ā reference to my favourite song (see end of post) for my favourite Remmick trope, a monstrous pathetic submissive eater. also a reference to religious blasphemy, and yāknow, inviting Remmickās faith in me. š¤
Bio:
*~ vamp real life vampire (permanent fangs)
*~~ 30
*~~ melanated nerdy professional gf
*~~ lesbian with the occasional unattainable male crush
*~~ trans/genderfluid so the Remmick hivemind opens up so many gender euphoria possibilities š«£
*~~ irl survival swer so this is a little reprieve of deviance (dreaming of jack booking me š¤š¤Ŗ)
*~ former fanfiction.net writer, recent return to reading fics (the current state of the world will do that)
*~ fics I read about: TrueForm!Sukuna and Remmick (current)
āāā kinks, blog song and other info below the cut. āāā
*~ kinks (specific to Remmick):
vampires / act of vampirism,
sharp teeth / heavy bite kink,
blood, drool, cum (holy trifecta),
period/menstrual oral (woah new kink),
BDSM (switch) / power play dynamics,
hardcore BDSM
size play (in any regard),
monster fucking / predator/prey,
dub-con, cnc, nc
obsessiveness / possessiveness / control,
breeding,
christianity (trauma kink very normal šāāļø),
making white men submit,
pathetic bloody submissive boys,
equally scary monstrous dominant men.
I have ideas for fics but idk if Iāll ever write fics again! May throw my ideas to the wind though~
I much enjoy and prefer reading remmick x poc!reader, remmick x black!reader and fics where the race of the reader isnāt obviously palm coloured. š¤
āāā appreciate the follows but since this is a sideblog, fave authors get follows from my main ā which wonāt be hard to clock. š§š½š„
summary: Born during the first few years of the Rage Virus outbreak, you grew up in a brutal world where survival trumped compassion. In the remains of society, your community saw youth as a liability. Weak, disposable, and easily replaced. You were treated like nothing, sent beyond the gates to scavenge through infected ruins while the lazy and powerful 'overseers' stayed behind. It was all you ever knew, normal really, until the day you crossed paths with a strange bunch of folks wearing wigs, bright colours and eager defiance.
They were weirdos, loud and intimidating. So was he really, but they were one thing you longed for - free.
Find Part One here and Part Two here
wc:
Not edited.
warnings: mentions of intoxication + hangover, possessive behaviour, trauma bonding, power imbalance, mentions of knife violence and abuse, manipulation, mentions of scars, coarse language, mentions of gore,
Let me know what you think!
--
You had to be dying.
It felt like a machete had split its way down the middle of your skull. Your tongue feels dry. Your throat burns. Your stomach flips over and over, settling somewhere in what felt like your spine.
Every time you move, your body screams to lie down and die with dignity. A blanket rests around your legs, and the mattress underneath you is thicker and softer than anything you've ever slept on.
But it wasn't enough to distract you from the fact you were evidently dying.
You sit up fast - too fast, and your vision shakes. The room, one you don't remember entering, spins, and your brain slams into the inside of your skull like it was trying to escape.
The groan that leaves your lips was loud, and you grip the edge of the mattress with one hand, the other holding onto your forehead like it was going to melt through your fingers.
Something resembling a whimper leaks out, almost humiliatingly soft. The air felt stuffy, smoke lingering from a dead fireplace in the middle of the room. Sunlight peaked through a window, the light proving to be too much for your sensitive eyes.
The room, a real bedroom, smelt like lavender and something your brain couldn't name, couldn't process beyond the clawing certainty that your organs had to be shutting down.
Maybe the drink was poisoned, perhaps someone drugged the food. Hell, someone could've snuck into the room whilst you slept. You had been too open, let your guard down, and now it felt like you were evidently paying the price.
You feel that you need to vomit, but you keep it down.
Die with dignity.
Your eyes open just enough to spot your backpack and weapons by the door, and you attempt to sit up straighter. Immediately your hand shoots up to your chest, feeling around for the pocket knife you remember hiding between your breasts.
It's gone.
You don't even remember taking off the sweater, you don't really remember anything from the night before. There was dinner, blondes and blurs of purple.
There wasn't much else coming to light. The night itself felt like a passing blur.
How you managed to get yourself standing - you'll never know. The stone floor was cold beneath your socks and your eye close, catching your breath. It had to be poison.
You barely hear the knock at the door before it creaks open, but you hearĀ him clear as day.
āAnd she lives.ā
Sir Jimmy Crystal steps into the room with a grin looking cheerful. His tiara is back, resting lazily atop his blond hair. Not a single ring or necklace was out of place.
Meanwhile, you're sweating through the borrowed crop and pants, hands resting on your stomach like it was the only thing keeping your insides inside.
You wanted to reach for your machete, anything, but he was standing in front of your weapons before you had the chance.
Your eyes were struggling to stay open in the light, and you manage a noise that resembles another groan. "What... what did the hell did you do to me?"
He stops short, a hand resting on his own belly as his eyes rake over your pained frame. Then - laughter.
"Oh my wee warrior," he chuckles, crossing the room in smooth strides until he stands before you. "Head hurts eh? Seems ye had a bit too much to drink last night."
Your eyes squint at him before they dart again towards your weapons. Jimmy doesn't miss it.
"You're not in danger here," he says, too casually for your liking. The hand on his stomach reaches down into a pocket, pulling out your knife. "I took this off ye last night too, just in case ye think one of my boys took it.ā
You meet his eyes, standing a little straighter despite the pain shooting through your body, hand outstretched and shaking. "Give it."
"Naw, but you'll get it back," He lifts one shoulder in a slow shrug, placing it back into his pocket. "Eventually. You were out cold last night love, didnae want ye rollin' on to it or wake up swingin' on little old me," He flashes a sharp grin. "Though, I think I'd like to see that if we're being honest."
He grins at you like you were something precious.
You say nothing, trying to decipher the severity of the situation. Your fingers twitch. Youāre used to the weight of a weapon on you at all times. You knew your knife had been tucked in your crop when you passed out.
He took it.Ā He touched you. Christ, did he undress you too?
"You think we poisoned you, don't ye?" He continues, his expression cheery despite the wild words. "This is what happens when ye drink alcohol hen, seems your home did you a disservice on that one. I think ye had fun though, all things considered."
You stare at him, eyes narrowing as you attempt to remember anything. You feel an ache in your ribs from laughing too much before a memory flickers - hot food, a 'game', stories.
Something warm in your hand, then another. And another.
Youād never had fancy drink before. Why the fuck did people willingly put themselves through this? You didnātĀ knowĀ what it could do. That this was the outcome.
But Jimmy did. It was clear he did.
"Well this feels like death."
āAye,ā he nods, seemingly smug and delighted at the state you're in. āA glorious, miserable thing isn't it? Hangovers, half my Jimmy's are in the same state this morning, s'fine. I mean, IĀ didĀ try to warn ye at least once."
"No you fucking didn't." You didn't mean to swear, but it wasn't missed by Jimmy by any means. His eyebrow quirks a little at your bite, but he doesn't comment on your tone.
āYouāre right. I didnāt,ā He grins even wider, amused beyond belief. āBut it was worth it, youĀ were an absolute treat. Really came out of that little shell of yours,"
You don't remember exactly what you spoke about.
He keeps going, undeterred. āSeems ye just needed a little push eh? Opened up like a daisy in the sun after a few rounds, no wonder you're so... sharp around the edges, I'd be too living in that fuckin' prison ye call Home."
Your blood runs cold. āWhat did I say last night?ā
He raises both hands like he means no harm. āNothing ye gotta worry 'bout, just that yer place doesn't seem to be the nicest," His head tilts again, eyes darting down to rest on the large scar on your stomach. His jaw clenches slightly before his gaze returns to yours. "Ye should lay down hen, sleep off this mess."
You're about to speak when another blonde head pops through the door.
Jimmima. She gives a small smile, holding a plate and glass in front of her as Jimmy nods, waving her in. She passes the two to her leader before nodding at him, leaving the room with a small wave aimed to you.
He raises the plate, toasted bread with something smeared over it wafting towards you. "Here," he hands you a glass of water, but you just stare at it, still not convinced that he and his group hadn't tainted your meal last night.
He sighs, lifting the water to his lips and taking a small sip, releasing the glass with a dramatic 'ah' to prove his point. "Paranoid little thing. Now eat, drink. You'll feel better after, or not, s'different for everyone."
The thirst got to you, and you take the water with a shaky hand. It was cold and clean, and you sip it slowly, trying to ignore the way Jimmy leans against the bed post like he was watching a performance just for him.
"What time is it?" You ask in between gulps. "Sun seems like it's up high."
"It is," He looks outside your window, making a mental note again of your observation skills. "It's around midday, seems ye needed the sleep in."
Shit.
You were supposed to be back Home this morning.
You place the glass on the bedside table, once again ignoring the way your head screams in protest. You stand, too fast and the world tilts, and you have to grip the bedpost to keep from falling. Jimmy steps forward like he had means to catch you, but you wave him off.
Your movements were shaky, staggering even as you make your way over to your backpack.
Jimmy watches every step. "Where ye going?"
"Home," Your voice rasps, looking around for your clothes from yesterday. "I should've been back before sun up."
He just stays resting against the post, leaning in slightly as he watches you prance around the room.
"In this state?" he says, tone laced with humour. "Absolutely not."
Your head jerks up too fast and you instantly regret it. The room tilts as you bang your hip against a dresser. āI don't remember asking permission.ā
"Look at ye," He walks over and tucks his hands into the pockets of his tracksuit, looking down at you with something mixed between annoyance and authority. "The walls are movin' aren't they? You'll be tripping over yer feet before you hit the gate, no to mention there was an Alpha running around, I wouldn't feel right sendin' you out like this,"
You narrow your eyes. Jimmy's looking at you with something that wasn't pity - no. It was something worse. A kind of possessiveness. Like he had already decided for you.
"Ye wouldn't even last five minutes. I mean, I can offer some of my people to escort ye if you're absolutely keen to leave, but I'd advise against it."
Absolutely not. There was no way you were having anyone from sanctuary know where Home was hiding.
You blink slowly. That same sick weight pools in your gut, but itās not just the 'hangover' this time.
"But," it was clear Jimmy liked the sound of his own voice. "I meant what I said yesterday. Sanctuary is yours if ye want it, ye don't have to go back there."
āIām not staying here.ā
He laughs softly, like youāve said something adorable. āWell you're not leavin' today, yer too sick."
As much as you hate to admit it, he was right. Every step felt like torture, and you'd probably be taken down by a normal infected let alone an alpha.
Still, you say it again. "I can't stay here, gatherers don't leave for more than one night, I'm sorr-."
"After everything ye said last night - I think your shithole, sorry, Home will be alright for another day, I mean, I don't think they like ye very much," He says the last part quietly, but it still hits hard all the same. "Get ye strength up, stay, just for another night.ā
You would be stupid to leave in this state, you knew that and unfortunately so did Jimmy. But you didn't trust him, not after knowing he intentionally let you drink without explaining the consequences .
You still weren't sure just how much you had spilled about your place, and it worried you to no end.
"If ye want me to beg, I'm sure I can give it a try," He continues, his hands raised in defence but his tone was humorous. "Tell me then love, what can ol' Jimmy do to convince you?"
"Why do you talk like that?" You ignore his question, resting against the dresser as you swallow down the weird feeling in your gut. "Like we've known each other for awhile, like we're friends,"
He seems almost surprised by your own question, his expression shifting, and so you continue.
"Ye take me in, bathe me, clothe me, feed me, and now you want me to stay here when you know fuck all about me," Perhaps you were still 'drunk', but you weren't sure where this boost of confidence came from. All you knew is that you were tired of the man in front of you acting like he was constantly one step ahead.
"I don't know you or anyone here, and you all certainly don't know me. So I'll say it again, I'm going Home."
Jimmy watches you for a moment, like heās committing the image of your little spiel and your defiant stance to memory.
You, slouched against his dresser, hair tousled from sleep and hands gripping the hardwood like it was the only thing keeping you upright. There's fondness in his eyes. Maybe a little hunger. But overall, his gaze darkens as he stands straighter.
"Full bag of shite." Is all he says, his jaw tense.
"What?"
"Full bag of shite ye need and ye stay another night, with me - with us." That piked your interest, and Jimmy nods, noticing the shift. "Whatever you want or need will be in that bag come morning," He points to your backpack that rests on the floor by your feet. "But only if you'll stay, I'm sure Home will be alright with their best gatherer being gone a wee bit longer if she comes back fully stocked eh?"
