your clothes—your will.
And it was already unraveling.
You’d suspected he wasn’t born of this soil.
Not just because of the way he moved—like he didn’t quite belong to gravity—but because of the way he spoke. Like time hadn’t worn the edges off his words the way it had with everyone else. His voice curled around vowels like smoke curling through keyholes. Rich and low, but laced with something older. Something foreign. Something that made the hair at the nape of your neck rise when he spoke too softly, too close.
He didn’t speak like a man from the Delta.
He spoke like something older than it.
Older than the country. Maybe older than God.
Remmick stopped in front of you, lit only by firelight.
His eyes had dulled from red to something deeper—like old garnet held to a candle. His shirt was open at the collar now, suspenders hanging slack, the buttons on his sleeves rolled to his elbows. His forearms were dusted with faint scars that looked like they had stories. His skin was pale in the glow, but not lifeless. He looked like marble warmed by touch.
He studied you for a long time.
You weren’t sure if it was your face he was reading, or something beneath it. Something you couldn’t hide.
"You look just like your mother," he said finally.
Your breath caught.
"You knew her?"
A soft smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.
"I’ve known a lot of people, dove. I just never forget the ones with your blood."
You didn’t ask what he meant. Not yet.
There was something heavy in his tone—something laced with memory that stretched back far further than it should. You had guessed, years ago, in the sleepless weeks after that alleyway miracle, that he was not new to this world. That his youth was a trick of the skin. A lie worn like a mask.
You’d read every folklore book you could get your hands on. Every whisper of vampire lore scratched into the margins of ledgers, stuffed between church hymnals, scribbled on the backs of newspapers.
Some said they aged. Slowly. Elegantly.
Others said they didn’t age at all. That they existed outside time. Beyond it.
You didn’t know how old Remmick was.
But something in your bones told you the truth.
Five hundred. Six hundred, maybe more.
A man who remembered empires. A man who had watched cities rise and burn. Who had danced in plague-slick ballrooms and kissed queens before they were beheaded. A man who had lived so long that names no longer mattered. Only debts. And blood.
And you’d given him both.
He stepped closer now, slow and deliberate.
"Yer heart’s gallopin’ like it thinks I’m here to take it."
You flinched. Not because he was wrong. But because he was right.
"You said you didn’t want my blood," you whispered.
"I don’t." He tilted his head. "Not yet."
"Then what do you want?"
His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
"You."
He said it like it was a simple thing. Like the rain wanting the river. Like the grave wanting the body.
You swallowed hard.
"Why me?"
His gaze dragged down your frame, unhurried, like a man admiring a painting he’d stolen once and hidden from the world.
"Because you belong to me. You gave yourself freely. No bargain’s ever tasted so sweet."
Your throat tightened.
"I didn’t know what I was agreeing to."
"You did," he said, softly now, stepping close enough that his chest nearly brushed yours. "You knew. Your soul knew. Even if your head didn’t catch up."
You opened your mouth to protest, to say something, anything that would push back this slow suffocation of certainty—
But his hand came up to your jaw. Fingers feather-light. Not forcing. Just holding. Just there.
"And you’ve been thinkin’ about me ever since," he said.
Not a question. A statement.
You didn’t answer.
He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek, his voice a rasp against your ear.
"You dream of me, don’t you?"
Your hands trembled at your sides.
"I don’t—"
"You wake wet. Ache in your belly. You don’t know why. But I do."
You let your eyes fall shut, shame burning behind them like fire.
"Fuckin’ knew it," he murmured, almost reverent. "You smell like want, dove. You always have.”
His hand didn’t move. It just stayed there at your jaw, thumb ghosting slow along the hollow beneath your cheekbone. A touch so gentle it made your knees ache. Because it wasn’t the roughness that undid you—it was the restraint.
He could’ve taken.
He didn’t.
Not yet.
His gaze held yours, slow and unblinking, red still smoldering in the center of his irises like the dying core of a flame that refused to go out.
"Say it," he murmured.
Your lips parted, but nothing came.
"I can smell it," he said, voice low, rich as molasses. "Your shame. Your want. You’ve been livin’ like a nun with a beast inside her, and no one knows but me."
You hated how your breath stuttered. Hated more that your thighs pressed together when he said it.
"Why do you talk like that," you whispered, barely able to get the words out, "like you already know what I’m feeling?"
His fingers slid down, grazing the side of your neck, stopping just before the pulse thudding there.
"Because I do."
"That’s not fair."
He smiled, slow and crooked, nothing kind in it.
"No, dove. It ain’t."
You hated him.
You hated how beautiful he was in this light, sleeves rolled, veins prominent in his arms, shirt hanging open just enough to show the faint line of a scar that trailed beneath his collarbone. A body shaped by time, not by vanity. Not perfect. Just true. Like someone carved him for a purpose and let the flaws stay because they made him real.
He looked like sin and the sermon that came after.
Remmick moved closer. You didn’t retreat.
His hand flattened over your sternum now, right above your heartbeat, the warmth of him pressing through the cotton of your slip like it meant to seep in. He leaned down, mouth near yours, not kissing, just breathing.
"You gave yourself to me once," he said. "I’m only here to collect the rest."
"You saved my brother."
"I saved you. You just didn’t know it yet."
A shiver rippled down your spine.
His hand moved lower, skimming the curve of your ribs, hovering just at the soft flare of your waist. You could feel the heat rolling off him like smoke from a coalbed. His body didn’t radiate warmth the way a man’s should—but something older. Wilder. Like the earth’s own breath in summer. Like the hush of a storm right before it split the sky.
"And if I tell you no?" you asked, barely more than a breath.
His eyes flicked to yours, unreadable.
"I’ll wait."
You weren’t expecting that.
He smiled again, this time softer, almost cruel in its patience.
"I’ve waited centuries for sweeter things than you. But that don’t mean I won’t keep my hands on you ‘til you change your mind."
"You think I will?"
"You already have."
Your chest rose sharply, breath stung with heat.
"You think this is love?"
He laughed, low and dangerous, the sound curling around your ribs.
"No," he said. "This is hunger. Love comes later."
Then his mouth brushed your jaw—not a kiss, just the graze of lips against skin—and every nerve in your body arched to meet it.
Your knees buckled, barely.
He caught your waist in one hand, steadying you with maddening ease.
"I’m gonna ruin you," he whispered against your throat, his nose dragging lightly along your skin. "But I’ll be so gentle the first time you’ll beg me to do it again."
And God help you—
You wanted him to.
The house didn’t sleep.
Not the way houses were meant to.
It breathed.
The walls exhaled heat and memory, the floors creaked even when no one stepped, and somewhere in the rafters above your room, something paced slowly back and forth, back and forth, like a beast too restless to settle. The kind of place built with its own pulse.
You’d spent the rest of the night—if you could call it that—in a room that wasn’t yours, wearing nothing but a cotton shift and your silence. You hadn’t asked for anything. He hadn’t offered.
The room was spare but not cruel. A basin with a water pitcher. A four-poster bed draped in a netting veil to keep out the bugs—or the ghosts. The mattress was soft. The sheets smelled faintly of cedar, firewood, and something else you didn’t recognize.
Him.
You didn’t undress. You lay on top of the blanket, fingers threaded together over your belly, the thrum of your heartbeat like a second mouth behind your ribs.
Your door had no lock. Just a handle that squeaked if turned. And you hated how many times your eyes flicked toward it. Waiting. Wanting.
But he never came.
And somehow, that was worse.
Morning broke soft and gray through the slatted shutters. The sun didn’t quite reach the corners of the room, and the light that filtered in was the color of dust and river fog.
When you finally stepped out barefoot into the hall, the house was already awake.
There was a scent in the air—coffee. Burned sugar. The faintest curl of cinnamon. Something sizzling in a skillet somewhere.
You followed it.
The kitchen was enormous, all brick hearth and cast iron and a long scarred table in the center with mismatched chairs pushed in unevenly. A window hung open, letting in a breath of swamp air that rustled the lace curtain and kissed your ankles.
Remmick stood at the stove with his back to you, sleeves still rolled to the elbow, suspenders crossed low over his back. His shirt was half-unbuttoned and clung to his sides with the cling of heat and skin. He moved like he didn’t hear you enter.
You knew he had.
He reached for the pan with a towel over his palm and flipped something in the cast iron with a deft flick of the wrist.
"Hope you like sweet," he said, voice thick with morning. "Ain’t got much else."
You didn’t speak. Just stood there in the doorway like a ghost he’d conjured and forgotten about.
He turned.
God help you.
Even like this, barefoot, collar open, hair mussed from sleep or maybe just time—he looked unreal. Like a sin someone had tried to scrub out of scripture but couldn’t quite forget.
"Sleep alright?" he asked.
You gave a small nod.
He looked at you a moment longer. Then—
"Sit down, dove."
You moved toward the table.
His voice followed you, lazy but pointed.
"That’s the wrong chair."
You paused.
He nodded to one at the head of the table—old, high-backed, carved with curling vines and symbols you didn’t recognize.
"That one’s yours now."
You hesitated, then lowered yourself into it slowly. The wood groaned under your weight. The air in the kitchen felt thicker now, tighter.
He brought the plate to you himself.
Two slices of skillet cornbread, golden and glistening with syrup. A few wild strawberries sliced and sugared. A smear of butter melting slow at the center like a pulse.
He set the plate in front of you with a quiet care that felt almost obscene.
"You ain’t gotta eat," he said, leaning against the table beside your chair. "But I like watchin’ you do it."
You picked up the fork.
His eyes stayed on your mouth.
The cornbread was still warm.
Steam curled from it like breath from parted lips. The syrup pooled thick at the edges, dripping off the edge of your fork in slow, amber ribbons. It stuck to your fingers when you touched it. Sweet. Sticky. Sensual.
You brought the first bite to your mouth, slow.
Remmick didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His eyes tracked the motion like a starving man watching someone else’s feast.
The bite landed soft on your tongue—golden crisp on the outside, warm and tender in the middle, butter melting into every pore. It was perfect. Unreasonably so. And somehow you hated that even more. Because nothing about this should’ve tasted good. Not with him watching you like that. Not with your body still humming from the memory of his voice against your skin.
But you swallowed.
And he smiled.
"Good girl," he murmured.
You froze. The fork paused just above the plate.
"You don’t get to say things like that," you whispered.
"Why not?"
Your fingers tightened around the handle.
"Because it sounds like you earned it."
He chuckled, low and easy. A slow roll of thunder in his chest.
"Think I did. Think I earned every fuckin’ word after draggin’ you out that night and lettin’ you walk away without layin’ a hand on you."
You looked up sharply, heat crawling up your neck.
"You shouldn’t have touched me."
"I didn’t," he said. "But I wanted to. Still do."
Your breath caught.
His knuckles brushed the edge of your plate, slow, casual, like he had all the time in the world to make you squirm.
"And I know you want me to," he added, voice low enough that it coiled under your ribs and settled somewhere molten in your belly.
You pushed the plate away.
He didn’t flinch. Just reached forward and dragged it back in front of you like you hadn’t moved it at all.
"You eat," he said, gentler now. "You need it. House takes more from you than it gives."
You glanced around the kitchen, suddenly uneasy.
"You talk about it like it’s alive."
He gave a slow nod.
"It is. In a way."
"How?"
He looked down at your plate, then back at you.
"You’ll see."
You pushed another bite past your lips, slower this time, aware of the weight of his gaze with every chew, every swallow. You didn’t know why you obeyed. Maybe it was easier than defying him. Maybe it was because some part of you wanted him to keep watching.
When the plate was clean, he reached out and caught your wrist before you could stand.
Not hard. Not even firm. Just…inevitable.
"You full?" he asked, his voice all smoke and sin.
You nodded.
His eyes darkened.
"Then I’ll have my taste next."
Your breath lodged sharp in your throat.
He said it like it meant nothing. Like asking for your pulse was no more intimate than asking for your hand. But there was a glint in his eye—red barely flickering now, but still there—and it told you everything.
He was done pretending.
You didn’t move. Not right away.
His fingers were still wrapped around your wrist, light but unyielding, the pad of his thumb grazing the fragile skin where your pulse drummed loud and frantic. Like it wanted to leap out of your veins and spill into his mouth.
You swallowed hard.
"You said you didn’t want blood."
"I don’t."
"Then what do you want?"
"You."
You watched him now, trying to make sense of what you wanted.
And what terrified you was this—
You didn’t want to run.
You wanted to know how it would feel.
To give something he couldn’t take without permission.
To see if your body could handle the worship of a mouth like his.
Remmick’s other hand came up slow, brushing hair from your cheek, his knuckles rough and reverent.
"You said I smelled like want," you whispered.
"You do."
"What do you smell like?"
He leaned in, mouth near your throat again, his nose dragging along your skin, slow, as if he were drawing in the scent of your soul.
"Rot. Hunger. Regret," he said. "Old things that don’t die right."
You shivered.
"And still I want you," you breathed.
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes.
"That’s the worst part, ain’t it?"
You didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
His hand slid down to your elbow, then lower, tracing the curve of your waist through the thin fabric. His touch was warm now, or maybe your body had just given up trying to tell the difference between threat and thrill.
He guided you up from the chair.
Didn’t yank. Didn’t drag.
Just stood and took your hand like a dance was beginning.
"Come with me," he said.
"Where?"
"Somewhere I can kneel."
Your heart stuttered.
He led you through the house, down the long hallway past doorways that watched like eyes. The floor groaned underfoot, the air thickening around your shoulders as he brought you deeper into the home’s belly. You passed portraits whose paint had faded to shadows, velvet drapes drawn tight, mirrors that refused to hold your reflection quite right.
The door at the end of the hall was already open.
Inside, the room was dark.
Just one candle lit, flickering low in a glass jar, its light catching the edges of something silver beside the bed. An old bowl. A cloth. A pair of gloves, yellowed from time.
A ritual.
Not violent.
Intimate.
Remmick turned toward you, his face bare in the soft light. He looked younger. More human. And somehow more dangerous for it.
"Sit," he said.
You sat.
He knelt.
And then his hands found your knees.
His hands rested on your knees like they belonged there. Not demanding. Not prying. Just there. Anchored. Reverent.
The candlelight licked up his jaw, catching in the hollows of his cheeks, the deep shadow beneath his throat. He didn’t look like a man. He looked like a story told by firelight—half-worshipped, half-feared. A sinner in the shape of a saint. Or maybe the other way around.
His thumbs made a slow pass over the inside of your thighs, just above the knee. Barely pressure. Barely touch. The kind of contact that made your breath feel too loud in your chest.
"Yer too quiet," he murmured.
"I don’t know what to say," you whispered back.
His gaze lifted, locking with yours, and in that moment the whole room seemed to still.
"Ya ain’t gotta say a damn thing," he said. "You just need to stay right there and let me show ya what I mean when I say I don’t want yer blood."
Your lips parted, but no sound came.
He leaned in, slow as honey in the heat, until his mouth hovered just above your knee. Then lower. His breath ghosted over your skin, warm and maddening.
You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until he pressed a single kiss just above the bone.
Your lungs stuttered.
His lips trailed higher.
Another kiss.
Then another.
Each one higher than the last, until your legs opened on instinct, until you felt the hem of your slip being eased upward by hands that moved with worshipful patience. Like he wasn’t just undressing you—he was peeling back a veil. Unwrapping something sacred.
"You ever had someone kneel for ya?" he asked, voice rough now. Thicker.
You shook your head.
He smiled like he already knew the answer.
"Good. Let me be the first."
He kissed the inside of your thigh like it meant something. Like you meant something. Like your skin wasn’t just skin, but a prayer he intended to answer with his mouth.
The air was too hot. Your thoughts slid loose from the edges of your mind. All you could do was breathe and feel.
He looked up at you once more, red eyes burning low, and said—
"You gave yerself to me. Let me taste what I already own."
And then he bowed his head, mouth meeting the softest part of you, and the rest of the world disappeared.
His mouth touched you like he’d been dreaming of it for years. Like he’d earned it.
No rush. No hunger. Just that first velvet press of his lips against the tender center of you, reverent and slow, like a kiss to a wound or a confession. He moaned, low and guttural, into your skin—and the sound of it vibrated up through your spine.
He parted you with his thumbs, just enough to taste you deeper. His tongue slipped between folds already slick and aching, and he groaned again, this time with something like gratitude.
"Sweet as I fuckin’ knew you’d be," he rasped, voice hot against your core.
Your hands gripped the edge of the chair. Wood bit into your palms. Your head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut as your thighs trembled around his shoulders.
He didn’t stop.
He licked you with patience, with purpose, like he was reading scripture written between your legs—each flick of his tongue slow and deliberate, every pass perfectly placed, building pressure inside you with maddening precision.
And all the while, he watched you.
When your head dropped forward, you found him staring up at you. Red eyes glowing low, heavy-lidded, mouth glistening, jaw tense with restraint. He looked ruined by the taste of you.
"Look at me," he said. "Wanna see you fall apart on my tongue."
Your breath hitched, hips rocking forward on instinct, chasing his mouth. He growled low and deep in his chest, gripping your thighs tighter.
"That’s it, dove," he murmured. "Don’t run from it. Give it to me."
He flattened his tongue and dragged it slow, then circled the swollen peak of your clit with the tip, teasing you to the edge and pulling back just before it broke.
You whined. Desperate.
He smirked against your cunt.
"You want it?" he asked, voice thick. "Say it."
Your lips barely formed the word—"Please."
He hummed in approval.
Then he devoured you.
No more teasing. No more pacing. Just his mouth fully locked on you, tongue relentless now, lips sealing around your clit while two fingers slid into you with that obscene, perfect pressure that made your body jolt.
You cried out, gasping, your thighs tightening around his head as the world tipped sideways.
"That’s it," he groaned, curling his fingers just right. "Cum f’r me, girl. Let me taste what’s mine."
And when it hit—
It hit like a fever. Like lightning. Like your soul cracked in half and bled straight into his mouth.
You broke with a cry, hips bucking, your fingers tangled in his hair as wave after wave crashed through you.
He didn’t stop. Not until your thighs twitched and your breath came in ragged little sobs, not until your body went limp in his hands.
Then, finally—finally—he pulled back.
His lips were wet. His eyes were feral. And he looked at you like a man who’d just fed.
"You’re fuckin’ divine," he whispered. "And I ain’t even started ruinin’ you yet."
The room pulsed with quiet. The candle flickered low, flame swaying as if it too had held its breath through your unraveling.
Your body felt boneless. Glazed in sweat. Your pulse echoed everywhere—in your wrists, your throat, between your legs where he’d buried his mouth like a man sent to worship. You weren’t sure how long it had been since you’d spoken. Since you’d breathed without shaking.
Remmick still knelt.
His hands were on your thighs, thumbs drawing idle circles into your skin like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. His head was bowed slightly, but his eyes were on you—watchful, reverent, hungry in a way that had nothing to do with the softness between your legs and everything to do with something older. Something darker.
He looked drunk on you.
You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice caught on the edge of a sigh.
He beat you to it.
"Reckon you know what’s comin’ next," he murmured.
You didn’t answer.
He rose from his knees in one slow, unhurried motion. There was a heaviness to him now, a tension rolling just beneath his skin, like a dam about to split. He reached up with one hand and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of it—then licked the taste from his thumb like it was honey off the comb.
You watched, breath held tight in your chest.
He stepped closer. You stayed seated, knees still parted, your slip pushed up indecently high, but you didn’t fix it. Didn’t move at all. The heat between your legs hadn’t faded. If anything, it curled deeper now, thicker, laced with something close to fear but not quite.
He stopped in front of you.
Tilted his head slightly.
"How’s yer heart?"
You blinked.
"It’s…fast," you whispered.
He smiled slow. Not mocking. Not soft either.
"Good. I want it fast."
Your throat tightened.
"Why?"
He leaned in, hands bracing on either side of your chair, body boxing you in without touching.
"‘Cause I want yer blood screamin’ for me when I take it."
Your breath caught somewhere between your ribs.
He didn’t touch you yet—didn’t need to. The weight of his body, caging you in without a single finger laid, made your skin flush from your chest to your knees. Every inch of you throbbed with awareness. Of him. Of your own pulse. Of the air cooling the places he’d worshiped with his mouth not moments before.
You swallowed.
"You said you’d wait," you whispered.
He nodded once, slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.
"I did. And I have. But yer body’s already beggin’ for me. Ain’t it?"
You hated that he was right. That he could feel it somehow. Not just see the tremble in your thighs or the way your lips parted when he leaned closer—but that he could feel it in the air, like scent, like vibration.
You lifted your chin, barely.
"I’m not scared."
He chuckled low, and it rumbled through your bones.
"Good. But I don’t need ya scared, dove. I need ya open."
He raised one hand then, slow as scripture, and brushed his knuckles along the column of your throat. Just a whisper of contact, a ghost’s touch. Your head tilted for him without thinking, baring your neck.
"Right here," he murmured. "Right where it beats loudest. That’s where I wanna taste ya."
You shivered.
He bent down, mouth near your pulse. His breath was warm, slow, drawn in like he was savoring you already.
"I ain’t gonna hurt ya," he said. "Not unless you want it."
Your fingers twisted in your lap.
"Will it—" you started, but the question got tangled.
He smiled against your skin.
"Will it feel good?"
You said nothing.
"You already know."
You did.
Because everything with him did. Every word. Every look. Every touch. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t holy. But it was real. It lived under your skin like rot and root and ruin.
You nodded once.
"Then take it."
Remmick stilled.
And then his lips pressed to your throat. Not with hunger. With reverence. Like a blessing.
"That’s my girl," he breathed.
And then he bit.
It wasn’t pain.
It was pressure, first.
A deep, aching pull that bloomed just beneath the skin, right where his mouth latched onto you. His lips sealed tight around your throat, and then—sharpness. Two points sinking in like teeth through silk. Like sin through flesh.
You gasped.
Not from fear. Not even from the sting. But from the rush.
Heat burst behind your eyes, white and sudden and dizzying. Your hands flew to his shoulders, clinging, grounding, anchoring you to something real while your mind drifted into something else—something otherworldly.
The pull came next.
A steady rhythm, slow and patient, like he was sipping you instead of drinking. Like he had all the time in the world. You could feel it, the way your blood left you in waves, not violent, not greedy—just…intimate. Like giving. Like surrender.
He groaned low against your neck, the sound vibrating through your bones.
"Fuck, you taste like sunlight," he rasped against your skin, voice thick with hunger and awe. "Like everythin’ warm I thought I’d forgotten."
Your head tipped further, offering him more.
You didn’t know when your legs opened wider, or when your hips rocked forward just to feel more of him. But his body shifted instinctively, meeting yours with a growl, his hand gripping your thigh now, possessive and unrelenting.
Your pulse faltered. Not from weakness, but from pleasure. From the unbearable knowing that he was inside you now, in the most ancient way. That your body had opened to him, and your blood had welcomed him.
Your moan was breathless.
"Remmick—"
He shushed you, mouth never leaving your throat.
"Don’t speak, dove. Just feel."
And you did.
You felt every lick. Every pull. Every sacred claim. You felt his tongue soothe where his fangs pierced, his hand slide higher along your thigh, his knee pushing between your legs until your breath stuttered out of you in something like a sob.
It was too much. It was not enough.
And when he finally pulled back, slow and reluctant, your blood on his lips like a mark, like a vow, he stared at you like you were holy.
Like he hadn’t fed on you.
Like he’d prayed.
The room was quiet, but your body wasn’t.
You felt every beat of your heart echo in the hollow where his mouth had been. A slow, reverent throb that pulsed through your neck, your chest, your thighs. It was like something had been lit beneath your skin, and now it smoldered there—glowing, aching, changed.
Remmick’s breath was uneven. His lips were stained red, parted just slightly, his jaw slack with something like awe. The burn of your blood still shimmered in his eyes, brighter now. Alive.
He looked undone.
And yet his hands were steady as he reached up, cupped your jaw in both palms, and tilted your face toward him. His thumb swept across your cheekbone like you might vanish if he didn’t touch you just right.
"You alright?" he asked, voice quieter now, roughened at the edges like a match just struck.
You nodded, though your limbs still trembled.
"I feel…" you swallowed, the word too small for what bloomed in your chest, "…warm."
He laughed, soft and almost bitter, and leaned his forehead against yours.
"You should. You’re inside me now. Every drop of you."
The words rooted somewhere deep. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. You could still feel the heat of his mouth, the bite, the pleasure that followed. It wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t just surrender. It was something older. Something binding.
"Does it hurt?" you asked, your fingers brushing the side of his neck, the line of his collarbone slick with sweat.
He looked at you like you’d asked the wrong question.
"Hurt?" he echoed. "Dove, it’s ecstasy."
You stared at him.
"You mean for you?"
He shook his head once.
"For us."
Then he pulled back just enough to look at you—really look. His gaze swept your features like he was committing them to memory. As if this moment, this very breath, was something sacred. His fingers moved to your throat again, this time to the place just above the bite, and he pressed lightly.
"You’ll bruise here," he said. "Won’t fade for a while."
"Will it heal?"
"Eventually."
"Do you want it to?"
His mouth curved, slow and wicked.
"No," he said. "I want the world to see what’s mine."
And before you could reply—before the heat in your belly could cool or your mind could gather itself—he kissed you.
Not soft.
Not careful.
His mouth claimed you like he’d already been inside you a thousand times and wanted to do it a thousand more. He kissed you like a man starving. Like a creature who’d gone too long without flesh, and now that he had it, he wasn’t letting go.
You tasted your own blood on his tongue.
And it tasted like forever.
The house knew.
It breathed deeper now. Its wood swelled, its walls sighed, its floorboards creaked in time with your heartbeat—as though it had taken you in too, accepted your offering, and now it wanted to keep you just like he did. Not as a guest. Not as a lover.
As a belonging.
Remmick hadn’t let you go.
Not when the kiss ended. Not when your blood slowed in his mouth. Not when your knees gave and your body folded forward into him. His arms had caught you like he knew the shape of your collapse. Like he’d been waiting for it. Like he’d never let you fall anywhere but into him.
He carried you now, one arm beneath your legs, the other braced around your back, his chest solid against yours.
"Don’t reckon you’re walkin’ after all that," he muttered, gaze fixed ahead, voice gone syrup-slow and thick with something possessive.
You didn’t argue. You couldn’t.
Your head rested against the place where his heart should’ve beat. But it was quiet there. Not lifeless—just other.
He carried you past rooms you hadn’t seen. A library, long abandoned, lined with crooked books and a grandfather clock that had no hands. A parlor soaked in velvet and silence. A door nailed shut from the outside, something heavy breathing behind it.
You didn’t ask.
He didn’t explain.
The room he took you to was nothing like the others.
It wasn’t grand.
It was personal.
The windows here were narrow and high, soft light slanting through the dusty glass in thin gold ribbons. The bed was simple but large, the sheets dark, the frame iron-wrought and worn smooth by time. A single cross hung above the headboard—but it had been turned upside down.
He set you down like you were breakable. Sat you on the edge of the bed, knelt once more to remove the slip still clinging to your body, inch by inch, as if undressing you were a sacrament.