"You've already given me enough f-"
"No. Think of it as my way of showing my thanks for yesterday's ordeal - besides, if a bag full of crap is the only thing that'll get ye to mellow, then a bag full of crap it'll be."
He had you cornered either way.
"One more day," You nod hesitantly, knowing that either way he was right about your current state and that the promise of supplies would make it worth the change in your routine. "Then I'm out of your hair."
Jimmy steps a little closer to you, slowly. His expression doesnāt change, but something shifts behind his eyes - that familiar glint of something darker beneath the humour.
"That's all I want," his tone changes, deeper, full of intention. "But... Ye don't have to be out of my hair y'know? There is a home here for you, one that'll be happy to have you."
"I already have a home."
He gives you a long, unreadable look, eyes drifting down again to the scar on your belly before the slowly drag up your body. "You're a loyal thing, I get it," He sighs through his nose. "Real warrior shite, but right now, yer a bit fuckin' stupid - that place don't deserve you, even the weans outside would be able to see that."
You flinch a little at his tone. "Watch yer mouth," You brush past him as you head towards the bedside again. "I don't have to explain myself or anything to you. For all I know, you'll get me drunk again and kill me in my sleep."
His smile returns, slow and honey-slick as he turns around, following your movement. "S'true, I could," He says, eyes clearly watching your backside as you move to sit on the edge of the bed. "But if I wanted ye dead, you'd be in the dirt already, not clean sheets," He wags his finger at you, a childish grin returning to his cheeks. "I like ye tracker, I like this little back 'n forth thing we got going on,"
You don't answer, reaching for your water once more. Jimmy chuckles for what felt like the umpteenth time. "Rest up then, we'll talk about this later."
He brushes nonexistent dust off his sleeves, walking towards the door before he stops just short of it. "We'll be down in the throne room," He says over his shoulder, blond hair whipping around behind him. "If y'feel like my company at all,"
You just stare, and he laughs again before patting the pocket that holds your knife. "You'll get this back too."
Your eyes narrow, remembering he still had something that belonged to you. His smile beams brighter before he slips out of the room with a slight duck of his head at some beads that rest outside the door.
It closes with a hard click, and you wait a moment, hearing his footsteps get softer before you lie back in bed, exhausted and aching.
You had never lounged around like this. It felt abnormal. The pain in your skull throbbed as you settled back into the pillow, and you stare at the ceiling.
You didn't trust Jimmy or anyone here by any means.
There was something about him that left a weird feeling in your gut more than the hangover did.
He was charming, yes, but you hated that he read you like an open book.
--
Having spent the better half of the afternoon wallowing in bed, you eventually descend the old stone staircase, one step at a time. One hand trails along the wall for leverage, and your sock covered feet tread carefully over a floor that felt like it was breathing itself.
Your head still throbs, a dull moonshine drenched rhythm behind your eyes, but it's lessened. You're upright however, no longer doubling over like earlier, dressed back in the borrowed sweater as it hangs off one shoulder.
The air grows warmer the further you make your way down, sunlight feeding through cracks in the castle walls, blending with the candles and burning lavender.
You're at the bottom after what felt like an eternity, following the familiar path that Jimmy Ink had escorted you through yesterday.
You hear them all before you see them. Voices, laughter, music. Someones shouting something about a chair, someone else cackling at it like they've won a war.
You enter without knocking, the large wooden door making all the noise for you. Furs and couches, mismatched chairs with the large throne in the middle.
Sunlight now streamed through the stained glass, turning the room into a mixture of reds, blues and greens.
TheĀ throne room still shocked you in its entirety.
In the middle, elevated on a little platform sits Sir Jimmy Crystal himself. He lounges on his throne like a god amongst men.
And scattered across the floor, the Jimmy's. A tribe of colourful tracksuits all lounging across the couches, beanbags and fur covered floor like royalty.
Your presence pulls their eyes and gains their attention instantly.
Jimmy InkĀ sits cross-legged on the same couch she had claimed last night, her red tracksuit a stark contrast to the fabric beneath, blonde wig twisted on her head. āLookinā good tracker,ā she laughs, eyes squinting as she looks at your dull expression. āOkay Iām joking, you look like shite.ā
You just give her a blank stare, to which she gives you a thumbs up.
"How's the head?" Another asks, Jimmy Jones, resting on the floor between Jimmy Shite's legs.
āIt feels like I fell head first on a machete," You reply, arms crossed over your chest as you look over everyone. "You all seem to be feelin' okay though."
More laughter. Some snorts. Itās not mocking. Itās warm.
Familiar.
"Ye get used to it." Jimmy Shite replies, shrugging as if it was the most normal conversation in the world.
You don't understand it. They speak like they've known you forever, like you're just another Jimmy minus the scratchy wig.
Then your eyes fall on him.
He sits on his hand carved throne. His tracksuit was zipped low enough to show his chest and layered gold, a white vest beneath. His blond hair had streaks of red from the stained glass, the battered tiara still resting on his head. You had strangely already gotten used to it. Like itĀ belongedĀ there.
Legs spread, one arm draped across the backrest. Heās not smiling. Not mocking. Just watching you, mouth unreadable.
And his eyes, sharp and blue, entirely locked on your frame instead of his people. He speaks your name with genuine surprise as you walk further into the room.
āDidn't think you'd come down,ā He says smoothly. āFeeling better?"
āBarely,ā You answer truthfully, looking around quickly for a spot to sit. Your legs whilst having managed to walk you down, still felt like they had trekked through mud. āBut managing."
Jimmy's lips quirk, and he waves his hand towards the couch closest to him, urging you to sit. You do so, surprising not only him but yourself.
You just needed to sit. Not because he told you to do it. At least, that's what you told yourself.
"Did ye sleep some more? Or did ye need me to tuck you in again?" Someone behind you chuckles at his quip, but your eyes just narrow.
You wanted your knife.
You look away, not sure how to respond to that. There was a weird thought knowing he had been the one to carry you to bed and put you to sleep.
"M'just playing around," He assures you, his leg bouncing in his chair. "Relax, we're all friends here love."
Love.
There it was again.
"Are we?" You quip back, head whipping around again to eye him with something that half resembled a glare.
He was doing it again. Talking to you like he had you right where he wanted.
He just smirks, enjoying the way you refuse to entertain his little quirks.
"You hungry?" He asks instead, and you shake your head. Food was the last thing on your mind right now, your stomach even twisting at the idea.
Silence drapes the space between you. The sounds of the other Jimmy's - laughter, whispers, someone plucking at a guitar all blurring into background noise.
You just observed, finding yourself smiling every now and then at the way others threw their heads back in laughter.
They all seemed so comfortable. Loose and lazing around. It was something you don't think you'd ever get used to seeing.
āI was going to offer you a walk,ā Jimmy pipes up again. āShow ye the grounds a bit better, maybe the view above,ā
You stare at him, head resting against the back of the couch.
"But ye look like a corpse, so maybe not."
Truthfully, you didn't mind the idea of exploring the sanctuary a little more. The only castles you had been in were ones that were well and truly decrepit, and you didn't know when the opportunity would come again.
But the hangover was still coming out on top, so you shook your head once more. "Might vomit on you if we do."
"Aināt that a pity," His teeth are sharp as he laughs, seemingly content to have you cracking jokes. "I give quite the tours."
"I bet," You say. "You seem like the type who enjoys talking."
"Oh I do," he rests his chin on his hand, his elbow resting on his throne. "But I like asking questions more."
You side eye him. "Well aware, but I think I've told you enough about myself."
Jimmy shrugs with one shoulder, his ringed fingers fiddling with the edges of his chair. "Naw really, I know more about ye compound than I do about yerself," He tilts his head. "Besides, I like hearin' you talk, s'that really a problem?"
You hesitate. Thereās a lightness to his words - but it doesnāt feel like a joke. āStill deciding,ā
A few chuckle at you, and you look around at the many colourful suits lying around. "Would I be able to get my clothes back? And my shoes, probably best if I get them now so I don't have to wake anyone in the morning."
The room goes silent immediately, and you don't miss the way Jimmima looks down at her hands, avoiding your gaze.
"What clothes? You've already got some," Jimmy dismisses your words, waving them off as he looks to your current attire. "Those are yours now, can give ye some more too."
Your eyebrows furrow. "The clothes I was wearing yesterday, they said they'd be washed and I'd get them back," You look between Jimmima, Jimmy Jones and Jimmy Crystal. "I'm going to need them."
"Oh those scraps? They were practically fallin' off ye when you waltzed in here," Jimmy's signature grin is back, except this time it didn't meet his eyes. "They're long gone now."
You stiffen. "Gone?"
"Burned, fuel for the fire." He says everything so casually. Like he knew he had done something wrong but didn't care.
More heads turn your way as your fists clench and your head swivels faster than it should've. You ignore the dull pain that shoots through at the action. āBut your people said Iād get them back.ā
āWe've got rags here in better condition than those pieces of cotton you called clothes,ā he replies. āWhat's the issue? D'ye not like your new additions?ā
āThey wereĀ mine.ā
The other Jimmy's still lounge. Some glance between the two of you. Crystal doesnāt flinch, doesnāt blink.
āI bought those with my rations,ā You continue. Your voice isnāt loud, but itās tight, teetering on the edge. āI cannae just show up in new gear."
He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees.
āAnd why is that? Ye get another punishment?"
The fire crackles behind you.
Your jaw clenches, eye twitching. You feel it, the heat rushing up your chest, the pressure building behind your eyes, your throat, your ribs.Ā
It wasn't the hangover this time.
You wanted to yell, cuss him out even more than you did this morning.
Jimmy waits with a knowing look, wanting you to say something. Your mouth opens, chest moving rapidly at the need to speak up.
"Y'know, all that lip and attitude will get ye in trouble one of these days."
Russ' words from yesterday ring through your ears.
You were getting too comfortable.
Sir Jimmy Crystal was in charge here and what he says goes.
So you just look down to the floor, lips closing in a tight line as you inhale a deep breath.
Home didn't take too kindly to gatherers using new items without letting the council have first claim. Your stomach tightens, wondering what will await you when you arrive back at the compound.
A small alright leaves your lips instead.
You push it all down. Taking a slow breath, steadying yourself like youāve done a hundred times before in front of the Overseers.
You don't let yourself show anything more.
"Thank you," You force out, eyes still on the ground beneath. "For the new clothes."
Jimmy stands.
The throne room holds its breath.
He walks down the steps slowly toward you. You feel every step, every shift in weight. He stops in front of you, close, but not crowding like he had done the night before.
āYouāre very welcome,ā he says quietly. āI'm right though, aren't I?"
You stare at his feet as he tilts his head down, trying to look into your eyes. A small 'hm?' leaves his throat.
Your head shakes, just once. "Doesn't matter."
"It does," He urges, words firmer as his ringed hand reaches up, his finger dragging over the sweater, over the scar that lies beneath. He knows exactly where it hides, how long it is, and you fight the urge to step back. "It matters here."
He watches, gouging for a reaction. Purposely trying to get a rise whilst simultaneously hoping for something. Hoping you'll release that part of you that you keep tucked away.
You finally look at him. Really look, and his expression is once again unreadable.
There was so much you wanted to say, but you hear the overseers jeers with every thought.
So instead, youĀ step back.
Just half a step, enough to have his touch away from your stomach, enough to say - this is all you're getting from me.
There's no lecture, no more taunts or jests. Despite his disappointed look, he just nods.
You glance down at the sweater again. Handmade, clean, not a single tear in sight. It felt almost too soft for someone like you.
It didn't feel earned.
āGoodnight."
You turn to leave when Jimmy grabs your wrist. He's met with a flinch, but he doesn't let go as you eye the ringed fingers grasping your skin.
He reaches into his pocket with his other hand, keeping his gaze on yours, searching for a reaction. He pulls your knife out, holding it out flat on his palm as he urges you to grab it.
You dart between your knife and his grip on your wrist, and he slowly releases you as he holds the knife out closer towards you.
"Thank you." You utter, reaching out to take it from him before he decides to keep it once more.
Jimmy's head tilts, and you excuse yourself again.
And as you walk away, your fist clenches around your knife.
"Dinner at seven by the way," He yells out from behind, taking his spot back on his throne as you keep walking away. "I'll save ye a seat again."
You leave the throne room in silence, a stark difference to how you had first arrived. As you walk back upstairs, you finally let yourself feel it.
The rage.
And the terrifying knowledge that for the first time in your life, someone wanted to see it.
Was allowing it.
But it didnāt matter.
You didnāt go to dinner.
You didnāt want to face Jimmy again, not so soon after the ordeal in his throne room. Not with the fire still rattling around your ribs and that sick, quiet guilt for not speaking up for yourself when you had to opportunity to do so.
You had said nothing.
Again.
Bit your tongue and held your breath.
Just like every other time in your life.
Still, someone leaves a tray at your door. Covered with a folded cloth, still warm when you finally peeled it back. Thick stew with vegetables and torn herbs, a wedge of bread soft enough to tear apart with your hands.
You sit in the middle of the bed to eat it, grateful but ashamed all the same. You didnāt finish it all, just like the night before.
It was too much.Ā EverythingĀ was.
Now the tray sits on the bedside. The room was lit by the fire in the middle once again, someone having lit it when you were downstairs.
You're curled up on top of the blankets, back pressed to the headboard. The sweater the Jimmy's had given you was folded and resting on the dresser next to your bag and weapons.
The room was warm without it. You just feel...
Restless.
The silence was too loud. Every time you close your eyes, your mind drags you back Home by the hair. The Council. The Overseers. The weight of their expectations pressing down on your chest like a steel capped boot.
They're no doubt already planning your punishment for staying out. That's if they're not placing bets on whether or not you've died.
You clench your jaw, body stiff on the mattress as your hands reach down, resting against your exposed stomach beneath the crop. The fire burns lower now, and with a strong gust of wind, it dies out.
For awhile, you just sit there. Listening to the wind, dissociating at the embers that flicker around the room.
The wind starts to pick up outside, shifting from a soft sigh to a hollow howl. The curtains snap, violently moving in against the window like a flag in a storm.
A cold breeze hits your skin, goosebumps covering the surface as you finally get up from the bed.
Your feet hit the ground with a quiet thud. The stone felt freezing beneath your socks, and you pad over to the window, moving the curtains aside as you peer outside.
Thunder greets you, and you look down, seeing blonde wigs runnings over the bridge, cheering and hollering as the rain starts to belt down.
You watch as the Jimmy's run into the sanctuary, all going separate ways as others from the cabins dart around the place.
A storm was rolling in fast.
The sky is a deep bruise of dark clouds, flickering with flashes of lightning. The air felt sharp, and you watch as torches on the grounds and fence line start going out one by one.
You manage to pull the window shut, the wood groaning as you close and lock the little hook below. Rain pours down harder, heavy and fast, drumming against the stone like it had been brewing for weeks.
You stand there, hands pressed to the windowsill, watching it fall.
Scotland's weather was unpredictable and no stranger to rain, but as the thunder echoed louder over the sanctuary, you sighed.
Through mud, through the sharp teeth of what rests beyond the walls, you'll be walking through this tomorrow.
You had to go Home.
A beat.
Lightning strikes across the sky, another crackĀ of thunder chasing after it.
The storm speaks for you.
You step back from the window slowly, wrapping your arms around yourself as you sigh.
Lying back down in your borrowed bed, you finally pull the blanket over you. Sleep doesn't come easily, not right away. The storm providing minimal relief from the one brewing inside.
Anticipation felt like the biggest punishment of all.
going to block anything like that from now because if u wanna write about us, without ever talking to one of us (bc it will be evident), i donāt need to see it.
i come here for reprieve and to escape.
ā sincerely, a brothel worker, a hooker, a stripper, an escort, a dominatrix, a whore.
guys i fucked an attractive and canonically Irish man at work two nights ago and after he kept speaking to me in Gaeilge when I asked him if he could speak it and i havenāt been normal about it since. (ntm his name stumbling me from the beginning either, lorddd.)
tbf i wasnāt normal about it during the booking either aha but anyways i am riddled with imposter syndrome and yearning since then
great. i need him to come back and as my regular please please please.
Iām obsessed with this whole clip. The look, the attitude and I have absolutely no idea what heās saying but heās hot and the whole thing is hotā¦anyway itās from the Paris fashion week 2024 at the LOEWE SHOW, source is Brown Thomas on Facebook / update, someone on my Instagram said, All the Paddies, of the kingdom carries the sham. And sham means all the shit (in a good way) I knew that he was praising Ireland in some way but I didnāt want to misinterpret something.
summary: Born during the first few years of the Rage Virus outbreak, you grew up in a brutal world where survival trumped compassion. In the remains of society, your community saw youth as a liability. Weak, disposable, and easily replaced. You were treated like nothing, sent beyond the gates to scavenge through infected ruins while the lazy and powerful 'overseers' stayed behind. It was all you ever knew, normal really, until the day you crossed paths with a strange bunch of folks wearing wigs, bright colours and eager defiance.
They were weirdos, loud and intimidating. So was he really, but they were one thing you longed for - free.
Find Part One here.
wc:
Not edited.
warnings: intoxication, peer pressure, possessive behaviour, trauma bonding, power imbalance(?), alcohol, mentions of sex and reproduction, knife violence, broken bones, death of infected therefor blood, nudity, weapons.
Let me know what you think!
--
"Our little tracker," he says as he approaches, arms wide and voice wrapped in velvet. "I just heard what you did out there, quite the warrior if I hear correctly."
Immediately your eyes cast down, looking to his feet. You've been around enough authority figures to know your place by now. You nod, barely.
His head tilts, noticing your instant change in demeanour.
"None of that now, lift yer head," He tuts, walking closer until he stood just a blink away. "You don't look down in my house, I think you of all people earned better than that,"
It worried you. There was going to be a catch. Slowly you raise your head, and you meet his gaze. "Much better," He says, smiling again as he holds out his hand.
"I'm Jimmy."
No sir. Just Jimmy.
It was like your first interaction with the other Jimmy's, and you limply offer your hand, letting the man shake for you as you give him your name. If he noticed your hesitancy, he chose not to comment.
He mutters your name to himself, testing the word on his tongue. His smile doesn't waver, and he seemingly approved.
Jimmy Ink sits on some couch near you, her arms lounging against the back. "Should've seen it Sir, just jumped right in shooting' arrows," Her hands come down to imitate a bow, making a whip noise as she released her imaginary arrow. "Dropped the freaks like flies."
"Not that we couldn't handle it," Snake adds in from the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. "But yeah, came out of nowhere, joined in on the fun."
There it was again.
Fun.
A few more people begin to walk in to the room, all wearing the same wig and colourful tracksuits. They walked in with grins, but you didn't spare them a second glance.
Crystal doesnāt look at them either. He doesnāt take his eyes offĀ you.
"That's what I like to hear," He nods, pointing his finger to Ink before back to you. "Rare nowadays that, but it's appreciated - I hope you know that."
Being praised sounded strange, it felt almost unnecessary. "They needed help, it's not a big deal."
āIt is a very big deal, especially here,ā He chuckles, a few others in the room copying him. āYou look after mine, I look after you."
You say nothing.
He begins to walk a slow circle around you, not close enough to feel like a threat, but close enough to make your skin rise with goosebumps. "You always this like this?"
Unbeknownst to you, Snake had already informed his leader of everything he knew about you. That you lived in a compound somewhere far, that you gathered for your community and had done so since you were a child.
It didn't take a genius to know you were mistreated.
You were reserved and subservient but deep down he could feel something hiding, something lingering beneath the surface.
You were dangerous - quiet. Quiet was deadly in this climate, and Jimmy adored deadly.
"Like what?'
"Observant," he wags his finger in your direction, stopping in front of you again, his smile crooked. "Acting like a wee mouse - but that's not really true is it? You're no mouse.'
You didn't like this. You didn't like being analysed. The fear in your stomach at being the centre of attention began to dwindle, replacing with something else, annoyance.
Your eye twitched at his accusation, and you stand just a little taller. He notices, his smile growing as he nods. "Didnāt think so." He whispers.
"I'm just here because there was an Alpha," You murmur, wanting this conversation to end. "And to rest, I'll be out of your hair in the morning."
"Of course," he keeps his tone lower, just enough for your ears. "Rest you'll have, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want more than just one night from someone like 'yerself."
You shift in discomfort, tensing instantly.
"Not like that," He says with a loose chuckle, his hands raised in defence. The weird look in his eyes made you think he wasn't being completely truthful. "I meant your time, your presence, you've got teeth I want to see and I want to hear some stories,"
You glance away.
"But I mean it, yer welcome here," He clicks his ringed fingers, and two different Jimmy's stand immediately, walking towards you both. "And that's not a kindness, it's a fact."
You nod once, still unsure of his motives.
"Make sure our tracker here gets cleaned up and brought down to the hall," He adds, and the two Jimmy's behind him nod. "I think they've more than deserved a hearty meal and some drinks eh?'
They're already walking towards you with gentle smiles, and you eye them warily. Jimmy voices your name with mirth, walking around you and towards his little throne. "I'll be seeing you real soon, don't you worry."
You weren't worried.
You were starving, exhausted, and your back ached like a motherfucker.
The sooner you dealt with this lot, the sooner you'd be back Home.
The two new strangers guide you, the smaller of the two tenderly grasping your elbow as you walk. You should've shrugged her off, insisted that you didn't need to be touched but there was something so timid in her approach, reminding you a lot of your younger self - so eager to appease everyone.
The other introduced themselves and Jimmima, saying their name was Jimmy Jones. Their voices were low, but it seemed more out of a respect for you, not fear.
Jimmima wore a baby blue track suit, and she seemed just a little younger than you. She was small, quiet, her wig slightly crooked. She walked with a sort of grace, and even though she was guiding you, it felt like you were leading her.
Jimmy Jones was taller, sporting a suit with a blend of orange and blue. Broad shouldered but gentle in their stride, the kind of person who looked like they could toss around a few infected but keep their poise.
This upper floor of the castle was dimly lit but its colours matched that of downstairs. The hallway was strung with lanterns, doorways alternating between hardwood or beaded curtains. Laughter and faint conversation could be heard from some of the closed doors.
"Here," Jimmima murmurs, turning you down a corner. "This one."
She pushes open a wide wooden door with the help of Jimmy Jones, the old wood creaking as they huff.
It was a bathroom. A real one.
Or at least, what was left of one and now brought back to life. The floor was covered with rugs like outside, a chipped clawfoot tub sitting near another fireplace - the fames already lit and flickering behind a grate. There were a few windows, but only one was open slightly, letting out the scent of smoke.
Beside the tub lay some jars on a small table, some labeled in messy handwriting. More lavender, soap, some powders.
"Weapons can be left out here, shoes too," Jones nods to beside the door. "No one'll touch 'em, don't ye worry."
"And your clothes," Jimmima adds, her voice soft. "If you put them in the basket by the tub, they'll be clean in the morning."
You hesitate. They were being genuine, you knew that. But being naked and weaponless? Vulnerable was an understatement.
Still, you nod slowly. Quietly, matching their tone as you say okay.
Your bag is dropped first, the heavy pack rustling with everything you had gathered that day. Your bow and quiver is next, setting them gently on the wooden bench outside in the hallway.
The two Jimmy's get a move on and wander around the room in a hurry.
The belt with your machete follows, and you tuck a small knife that had been tucked into your boot into your bra before they can notice.
Your broken boots slide under the bench as you turn around, seeing Jones lean over the tub and turn the tap, water pouring from its head instantly.
You stare, stunned. The water was hot. Steaming rising from the tub as your mouth opened.
Jones turns their head, grinning. "Never had a bath like this before?"
"Never had a bath full stop - is that hot water?" You reply, walking forward and hunching over to watch the water leave the spout. "How is this possible?"
They give you an almost sympathetic glance. "The pipes, they run through the hearth downstairs, this place used to house tourists before the fall," the answer, and you peer at them, nodding at the information, shock more than evident on your expression.
"Some of the people who live here used to work with the metal, knew how to fix it all."
You had heard of people who had jobs like that in the past, but Home never had found any. Engines or something.
You couldn't remember. Your place had makeshift showers, completely public with a timer in order to save usage. There were streams if you were lucky, but the outside wasn't the safest.
Jimmima crouches next to you. āYou donāt need to rush either. Take as long as you want okay? We'll come back when dinner is ready,"
You nod in thanks immediately, eyes still fixed on the hot water in front of you. "This is for your body," Jimmima continues, now patting a jar that rest on the table closest to her. "This? Hair, it's got lavender in it," she pushes another forward. "And this is for your face - stings a little but Jimmy Shite swears by it."