"Y’ever wonder why I picked you?" he asked, voice low as the hush between thunderclaps.
Your breath stilled.
"I thought it was the blood."
He shook his head, his hands pausing at your hips.
"Nah, dove. Blood’s blood. Yours sings, sure. But it ain’t why I chose."
He looked up then, red eyes gleaming in the half-light.
"You remind me of the last thing I ever loved before I died."
The words landed like a stone in still water.
They rippled outward. Slow. Wide. Deep.
You stared at him, breath shallow, your skin bare under his hands, your throat still warm from where he’d fed. The room held its silence like breath behind gritted teeth. Outside, somewhere beyond the high windows, something moved through the trees—branches bending, wind pushing low and humid across the land—but in here, it was only the two of you.
Only his voice.
Only your blood between his teeth.
"What…what was she like?" you asked.
His thumbs drew circles at your hips, but his eyes drifted, not unfocused—just distant. Remembering.
"She had a mouth like yours. Sharp. Didn’t know when to shut it. Always speakin’ when she should’ve stayed quiet." A smile ghosted across his lips. "God, I loved that. I loved that she ain’t feared me even when she should’ve."
He exhaled through his nose, slow.
"But she didn’t get to finish bein’ mine."
Your brows pulled.
"What happened to her?"
He looked back at you then, and the heat in his gaze returned—not hunger, not even desire, but something deeper. Possessive. Terrifying in its tenderness.
"They tore her from me. Burned her in a chapel. Said she was a witch on account’a what I’d given her."
Your heart dropped into your stomach.
"Remmick—"
"She didn’t scream," he said, voice rough. "Didn’t cry. Just looked at me like she knew I’d find her again. And I have."
You froze.
His hands slid higher, up your ribs, his palms reverent.
"I don’t believe in fate. Not really. But you—" he leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, voice low like a spell, "you make me wanna believe in things I ain’t allowed to have."
You whispered against the curl of his mouth.
"And what do you think I am?"
He kissed the hinge of your jaw.
"My penance," he said. "And my reward."
You shivered.
"You said you saved me."
He nodded.
"I did."
"Why?"
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, and his voice dropped to a near whisper.
"‘Cause I ain’t lettin’ another thing I love burn."
You didn’t realize you were crying until he touched your face.
Not with hunger, not with heat, but with the kind of softness that had no business living in a man like him. His thumb caught a tear on your cheek like he’d been waiting for it, like it meant something sacred.
"You ain’t her," he murmured. "But you feel like the same song in a different key."
His voice cracked a little at the edges, not enough to ruin the shape of it, just enough to prove that something in him still bled.
You reached up, fingers trembling, and cupped the side of his neck. The skin there was warmer now. Still inhuman, still not quite alive, but it held your heat like it didn’t want to give it back. You felt the ridges of old scars beneath your palm. The echo of stories not told.
"I don’t know what I’m becoming," you said.
He leaned into your hand, eyes half-lidded.
"You’re becomin’ mine."
Then he kissed you again—not like before. Not full of fire. But slow, like he had all the time in the world to learn the shape of your mouth. His lips moved over yours with a kind of tenderness that made your bones ache. A kind of reverence that said this is where I end and begin again.
When he pulled back, your breath followed him.
The room shifted.
You felt it. Like the house had exhaled too.
"Lie down," he said, voice softer than it had ever been. "Let me hold what I almost lost."
You obeyed.
You lay back against the sheets that smelled like him, like dust and dark and something unnameable. The iron bed creaked softly beneath you, and the candlelight trembled with the movement. He undressed with quiet purpose, shirt sliding from his shoulders, buttons undone by slow fingers, trousers falling away to bare the sharp planes of his body.
And when he climbed over you, it wasn’t to take.
It was to be taken.
Remmick hovered above you, breath warm at your lips, hands braced on either side of your head. He looked down at you like he was staring through time. Like you were something he'd pulled from the fire and decided to keep even if it burned him too.
You’re mine, he whispered, but didn’t say it aloud.
He didn’t have to.
His body said it.
His mouth said it.
And when he finally eased inside you, slow and steady, filling you inch by trembling inch—your soul said it too.
His body hovered just above yours, every inch of him trembling with a control you didn’t quite understand—until you looked into his eyes.
That red glow was dimmer now. No less powerful, but softened by something raw. Something reverent.
Not hunger.
Not lust.
Not even possession.
Devotion.
The kind that didn’t speak. The kind that buried itself in the bones and never left.
His hand slid down the side of your face, tracing the curve of your cheek, then the line of your jaw, calloused fingers lingering in the hollow of your throat where your heartbeat thudded wild and uneven.
"Still fast," he murmured, half to himself.
"You’re heavy," you whispered, not in protest, but in awe. Every breath you took was filled with him.
He smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching in that crooked, wicked way of his.
"Ain’t even layin’ on you yet."
You didn’t laugh. Couldn’t. Your body was stretched too tight, strung out with anticipation and need. Every inch of you burned.
He leaned down then, not to kiss you, but to breathe you in. His nose skimmed your cheek, the edge of your ear, the curve of your throat already marked by his bite. His hands traced your ribs, the sides of your waist, slow and steady, like he was trying to learn you by touch alone.
"You’re shakin'," he whispered, voice low, thick with something close to worship.
"So are you."
A pause.
Then softer—truthfully,
"Yeah."
He kissed the inside of your wrist, then the space between your breasts, then lower still—his lips reverent as they moved over your belly, your hipbone, the softest parts of you.
"You ever had someone take their time with you?" he asked, mouth against your skin.
You didn’t speak.
"Didn’t think so," he muttered. "Shame."
His hand slid between your thighs, spreading you again—not rushed, not greedy, just gentle. Like he knew he’d already had the taste of you and now he wanted the feel.
"Tell me if it’s too much," he said.
"It already is."
He looked up at you then, his face half-shadowed, half-lit, and something flickered in his eyes.
"Good."
His cock brushed against your entrance, hot and heavy, and you nearly arched off the bed at the first contact. Not even inside. Just there. Teasing. Pressed to the slick mess he'd made of you earlier with his mouth.
He groaned deep.
"Fuck, you feel like sin."
You reached for him, pulled him down by the back of his neck until your mouths were inches apart.
"Then sin with me."
He didn’t hesitate.
He began to press in—slow. Devastatingly slow. The head of his cock stretching you open with a care that felt like madness. His hands gripped your hips as if holding himself back took more strength than killing ever had.
He moved in inch by inch, his breath hitched, jaw tight, sweat beginning to bead at his temple.
"Shit—ya takin’ me so good, dove. Just like that."
You moaned. Your fingers dug into his back. You were full of him and not even halfway there.
"Remmick—"
"I gotcha," he whispered. "Ain’t gonna let you break."
But he was already breaking you. Gently. Thoroughly. Beautifully.
He filled you like he’d been made for the task.
No sharp thrusts. No hurried rhythm. Just the unbearable slowness of it. The stretch. The burn. The drag of his cock as he sank deeper, deeper, deeper into you until there was nothing left untouched. Until your body stopped bracing and started opening.
You clung to him—hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt that still clung to his back, damp with sweat. He hadn’t even undressed all the way. There was something obscene about it, something holy, too—the way he kept his shirt on like this wasn’t about bareness, it was about belonging.
"That’s it," he rasped against your throat. "There she is."
Your moan was caught between breath and prayer.
He buried himself to the hilt.
And still—he didn’t move.
His hips pressed flush to yours, his breath shaky against your skin as he held himself there, nestled so deep inside you it felt like you’d never known emptiness before now. Like everything that came before this moment had just been the ache of waiting to be filled.
"You feel that?" he whispered, voice thick, almost reverent. "Where I am inside ya?"
You nodded. Couldn’t find your voice.
His lips brushed the shell of your ear.
"Ain’t no leavin’ now. I’ll always be in ya. Even when I ain’t."
You whimpered.
Not from pain. From how true it felt.
He moved then—barely. Just a slow roll of his hips, a gentle retreat and return. It was enough to make your breath hitch, your body arch, your legs wrap tighter around him without thinking.
"That’s right, dove. Let me in. Let me have it."
You didn’t even know what it was anymore.
Your body?
Your blood?
Your soul?
You’d already given them all.
And still, he took more.
But not cruelly.
Like a man kissing the mouth of a well after years of thirst. Like a thief who knew how to make you feel grateful for the stealing.
He found a rhythm that made the air vanish from your lungs.
Slow. Deep. Measured. His hips grinding just right, dragging his cock against every place inside you that had never known such touch. Every stroke sang with heat. Every breath he took turned your name into something more than a sound.
"Fuck, I could stay in you forever," he groaned. "Like this. Warm. Tight. Mine."
You dug your nails into his shoulders, legs trembling.
"Please," you whispered, though you didn’t know what you were asking for.
He did.
"Beg me," he said, dragging his mouth down your neck, over the bite he’d left. "Beg me to make you come with my cock in you."
"Remmick—"
"Say it."
You were already gone. Already shaking. Already his.
"Make me come," you breathed. "Please—God, please—"
His smile was sinful.
And then he fucked you.
His rhythm shifted—no longer slow, no longer sacred.
It was worship in the way fire worships a forest. The kind that devours. The kind that remakes.
Remmick braced a hand behind your thigh, hitching your leg higher as he thrust harder, deeper, dragging guttural sounds from his chest that you felt before you heard. The bed groaned beneath you, iron frame clanging soft against the wall in time with his hips. But it was your body that made the noise that filled the room—the gasps, the breaking sighs, the high whimper of his name torn raw from your throat.
He kissed your jaw, your collarbone, your shoulder, not like he was trying to be sweet but like he needed to taste every inch he claimed.
"You feel me in your belly yet?" he growled, words hot against your skin.
You nodded frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the sheer force of sensation.
"Say it," he panted, each thrust brutal and beautiful.
"Yes—yes, I feel you, Remmick, I—"
"You gonna come f’r me like a good girl?"
"Yes."
"Say my fuckin’ name when you do."
His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit like he’d owned it in another life, and the moment his fingers circled that aching bundle of nerves, your vision went white.
Your body seized around him.
The sound you made was raw, wrecked, something no one but him should ever hear.
He kept fucking you through it, hissing curses through his teeth, chasing his own high with the rhythm of a man who’d waited centuries for the perfect fit.
And then he broke.
With your name groaned low and reverent in your ear, he came deep inside you, hips stuttering, breath ragged, body shuddering with the force of it. You felt every throb of his cock inside you, every spill of heat, every ounce of him taking root.
For a long, suspended moment, he didn’t move.
Only the sound of your breaths tangled together.
Your sweat mixing.
Your bodies still joined.
"That’s it," he whispered hoarsely, pressing his forehead to yours. "That’s how I know you’re mine."
The house exhaled around you.
The candle sputtered in its jar, flame dancing low and crooked, like even it had been made breathless by what it had witnessed. Somewhere in the walls, the wood groaned—settling. Sighing. Accepting.
You didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Your body was a temple razed and rebuilt in a single night, still pulsing with the memory of his mouth, his weight, the stretch of him inside you like a secret only your bones would remember. Every nerve hummed low and soft beneath your skin, like your blood hadn’t figured out how to move without his rhythm guiding it.
Remmick stayed inside you.
His body was heavy atop yours, but not crushing. His head tucked into the curve of your neck, the same place he’d bitten, the same place he’d worshipped like it held some holy truth. His breath came slow and ragged, the rise and fall of his chest matching yours as if your lungs had struck the same pace without meaning to.
"Don’t move yet," he muttered, voice wrecked and hoarse. "Wanna stay here just a minute longer."
You let your hand drift through his hair, damp with sweat, curls sticking to his forehead. You carded through them lazily, mind blank, heart full.
He pressed a kiss to your throat. Then another, just above your collarbone.
"You still with me?" he asked, quieter now.
You nodded.
"Good," he murmured. "Didn’t mean to fuck the soul outta ya. Just…couldn’t help it."
You let out the softest laugh, and he smiled into your skin.
His hand slid down your side, tracing the curve of your waist, your hip, the spot where your thigh met his. His fingers moved slowly, not with lust, but with a kind of quiet awe.
"Y’know what you feel like?" he whispered.
"What?"
"Home."
The word struck something inside you. Something tender. Something deep.
He lifted his head then, just enough to look down at you. His eyes had faded from red to something darker, something richer—garnet in low light. The kind of color only seen in blood and wine and promises too old to be remembered by name.
"You still think this is just hunger?" he asked.
You blinked at him, dazed.
"It was never just hunger," he said. "Not with you."
The silence between you was warm now.
Not empty. Not tense. Just quiet, the kind that comes after thunder, when the storm’s rolled through and the trees are still deciding whether to stand or kneel.
You felt it in your limbs—heavy, humming, holy. The afterglow of something you didn’t have language for.
Remmick hadn’t moved far.
He still blanketed your body like a second skin, one arm braced beneath your shoulders, the other tracing idle shapes across your hip as if he were still mapping the terrain of you. His cock, softening but still nestled inside, pulsed faintly with the last of what he’d given you.
And he had given you something. Not just release. Not just blood. Something older. Something that whispered now in the place between your ribs.
You turned your head to look at him.
His gaze was already on you.
"What happens now?" you asked, barely above a whisper.
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he ran the back of his fingers along your cheekbone, down the side of your neck, pausing over the place where his mark had already begun to bruise.
"You askin’ what happens tonight," he murmured, "or what happens after?"
You blinked slowly. "Both."
He let out a breath through his nose, the sound tired but not cold.
"Tonight, I’ll hold you. Long as you’ll let me. Won’t leave this bed unless you beg me to. Might even make ya cry again, if you keep lookin’ at me like that."
You flushed, and he smiled.