Shite? You weren't even going to question it.
"I'll grab you some clothes for the night," Jones says casually, standing and brushing their wig behind their ear. "Shoe size?"
You blink at the sudden question. "I'm uh, I'm not sure sorry," You answer truthfully, having worn the same boots for years now. They were a little on the smaller side, but you weren't allowed to be picky. "A bit bigger than whatever I"m wearing now."
They nod in understanding. "Undies?"
You just stare at them blankly, and Jimmima brings her hands to her mouth with a little giggle.
Jones lips quirk at their friends laugh and your confusion. "We got everything here, y'like baggy or up your arse?"
Never in your life had you been asked what you preferred, and ou weren't exactly sure what 'up your arse' meant in this context.
You mumble that you were happy with whatever was the most comfortable, followed by your size.
Jones gives you a thumbs up, beginning to walk back with Jimmima in tow. "I'll find some things," They pat a shelf closest to the door. "Get Jimmima to leave 'em here."
Jimmima nods eagerly. "There's no lock on the door, but only I'll come in with your things okay?" You believed her, oddly enough. "I'll be in and out, no peeking."
They both leave as you offer them a thank you, the large door clicking behind them.
You stare at the bath with an almost unusual expression, an almost childlike wonder. The steam rose like dragon fire, and for the first time ever, you were going to bathe in water that wasn't ice cold nor rationed.
Your clothes slip off you with ease, and you walk over to the basket Jimmima had pointed out before in a naked stride. Your knife now resting beside the jars of cleaning salves as you throw in your dirty clothes.
You hiss as you dip in your toe, the sudden heat a shock to your system. Deciding to just go for gold, you lower yourself into the tub, eyes closing at the intoxicating warmth.
You groaned softly, feeling the muscles in your body tense under the hot water. It was as if all the little pains that had been hiding beneath were coming to the surface.
Slowly but surely, it felt like everything was loosening, and for once, you allowed yourself to relax just a little. Never had you experienced such a luxury, and you rest your head against the rim, looking to the stone ceiling with a large sense of unease.
This place seemed unreal, almost like a fairytale. It was too perfect, and you knew there was bound to be something that lingered beneath.
There was always a catch.
Jimmima true to her word had popped her head in, leaving some items and shoes on the chosen shelf without a peep.
-
The water drained slowly, dark with dirt, sweat and blood - not all of it belonging to you. It swirled down, taking with it what felt like a buildup that you hadn't managed to wash away in your previous showers.
You sat on the edge of the tub, water dripping from your skin and muscles loose for what felt like the first time in your life. Even your hair, washed and rinsed with the lavender liquid - felt softer and lighter.
You'd brushed it out with a wooden handled hairbrush that Jimmima had left behind, wincing at every tangle that greeted you, choosing to leave it down to dry.
The clothes were surprising.
A long sleeved cropped shirt, a dark grey and snug. It exposed the lower part of your stomach, exposing the long scar that curved around your skin - a deliberate gift from Home.
Sitting folded beside it had been a fairly large, hand knitted sweater, a mixture of browns and whites. It looked too clean. The trousers were soft and fitted, and it felt abnormal to have such new clothes devoid of any rips and tears.
AĀ sports bra, simple and fitting.Ā Underwear that didnāt itch. Socks that matched and didnāt slide down.Ā The shoes, yourĀ exactĀ size -made you pause longer than you'd like to admit. No squeezing. No blisters.
You werenāt sure what to do with such comforts that didnāt cost you something, so you knew you would offer up some of the supplies you had found today.
YourĀ knifeĀ found it's home in your bra again.
By the timeĀ JimmimaĀ returned to bring you to dinner, you were standing near the fire, sweater pulled on, hair tucked behind your ears.
She paused in the doorway, thenĀ smiled widely. āOh,Ā lookĀ at you.ā
You shifted as you looked down at yourself, uncomfortable. āWhat?ā
"You just look like the picture," She took you in with an expression full of light. "He was right."
"Picture? What're you on about?" You ask, walking towards her. "What do you mean? He?"
"You just look nice," She corrects herself quickly, but you knew she was covering for herself. You look her over again, wondering if she really was some shy hen or if it was all just a gimmick. "Well c'mon, dinner is ready."
She reaches for your arm again, but you pull you arm away when exiting the bathroom, seeing that your weapons and bag had been moved. "Where's my stuff?"
Her smile fades, and she tenses, just as you do. "Safe, we moved them into your room."
You didn't question what she meant by your room, assuming it was another mistake.
"But Jimmy Jones said no one would touch them."
"I know," She tilts her head, looking genuinely guilty. "We just didn't want to leave them lying around. There's little ones here, they get curious."
You didn't answer, but she read the tension in your shoulders and the expression in your face well enough.
"They're not far," she promises softly. "Just moved, I swear it."
She reaches for your arm again slowly, like she was approaching a feral dog and you nod, meeting her hand half way.
She guides you back down the spiral stairs, the hum of voices growing louder as you moved into a new part of the castle, what you assumed was the hall.
It was larger than you expected, long mismatched tables lined in the middle. One side held a bench, an old church pew. The other side littered with chairs all clearly not belonging in a set.
The ceiling had seemingly once collapsed, patched with wood and painted with stars. Candles floated in mason jars strung up by rope, murals and old paintings scattered on the walls.
A sea of blondes were already sitting, and the room buzzed with a warmth not caused by any fire. The scent of food wafted your way, the smell of what you assumed was deer and rabbit, cooked vegetables, bowls of fruit, bread even.
You had never seen such a feast.
Even the council didn't have dinners this grand.
And then one by one, they saw you, all standing.
Like a ripple moving down the length of the hall, every Jimmy in the room stood from their seat and turned with smiles.
Unease was an understatement, and you froze at the threshold as Jimmima skipped in, eagerly taking a spot between Jimmy Snake and another you hadn't yet met.
"There she is!" Jimmy Crystal was standing at the head of the table, still wearing the dark tracksuit. His tiara was gone, but his rings reflected the lantern light with every move. He looked right at you with a wave of his hand, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.
Of course it was.
You walked slowly, eyes darting across the food. You couldn't tell if the scents were making you hungrier or nauseas.
Jimmy pulls the chair next to him out, sliding it under you as you sit stiffly. The group all sit right after, all still throwing you warm glances.
The man in charge leans in towards you. "Well now," He says, his smile softening. "Don't you look real lovely under all that muck."
You didn't answer, but he didnāt seem to mind either.
"Not that I didn't like how ye looked before," He adds, and you finally look at him head on. "Real tough lookin', wild eyed -like a wee Robin Hood."
You didn't know who Robin Hood was, but still you chose not to respond.
The seat felt too soft. Too central.
The warm buzz of laughter and chatter pressed in from all sides, but none of it felt directed at you. No malice or suspicion, just pure curiosity. A strange kind of joy you had never ever experienced before.
Then the eating began.
It wasn't rushed by any means. No one fought over who got what. People passed plates, scooping servings one one another. Others fed each other, laughing, talking with their mouths fulls.
You didnāt move.
He noticed immediately, shifting in his seat. He wasn't annoyed, he was curious.
āAre we waiting for someone else?ā He jokes looking around the room for added effect.
You hadn't reached for a plate nor lift a spoon, opting to keep your hands in your lap, fingers curling into your new sweater. āI didnāt want to eat before anyone else.ā
That made him chuckle softly, amused but not unkindly. He glanced around the room again, then back at you with something knowing in his eyes.
"You didn't eat until yer little 'council' did yes?" Your stomach drops at his mention of your council, you hadn't brought them up once to him.
Your eyes dart to where Jimmy Snake and Jimmy Ink sat, knowing they had clearly told him every little word that you gave them today.
"Well, we don't do that shite here," He tilts his head towards you as he picks up a small loaf of bread, tearing it in two. He places one half on your plate without asking, the other on his. "Yer our guest, besides - everyone here takes just as much as they need, fill their fat little bellies."
"Is there some kind of celebration on?" You ask, looking around at the lantern lit room.
Jimmy seemed amused by your question. "Naw, itās just another Tuesday."
This was normal? You couldn't believe it, you weren't sure if you'd ever see such an array of food again.
You slowly reach for the bread he had placed on your plate, and he speaks your name, your hand immediately snapping back to rest in your lap.
Jimmy apologises instantly, one hand raised in defence. "I was just going to tell you to take from the table, fill yer plate - you don't have to eat bread just because I'm making you."
You nod, mumbling an 'alright' as you reach up again. He watches as your fingers hover over some rabbit, and without meaning to, you hesitate once more.
"Waiting for the trick aren't you?" He says, softer now. "For someone to slap your hand away, make ye clean up after us."
Your shoulders stiffened, and the movement made you feel the knife that was tucked away safely beneath your bra.
The handle pressed into your sternum, a sharp reminder that you were still you beneath the wary exterior.
"I get it," he frowns, leaning in a little. "That kinda' fear won't go away just because we're buttering' you up, you'll believe it when yer ready, not because we make you."
He didnāt press further. He didnāt have to.
You hated how easily he was reading you. It was as if Jimmy Crystal already knew.
In his eyes, he did.
You finally reached out and took a piece of rabbit. It was tender, hot, seasoned with herbs and nearly falling off the bone. Your eyes close as you bite into eat, and you could've died then and there.
Nothing would beat this.
You swallowed quickly, the tightness in your throat growing. The feeling of not being punished for eating something that was actually good.
Jimmy smiled as you began reaching for other pots and pans, taking one of what was offered. He wanted to tell you again to take more, but decided this was better than nothing.
There was no mockery in his gaze. Just understanding. And something almost quieter beneath, something calculating. Soft, but sharp edged.
One of his elbows rests lazily on the tables edge as the other reaches up, grabbing a bottle from in between you both and pouring it into both your glasses.
It was an unusual colour, and you eyed it warily. He takes a sip of his glass first. "Itās just moonshine, ye don't like it?'
"Iām not sure what that is." You respond truthfully, swallowing your food before reaching for your own glass and smelling it's contents. It was sharp and sweet, it's colour pale.
"Alcohol hen," He seemed more than eager to inform you. "Bit stronger though this blend."
Ah, it was fancy drink, a different type to the bottle you had found earlier today.
"I've never had any before,ā It didn't take a genius to know you meant alcohol as a whole, and not just homemade moonshine. You looked around the room, seeing nearly all the Jimmy's with their cups. "But I know it makes people happy, different."
He scoffs playfully at your words. "Happy is certainly a choice of words āere, Jimmy Fox over there falls asleep within the hour when we whip this crap out." He points his glass to another Jimmy, one adorned in a black and red track suit who was busy sculling a glass.
The sight caused your lips to quirk ever so slightly and like clockwork, Jimmy noticed it instantly, his own grin returning. Not wanting to have a conversation again that may bring up your Home, you stare down your cup, slowly lifting it to your lips.
Jimmy watches with an arched look, and he grins into his own cup as he drinks.
You sip your own, grimacing at the burning taste. It was hot, not at all what you were expecting, but it wasn't completely unpleasant.
He watched you the whole time, his elbow still on the table, rings catching candlelight as he turned his cup in his hand.
You looked at him at one point, and for a second, you saw it, theĀ heat in his eyes.
But you could something else behind it.
A flicker ofĀ something darker, almost unreadable. Like a shadowed figure behind stained glass. You looked away, lifting your fork again as you started to eat.
There was no one to stop you, no one to scold you, no one to hurt you.
You didn't miss the way Jimmy watched you intently, even as he ate his own food. His eyes would drift to you any time he wasn't being spoken to, filling up your cup any time it was empty, urging you to eat more if your belly asked for it.
--
The hall felt hot. Not from the fire that burned behind you, or the full belly you weren't used too, or the thick sweater Jimmima had laid out for you after the bath.
It was something else, something inside of you that you didn't quite have a name for. You just knew the table was louder now, voices overlapped slightly. They were laughing.Ā WithĀ you - notĀ atĀ you.
It was light and heavy all at once, as if you were floating. Like you were on the edge of laughing, or crying, or saying something you weren't allowed to.
Like you weren't strapped down and blindfolded like you had always been at Home.
You were grinning. Cheeks warm, eyes crinkled as you chuckled at words you didn't understand. You didn't know why.
The table had been half-cleared, bowls either pushed aside, bones stripped of whatever meat once coated them, crumbs gathering over the hardwood like it was in partnership with the dust.
Bottles of moonshine laid around half empty cups and slouched Jimmy's. Some had already excused themselves, murmuring their goodnights with lingering smiles for you. Others did linger, having drawn closer to where you sat next to their leader.
You found yourself leaning your elbows on the table like it was safe to take up space, touching the edges of Jimmy Jimmy's wig, feeling how scratchy the material was. He was leaning over the table too, grinning from ear to ear as he attempted to still drink from his cup with a head half turned the other way.
You weren't hungry anymore, though you had eaten far less than what the others did. What you had tonight however, was far more than what you were used to. Seasoned meat, warm bread, roasted vegetables, real food. It felt like gluttony.
But not one person reprimanded you either way, not for eating too much or for stopping long before they did.
Your cup was being handed to you, and you grabbed it, not even turning to see who had passed it. You took it with a thank you that trailed into a small chuckle, the burn in your throat at the taste no longer bothering you. Jimmy Jimmy fell back into his chair with a loud laugh, his drink half spilled on himself and the table.
Others followed suit, as did you, only one person in the room not joining in.
Jimmy Crystal watched with a smile of his own. Not in a way that made your skin crawl or stomach tighten. His expression wasn't blank nor vexed. It was amused - somehow mixed with knowing and curious all at once. Like he knew something you didn't.
Moonshine was swimming through your blood, enough for you to feel more relaxed than ever before. The knife tucked in your bra wasn't forgotten, but it wasn't needed either. Even surrounded, you felt at ease.
Because this wasn't Home.
Someone says your name, and your head perks up, blinking towards Jimmy Shite. His cheeks were flushed, his head leaning forward he rests his chin on his palm.
āAlright, alright,ā he grins, interrupting someoneās story. āBack to you now yeah? Weāve all talked all night, I wanna hear more aboutĀ you.ā
You blinked, taking another sip of your drink. āMe?ā
Shite smirks, nodding into his palm. āYeah well, you are our guest - you've been sitting there all quiet, let us pick ya' brain."
You gave a weak shrug, a half grin on your face you couldn't fight off. āWhat's there to pick?ā
Jimmy Ink points at you, grinning. āHow about you shootin' down infected without breaking a sweat huh? Dunno if weāve thanked you proper yet, saved our hides like it was nothing.ā
āThatās just how weāre trained,ā You said, a little too quickly. āI uh," You sniff a little, the hand not holding your cup rubbing at your eyes, your vision a little blurry. "Thought you needed help when I heard ye yell out, but we're no really supposed to waste arrows on strangers."
The wordĀ trainedĀ seemed to hang in the air as your words trailed off.
Jimmy just listened, eyes staring intently. One arm folded behind your chair, the other holding his own cup. A small smile, but not unkind. Focused. Listening.
āYou always do what youāre told?ā He asks, his head turning slightly.
You met his gaze. He had that same look in his eyes - like you were a riddle he already knew the answer to.
āI do when I wanna eat. You eat, you listen."
His eyebrow raises at your answer, but he doesn't press on. Instead, Shite continues for him. āDid your lotĀ reallyĀ send kids out to scavenge?
"God no," You answer, shifting in your chair. "Not others, just me."
"And how old were you again?" Ink asks again.
You just shrugged, smiling into your cup, almost at nothing. "Twelve, sent me out after my dad died to ah," Hiccup. "Yeah, make up for what he didn't bring Home."
You spoke so casually, like such a thing was normal.
There was a beat. A moment of quiet from the table. Not judgment, not quite, just surprise, displeasure even.
"Make up?ā Jimmy Shite echoed with a confused look, pouring more moonshine into his own cup, some of it sloshing onto the table. āLike he died on purposeā¦ how did he die?ā
Someone says his name in warning, but you just shrug again, death being so normal in your eyes. āDidnae come back from a run, we all assumed infected got him," You sit up straighter in your chair with a stretch of your arms, your cup now half empty again. "S'fine though - I don't really remember much else 'bout him."
"Shame that," Jimmy pipes up again from beside you, the arm wrapped around your chair holding tight as you continue to move around. "Sure your da was a good one - seems he did a decent job with you before it all.ā
You just nod, beaming at his compliment.
He was. The best of the best.
"Alright, enough of the sad shite yeah?" Ink speaks again, clapping her hands before she taps her fingers against the table. "Let's play something, get to know Tracker here better."
"A game eh?" Jimmy Jimmy nods, already reaching for another bottle of moonshine, pouring into his own glass, yours and whoever's was next to him. "How 'bout it Tracker?"
"A game?" Your cup was once again filled to the brim, and the liquid sloshed around as you sat back in your chair. "What's that?"
"Y'know, it's like a fun uh,ā Jimmy Jimmy giggles into his cup. āI don't know how you'd even explain this," his head lolls around as he looks at his companions. "Man, I'm too drunk for this."
Drunk.
There it was again.
You had heard that word before but never in this context.
Drunk water maybe.
Sure, but you had only heard it in passing once, something Michael had mentioned after finding the fancy drink ābourbonā.
"What's that mean?" Your head rests against the wood of your chair, eyes squinting in confusion. "Drunk."
"It's when y-"
"Don't worry your pretty little head 'bout that," Jimmy waves Ink off before she can finish, and her lips close quickly, giving her leader a curt nod. "Why don't you just relax and play whatever game Ink's got planned yeah? Have some fun before ye go home tomorrow."
You hesitate a little before your lips quirk again, nodding without another thought. "Alright," It did sound nice. "What do I do?"
Ink thinks it over, tapping her chin as she wonders what game to play. "How about," she clicks her finger at you. "Never have I ever - someone asks a question and if youāve done it, you drink, if you havenāt, then you donāt drink, yes?ā
"And that's fun?" You chuckle, skin warm at the action. "Just asking questions and drinking?ā
Jimmy smiles at your chuckle, leaning over to nudge you with his elbow as he waves his finger towards his people. "This lot play it all the time, all the Jimmy's do, can be a right riot sometimes."
They all nod with him, agreeing. You looked around at their faces, people so close to you in age - if not the same. You wanted to do what they did, what people your age were supposed to do.
Even for just a night.
Eventually you agree, and Ink tells you that you can start, seeing as you're the guest. You'd never played a game before, shit, what if you fucked it up?
What if you asked something wrong?
"Uh," Your stomach felt heavy, fingers already beginning to toy again with the hem of your borrowed sweater. "Shit, I don't want to go first, can someone else?"
You'd never even spoken up for yourself like this before.
"'Course they can," Jimmy nods towards Ink again before you can stutter over your words even further. "Ye don't gotta do anything ye don't want too - Ink?."
"Of course sir," She grins, now sitting with her knees close to her chest on her chair. "Alright, never have I everā¦ sat in Sir Jimmyās throne and broke it.ā
āOh come on,ā Jimmy Jones groans in their seat, already grabbing their drink as everyone laughs at their reaction. They point their finger at Ink before turning it into the middle finger. āThatās fuckinā targeted.ā
It was clear it was meant to lighten the mood, and it did. They drink regardless, no one else lifting their cups. Crystal gives Jones a pointed stare, as if finally learning the culprit himself.
The game went on for what felt like forever, and you found yourself relaxing further and further with every drink and laugh.
You don't think you had ever laughed or smiled this much in your entire life. It left your chest hot, burning for something you hadn't experienced before, yearning for something more.
"Never have I ever... kissed someone I didn't actually like." Jimmy Fox slurs, already bringing his own cup to his lips as a few others do the same.
Much to everyones shock, you do the same, taking a swig as you feel the room get heavier.
"A little heartbreaker eh?" Snake grins, pointing his finger at you like the room wasn't spinning around for him either. "Thought this quiet thing you got going on meant you were all innocent, consider me wrong."
"S'just a kiss Snake, leave her alone ye idiot." Ink waves him off, but you're shaking your head, speaking before thinking properly.
"I mean, I've kissed and had sex before," your words blurt out before you can stop yourself. "S'nothing amazin', was kinda boring if I'm being honest."
You were being way too honest. You were too out of it to even care, too warm to even notice your own guard down.
Jimmy shifts in his chair as he taps your elbow, causing you to swing your head around to him with a large grin. "Mm?"
"Have some water pet." He urges, but he doesn't make any effort to push the pitcher closer to you, and you wave him off with a scoff, much to his amusement. He was enjoying seeing you like this.
"Boring?" Ink matches your scoff, playing with her cup as she looks at you like you had grown a second head.
You just hummed in response, bringing the moonshine back to your mouth.
"Shouldn't be boring man, did he even know what he was doing?" Shite speaks up this time, his smile large as he thinks about whoever it was you had been with underperforming.
"I mean, he had fun, it just didn't really feel good, kinda hurt if," you yawn, wiping at you eyes as everyone listens intently. "Hurt if anything, don't really see the fuss in it."
You hadn't had a conversation like this before. Sex was taboo in the compound, not that it stopped anyone. You had a few run ins with a member of Home, one of the Watchers - Caz.
That stopped everyone grinning then and there, and your mind was moving too fast to see the pitiful glances thrown your way.
"It's not supposed to hurt Tracker, man did you even finish?"
You weren't sure who asked, but your head perked up, eyebrows furrowed as you spoke aloud. "Finish?"
"Oh you poor, poor woman." Jones reaches out, patting the back of your hand as you just looked around even more confused.
"I mean," You leaned forward, resting your chin in your free hand as you yawned again. "We're not supposed to do anything, can't risk having babies 'n all that."
"You can still fuck and not have babies, y'know that right?" Jones continues, still patting the back of your hand like you were a pet. "You can do a lot of things and not have babies, you can still come too."
You had heard that before. That word. Come. It sounded almost weird hearing it on someone's mouth so casually. Caz had mentioned it a few times when you both had sex, where he would pull out and leak all over your stomach when he was done.
Truthfully, you didn't know that. There wasn't exactly any sex education being taught at the compound. You were told merely to not to engage in such acts, that pregnancies weren't allowed and you'd be sent out of the walls if you were caught. You were still curious though, and Caz had been someone whose company you actually enjoyed.
He was a little older than you, quiet too, and you'd both fooled around during loud nights when the council were busy celebrating something neither of you were invited too.
"Are babies allowed here?" You find yourself asking, thinking to the children you had seen running around the sanctuary when you first walked in.
"Allowed?" Jimmy echoes as he matches your movements, resting his head on his chin as he turns his gaze to you with a jagged grin. "Hen they're encouraged, all of it is. Fucking, making love, weens - the whole lot,"
Your eyes just widen at the revelation, and he nods slowly as if to say oh yeah, seeing your shocked expression. You miss the way his gaze locks on you further, dragging all over your body in a way that would make anyone blush had they actually been paying attention. "People are free to do whatever they want 'ere, s'long as everyone involved is willing."
The concept was insane to you. It was encouraged here to have children, not frowned upon? Not a punishment. "How many are there living in the castle? Kids I mean."
"Here? None, weens live with their families in the cabins," Jimmy just smiles, his eyes full of something you couldn't decipher. "Every family got their own space."
A few of the Jimmy's nod at their leaders words, and you just follow along as you squint slightly.
You could've sworn Jimmima had said there were kids living here.
You were too out of it to ask, and Jimmima had already excused herself and gone to bed.
"Alright, next one," Snake interjects, picking up a bottle of fancy drink instead of his cup. "Never have I ever... broken a bone."
A few more drink, but you don't, and the game continues. Jimmy Crystal even asks some, his followers laughing at every word that leaves his lips like they were gospel.
"Never have I ever... left the walls without telling anyone," Jones asks, and a few more drink again, you included again this time. Those still awake all point their fingers at you like you had been caught out, Jones as well. "Did you sneak out of your little 'home'?"
You laughed into your cup, your words beyond slurred as you giggled, trying to find the words. "I climbed the... the walls," another giggle. "Everyone was too distracted at the front gate, so I uh, I climbed the walls and left for a," More giggles. "Left for a few hours, was b-back before anyone realised."
Jimmy tilts his head at your words, looking to Ink who just nodded at him in silent understanding. She had barely touched her drink the entire night, focused intently on you with every word you spoke.
"Why not just go through the gates?" Someone asks, and you shook your head, looking off into the distance.
"Only," the word drags on as you stifle another yawn. "Only got the one, couldn't do it - climbed the fence and used a um... a tree instead."
Some laugh whilst others just beamed at your words, your slurred speech and wandering gaze.
"Think someone needs bed yeah?" Jimmy says as he moves his head closer to yours, patting your shoulder gently. "You've had a lot to drink."