"As for after…"
He looked past you then, toward the ceiling, like the truth was written in the beams.
"Ain’t never planned that far. Not with anyone. Just fed. Fucked. Moved on."
"But not with me."
His eyes snapped back to yours. Serious now.
"No, dove. Not with you."
You swallowed the knot rising in your throat.
"Why?"
His jaw flexed, tongue darting briefly across his lower lip before he answered.
"‘Cause I been alone too long. Lived too long. Thought I was too far gone to want anythin’ that didn’t bleed beneath me."
He leaned closer, forehead resting against yours, his next words no louder than a ghost’s sigh.
"But you—you made me want somethin’ tender. Somethin’ breakable."
"That doesn’t make sense."
"Don’t gotta. Nothin’ about you ever has. And yet here you are."
You let your eyes drift shut, just for a moment, and whispered into the stillness between your mouths.
"So I stay?"
He didn’t hesitate.
"You stay."
The candle had burned low.
Its glow flickered long shadows across the walls—your bodies painted in gold and blood-tinged bronze, limbs tangled in sheets that still clung with sweat and want. The house had quieted again, the way an animal settles when it knows its master is content. Outside, the wind threaded through the trees in soft moans, like the Delta herself was eavesdropping.
Neither of you spoke for a while. You didn’t need to.
Your fingers traced lazy patterns across Remmick’s chest—over his scars, the slope of muscle, the faint rise and fall beneath your palm. You still half-expected no heartbeat, but it was there, slow and stubborn, like he’d stolen it back just for you.
He watched you. One arm draped across your waist, his thumb stroking your bare back like you might fade if he stopped.
"You still ain’t askin’ the question you really wanna ask," he said, voice rough from silence and sleep.
You paused.
"What question is that?"
He tipped his head toward you, resting his chin on his knuckles.
"You wanna know if I turned you."
Your heart gave a traitorous flutter.
"And did you?"
He shook his head.
"Nah. Not yet."
"Why not?"
His fingers stilled. Then resumed.
"’Cause you ain’t asked me to."
You looked up at him sharply.
"Would you?"
A long beat passed. Then he nodded once.
"If it was you askin’. If it was real."
Your breath caught.
"And if I don’t?"
His gaze didn’t waver.
"Then I’ll stay with you. ‘Til you’re old. ‘Til your hands shake and your bones ache and your eyes stop lookin’ at me like I’m the only thing that ever made you feel alive."
Your throat tightened.
"That sounds awful."
He smiled, slow and aching.
"It sounds human."
You looked at him for a long time. At the man who had killed, who had bled you, who had tasted every part of you—body and soul—and still asked nothing unless you gave it.
"Would it hurt?"
His hand slid up, fingers curling beneath your jaw, tilting your face to his.
"It’d hurt," he said. "But not more than bein’ without you would."
The quiet stretched long and low.
His words hung in the space between your mouths like smoke—something sweet and terrible, something tasted before it was fully breathed in.
Your chest rose and fell against his slowly, and for a long time, you said nothing. You just listened. To the house settling around you. To the wind curling past the windows. To the steady thrum of blood still echoing faintly in your ears.
And beneath it all—
You heard memory.
It came soft at first. A shape, not a sound. The slick thud of your knees hitting the alley pavement. The scream you didn’t recognize as your own. Your brother’s blood, warm and fast, pumping between your fingers like water from a broken pipe. His mouth slack. His eyes wide.
You remembered screaming to the sky. Not to God.
Just up.
Because you knew He’d stopped listening.
And then—
He came.
Out of nothing. Out of dark.
You remembered the slow scrape of his boots on the gravel. The silhouette of him under the weak yellow glow of a flickering streetlamp. You remembered the quiet way he spoke.
"You want him to live?"
You didn’t answer with words. You just nodded, crying so hard you couldn’t breathe. And he’d knelt—right there in the blood—and laid his hand flat against your brother’s chest.
You never saw what he did. Only saw your brother’s eyes flutter. Only heard his breath return, sudden and wet.
And then he looked at you.
Not your brother.
Remmick.
He looked at you like he’d already taken something.
And he had.
Now, years later, lying in the hush of his house, your body still joined to his, you could still feel that moment thrumming beneath your skin. The moment when everything shifted. When your life became borrowed.
You looked up at him now, breathing steady, lips parted like a prayer just barely forming.
"I’ve already given you everything."
He shook his head.
"Not this."
He pressed two fingers to your chest, right over your heart.
"This is still yours."
"And you want it?"
He didn’t smile. Didn’t look away.
"I want it to keep beatin’. Forever. With mine."
You stared at him.
You thought about that alley. About your brother’s eyes opening again.
About how no one else came.
And you made your choice.
"Then take it."
Remmick stilled.
"Don’t say it unless you mean it, dove."
"I do."
His voice was barely more than a breath.
"You sure?"
You reached up, touched his face, fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw.
"I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."
His eyes shimmered—deep red now, alive with something wild and tender.
"Then I’ll make you eternal," he whispered. "And I’ll never let the world take you from me."
He didn’t rush.
Not now. Not with this.
Remmick looked at you like you were something rare—something holy—like he couldn’t believe you’d said it, even as your voice still echoed between the walls.
Then he moved.
Not with hunger. Not with heat.
With purpose.
He sat up, kneeling beside you on the bed, and pulled the sheet slowly down your body. His eyes drank you in again, but this time there was no heat in them. Just reverence. As if you were the altar, and he the sinner who’d finally been granted absolution.
"You sure you want this?" he asked one last time, voice soft, like the hush of water in a cathedral.
You nodded, throat tight.
"I want forever."
His jaw clenched. A tremble passed through him like he’d heard those words in another life and lost them before they were ever his.
He leaned down.
His hand cupped the back of your head, the other settled flat on your chest, palm over your heart.
"Close your eyes, dove."
You did.
And then—
You felt him.
His breath. His lips. The soft, cool press of his mouth against your neck. But he didn’t bite.
Not yet.
He kissed the mark he’d already left. Then higher. Then lower. Slow. Measured. Your body melted beneath him, your hands curling into the sheets.
And then—
A whisper against your skin.
"I’ll be gentle. But you’ll remember this forever."
And he sank his fangs in.
It wasn’t like the first time.
It wasn’t lust.
It wasn’t climax.
It was rebirth.
Pain bloomed sharp and bright—but only for a heartbeat. Then the warmth flooded in. Then the cold. Then the ache. Your pulse stuttered once, then surged. It was like drowning and being pulled to the surface at once. Like everything you’d ever been burned away and something older moved in to take its place.
He held you as it happened.
Cradled you like something delicate.
His mouth sealed over the wound, drinking slow, but not to feed. To anchor you. To tether you to him.
You felt yourself go limp. The world turned strange. Light and dark bled into each other. Your breath faded. Your heartbeat fluttered like wings against glass.
And then—
It stopped.
Silence.
Stillness.
And in the space where your heart had once beat…
You heard his.
Then—
Your eyes opened.
The world looked different.
Sharper.
Brighter.
Every shadow deeper. Every color richer. The candlelight burned gold-red and alive. The scent of the night air was so thick it choked you—smoke, soil, blood, him.
Remmick hovered above you, lips stained crimson, breathing hard like he’d just returned from war.
And when he looked at you—
You saw yourself reflected in his eyes.
He smiled.
"Welcome home, darlin’."
Too Much, Not Enough
| fem!reader x remmick
word count : 12.6k
A/N: first, i'd like to thank my wonderful boo thang @iceemochaa for this idea. everyone go give her a kiss. i'd also want to thank some fellow people from the server for very horny-fest ideas: @crxw1ey @itsaaudraw @remmicks-salvation @madkingcrowley
ALSO this is in lowercase because i typed it on my phone (default lowercase squad) and i was already so far in that i didn't feel like going back to capitalize everything
synopsis : he catches you one night—drinking from you as you try to get away. but suddenly, something shifts in him; he starts to feel strange, aroused to the point that you can feel him pressing against your backside. a couple of nights pass before he shows up again—only this time, he’s not after blood. he’s hoping you’ll help him release all the pent-up sexual frustration he’s been carrying.
warnings !! (MDNI 18+) : unprotected sex (p in v), drool/spit, overstimulation, handjob, oral (f receiving), very soft dom remmick, virginity taking (both?), dream sex
----
blearing, white-hot pain shoots through the side of your neck, and a gasp tears through your throat. it is so sudden—so sudden, and you barely have time to understand how you ended up how you did.
he had grabbed you, holding you so close to him—his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you upright while his tongue licked lazily up your neck.
“shh…don’t cry. it’ll be alright.”
he had murmured against your ear, breath hot and dripping with thirst.
it was a cruel thing.
cruel in the way it stole breath before you could even scream, in the way it mocked the simplicity of your night—how only minutes earlier, your hands had been warm, reaching for the last pair of drawers on the line, the wind tugging gently at your nightgown like a teasing friend. you had only stepped off the porch. just a few steps. just to gather what was yours.
and then he was there.
the roughness of his grip was so sudden, so wrong, it split the air like a crack of thunder. your body flinched on instinct, mind fumbling to catch up to the moment—was this real? did you know this man? were you dreaming? but the pain blooming beneath his fingers on your arm told you otherwise. told you this wasn’t the kind of nightmare you could wake from.
you had opened your mouth to say something—anything, but no words could escape before his teeth—no—fangs punctured your neck.
his rough tongue darts quickly, his mouth slurping as your blood—warm and tangy—leaks down your neck from where his mouth hadn’t been quick enough to catch. the splatter of it spills onto your cotton nightgown.
a movement—sudden, but clear, spills from him. more so, from the space where he is pressed up against you. a stuttering breath passes through your lips at the contact.
he’s flushed up against you, and aside from the blearing pain flying through your body, you feel him pressing into your bottom.
he ruts against you, chasing the friction provided. he lets out a sound—a whine, you assume through the mind fog.
a heat flushes through you—sudden, unprovoked, and sickening. it crawls beneath your skin like a fever you didn’t ask for, one that sets your nerves on fire in all the wrong ways. shame follows fast behind it, swallowing you whole. it pulses in your fingertips, clenches in your gut, coats your teeth like bitterness.
you hate that you feel it.
hate that your body reacts at all.
because the pain—sharp, raw, burning—should’ve been enough. but somehow, it’s the shame that lingers heavier. shame that makes you feel small. shame that makes your skin feel too tight. shame that makes you wish you could disappear, not because of what’s happening, but because some awful part of you believes you’re supposed to bear it.
the suction of his mouth grows sharper for just a second—you swear he’s going to drain you. just before he can, you feel his head snap back, the crimson fluid he just stole from you dripping down his chin, coating his cheeks.
“oh….oh.”
your head slowly turns, and you spot his eyebrows furrowing as he glances down to the space—or the lack of—between you.
he seems confused as his eyes scan the way he fits against you—firm and hard, like instinct. like muscle remembering what the mind had long tried to forget. Like something inside of him is remembering something he had buried and traded for the concept of survival.
his mouth opens with a smack, before it slowly forms into an ‘o’.
you’re sure he’s about to say something when suddenly, he presses forward, flushing his chest to your back, ripping a gasp from your throat.
“i…i don’t think this is ‘posed to happen’”
his breath ghosts over your ruined neck, and the confusion falls from his lips.
a groan, low and abrupt, passes through his blood-stained lips. it’s a sound that doesn’t belong to hunger or pleasure—it’s uncertainty. reluctance. it rumbles like a warning he doesn’t understand himself, and it sends a jolt through your body, sharp as a spark beneath the skin. your breath catches. you’re not sure if it’s fear or revulsion or some terrible, trembling mix of both.
your eyes flit back to the porch—to the basket where your clothes lay, spilled and crumpled in the dirt. a shirt hangs over the edge like it’s reaching for you. the sight guts you.
you had dropped it when he grabbed you.
your arms had been full of ordinary things.
of clean linen, still warm from the sun.
and all you want now—achingly, desperately—is to return to it.
“please,” your voice comes out with a breath—choking up in your throat, “…let me go.”
he pauses.
the arm around your waist tightens and it causes a soft gasp to sound from your throat.
“why you wan’ me to let you go?”
his nose pokes into the bite mark on your neck, eliciting a wince from you. the question comes out a bit uncertain—like he’s confused as to why you want to leave him like this.
“you don’t feel this,” he punctuates his word with a rut against you. “you can’t leave me like this.”
the tone in his voice is desperate—needy even, causes you to freeze.
confusion laced with desire falls from his mouth. his rough, hot tongue darts out to lick at your neck once more.
a sound of disgust slips through your mouth—sharp and guttural, rising before you can stop it. it’s instinct, raw and trembling, the only thing you have left to give.
he pauses.
just for a breath. just long enough for the air between you to shift.
then he pulls back—confused, maybe stunned—and that retreat is all you need. you don’t think. there’s no space for thought. only a surge of heat.
you ram your head back, hard into his chin. bone meets bone. the crack echoes inside your skull like a church bell rung wrong.
a grunt tears through his lips, and his hold falters.
you move. not gracefully, not cleanly—
just fast. just desperate.
you push forward, wrenching yourself out of his arms. your feet slam against the cold grass, slick with dew, and the ground tilts underneath you. your vision veers sideways, spinning from blood-loss, from panic, from the weight of everything all at once.
“s-stop! you can’t leave me like this.”
his voice rings out behind you—desperate, yearning, maybe even startled—but it feels distant, like it’s echoing from underwater. you don’t dare look back. the only thing you see is the porch rising in front of you like salvation.
your legs nearly give out as you reach the steps, but you launch yourself upward, stumbling and scrambling until your body crashes against the door with a dull, aching thud. pain flares along your shoulder, but you don’t stop. you brace for the worst—for the hard slap of wood refusing you, for the cruel slam of a locked world.
but you’d left it cracked.
you don’t even remember doing it, but thank god you had.
your body falls forward, toppling past the frame in a blur of heat and breath and blind panic. the wooden floor meets you with a thud, and for a heartbeat, you just lie there—half-sprawled, half-curled, heart pounding against the floorboards like it’s trying to get free of your chest.
past the threshold.
inside.
safe.
the door was still splayed open, and you could hear the heavy boots of him pacing on the worn wood of your porch, but you didn’t care. didn’t care how or why he couldn’t just walk in and take you right back out.
no. you didn’t think that far, and as the weight of the blood-loss settles over your body like a wet blanket, your eyes roll to the back of your head.
——————
it had been a week.
a week since you had stepped outside your house at night.
that morning—when the light finally broke across your floorboards like a quiet apology—you woke with your head pounding and your mouth dry as cotton. every part of your body felt sore, like you’d been wrung out and left in the sun too long.
he was nowhere to be seen.
no shadow. no sound. no sign he’d ever been there at all.
but you knew better.
you didn’t step outside. not even once.
you stayed inside your home, locked behind the door like it was the only thing keeping the world from splitting open again. a strip of cloth was pressed against your neck, stained from the wound that throbbed beneath it. the ache pulsed steady with your heartbeat—a quiet, cruel reminder.
your fingers stayed curled around the handle of a kitchen knife, white-knuckled and still trembling, long after the sun had crept across the room. even when your hand went numb, you didn’t let go.
he didn’t return that day. or the next.
you didn’t want to worry, but a part of you still clung to the idea that he was out there, waiting. waiting for you to slip up so that he could grab you once more.
by the third day, you decided to continue on with your life. stepping outside onto the porch with your breath held in your throat.
he wasn’t there.
the sun beat down heavily across your home, and the clothes line danced with the wing—rustling gently.
that night, you dreamt.
your body jolted with each thrust, already caught in the storm, and his voice—ragged and wild—only pulled you deeper under.
“say it… s-say my name!”
it came out in a near-snarl, not cruel, but desperate. like the sound of a man barely holding himself together, trying to find something to anchor to as he pounded into you with reckless, trembling need.
but your voice—
it wouldn’t come.
your mouth opened, but nothing formed, just broken gasps and choked cries, your face still buried in the pillow, now damp with sweat and spit. your throat ached with moans you hadn’t meant to make. you were unraveling, bit by bit, your body pulsing around him, clenching tight as the pressure in your belly twisted into something unstoppable.
his hand on your clit didn’t let up. if anything, it grew more deliberate—ruthless in its rhythm. his thumb swirled over you, hot and slick, heavy and rough as your hips twitched uncontrollably. every nerve in your body was alight, the sound of his groans behind you nearly as dizzying as the slaps of skin and the bed frame straining beneath the force of him.
his cock throbbed inside you, each stroke deep and hurried now, dragging against your swollen walls like he was trying to carve his name into you from the inside out. the sound of it—wet, sharp, filthy—filled the room like a song that only your bodies knew how to sing.
and then it happened.
your body locked.
your toes curled.
and your lungs emptied.
a sharp cry tore from you—his name half-formed, almost there—as your climax hit, sudden and all-consuming. your vision blurred as your body convulsed, waves crashing through you so hard you nearly forgot where you were.
he let out a strangled groan behind you, his hips jerking erratically, chasing your release with his own. his cock twitched deep inside, and with a hoarse, broken sound, he spilled into you—warmth flooding you, filling you, marking you.
he rode it out, his body pressing down on yours, hand still moving, dragging the orgasm from you until it left you limp and shaking beneath him.
your fingers finally released the sheets, trembling, and you gasped into the pillow like it was the first breath you’d taken in years.
your mind blanked.
you woke with a startle—your body jerking, breath caught sharp in your throat like you’d been yanked from the depths of something unspeakable. heat flooded you, thick and sudden, pooling beneath your skin as if you were still there, still lost in it.
your chest rose and fell too fast, lungs aching from how hard they worked to steady you. your hands clutched the sheets without realizing, the fabric damp beneath your palms. your mind, still fogged with fragments, tried to twist back into itself—tried to make sense of what was real and what had only felt that way.
your thighs rubbed together—and you felt it.
a wet, sticky warmth clinging to the soft skin between them. slick and unmistakable. your breath hitched as the realization hit you, and a wave of shame surged through your chest so suddenly, you flinched.
“fuck…” you whispered under your breath.
your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of your nightgown, bunching it against your stomach as if the pressure alone could make the feeling go away. like you could press the memory down, flatten it, bury it under cotton and guilt.
your mind spun, trying to make sense of why him.
why that.
you didn’t understand why you dreamt of him in such a scandalous, filthy way—why his hands, his mouth, his body had felt so real.
why your own body responded like it wanted it.
like it remembered.
your face burned.
hot and clammy to the touch, even in the cool quiet of your room.
you squeezed your thighs together, trying to contain the pulsing ache that hadn’t yet faded. it sat there, low and heavy in your gut, begging to be soothed. your fingers twitched at your side, and for a split second, you almost let them drift lower.
but you stopped yourself.
you clenched your jaw and shut your eyes tight, pressing your legs together like a seal. like that would hold back the memory of his name falling from your lips, the feel of him stretching you open, the sound of skin slapping and breathless groans in your ear.
————
by the end of the week, you felt as though he was truly gone for good.
the silence had settled again, not like a threat this time, but like dust returning to undisturbed corners. no voice behind you, no shadow in the tree line, no sudden breath against your neck. just the wind. the sun. the familiar creak of the porch beneath your steps.
it didn’t take long before you slipped back into the rhythm of your days—those quiet, outdoor chores that had always grounded you. you began hanging clothes again, your fingers brushing the warm fabric, sunlight catching the edges of the sheets like a blessing.
in the back of your home, you knelt beside your small herb garden, pressing your fingers into the dirt like it could anchor you. rosemary. sage. thyme. they greeted you like old friends, unaware of what you’d endured. or maybe they knew—and simply chose not to ask.
the peace didn’t last long.
on the sixth night, he returned.
you’re taking the clothes down that had been drying all day—like you had before, when he first got you.
a crack sounds behind you.
sharp. sudden. too close.
your body jerks, instincts sharper than thought, and your head whips around—fists clenched tight around the soft fabric of a freshly-dried gown. your heart lurches upward, caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat.
your body knows before your mind.
knows the rhythm of danger. the hum beneath the skin.
and without a thought, your feet begin to move—gravel crunching beneath them as you pull yourself toward the front door like safety is just inches away.
“wait.”
you hate how you stop.
how the sound of his voice roots you in place.
there’s something in it—something cracked open. desperate. searching.
and for some godawful reason, it reaches you.
your feet freeze.
your head turns, slow and reluctant, toward the right.
and there he is.
dressed in dark pants, suspenders hanging loose like they’d been tugged too hard, too fast. a pale blue button-up clings to his frame, sleeves rolled, top buttons torn clean open. it might’ve once looked neat. now it clings to him like second skin—filthy, sweat-soaked, streaked in places with grime and something far worse.
blood.
so much of it.
his brown hair is tousled and damp, the front sticking to his forehead in matted curls. and beneath the fabric, the white of a wife-beater peeks out—though it’s barely white anymore. more a rusted red, like someone had tried to scrub the stain but it refused to fade. a thin gold chain glints against his collarbone, catching the moonlight like it doesn’t realize it’s resting on a monster.
your eyes widen.
your breath catches.
you take a step back. your heel digs into the dirt. and still, your gaze is fixed on him—on the smear of blood across his cheeks, dried and flaking at the edges, like war paint. it trails down his throat, painting the lines of his neck, seeping into the cotton of his shirt. it looks fresh.
his mouth opens as he takes a step forward.
you take a step back—slow, deliberate, your heel skimming the earth like you’re testing the ground beneath you, unsure if it will hold.
“i ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”
his voice is soft. too soft. like he’s trying to fold himself into something harmless, like he doesn’t still have blood on his face, like he didn’t tear through you once already. it’s a tone that might’ve calmed you in another life. in this one, it makes your stomach turn.
your fingers clutch the dress tighter, knuckles paling with the strain. you can feel the seams of the fabric pressing into your skin, grounding you, even as your body begs to run.
you want—desperately, urgently—to look back. to see how many steps remain between you and the safety of your door. but you don’t dare move. not even your eyes. not when he’s watching you like that. not when you know how quick he can close the space between you.
even the smallest glance away might invite him forward.
“you hurt me before.”
the words fall from your lips before you’re ready. soft. strange. unfamiliar.
the sound of your own voice jars you. it doesn’t sound angry. it doesn’t even sound afraid. it sounds… disoriented. like the memory has begun to blur around the edges, melting into something that doesn’t make sense anymore. like you’re not certain if it happened the way you remember. if it happened at all.
and that terrifies you more than anything.
because you know what he did.
your body still remembers, even if your voice has started to forget.
your mind flits back to the dream—the dream that had you gasping for air once you’d awaken.
it’s strange.
here, in front of you, was the man—the beast—who had held your life in the palm of his hand, threatening death with a final pull of your blood into his mouth.
and now, all you could think about was the way he rubbed against you—like the feeling was both foreign and enticing to him.
he lets out a strained laugh.
“yeah. you’re right about that, b-but, i ain’t goin’ to do that again.
“how can i trust you?”
your voice is more certain this time around, and your hands fall to your sides, still holding the dress in your hand as your chest moves with your breaths.
the wind sweeps between you.
he takes another step forward and you mirror by taking another step backward.
his arms lift, elbows jutting out wide as his hands settle on top of his head. his fingers thread through his messy hair, gripping at the roots like he’s trying to hold something inside from breaking loose.
then comes the sound.
low, cracked—something between a groan and a whine.
“please… why is this happenin’ to me?”
his voice trembles at the edges, and for a moment, it almost sounds like grief. like confusion twisted into something uglier. and that unsettles you even more. because this isn’t remorse. this isn’t shame. it’s self-pity—sharp and misplaced.
you blink, heart rattling in your chest.
you have no idea what he’s talking about.
and the not knowing—it’s beginning to twist in your gut, cold and tight.
he starts pacing, erratic and restless, but still a good distance off. far enough that you can breathe. far enough that you don’t yet have to run.
“i’ve been runnin’ ‘round everywhere,” he mutters, almost to himself, his voice thick with something that borders on frustration. “drainin’ folks left an’ right…”
he pauses, his body stiffening.
“but i ain’t do this with them.”
his arms drop heavily to his sides, and then one hand presses flat against his pants—lower. against himself.
your breath stutters.
the gesture is crude, almost unconscious, like his body is betraying him, like he doesn’t know what to do with what he’s feeling. and that’s what makes it worse. not the motion itself, but the fact that he’s unraveling—right there in front of you.
and you’re the one he’s unraveling over.
you take a step backward, slow and cautious, and the snap of a small branch beneath your foot cuts through the quiet like a shot.
he stops.
his head turns toward you—slow, deliberate, like he already knows exactly where you are. his eyes lock onto yours, and something in your chest flinches. not from fear. not entirely.
no, it’s something else.
something low and stirring, unwelcome but real, curling hot in your belly beneath the weight of his gaze. it shames you the moment it blooms, but it doesn’t leave. it sits there, twisting—because the look in his eyes isn’t hungry for blood. not right now.
he looks torn.
like a man fraying at the seams.
like something inside him is breaking open under the weight of a need he doesn’t understand—had forgotten was possible. a craving that wasn’t sharp teeth and crimson thirst, but touch. closeness. something unbearably human.
he takes a step forward.
you don’t move.
“help me…” he breathes, voice cracking as if the words pain him. “i won’t hurt you. just help me feel better. yeah?”
he inches closer, each step careful, almost reverent, until he’s within arm’s reach. and now, this close, you can see it all—his chest heaving, the tension in his shoulders, the way his pants strain from how tightly he’s wound. how unbearably pent up he is.
your eyes flick down. just for a second.
your cheeks flush hot, instant and humiliating, and you curse yourself silently—clenching your jaw as if that alone could rewind the moment. your body had again. as if it hadn’t learned.
he doesn’t let you answer.
he takes another step forward, slow and deliberate, like he’s afraid any hesitation might send him unraveling again.
your empty hand flies up on instinct, palm raised between you like a barrier made of sheer will.
“stop,” you say.
but your voice—god, your voice—comes out too soft, too unsure, trembling on the edges. it betrays you, just like your body does.
he doesn’t stop.
he keeps moving until your hand meets his chest, firm and burning beneath your touch. his skin is hot through the thin fabric, and the moment you make contact, a sound spills from him—deep and broken. a groan laced with something softer, needier. a whine.
his head dips slightly, his breath brushing your skin.
“see?” he murmurs, voice thick, ragged. “see what you’re doin’ to me?”
it takes every ounce of strength to keep your gaze on his, to hold steady beneath the weight of him. but the tension in his body, the ragged rise of his chest, the way he looks at you like you’re both his torment and salvation—it all pulls your eyes downward.
just for a second.
just long enough to see his hand again, pressing against himself, slow and deliberate.
resuming what he had started.
and your breath stutters.
“stop. i don’t know you.”
your voice is firmer this time, but there’s a crack running through it.
a hairline fracture of fear, of confusion, of something far more complicated than either.
his eyes stay locked on yours, wild and pleading.
“remmick,” he breathes.
“what?”
you blink. it comes out before you can process it.
“my name,” he says again, faster this time. “remmick.”
he says it like it means something. like it should unlock something in you.
he pauses, as if waiting for it to take hold, and then looks up—right into your eyes.