So what? You wanted to say, ask him why it was an issue, but instead you nod.
Someone's helping you to your feet before you can speak, and you're already stumbling over your steps the moment you're up.
Your vision blurs beyond belief, the room moving like it was stuck in a fierce storm. You're being lifted into someone's arms before you can protest, and your eyes close as your head presses into their chest.
Head spinning aside, you'd never felt this comfortable before, and you found yourself seeking whoever's warmth it was.
You felt like a kid again, like when your dad had once carried you when you had scrapped your leg during a hunt together.
Protected, a blur of purple in your line of sight as your eyes opened slightly. The purple blur carries you up flights of stairs, murmuring words you couldn't hear properly.
Your heads against a pillow before you realise it, the room hot as a fire burns in the centre. Hands bunch at your sweater, pulling the material up and over your head as you let them partially undress you.
Jimmy folds the sweater in a half-assed bundle, leaving it beside you as you sink further into the bed. He's reaching for the blankets by your feet when he sees something silver resting between your breasts in your cleavage, and his head tilts again.
"Whatcha' got there pet?" He asks more himself if anything, and you just grin at him, reaching in to pull out a knife much to his shock.
He had been clear with his Jimmy's that all of your weapons were to be brought to your room as you bathed.
You had been one step ahead.
Clever little thing.
He takes the knife from you as you just laugh, and he pockets it in his tracksuit, shaking his head at the little deviant his followers had found for him.
You looked so cute like this. Eyes crinkled as you smiled, looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered.
Oh how right you were.
Jimmy's ringed hand comes out, resting against your cheek as you leaned into his touch. It was clear you had no fucking clue where you were or who was with you, but he didn't care.
He wasn't going to hurt you.
Christ no, he would never, not unless you asked him too. His hand slides down, over your neck before it rests on your chest above your breasts. His eyes linger a little longer on the covered mounds before they travel down, and his jaw clenches, spotting the raised scar that lived on your belly.
His eyes narrow as he takes it in. He knew a knife had left the mark, hell, he'd left his own on a number of people in his time. But this was clean, one swipe across your hip to below your belly button. High enough that your pants wouldn't reach it, and low enough that a crop would never cover.
"Who did this?" Jimmy asks you as you lolled your head around your pillow, enjoying the soft and feathered fabric beneath your head.
You mumble a 'hm?' at his question, and the fingers on your chest slide down to your lower stomach, his touch gentle as he traces the scar.
"Who marked ye?" He asks again, his voice stern but soft, like he wanted the answer and wouldn't take no for one. He runs his index finger over the mark from beginning to end, tender and kind. "Cut your skin like this?"
The more he looked, the more little scars appeared over your body under the light from the fireplace. His jaw tightens at all the marks.
"Mm? Overseers," You yawned, eyes closing as you got more comfortable. "Punish... Punishment."
"Punishment," He repeats, already thinking in his head vile things. His little tracker being punished. The very thought of it filled him with an unexplainable rage. "Your overseers love, what's their names?"
He was losing you to sleep, and he pats your belly gently, bringing your attention back to him as he utters your name.
"Names?ā Your words soften as they fill with the need to rest, but Jimmy coos at you, reaching down to pull your blankets up and over your body as he asks for the names again. "Russ," You yawn loudly, arms bunching into the thick blanket as you melt into the bed. "Mm -Michael, Finley."
"Russ, Michael and Finley," Jimmy echoes, bringing the blanket to your chin as he wipes away the hair that stuck to your forehead. "Good girl - ye sleep well now, lord knows you're going to feel it tomorrow."
He chuckles at your blissful expression, completely unaware of the hangover that awaited you.
You didn't know what he meant, nor did you care. Sleep enveloping you within seconds. Lips are pressed to your forehead as you doze off, and you're mumbling incoherent words, hearing a deep rumble of laughter before a heavy door is closed in your room.
Jimmy knew it was sinful in a way, not explaining the result of heavy drinking - but he wanted you like this. Comfortable. Loose lips.
My day doesn't really start till about midday. Before that, I am barely sentient.
Go for a run then to the gym to get specific needs like stretches, arms/legs/etc. Physio too on days I need it. Spa soak to ease my muscles and shower.
After, I get brunch either with friends or myself. Sometimes I get beauty treatments done like hair and nails.
Go home to catch up on chores like anyone elseālaundry, vacuuming, etc. Days when this doesnāt take forever, I get some reading or writing done, watch a movie or a show while doing some self care.
Depending on where Iām working that night (broth or club), I either get supplies and cook dinner or get takeaway. Sometimes I have dinner with work friends before we go into work.
Get half ready, then finish the rest at the venue.
Do my shift at either venue then come home, roughly anywhere between 4-6amādepending on when I started and how the night went.
Take a hot, hot epsom salt bath to rest my bodyātry not to pass out in the tub before heading to bed.
Wake up, repeat.
Nights Iām not working I try to take dungeon clients to keep money coming in. Go to dance classes to improve my pole work. Hang out with friends, go out partying, events, movies. (I donāt date men outside of work and I rarely date anyone for fun so not much of that.)
Part Two to We Were Always Here, an anon requested two shot series that can also be apart of my nurse x paddy universe.
pairing: Paddy Mayne x Nurse!Reader
summary: You're gone, and so was he.
Part One can be found here.
unedited, my bad itās 6am.
warnings: established relationship! little canon divergence to fit in the plot, coarse language, war themes, mentions of character deaths, guns, blood, separation, angst, depression, regret, death, violence, season 2 spoilers ish, mentions to smut - nudity, unprotected sex (p in v), soft sex, breast touching, body worship.
tl: @monty-bluebird @rizaazxx @bridgertonbee1814
Let me know what you think! Anon I hope this was okay!
--
Rain had soaked the earth beneath their boots, a stark difference to the sand dunes they had spent so long in.
Paddy barely noticed now.
Mud, sand, blood, poems or memory - it all smeared together, clouding his mind.
It had been months since Cairo.
Since Eoin.
Since his father.
Since you.
The war didn't wait for grief, didn't have the patience for it by any means, and neither did he.
They had set up camp somewhere in the hills, waiting in some ruins for more information about the resistance in Termoli. Some of the lads were asleep, others on watch or eating whatever tins they had managed to find.
Paddy sat by a radio, the headphones around his neck, the mic resting by his thigh, long since turned off. It was dark, a breeze picking around him, but the only heat in the Irishman's body was from the many swigs of his beer.
He knew he should take it easy.
Tomorrow they would be intercepting the town, and this very well could be his last night alive. But he didn't care anymore.
War wasn't comfortable.
It came for everyone in the end, one way or another.
Instead, his shaky hand slips into his front pocket, brushing against a cold metal he hadn't dared to look at since you were taken from him.
Your gift, his pocket watch.
His last birthday in the desert. Polished silver and simple in design. Not flashy by any means, but it was something you had gone out of your way to buy, and it was something he kept close to his heart - literally and figuratively.
He takes it out, turning it over in his hand and presses the button on top reluctantly. The photograph inside had faded ever so slightly, the black and white still of you two laughing. Two drunken grins, eyes not looking at the camera, your arms wrapped around his neck.
It hit him harder than anything before.
Paddy stared at it, his blistered thumb running over your face slowly - not for the first time nor the last. There were nights he contemplated throwing it into the sea, contemplating burying it in some garden here in Italy - the closest thing to a funeral.
He spoke softly, words carried into the night.
āYou deserved better than me.ā
When they first docked in Sicily, he had fought the urge to leave the watch on the rail of the docks, thinking with one little push it would fall to an ocean grave.
But he couldn't.
He was far from soft, but he knew that trying to forget you was the real death. Letting your face fade from his already scattered memory, your joy, the crinkle in your eye as you laughed.
Forgetting you felt like treason.
That would mean you were well and truly gone.
You deserved a better than funeral than what he could offer. Hell, like Eoin, there was no body to even bury. Paddy and his men had left man made crosses in the desert for you and their other fallen comrades. Your little grave, already reclaimed in sand, was left with a flower and a piece of poetry.
He knew you would curse at him, call him a sap for even leaving you loving words, but it was all he could offer.
He thought of your humour, your voice, the way you patched him up after every little reckless stunt. The smell of antiseptic and desert wind.
The way you kissed him, the way he'd kiss you.
Christ, Paddy felt he had been too rough with you.
Rough hands, rough kisses, rough sex.
He'd never been gentle, not in the way you deserved.
It hadnāt been cold by any means, how he showed his love for you. But it had beenĀ hard, blunt, unspoken. A hand on your back in a warzone. Quick, hungry kisses between tents, always rushed, always like it might be the last. Even his embraces felt poor.
And when he'd take you to bed, it was never soft. He'd leave bruises on your hips and thighs, bite marks in your skin. He'd never just be slow and tender, like he knew he should've been.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the watch still resting in one hand. He raises it, pressing the watch to his forehead, his eyes closed.
Silence again.
When he finally opened his eyes, there was no dramatic revelation. No tears. Just that same ache, it felt hollow and permanent, like a wound that wouldnāt scab. Out of all the scars on his body, you left the deepest.
Paddy snaps the watch closed and tucks it away again before anyone could comment, sniffing just ever so slightly. He straightens his back, focused on the task.
The radio communication between the SAS now 'SRS' and the partisans had turned rocky. It was brief, and Paddy had lost contact with Pat just a few days prior.
He assumed the rat had been dealt with and that tomorrows take over was still a go, but he struggled with his thoughts more than ever.
With every bated breath, every order barked through gritted teeth, every fire of his rifle.
The moon hung low behind a herd of clouds, casting more shadow than light. Hiding behind the trees, the town of Termoli slept under Nazi authority, unaware that Paddy and his men were coming for them at dawn.
Paddy went to sleep that night with you on his mind and his pocket watch in his hand, just as he had done every night since the day you left. Around him, the others murmured low, close to sleep or pretending to be.
The grief was in all of them, but it hung heaviest on him, the man in charge. He wondered if there was anything else this war could take from him.
He carried you everywhere, whether he liked to acknowledge it or not.
-
The town was bruised but standing. Locals tended to broken windows and damaged walls while his men and the partisans settled into exhaustion.
The square, once filled with noise and gunfire, had fallen quiet. The celebrating had dulled to murmured conversations, low laughter, and the clink of bottles between survivors who didnāt know what else to do with the stillness.
Smoke still hung over the rooftops, low and pungent, clinging to the broken shutters and stone.
The battle for Termoli was over. The last Germans had either been killed, captured, or driven out.
Now the town was alive again, albeit in that fractured, post-battle kind of way. Children ran through the square with makeshift flags. Old women passed out food. A cracked accordion wheezed in the corner. The locals were celebrating.
Yet the air reeked of gunpowder.
The fighting had finished for now, casualties on both sides.
The last German machine gun nest had been silenced by the SAS this after noon. Resistance fighters and SAS now moved freely through the bustling streets, checking over bodies, hauling supplies, and pining into the strange, unfamiliar rhythm ofĀ peace.
Paddy stood off to one side, nursing a chipped cup filled with something red and sharp-tasting. He wasnāt much for wine, but it was offered by a towns woman who wept when his boys freed them from the occupying nazis.
He watches over everyone intently, his eyes scanning over the busy street. The atmosphere immediately felt livelier, his men having found their own drinks and ways to relax.
Reg was stuck talking to a small boy, Jim who had rejoined his men with eagerness was sitting with some partisans, all had found something to do.
"I have teams returning soon," A woman's voice breaks Paddy out of his thoughts, one of the resistance fighters. "Try make sure your men don't shoot them, yes?"
"Why weren't they here getting their hands dirty with us then?" Paddy retorts, his eyebrow raised as he takes a sip of his wine.
The Italian just stares blankly at him, her hand on her hip, the other holding a rifle. "They were getting dirty blowing up bridges," she points her finger at his chest. "Making sure no more got in, seems to me they did good hm? Havenāt actually seen them for a few months now."
Paddy nods along, silently agreeing. He himself had sent a team north to blow some bridges, so he was more than surprised to hear the resistance sent allies south.
An hour passed, and the team all sat around a large table when trucks could be heard in the distance. The partisans all stood quickly, sharp grins on their faces as they begin running in the direction of the vehicles.
Paddy looks up, seeing an Italian partisan waving his cap in the air from the passenger seat, smiling from ear to ear. A few of his comrades followed suit, speaking rapidly in a mix of Italian.