“say it. please.”
your hand is still on his chest, trembling now, caught between pushing him away and holding him there. your lips part, hesitating, uncertain. but the sound slips out anyway.
“remmick.”
that’s all it takes.
his body shifts—subtle but unmistakable—as if the word pierced straight through him. he leans forward, just slightly, like he’s being drawn into you by gravity itself. one of his hands lifts, and he presses yours harder against his chest, like he needs to feel it. like he needs proof that you said it. that it’s real.
a soft moan escapes him, low and shivering, the sound pulled from somewhere deep. it curls around you like smoke—dangerous, intimate, and far too close.
a sensation shoots through you—sharp and strange—sparking low in your belly and crawling up your spine like a current. your body shudders, betraying you before you can make sense of it. you suck in a breath through parted lips, and that’s when you catch it.
he’s close.
so close, you can smell him.
not just blood, though that’s there—metallic, sharp, and thick like it clings to him from the inside out. not just dirt either, though earth clings to his clothes, the scent of sweat and soil mingling on his skin. there’s something else. something older. colder. something that reminds you of decay, of things buried and forgotten. it lingers in the air around him like a warning.
your voice trembles as it slips past your lips, low and unsure.
“if…”
you pause, swallowing hard as your thoughts struggle to take shape.
“if i help you… will you let me live?”
your eyes dart away from his, just for a second.
you don’t mean to. but holding his gaze for too long feels like surrendering.
remmick pauses.
it’s slight—barely a beat—but you feel it in your bones.
“i was always plannin’ on keepin’ you,” he murmurs, and something about the way he says it makes your stomach twist. “couldn’t do that if you’re dead.”
his voice has changed. not just the words—his whole way of speaking. the southern drawl softens, thins out, and something else bleeds through. a different cadence. older. maybe even his real voice. it startles you, but you can’t quite place why. it sounds less put-on. more him.
he studies your face—eyes flicking across your features like he’s trying to read a language only he remembers.
then, a slow smile curves his lips. not smug. not cruel.
curious. certain.
“tell me you feel it too.”
you want to say no.
you want to recoil, to push him away, to scream that this is wrong, that none of this makes sense, that nothing about him feels safe.
but your body—traitorous, aching, alive—gives you away.
because as you look at him, at the hunger and confusion tangled in his expression, something warm begins to spread through you again.
you gather the courage to turn from him, your eyes flicking toward the back door—your door. the one that had always meant safety, the one you weren’t sure would feel that way ever again.
“i can’t let you in.”
the words leave your mouth like something sacred. like a boundary you hope he might honor.
his smile deepens, slow and knowing.
“i know, darlin’,” he says, voice like worn velvet. “you’re not stupid.”
the way he says it isn’t mocking. it almost sounds like admiration. like he means it.
you glance back at him, chest tight, and exhale a shaky breath. your hand softens against his chest, settling there beneath the warmth of his palm—no longer resisting. not quite yielding. something in between.
“okay.”
you barely get the word out before the world shifts.
suddenly, you’re in his arms—lifted with startling ease, pressed tightly against his chest like you belong there. a shocked gasp rips from your throat, your arms instinctively grabbing hold of whatever they can, unsure whether to brace or cling.
his feet move fast, sure, and then the cool slam of the outside world hits you again—your back porch beneath you, the creak of old wood under his boots.
your feet touch down onto the dirty boards, but you barely feel them.
your back hits the wall of your house, and his chest meets yours.
you’re trapped—surrounded by the scent of him, the warmth of him, the tension that radiates off his body in waves. the wall behind you is cool and hard, but his body in front of you burns like fever. he’s close. too close. and yet somehow not close enough for him.
something in him shifts—slow, subtle. like the current inside him changes direction and he doesn’t know how to follow it. you feel it in the way his body stills, then trembles slightly, pressed so tight against you that every breath he takes stutters against your chest.
you can feel him—hard and insistent—pressing into your thigh through the worn fabric of his pants. the weight of it, the heat, the way it pulses with no rhythm but his rising need.
he seems… lost.
remmick’s eyes flicker, wild and unsure, and when you meet them, there’s something desperate there. not hunger like before—but confusion. like his body remembered something his mind didn’t. like he had no idea what to do with this kind of ache.
you search his gaze, trying to find a map inside him. something that tells you what he wants. what he expects. but there’s nothing clear. only the trembling look of a man who doesn’t remember how to feel without violence.
then he lets out a groan—low and helpless—as his hips push forward, grinding against your thigh with a need he doesn’t seem to know how to contain.
your body jerks in surprise.
a sharp breath tears from your lips as the movement drags heat through you, low and dizzying. it coils in your belly, thick and sudden.
you hadn’t meant to respond.
but now that you have, you can’t pretend not to feel it.
“do something, please.”
his voice breaks apart as he speaks, breath coming in fast, shallow bursts. he begs through it—through the way his hips keep chasing the friction, rutting against your thigh like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the earth.
you swallow hard, nerves tangled with something warmer, something you don’t want to name. your fingers twitch where they rest, and you shake your head, barely able to speak.
“i–i don’t know what to do,” you confess, voice thin with uncertainty.
and it’s true.
you’d never been with a man like this—never one so far gone, so undone, so completely at the mercy of his own body. and even if you had… you never learned how to give this kind of touch. never learned how to bring pleasure to anyone other than yourself, never thought you’d have to.
but something about the way he presses into you, so frantic and confused, stirs a reluctant kind of empathy in you—mixed with fear, with heat, with a strange pull you can’t understand.
your gaze drops.
his hips are still moving, slow but desperate, grinding into your leg like he needs more and doesn’t know how to ask for it. something about it makes your breath catch.
almost without thinking, your hand moves down—hesitant, shaking—and you press your palm gently against him, through the fabric of his pants.
he freezes.
utterly.
and then a sound tears out of him—a moan, raw and broken, rising from the pit of his throat like it surprised even him.
his body shudders under your touch, rigid with restraint, but trembling like he’s seconds from falling apart. your hand stills where it rests, the heat of him burning through the cloth and into your skin.
your palm presses down harder, instinct guiding your movements more than experience. and that’s when you truly feel him—solid, straining beneath the fabric, the heat of him radiating through your skin like a fever. the bulge stretches wide beneath your touch, filling your entire hand, every inch of him throbbing with need you can’t begin to comprehend.
he lets out a choked breath, and then his hand shoots down—larger, rougher—covering yours. he presses it harder against himself, hips stuttering like he’s chasing something that keeps slipping just out of reach.
“it’s not enough,” he pants, voice cracking as his brows draw together, his face twisted in a mix of agony and need.
you feel your face burn at the words—at the implication of what “enough” might mean. your breath falters, throat tight, but your hand doesn’t move away.
instead, your fingers twitch.
they curl slightly, without thinking, just enough to grip.
the reaction is immediate.
he winces—a shudder running through his body like a jolt of lightning—and his mouth parts with a sound that’s somewhere between pain and pleasure.
“don’t stop.”
his voice is strained—hoarse, almost fragile beneath the weight of his own desire. like stopping would shatter him entirely.
your mind flickers back, unbidden, to the dream from a few nights ago. the one that clung to your skin even after waking. in it, he had been so sure of himself—so commanding, so in control. his hands had known where to touch, his mouth had known what to say, and you had given yourself over without question. there had been no trembling. no hesitation. only heat.
but this—this trembling, panting version of him pressed against you now—this was the opposite.
and yet it didn’t cool the fire in you.
it stoked it.
your heart pounds harder, your face flushing hot as the realization settles deep: he hadn’t felt this in a long time. maybe ever. the touch, the friction, the aching pleasure that left him shaking in your hand—it was unfamiliar to him. and yet he clung to it like it was the only thing keeping him whole.
and you… you were the one giving it to him.
there’s power in that. not the kind that demands or dominates—but the kind that hums quietly under the skin. the kind that says he needs you. not just for blood. not just for survival.
but for this.
and that truth alone makes your breath catch, your thighs press closer, the warmth between them blooming hotter, heavier.
you tighten your grip just slightly—just enough to feel him shudder again.
his breaths come out ragged now—uneven, trembling, like every second that passes without release is too much for him to bear. his hand stays pressed over yours, holding you there, grounding himself in the heat and pressure of your palm.
“take ’em off.”
your voice is steadier this time. firmer.
and it surprises even you.
not because of the words, but because of the confidence. the realization blooming slowly but surely in your chest—that you hold him. literally. completely. his need is cradled in your hand, and his body responds like it’s never known this kind of touch before.
remmick glances down, eyes locking onto the way both of y’all’s hands are still cupping him. and something flickers across his face—raw, unfiltered desire.
he doesn’t speak. doesn’t hesitate.
he scrambles, fingers fumbling at his belt, unbuckling in rushed, uneven motions like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he takes too long. the sound of metal scraping against metal, the zip of fabric—it’s frantic, loud in the quiet space between you.
you watch the way his hands move—desperate and clumsy—and when you glance up, your breath catches.
drool.
thick, glistening, slowly spilling from the corner of his mouth. it stretches into a line, gleaming in the light, trailing from his parted lips as if his body is unraveling faster than he can control it. his jaw hangs slack with need, his eyes half-lidded and glazed.
then his pants fall open, and your hand moves without thought—slipping beneath the waistband of his underwear to grasp him fully.
he gasps—loud and shuddering—and his hips buck the slightest inch forward, as if chasing the warmth of your palm. in that same instant, the line of drool falls, landing wet and hot on your wrist, sliding down over your skin like a mark.
the feeling of his drool sliding warm over your wrist sends a jolt through your body—strange, electric, exciting in a way you can’t fully explain. your thighs press together instinctively, the heat between them building with every breath he takes.
he’s heavy in your hand.
hot. stiff. pulsing with need.
his body leans forward, barely held up by the tension in his muscles. his head tips back, exposing the column of his throat, jaw slack as he pants through parted lips. he’s a mess in your hand—completely undone, breathless and sweating, helpless to anything but the touch you’re giving him.
but your strokes falter.
he’s slick with sweat, and it’s more of a struggle than you expected. your hand catches slightly with each movement, and you glance back up at his mouth, remembering the way that thick drool had spilled from his lips.
you pull your hand from his pants.
at the loss of contact, he stutters—broken and breathless.
“why?”
your face flushes, warmth rising all the way to your ears at what you’re about to ask.
“spit in my hand.”
his eyebrows pull together—not from refusal, but from the sharp spike of desire and confusion. his mouth parts slowly, and then he obeys, cheeks hollowing as he draws the drool forward.
his tongue slips out, mouth wide and willing, and thick strings of spit fall heavily into your waiting palm.
you watch it.
watch how it glistens, how it coats your skin, warm and obscene and intimate.
your hand stills for a beat as you take in the weight of the moment—how close he is, how his body is giving you what you need to bring him pleasure.
then, slowly, you lower your hand again.
your fingers wrap around him, slick now, and the difference is instant. your strokes glide smoother, faster, and his body reacts with shudders and gasps. his hips twitch and his head falls forward, forehead nearly brushing yours.
a ragged moan rips from him, and his hand slams against the wall beside your head, bracing himself—because now he’s truly falling apart.
“s–shit!”
it rips from his throat, a sharp groan laced with more than just surprise. there’s something else in it—something raw, starved. hunger, yes, but not just for release. for you. for more of your touch, your attention, your hand wrapped around him like it was meant to be there.
you move with growing confidence now, dragging your hand up his length until you can tug him fully out of his pants.
he winces as the cool air brushes over his flushed skin, a tremor running through him at the sudden contrast. the heat of his body meets the cold of the world, and he shivers—but doesn’t stop you. not even close.
you see him fully now.
hard and flushed, the tip red and glistening, a thick vein running the length of him like a path carved straight to your hand. pre-cum beads at the head, already smeared down his shaft from where your palm had moved over him before, mixing now with the slick sheen of drool still coating your fingers.
your fist wraps around him again, deliberate and slow, and the combined wetness allows you to stroke him with ease. the sound is soft, wet, and rhythmic—his breaths syncing to the motion like he can’t help it.
his body bows slightly, every muscle tensing, like he’s trying not to collapse from the overwhelming pleasure you’re building in him.
he tenses beneath your hand, muscles locking as your strokes grow faster, more assured. his body is trembling now—not from fear, but from how close he is to falling apart completely.
another thick line of drool slips from the corner of his mouth, trailing slowly down his chin. you watch it for a moment, caught in the daze of his unraveling, until your eyes lift—drawn instinctively to his face.
and then you gasp.
his eyes are open.
not fully, but enough.
cast downward, glazed over with pleasure. but just enough to catch it.
a glint. a glow.
red.
dark, pulsing, unnatural—like embers caught in the low light. your breath hitches in your throat as you stare at it, transfixed, and then—almost like he knows—he slams them shut, a sharp whine escaping him.
“aah… wait,” he pants, his voice trembling. “something’s happening…”
you know exactly what.
you feel it in the way he twitches in your hand, in the pulsing warmth building at your palm, in the desperation threaded into every sound that falls from him.
so you don’t stop.
you go faster. tighter. focused.
his hips jerk forward, chasing the friction like he can’t help it, and a strangled moan breaks from his throat. his whole body hunches over you, trembling, until his forehead comes to rest against your shoulder, breath hot and ragged against your skin.