The truck stops and men jump out, all rushing to hug their friends. Some look over Paddy's way, eyeing the boys with confused glances. More words are exchanged in Italian, some fingers pointed your way and others behind the now parked truck.
One of the men runs over, his smile never wavering. "My friend," he exhales, taking off his hat and scrunching it in his hand. "He says there are more trucks coming, one truck has uh," the man thinks his words over in his head, his English coming out broken. "Truck has soldiers on it, yours."
This immediately piked everyones interest, heads turning and eyebrows raising as the man spoke. Paddy tilts his head, his knees bouncing under the table. "Mine?"
"Si si," The man nods eagerly. "They have uh - have helped our fighters, good men."
Paddy blinks. Once. Twice. His heartbeat shifted in his ears, not faster, not yet. JustĀ harder.
The others were already murmuring, excited. The idea of seeing old faces, maybe even names they thought lost was a spark thrown into dry grass.
Then, someone shouted from the east wall.
āMore inbound!ā
Paddy stands as more vehicles drive through the rocky streets, his men following suit. He moves through the crowd that had already formed, past civilians and soldiers alike until he reached the new additions.
Paddy's shoulders were squared, his face unreadable.
The boys fell into step beside him, their expressions ranging from hopefulness to caution. They knew better than to get their hopes up
They expected maybe one soldier from the UK.
That is, until they saw them. Figures emerged from the back of the trucks, shadowed from the dying sun. Shouts of joy could be heard echoing through the square, a hoard of soldiers running towards Paddy and the others, crushing their friends in tight embraces.
Men clapped backs, smacked wet kisses against their cheeks much to their dismay, swears leaving their lips. Some wipes at their faces, commenting on the dust in their eyes.
Paddy hung back in disbelief before greeting his men with the same embraces. They were some of the men who'd been sent with you, and it struck him deep seeing them alive and somewhat well.
The partisans were still filtering in from the other trucks with more soldiers and civilians. A few wounded. He counted them automatically in his head, wondering just how many needed help.
More familiar shapes emerged through the smoke-hazed street, a few ragged soldiers in battered uniforms.
More of his men.
Christ. they looked thinner. Paler. But alive. The lads surging forward again to greet them with more embraces and rough slaps on the back.
He was happy, more than he had been in awhile, but he couldn't help the way his blue eyes searched every vehicle, every soldier that jumped off the backs.
He felt like he was looking for ghosts.
His name was called, one of his men who had been presumed dead bringing him into a hug, commenting on Paddy's new title with a battered salute. The Irishman had scoffed, pushing his friends shoulder playfully before sending him on his way with Pat.
Some more tried speaking to him but were whisked away before they could, some shouting Paddy's name in urgency as they were carried by their friends and into town.
He just chuckled lowly, knowing how excited everyone was.
He thought he was holding onto smoke, chasing something he could never catch, so when Reggie elbows him, offering him another drink, he takes it with haste.
It didnāt happen dramatically. No heavenly light. No hush falling over the crowd.
You had seen his back before anything else, Paddy taking a large gulp of wine with his head tilted back. It was Reggie who saw you first, dropping his drink almost instantly as he smacked at Paddy's arm.
He turned just in time to see you be helped out of the back of a truck. Just you, walking through the crowd, shoulders bumping into people as your eyes stayed on him, lips moving with words he couldnāt hear.
Gone was the uniform you left in, now sporting the same clothes the partisans wore, the only difference was the medical banner tied around your arm and the rifle strapped to your back.
Here. Breathing. Alive.
Everything around him went still. The laughter, the music, the clatter of boots on cobblestones.
Your breathing felt laboured, as did his and you both blinked, like you couldnāt believe what you were seeing.
He didnāt move. Couldnāt.
You kept moving and eventually he snapped out of his shock, handing Reggie his cup roughly as he began moving.
Half the squad had turned now, watching silently with mouths agape. He could just make out some 'I tried to say something!' before someone shut them up.
When you finally reached him, it was like time caught up all at once.
Neither of you spoke at first.
You looked exhausted, blood stained to your skin and dirt strewn across your face. There was more muscle in your arms and no doubt under your uniform, enough for Paddy to notice. A scar was across your cheek, and his mouth opens, but no words escape.
Paddy looked even more wrecked. The bags under his eyes were large, his hands slightly shaking, hell he had even shaved and cut his hair in your time apart.
For a moment, Paddy was adamant that his mind had finally turned on him. That it was some cruel punishment conjured out of grief and guilt.
You were here.
You were alive.
--
You remember the sound first.
Gunfire. Sharp, so close that it made your ears ring. It had cut through the trees like lightning. Metal against metal. Metal in flesh.
Boots that tore through the dirt and men who screamed in a language you couldn't understand. The air reeked of blood, of oil and something else.
Your team had met at a rendezvous point, swapping trucks and joining another allied unit in an attempt to get to a town that called for aid. It was supposed to be clear - at least it's what you and the boys had been told.
You remembered shouts from your side.
After that, mayhem.
Some in your unit were killed on impact. Others returned fire instinctively. Your lads, brave, fearless and stupid all in one. You weren't armed at first, but someone had handed you a sidearm the moment you had bounced up and dodged the bullets coming your way.
The ridge was held for what felt like hours.
But the other side pushed what was left of your unit into a small town. It was a small village, low stone walls and shuttered windows, an unfortunate shelter caught between life and death.
And death felt near.
Ammo had run out a while ago, you weren't even sure if any of your shots had landed. Hell, firing the gun felt like you were going against everything you had learnt in nursing. It didn't matter, as long as the shots kept them back.
There had been no backup, no way out.
The partisans were heaven sent.
They didn't announce their arrival - they didn't need to.
The gunfire had shifted, followed by more languages you didn't speak. Then quiet. Or at least, quiet enough to feel like you could breathe again.
The Italians had been watching, waiting for a break in the fight to strike. Unfortunately for them, your unit had unknowingly dragged Hell itself to their doorstep for them on a silver platter.
They took you in, helped bury your dead, and for once - someone stitched up a wound on your skin. At some point during the ambush, your cheek had been cut from jawline to temple. It wasn't deep to cause a serious issue, but it was enough to need attention.
Paddy had been on your mind the entire time.
The partisans asked for nothing in return - only that you aid them in laying low.
Seeing as it was too risky without radio communication - you couldn't contact anyone from your side either. Someone had ratted out your teams route, and now trust ran thin within allies.
So you stayed, you and the other survivors.
There were a handful left from the original unit. All bruised and battered, all in varying stages of shock. You had mended what you could, helped carry who wasn't heavy when others struggled. Stitched wounds like someone had done for you.
You even learnt how to curse in Italian and how to aim properly.
You stopped being just a nurse that day.
War wasn't comfortable.
War didn't care about who you were before, only who you could be now.
The units moved often, hiding in the mountains and liberating villages. Burning bridges, literally and figuratively. The Italians trusted your boys, but not enough to send word out of your status.
Not to Paddy.
But god, you tried.
And tried and tried.
Begged to send even just a word. A name. A message of life. But they wouldn't risk it - they had come so far, they had seen what happened to groups that had their transmissions heard.
So you were left with silence.
You had been walking around, scarred and angry for months. Days blurred, more bridges were burned, eventually you stopped counting.
There was no choice but to keep going, for the lads, for your country, for the people you saved.
For him.
For Paddy.
You had gotten word that Termoli was being reclaimed today, and your unit had been tasked with blowing up two entry points the nazis had been using.
And for once, things had gone smoothly. Word had gotten out that the town was taken back, and you and everyone in your truck breathed a little easier.
You were in the last convoy, resting your head against the shoulder of one of your men. The sun was setting, and the sounds of celebration greeted you all in now time.
Shouts of joy echoed around the stone walls, both in English and Italian. Familiar voices and accents yelled a bit louder than others, and the moment your truck had parked, you were already off the back and standing on your tiptoes in an effort to see the culprits.
Your eyes widened, seeing the familiar faces of SAS, the many soldiers you had left in the desert just months ago. They brought your comrades into their arms, shouts of delight and swears alike.
But your eyes were trained elsewhere despite the happy feeling building in your chest. You spot Jim and Pat talking with some other partisans you had met briefly.
Your gaze landed on a familiar tattooed soldier standing at the highpoint of the stone road, his taller frame dwarfing that of the Irishman next to him.
Paddy's head was thrown back as he drunk from a glass, and Reggie had smacked at his arm roughly, his eyes wide as he stared at a ghost.
You.
Paddy turned around, his now clean shaven face finding you almost instantly.
Here. Alive. Breathing.
He was here.
He was okay.
You pushed through the crowd as politely as you could manage, your shoulders aching from the heavy rifle that was strung across your back. 'Excuse me's' in both Italian and English left your lips as you stepped closer towards him.
Neither of you spoke at first.
You reached out with shaky hands, and Paddy immediately grabs a fistful of your shirt, pulling you into a tight embrace. His head buries into your shoulder as your face presses into his chest, fists bunching at the back of his vest as you breathed in his scent.
One of his hands reaches up, taking the gun from your back dropping it carefully to the floor before he embraces you again - impossibly tighter.
You both smelt like sweat and blood, a mix you had come to know so well, and his hand reaches up again, pressing into the back of your hair, cradling you like he was afraid it was a dream.
--
Paddy kept you in his arms for the remainder of the afternoon, having you seated in his lap whilst everyone now reunited swapped stories. It had been a lot, hearing from both sides the wins and losses.
His hands rest against your stomach, keeping your back pressed to his chest as your head lay against his shoulder, lips quirking every now then at every little joke and jab thrown your way.
It felt unusual in a way, yearning for something that was once again right in front of you, or more-so, behind you. Like a dream you were refusing to wake from, stubborn to the end.
He found himself whispering in your ear every now and then, just low murmurs of your name so he could hear your little 'hm?' in reply, or his own name on your lips. Maybe he had died during the siege and he was in heaven.
No.
You were here, living and you were breathing against him. If he was in heaven, there would be no way he would be seeing anything but you.
He had taken you to a small bedroom he had deemed his, a quiet place abandoned above an old store, windows stuck shut. It was lit by a few candles, the room cast in a golden glow.
Neither of you said much on the way up, just little whispers and murmurs along the lines of 'watch your step' and 'up here'.
The silence however wasn't empty, it was full, loud. Full of everything neither of you knew how to say yet. There was only so much you two could say when surrounded by everyone tonight, and so you both kept it for when the time for bed called.
Others protested, demanding you both stay awake and celebrate longer, but you had left with quiet waves before they could realise you were gone.
Paddy's hand rest against the small of your back as he guides you to the bed. It was bigger than you were both used too, and he brings you down gently. You thought he'd take the spot next to you, but instead he kneels by your feet, huffing softly as his knees protested.
Your eyebrows furrow, hands reaching out for his shoulders when he moved quicker. Paddy shakes his head, a silent way of telling you to give him a moment before he slowly rests his head in your lap, arms tucked around your legs as he breathes in deeply.
His eyes close as your heart jumps in your chest.
He looked so... scared like this, almost childlike in a way. Scared that you weren't real. Scared that you were going to get up and disappear like you had so many times in his nightmares.
You waited, giving him time, hands finding their way into his hair and running your fingers gently through the shortened strands.
His eyes were closed so tightly, his arms tightening just ever so slightly, afraid you would vanish. Like he would open his eyes to find you gone again.
And when he finally did look at you, really look, his breath caught audibly.
You were heaven sent, an angel in the candlelight. Scarred and war hardened, just like him, and yet you smiled down at him so softly, hands moving from his hair to cup his cheek, thumb stroking the skin.
āI thought Iād buried ye in my head,ā His voice was hushed, his hands sliding up your legs before they rest on the side of the bed by your thighs. "Tried to do it - god I tried, but I couldn't."
He swallows hard, and for a moment you thought he might turn away, shut it down like he used to do when things got too confusing.
But he didnāt.
He stands slowly,
His throat worked around a knot of something thick - disbelief, grief, love. Paddy's hands wound up and over your shoulders, gliding over the fabric of your shirt until they carefully rest over your cheeks. He turns your head slightly, his gaze sullen as he eyes the healed scar on your cheek.
His touch was tender, more tender than you had ever experienced in your time together. It was as if you were glass, seconds from shattering if he made the wrong move.
Like he was afraid youād break in his arms.
Paddy takes the spot beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. He brings your head to his, forehead pressing to yours. His hands cupped the sides of your face, thumbs trembling slightly against your cheeks. Trembling against all the new marks on your skin.