“please,” he gasps—voice small now, breathless—as his head turns just slightly, his mouth nearly brushing your neck.
you smell it.
blood.
copper-sweet and heavy on his breath.
then a deep, guttural sound tears up from his chest—a growl soaked in something ancient, primal—but it breaks halfway through, collapsing into something softer. weaker. almost… pathetic.
and then he tenses, hard.
his whole body locking, shaking in your grasp as he finally lets go—spilling into your hand and across the front of your nightgown in hot, thick pulses.
there’s a moment of silence.
thick, heavy.
the only sound is his breathing—hot and uneven—ghosting over your neck, brushing the skin there with every exhale like he’s still tethered to you by need alone.
your hand remains around him, even as he begins to soften, your fingers still slick and warm. only once he’s completely spent do you slowly pull your hand away in one long, fluid drag. the motion makes him flinch, a gasp slipping through his lips at the sudden overstimulation. his hips twitch, but he doesn’t speak.
he stays still, suspended in the hush between you, before his head tilts up. there’s something open in his expression—tender, maybe. something you’re not ready for. his lips move closer, and you know before it happens what he’s trying to do.
he wants to kiss you.
your head turns, just slightly. your eyes soften, but the word comes quiet.
firm.
“no.”
it’s barely louder than a breath, but it lands like a weight between you.
his eyes close slowly, and he leans his forehead back against your shoulder—not angry. just… quiet.
your legs are still pressed together, thighs tense, breath held. your nightgown clings damp against your stomach, the fabric sticking to your skin where he’d spilled across it. the reality of it hums through you, the scent, the heat, the knowledge that you let it happen. that you made it happen.
then you feel it.
his nose against your neck.
the slow inhale.
he’s smelling you.
your body stiffens.
for a second, terror scrapes at your spine. you think—maybe he lied. maybe this is the moment. maybe he’s going to sink his teeth into your throat and finish what started a few days ago. your heart races.
but he doesn’t bite.
instead, he pulls back slightly, brows furrowed, nostrils flaring as he sniffs the air—curious. drawn.
you follow his gaze.
he leans in again, closer this time, his softening length pressing faintly against your stomach, dragging heat across your skin through the nightgown. and then, his voice—low and hoarse—scratches its way up.
“what’s that smell?”
your stomach tightens.
you hear it—that hunger tucked just beneath the question. not for blood this time. something else. something that makes your skin tingle with anticipation and shame.
his hands move slowly, tracing the shape of your waist, until they settle at your hips—gripping them gently, but firmly enough that you feel the intent behind it.
your brow creases in confusion… until his eyes drop.
you follow the look.
and then it hits you.
you know exactly what he’s asking about.
because while you were focused on him—while your hand moved over him, while you whispered his name and watched him fall apart—the warmth between your thighs had bloomed into something undeniable. your panties are soaked. clingy. shamefully damp against your skin.
your face burns hot as the realization settles.
he smells you.
remmick’s eyes slowly rise to meet yours, and what you see there sends a ripple through your chest—hunger, thick and molten, pulsing just beneath the surface. another line of drool spills from the corner of his mouth, thicker this time, stretching as he breathes through it.
his hand moves—slow, sure—and drags down, curling behind your thigh. then, without warning, he lifts. your leg rises with the motion, guided by his strength, and your breath catches.
a gasp slips from your lips as your hands press instinctively against his chest, trying to ground yourself, maybe even push him back—but your limbs are shaking.
“what are you doing?” you stammer, voice barely stable as you feel his hand slide higher. it skids up your thigh, rough fingertips brushing hot skin, slipping under your nightgown like they’ve done it a hundred times before.
“you’re leaking,” he says, simply.
like it’s an observation. a fact.
like it’s not the most shameful, intimate thing he could’ve said aloud.
drool slips over his chin, unbothered by the mess he’s making, by the mess you’re in.
your body burns. flushed and twitching beneath his touch, thighs trembling around the hand that now glides so easily against your damp skin. his fingers drag through the heat gathered between your legs, and your hips jolt, a quiet sound caught in the back of your throat.
his mouth hovers just beside your cheek now, voice ragged and breath thick.
“let me taste ya,” he says.
almost pleads.
and there’s something so raw, so utterly stripped of pride in the way he says it—like he’s not asking just to take, but because he needs it. like the ache inside him will never fade unless you let him have this one thing.
you turn your head slightly, breath hitching as you meet his eyes—his mouth still hovering beside your cheek, so close you can feel the heat of his breath skating across your skin.
“i…” you begin, voice quiet and uncertain, “i ain’t never had that done before.”
he lets out a groan—deep, throaty, almost pained.
it vibrates against you like a confession.
“let me do it,” he murmurs, eyes dark and pleading. “please. show me where you like to be licked.”
the words make your heart stutter, but before you can even respond, you feel it—his fingers pressing firmly against your clothed heat, dragging slow and deliberate along the soaked fabric.
“remmick—!”
your voice breaks, sharp and startled, rising without your permission.
your face floods with shame, your body trembling at the sound that just tore from your throat. but desire drowns it out, thick and surging—because the pressure feels too good to ignore, and his touch is reverent, not cruel.
he pulls his head back, just enough to look you in the eyes.
and he waits.
there’s no smirk, no demand. just remmick, gaze burning into you with raw need, silently asking for something he doesn’t know how to take without permission.
you stare at him for a long, aching second—heart racing, chest heaving—before you nod.
slow.
shy.
but real.
that’s all he needs.
he sinks lower, descending to his knees with a hunger in his movements, yet careful—like you’re something sacred. both his hands slide along your legs, settling at the backs of your thighs, his thumbs rubbing gently into your skin as he looks up at you from below.
his face is flushed, his hair damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead, his lips parted and still shiny from where drool had spilled earlier.
“tell me what to do,” he groans, voice rough with restraint, with admiration.
his mouth is inches away.
but he won’t move until you tell him how.
your body is burning now.
inside and out.
the sound of his voice asking to be guided—tell me what to do—echoes through you, wrapping around your spine and sending a shiver up your back. no one’s ever asked that of you before. not like that. not with that kind of hunger barely held back by restraint.
when you glance down at him again, you find his eyes already on you. waiting. not impatient. not demanding. eager. wide, dark, full of wanting—but still waiting. like you’re the only one who can give him permission to breathe.
“use your fingers,” you say softly.
your voice wavers, shaky at the edges, but it doesn’t matter.
he hears you.
he obeys.
you catch the way the corners of his lips twitch upward—just for a moment—before one of his hands slides up, lifting your thigh gently and settling it over his shoulder. the stretch of it opens you, exposes you, and you gasp as the new position presses your nightgown higher.
then, his other hand moves—slowly, reverently—until his fingers are back at your panties. they’re soaked now, clinging to you, and you can feel every brush of his knuckles against the sensitive skin there.
his eyes flick up to yours again—checking. asking.
and then he slips a finger past the damp fabric, the tip curling just inside you.
your breath stutters in your chest, a sound catching in your throat that you didn’t mean to let out. he watches you. his gaze never leaves your face.
and then—
with a sudden tug, he rips your panties clean.
the sound is loud, sharp in the silence—the tear of fabric quick and final—and the cold air hits you immediately.
your body tenses, thighs quivering around him as the sudden exposure leaves you breathless. every nerve is awake now, burning, aware of the way his hands hold you open, how the cool air contrasts against the heat pooling between your legs.
you’re bare to him.
and he’s still kneeling.
still looking at you like you’re holy.
you let out a soft pant, your breath catching as you feel his finger slowly trail up the inside of your thigh. his touch is warm—rough in texture, but gentle in pressure—and your skin tingles beneath it. his movements are slow, careful, like he’s learning your body inch by inch.
he stops just at your entrance.
he doesn’t go further right away.
he lingers there—testing. waiting. seeing how you react to the nearness, the quiet promise of what comes next.
then, without warning, he slides a finger in.
his middle finger—long, thick—and the stretch of it makes your walls flutter around him.
a low moan tumbles from your lips, your head tipping back slightly as your muscles clench. it’s more than just the intrusion—it’s the heat of him, the weight of that single finger inside you, the way it already fills more than you expected.
your hand reaches down, gripping the hem of your nightgown tightly, bunching the fabric against your stomach as if anchoring yourself to the moment.
he draws his finger back out—slowly, deliberately—and then pushes it back in with a soft, wet sound that makes your cheeks burn. your body clenches around him again at the sensation, and the lewdness of it, the intimacy of being this bare and open, sends another wave of warmth washing over your skin.
he breathes in through his nose, like he’s memorizing the scent of your arousal, and you can feel him growing more confident in the way his finger curls just slightly on the next thrust.
the thrusts of his finger continue—steady, slow at first, then building into a rhythm that leaves your legs weak. each movement sinks in with purpose, the tip curling ever so slightly, brushing against a place inside you that makes your hips twitch.
your walls clench around him, instinctive and aching.
“you’re so warm,” he pants, voice husky with awe, like he’s never felt anything like this before.
you glance down—eyes glazed, breath uneven—and see his free hand working at himself again. his fingers wrap around his cock, now slowly thickening with each stroke. the sight makes your stomach flutter, your lips parting as another moan slips from your mouth, uncontained and needy.
your mind is fogged with sensation—his hand inside you, his hand on himself, both moving in tandem like some unholy harmony of want. your body is no longer your own. it belongs to the rhythm, the heat, the burn of it all.
then you feel it.
another finger at your entrance.
his ring finger this time—thicker than the first. he eases it in beside the other, stretching you slowly.
you wince. not from pain exactly, but from the sudden fullness.
you’d touched yourself before, sure. but your fingers had never felt like this.
his are longer. rougher. firmer.
they reach deeper.
your walls stretch to accommodate him, muscles fluttering as both fingers begin to pump in and out of you. slick sounds fill the air—soft, obscene—and every time he curls them just right, you whimper.
meanwhile, his other hand strokes himself in slow, languid motions, the pad of his thumb brushing over the tip. he groans aloud, the sound low and wrecked, spilling from his throat like it’s being pulled out of him.
and all of it—his fingers inside you, his pleasure building in front of you—pulls you deeper under.
he starts to move closer.
you can feel it in the way his breath warms your skin, see it in the way his shoulders shift, the subtle rise of his body as he inches toward you like gravity’s pulling him into place.
a low growl rumbles in his throat as he presses his face in, and when the bridge of his nose brushes against that sensitive bud, you tense—hard. a full-body shudder rolls through you, your breath catching sharp in your chest.
then suddenly—his fingers leave you.
you gasp at the loss, clenching around nothing, your body pulsing with the need to be filled again, to feel something.
“let me eat you, baby,” he pleads, voice raw, mouth just a breath away.
his words hit you deep—both filthy and tender, desperate and reverent.
you hesitate.
not from fear.
but from the overwhelming weight of it. the way your body is already responding without needing to be told.
then, you nod.
he doesn’t look up.
but he must feel it—through the way your thigh tenses over his shoulder, through the way your hips shift just the slightest bit forward, offering yourself.
he takes that as his answer.
his mouth descends, and you feel it—his tongue drawing a slow, deliberate line between your folds, tasting you for the first time. your back arches off the wall, sharp and sudden, your thigh slipping, and he readjusts it with one hand, holding you steady with a strength that borders on possessive.
then he licks again.
this time deeper, firmer—and a moan tears from his mouth. the sound vibrates directly into you, and your head falls back with a strangled cry.
“you’re so sweet,” he breathes.
then he presses a soft, almost reverent kiss to your entrance—like a promise—before his tongue pushes inside of you.
you cry out, the stretch of it unfamiliar and overwhelming, but so, so good. his tongue thrusts harshly, rhythm building fast, and every movement sends you spiraling, moan after moan clawing out of your throat as your body writhes against the wall.
your hand flies down instinctively, fingers diving into his hair, clutching at the thick strands. you don’t even realize how hard you’re holding on until you feel him groan again, deeper this time.
and then—his mouth rises, lips closing around that bud.
he sucks.
you break.
completely overwhelmed, shaking with the intensity of it, clenching around nothing but air and the feeling of him devouring you.
your head flies back, colliding with the wall behind you with a dull thud, but you hardly feel it. the pleasure ripping through you overshadows everything else. your free hand reaches up, grasping at your hair, tugging gently—desperate for anything to ground yourself as his mouth continues to assault your core with relentless devotion.
“remmick…”
his name falls from your lips in a moan, soft and broken, like a prayer caught halfway through a plea.
he doesn’t stop.
his tongue licks, flicks, drags through your folds, then closes around your clit again, sucking it into the heat of his mouth with rhythm that borders on sinful. the sounds he makes—low, guttural moans and hungry grunts—vibrate directly into you, sending fresh waves of sensation surging through your thighs, your belly, your spine.
he’s pumping himself with the same desperation, his hand moving fast and slick over his length, the sounds of it mixing with the wet noise of his mouth working between your legs. and every time he moans into you, you feel it—feel it everywhere.
then he shifts.
the hand that had been resting firm on your thigh over his shoulder suddenly moves. it slides down—strong and sure—until his fingers press into the flesh of your inner thigh, right beside your entrance. and then he pulls—gently but firmly, opening you wider for him.
a soft gasp slips from your mouth at the stretch, the exposure. you feel so bare, so utterly open. his tongue immediately returns, working deeper now that you’re spread wider for him, and it feels devastating—like you might come apart entirely just from the way he holds you open and tastes you like he’s starving.
your eyes squeeze shut as a stuttering moan tears its way out of your throat—uncontrolled, raw. your fingers twist tighter in his hair, clutching at the only thing tethering you to the earth as his mouth continues to work you open and undone.
and then—
something shifts.
a feeling. strange. unfamiliar.
it starts low in your belly—tight, electric, and rising fast. it coils, curls, builds like pressure behind a dam, and you don’t know what it is, only that it’s coming hard and fast and you don’t know how to stop it.
your breath hitches.
panic flutters in your chest.
your eyes snap open, wide with the sudden fear of losing control, and your body tenses as if to brace for impact.
and then—
it hits.
a violent, blinding explosion rocks through your body.
your mouth opens, but no sound comes at first—just the air being pulled from your lungs as your release rips through you.
your eyes roll back, vision swimming, and your legs nearly buckle beneath the weight of it. your thighs twitch, body quivering uncontrollably as your climax washes over you like a crashing wave you were never prepared for.
but remmick doesn’t let you fall.
his hands grip you steady, firm and reverent, holding you together even as you come apart in his mouth. he moans into you, greedy and satisfied, lapping up every drop of your release like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted—like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.
you tremble above him, caught in the aftershocks, completely undone.
when he finally pulls back, his cheeks and chin are drenched—slick with you, shining in the low light. his mouth parts slightly as he breathes, dazed and wild, and you can still feel the ghost of his tongue between your thighs. you’re still catching your breath when he moves again—this time, pulling you gently down with him.
your back meets the wood floor of your porch with a soft thud, the cool surface a harsh contrast to the heat blooming in your skin. before you can process it fully, he’s leaning over you, body caging yours in, his cock already hard again, flushed and leaking at the tip. the sight of him above you, thick and heavy, makes your breath stutter.
you barely have time to react before you feel him—his tip brushing against your entrance, slicking over sensitive skin, nudging.
you snap out of it instantly.
your hands press to his chest.
“w-wait! stop!”
his body stills.
he freezes above you, panting, chest heaving as he stares down at you. the desperation in his eyes is immediate—sharp and pleading—but he doesn’t move. instead, you feel his fingers tighten around the bunched fabric of your nightgown, clinging to it like an anchor.
your mind is racing.
he wanted to go this far.
he was going to go this far.
and you—god, your face burns even hotter as the thought settles—you’d never done this before.
not with anyone.
not like this.
and the fear coils tight in your belly.
“i won’t hurt you.”
his voice comes soft.
echoing what he said earlier.
but it lands differently now—closer to a promise.
you look up at him, searching.
his hand on your hip is strong, grounding, and though he grips you tight, there’s no force in it. only restraint.
you search his eyes for anything that might read as a lie, some shadow of cruelty or indifference—but there’s nothing. only tension. only waiting.
so you nod.
his gaze softens, and the hand holding your gown lowers, moving between your bodies. he grips himself, lining up carefully, guiding the head of his cock back to your entrance.
you inhale, slow and deep, trying to ready yourself.
then—he meets your eyes.
and begins to push in.
your jaw clenches hard as the stretch begins. the pressure is immediate, unfamiliar, so much. he’s thick—thicker than anything you’ve ever felt before—and your walls struggle to accommodate him.
“s-slowly…” you manage to stutter, breath caught in your throat.
he nods, sweat beading at his brow, his own face twisted with the effort of going slow—of not losing himself completely in the heat and tightness of you. your walls clench around him, instinctively, and he groans low in his chest.
inch by inch, he presses deeper, until—
you feel a pinch. sharp.
not enough to cry out, but enough to make you tense again.
your hand flies down, gripping the wrist on your hip.
“wait!”
he halts immediately, eyes flying up to yours.
“almost there…” he moans, voice strained. “i’m almost there.”
his hand tightens, holding himself still—waiting for you to give him more.
and when you finally nod—heart hammering—he moves again.
he pulls out slowly, carefully, then pushes back in with more urgency this time. the stretch returns, but this time the pain dulls quickly, fading into something else. something thicker. warmer.
his hand plants beside your head, fingers splaying against the wooden floor for balance, and he pushes the rest of the way in until he bottoms out inside you.
you both still.
your bodies tangled, your breath ragged, your skin burning where it touches his. and for a long, pulsing moment—there’s nothing else.
just the sound of panting.
just the feel of him inside you.
just the overwhelming, terrifying intimacy of being this connected
slowly, but surely, he pulls out—just an inch, just enough to make you feel the loss—before pushing back in with a deep, guttural groan. the sound of it vibrates through your chest, and your own moan answers his as your hand flies up, gripping the wrist of the hand planted beside your head.
your grip is so tight your knuckles turn white.
“aah… yea…” he stutters out, breath shaking as his hips roll forward again, his thrusts slow but deliberate, each one more assured than the last.
the drag of his cock inside you leaves your body stuttering—your breath catching in broken gasps, your thighs trembling with every deep, slow stroke. he’s thick. so thick. every movement stretches you wide, your walls struggling to take him and clenching around him with a mind of their own.
he groans—mouth falling open in something pathetic, raw, aching—and the sound shoots straight through you. the hand on your hip tightens, guiding your body with each thrust, steadying you, grounding himself in your warmth.
your walls flutter around him, and he sees stars behind his eyes.
every time you clench, it’s like heaven and hell collide inside him.
your back begins to slide against the porch beneath you, the wood warm and rough, dragging lightly at your nightgown as his thrusts gain rhythm. the pace builds—not fast, but firm, deeper. every push rocks your body just enough to knock the breath from your lungs.
the sound of skin meeting skin fills the air now—wet, rhythmic, desperate.
his grunts are low in his chest, slipping out between clenched teeth.
your eyes open slowly, jaw slack, mouth parting as choked moans tumble past your lips.
and then—
you see it.
his mouth hangs open, panting, and in the haze of your half-lidded gaze, something catches the light. not just teeth. fangs.
sharp. monstrous.
inhuman.
you let out a sharp gasp as his hands suddenly move—grasping the backs of your thighs with a strength that steals your breath. he drags you toward him with ease, your slick skin sliding across the wooden porch until your thighs rest on his, legs spread and trembling as he settles into the new angle.
once you’re in place, his hands return to your hips—strong, possessive—and without pause, he begins pounding into you again.
but now, it’s different.
his rhythm grows more erratic, more primal. he groans through gritted teeth, fangs fully bared now, glistening with spit as his mouth hangs open in pleasure-drunk awe.
he finds that spot inside you again—
and again.
and again.
each thrust is a strike of lightning behind your eyes, drawing stars out of thin air, making your body convulse in helpless rhythm beneath him. you try to say his name, to moan it into the thick air between you—but all that escapes is garbled, slurred noise. syllables tangled in pleasure too strong to form words.
you don’t notice it at first—
the way his fingers change.
the grip on your waist grows tighter, rougher.
his nails stretch, curling longer, sharper, claws forming in real time as his body reacts to you. to this. to everything he’s holding back.
he groans through clenched fangs, jaw twitching with restraint. it takes everything in him not to pierce your skin. not to lose himself to what he is.
your hands reach down, fumbling for the hem of your nightgown, wanting it off, wanting to feel the air, feel him. remmick sees the motion, and something feral flashes in his eyes as he helps you—tearing the gown up and over your head.
it now lays beneath your upper back, your spine pressing into the fabric as your body arches.
the cold air hits your bare skin and a shiver runs through you. your breasts bounce with each thrust, each impact sending them upward and down in hypnotic rhythm.
remmick lets out a guttural sound—desperate and overwhelmed all at once—as drool escapes the corner of his mouth and spills messily across your stomach. you gasp at the sudden warmth of it, the contrast between cold air and wet heat making you twitch.
then his hand moves again.
he lowers it between your legs, and suddenly he’s rubbing your bud—rough and unrelenting. the pad of his thumb swirls over it in frantic circles, careful not to scratch you, using just enough pressure to send another bolt of pleasure through your spine.
you cry out, louder this time, your back arching as your body tenses up around him.
his other hand rises, large and trembling, and cups one of your breasts, kneading it with a kind of reverence that’s quickly undone by the bite of his claws. one scratches just slightly—a soft sting blooming across your skin—and instead of pulling back, you moan louder.
the pain only sharpens the pleasure.
and remmick…
he watches you fall apart like he’s witnessing something sacred.
and he’s the one dragging every sound, every shiver, every tremble out of you.
you’re losing yourself.
your vision blurs at the edges, body flushed and trembling, unable to hold on to anything solid—except him. your hand reaches blindly, desperate to touch, to anchor yourself in something, someone. your fingers find it—the chain. that gold chain around his neck, damp with sweat and heat.
you loop your fingers through it, gripping tight.
the moment you do, his body responds—his thrusts picking up speed, harder now, deeper. his hips crash against yours with ferocity, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing across the porch. each thrust sends his balls slapping against your ass, adding to the filthy rhythm of it all.
“l–look at you…” he pants, voice breathless and broken, eyes wild as he stares down at where you’re joined. “so beautiful… and speared on me…”
your head falls back, jaw slack as he slams into you again—rough, desperate. his thumb is still on your bud, circling fast and tight, and the pressure spirals out of control.
you feel it.
again.
rising.
but this time, you don’t panic.
you welcome it.
your walls flutter, then clamp down hard around him, squeezing his cock in perfect rhythm with your unraveling. your moans tear from your throat, raw and choked, as your body convulses beneath him.
remmick chokes on a moan of his own, hips stuttering as you clench around him. but he doesn’t stop. not for a second.
he pounds through it—thrusting through your orgasm, keeping the rhythm alive, drawing it out until you can’t tell where the high ends and the overstimulation begins.
the sounds are obscene.
each time he pulls out, it’s wet and loud, a slick drag that makes your stomach tighten—and then he slams back in, deeper, filling you again with a moan.
your walls twitch, overly sensitive now, and a sharp little wave of discomfort flares in the middle of the lingering heat. it stings, but not enough to stop. not when he keeps going like that. not when your body can’t decide if it wants to push him away or pull him deeper.
your grip on his chain tightens.
remmick moans—loud and broken—as the gold links dig into his neck, and still, he doesn’t stop.
his hips drive into yours with punishing need, his chest brushing yours with every thrust, and you realize—
he’s not just trying to fuck you.
he’s trying to stay inside you.
to live there.
to lose himself in the place where you melt around him.
and it’s becoming too much.
your body is trembling, wrung out and burning, nerves raw from how he keeps moving inside you—deep, relentless, nonstop. the sensitivity spikes, each thrust dragging along your pulsing walls like fire and silk, sending you over the edge and right back again before you’ve even caught your breath.
your mouth opens in a soundless moan, your legs twitching, body locked in that unbearable space between pleasure and pain.
remmick groans above you—deep, rough sounds torn straight from his chest. they rumble through his body and into yours, and you feel the way he’s struggling. holding back. holding in.
his fangs flash as his lips part again, saliva stringing between them as he pants like an animal. he’s trying—truly trying—not to sink them back into your neck. not to bite down and mark you like instinct is screaming at him to do.
you see it in the way his head tilts, the way his mouth hovers near your throat before he jerks back again, forcing himself to focus.
your hands are full now—
one clutching his gold chain so tightly the links dig into your fingers,
the other gripping his wrist, fingernails pressed to his skin, grounding yourself as your body thrashes beneath his.
you whine, high-pitched and breathless, overwhelmed as your thighs threaten to close, but his grip on your hips is unyielding.
his eyes glow—deep, dark red—and when he looks down at you, it’s through that glowing haze of instinct and want and near-unraveling. his jaw clenches hard, fangs bared as he fights the shift overtaking him.
then he tenses.
you feel it—
in the way his rhythm falters,
in the way his thrusts grow sloppy, uncontrolled, missing that sweet spot as his hips jerk with no pattern.
he’s close.
he hunches forward, his whole body curling in on itself, and a loud, broken groan tears from his chest as he spills inside you—hot and thick, pulsing with each wave of release.
you moan, long and soft, as you feel him flood you—coating your walls in warmth as his hips keep moving, fucking his orgasm into you.
he pounds through it, chest heaving, sweat dripping onto your skin. the mixture of you both—slick and steady—drips down from where he stretches you open, forming a glistening ring around the base of him each time he pulls back.
“remmick—!”
his name bursts from your lips, sharp and breathless, as your thighs snap tight around his waist, trying to anchor yourself to him—to anything.
your entire body trembles beneath him, and you feel like you might fall apart again, even though there’s nothing left in you but the aftershocks.
“i k-know, baby…” he groans, voice low and shaking, still thrusting inside you. his movements are uncoordinated now, sloppy and feverish, driven more by need than rhythm. his hips jerk like he’s chasing the last of it, like he doesn’t want to let go of the feeling of being inside you.
your eyes squeeze shut, and your fingers finally release their grip on his chain, the gold slipping from between your knuckles.
you trade it for flesh.
your now-free hand reaches up to grab his other wrist, mirroring your other hand—holding him completely. your body, your breath, your trembling form says stay.
his breathing stutters again, another broken groan ripping through him as he thrusts deep—hard—like something inside him is unraveling one last time.
at this point, you feel it—
the steady leak of your shared pleasure slipping out of you, warm and wet, trailing down your thighs and pooling on the floorboards beneath you. the sounds between you are slick and endless—every movement, every shift punctuated by the lewd, messy wetness of it all.
then he pulls back—just slightly—to look.
his eyes drop to where his cock still moves in and out of you, glazed with the evidence of everything you gave him. you feel his stare deepen, and you swear he’s ascending—his lips parted, eyes wide, breath stolen by the sight of you stretched around him, milking every last wave of his orgasm.
his hips slow.
slow again.
until they still.
his chest rises and falls, frantic and wild, then slower, steadier—as he begins to return to himself.
he looks up.
eyes searching yours.
his mouth opens, like he wants to say something. like he needs to.
but nothing comes out.
instead, he leans down.
his lips hover just above yours, breath brushing your mouth, waiting—asking. not like before, when you turned your face away. this time, he lingers.
and this time, you don’t pull back.
you tilt your chin just slightly, and your lips meet his in a kiss.
slow. warm. breathless.
not demanding. not frantic.
just real.
and in that quiet moment, with him still inside you, your bodies still joined in the mess of it all, he kisses you like it means something. like he’s trying to remember what it feels like to be human again.
oh my GOD i love remmick i need him so bad
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