His blue eyes searched yours like he was trying to memorise every new mark, every blink, every breath.
He was scared.
"I'm sorry.ā He whispered.
āWhat for?ā
āFor being too much, you deserved more that what I gave you."
āOh Paddy," You shake your head, rubbing your nose against his. "You stop that right now, did I ever complain?"
His chest rose with a shaky inhale and he finally, finally let himself hold you properly with no audience. Arms pulling you fully into him, pressing you close until there was no space between your bodies and you were practically back in his lap.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply, like he didnāt trust his own senses.
"No - No, ye didn't have too, I was always too rough, too fuckin' in me own head," His voice came out muffled, his hands resting on the small of your back. "Never held ye properly, not like this, never like this. Our last time together I hurt you and I-"
"Hey," You bring his head back to look you in the eyes, lips quirking just a little. "You held me just as I wanted, loved me right and just how I asked - what are you worrying about? I'm here, we're here."
He shakes his head. "Ye were gone, dead, all I could do was think if it was my punishment, my p-"
"No," You cut him off, grabbing his right hand and resting it over your stained uniform. His own eyebrows furrow once again, feeling your breast before anything else.
You would've rolled your eyes had he not realised almost instantly, his hand sliding under the buttons, flesh to flesh as he feels your heart beating under his palm. "I'm here Paddy, here, you can feel it,"
He nods slowly, letting the room quieten as he presses his hand firmer, feeling your heart beat even more, your skin warm against his.
Intimate didn't even come to the feeling.
"It hasn't stopped beating just yet," You murmur, bringing your hands back this jaw as he looked down in his lap, too focused on your heartbeat. "We're still going, for you."
His jaw tightens beneath your grasp, his eyes closing sharply before he nods, looking back to you.
"Sap."
For what felt like centuries, your laughter rings out, filling the room. Paddy threw your words back at you like he had been holding onto them forever. He slowly cracks a grin as your head throws back, arms wrapping around his neck as he brings you further into his lap with his free hand.
God, he had missed that sound.
Missed you more than anything.
Your chest rises with each chuckle, Paddy withdrawing his hand from your under your shirt as he looks at you like life itself.
--
You hadnāt moved in some time.
His jacket was now gone, as were your shoes - scattered somewhere around the room.
Paddy still held you, his arms loose around your waist now, like he was afraid to let go completely. You were both sitting back against the headboard now, legs tangled, bodies close, your breath mingling in the quiet between sentences.
Outside, Termoli was sleeping off it's wounds, the occasional laugh and broken bottle echoing from those who remained awake.
Inside, it was just you and him.
Time you didnāt think youād ever get back.
Your fingers traced the scars on his hand, the veins. He didnāt stop you. Had no desire too. He just watched, eyes soft in the candlelight, quieter than youād ever seen him.
āI dreamed of you,ā he murmured. āEvery night.ā
Your eyes lifted to meet his.
He wasnāt wearing any of his usual armour.
No smirk. No deflection.
Just Paddy.
āAnd?ā You whispered.
"I like this more," He murmurs. āLooking at me like you never left.ā
You reached up and gently touched his cheek. āI love you Paddy.ā
"I love you too."
You leaned back enough to look at him. His hair was a mess from your hands. His vest slightly torn - no doubt from today. There was dried blood on his skin. He looked tired and older and somehow more himself than ever.
"You shaved." You say almost in a questionable tone.
Paddy chuckles, head tilting to the side. "Ye just noticed?"
"Well no," you scoffed playfully. "Just, almost feels weird to see you without the dead ox on your face."
"Ye didn't complain about the beard when I was betwe-"
Your hand clasps over his mouth before he can finish, his eyebrow raised as you shook your head at him.
God, you had missed him.
He chuckles again beneath your palm, and you lean forward, moving your hand away as you press your lips to his.
Your eyes feel heavy as he returns the kiss. Your lips curling as one of his hands cups the back of your head. Just the feel of Paddy against you felt unreal, as if a small part of you was convinced that you were never going feel him again.
"Paddy."
Your breath hitches, palms pressed to his shoulders as he hums. You hear him say something, words you miss - and so you pull away slightly. "What was that?ā
"Let me take care of you,' He says softly, his words spoken so quickly against your lips that you nearly missed it again. "Please."
Your heart beats like a drum in your chest, blood rushing in your ears. It was as if he was nervous, familiarising himself with your touch.
Paddy's hands comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumbs brushing the skin gently, tilting his head when you hadn't replied to his words.
His eyes searched yours for a long, breathless moment - like he was looking for permission. For peace.
You nod with a smile, and he once again leans in, slowly, to kiss you.
Not hungrily.
Not fiercely.
Tenderly.
His lips moved with patience, reverence - as though he was learning you all over again, letting the kiss say what his words had longed to for the past few months. He didnāt grip you. He justĀ heldĀ you. One hand now on your waist, the other feather light against your cheek.
When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours.
āLet me be gentle,ā He whispers. āJust this once... Or every night - if youāll have me.ā
You didnāt answer right away, you didnāt need to. You would have him for the rest of your life and Paddy knew that. Your hands slid down to the bottom of his vest, fingers slowly sliding down his chest and stomach as you did so, never breaking eye contact.
His breath comes out sharply as your nails dragged over the skin of his stomach, and he nods, his arms moving as you lift the vest up and over his head, throwing it to the floor.
You bite your lip as he returns the favour, his fingers unbuttoning your uniform one by one, sliding the fabric off your shoulders. You climb off his lap, and the two of you use the time apart to take off your pants. Your bra follows suit, and you smile to yourself as you hear Paddy inhale sharply.
Paddy's hands were shaky as he undoes his belt, his eyes never leaving your body as you get comfortable on the bed. He curses under his breath, feeling himself harden at the sight of you.
"Missed ye so fuckin' much," His voice sounded raspy, his hands taking off his trousers and kicking them away. He stops as he kneels on the bed, his hand reaching out to rest against your thigh as he exhales. "We - We don't have to do anythin', we can just sleep if ye want."
āI do,ā You whisper, nodding as you reach out for him, fingers resting against his bare shoulder. "I want this - want you."
Paddy's eyes close, as if he was collecting himself. His mind was racing a thousand miles a minute, the quietness of where he was finally hitting him. His voice is hoarse as he says your name, Irish accent thick and strong. āI need ye so bad, I've needed ye so bad."
You rest your head against the pillow as Paddy adjusts the way he was kneeling, spreading your thighs apart with one hand as he rests in between them.
You arch into him, gasping as you feel the familiar press of him through his briefs, rubbing against your soaked underwear.
"Paddy-"
āI know love,ā He whispers,Ā looking down to where he rubs against you. Your skin felt like it was on fire, like Paddy had ignited every little nerve in your body once again. "I got ye."
He leans down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone as the hand not holding his weight slides down your neck to your breast, his tough tender as his thumbs swipes over a nipple, the action causing you to shudder against him.
He looks down again, eyes locked onto the wetness on your panties, the fabric clinging to your skin. Paddy's head tilts, an internal battle in his mind.
He wanted to bury his head between your thighs, bring you to the edge with his tongue like he had so many times before - but as his gaze tilted up, seeing your loving gaze, he knew he had to be inside of you.
His thumb returns to your cheek, the digit tracing over your bottom lip as you preen under his touch. You were safe, loved, here and looking up at him like he was the only thing that mattered.
"Love," He murmurs, his embrace, big and warm, causes you to spread your thighs further, and Paddy turns your head for you, causing your eyes to lock onto his. "Can I take 'em off?"
He nods towards your underwear, and you nod breathlessly. He sits up, resting against the haunches of his legs as he reaches down, sliding the pair down your legs. His heart felt like it was jumping out of his chest, his gaze dark as it locks onto your pretty pussy for what felt like the first time in centuries.
He groans, low and deep.
āGod,ā He breathes, eyes dazed and soft. āThere she is.āĀ
You couldn't help but laugh at his words, and Paddy grins, eyes crinkling as he slides his hands up and down your thighs.
His chest was heaving.Ā There were scars on your skin, some small and others jagged, additions that weren't there before you were separated. You matched him now in a way. "A beauty,ā
His mouth finds yours again, slower this time. Like heās savouring every second. "My beauty," he corrects himself, more breath than anything. His lips trace the edge of your jaw, moving up an inch to trail a kiss to the scar on your cheek. "My heart.ā
Your hips lift, tilting up, chasing the weight of him as Paddy grinds lightly between your thighs.
āPaddy,ā You whisper again. āPlease.ā
You weren't used to this. Used to gentle.
Paddy was always quick to undress you, quick to have his lips on you or his cock in you. One way or another, he had never taken the time to just feel you.
It was easier to blame your environment back when you were in Cairo, knowing that you didn't exactly have privacy on your side. But now, you had four walls and a bed far bigger than you were used to.
Paddy groans low in his throat, pushing down his briefs to his thighs. His cock was flushed, already leaking, and you looked down, lip quivering. It had been so long, and as he lined himself up, sliding himself in between your folds - you whined, thighs resting on his hips as he shudders.
āChrist,ā He whispers, resting his forehead against yours as he rocks his hips forward just ever so slightly, teasing you with the head of his cock as he drags it through the slick. "So wet - missed this, missed you."
He nudges in slowly, and his name leaves your lips. The stretch was slow and steady, both of your breathing coming out laboured as you feel each other. The stretch was so familiar, and yet you still whimpered so softly at the feeling of Paddy inside of you.
His jaw tenses, fighting the urge to just thrust hard and deep. "Are ye alright?"
āMm hm,ā You breathe out, biting your lip. āI'm okay."
He moves inch by inch, whispering your name as he slides further into you. He presses a kiss to your cheek again, his hand gripping onto the back of your leg to wrap around his waist.
"Fuck." He groans, feeling himself buried deep, bottoming out. He utters more and more words you can't hear as you just cling to him, hands pressed against his shoulders as he kisses you once more.
He groans deeply into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest as you tighten your legs, your walls tightening around him. His pelvis presses flush against the hair between your legs, the breath in your throat hitching at the fullness you feel.
You tilt your hips, a silent invite, and Paddy nods, starting to thrust. It was slow at first, like he was being careful, but it was deep, and his gaze remained trained on you, maintaining eye contact with every move of his hips. His lips part as his eyebrows furrow, a groan leaving his throat again.
His cock slides in and out of your weeping cunt in a steady rhythm, your thighs now slick with the mix of both your wetness and his precum.
It was an ache, a burn, a feeling you had missed so much coiling in your belly with every thrust. Paddy's teeth grit, and jaw tensing, the hand holding onto you tightening. Another thrust. This one even slower, his hips grinding deliciously into yours as your head falls back into the pillow with his name on your lips.
You can feel that you're not going to last long, as does he - both of you going so long without each others embrace. You had been longing for this for months, waiting, wanting, wondering if you'd ever get to experience the feel of Paddy's hips pressed into yours again, the weight of his body filling you.
Every thrust pulls a grunt from him, a hiccup of words being muffled in pleasure. He leans down again as he presses kiss after kiss to your cheek, your jaw, your lips in a feverish daze.
He could feel you tightening around him, his own orgasm building. He felt almost embarrassed at coming undone so quickly - but he knew now that you were back in his arms, that he had more than enough time to show just how much he had missed you.
His hips stuttered, every little sound leaving your lips causing him to teeter on the edge, but he held back, determined to feel you come first. His hand travels down, his thumb gently moving in half circles over your clit, causing you to cry out - your body shaking with pleasure.
"C'mon darlin'," He moans in your ear, pressing a kiss to the skin just below. "Let me feel it, please, cāmon now."
You clench around him at his voice, at his words, your cries filling the room as your orgasm took over you, and Paddy could've sworn then and there that he was well and truly gone.
The feel of you tightening around him, your thighs shaking, his name leaving your lips, all of it was enough for him to follow.
He knew you could feel it, and your eyes open in a daze to look up at him, your body still shaking as he thrusts deeper into you, prolonging your orgasm. You felt so sensitive, so hot and loved all at once, and you moaned a little louder.
"I - fuck -" He didn't have to ask.
Your thighs tightened around him, nodding over and over.
"It's okay," You whisper, urging him on. "Please Paddy."
He knew he should pull out. He had never cum inside you before, but in this moment, all he could feel, all he could see, was you.
Soft, perfect, his. Paddy buried himself deeper with a final thrust of his hips, his cock throbbing as he cums hard inside of you.
Your name leaves his lips with a shudder and a moan, his hips jerking with each shiver. He keeps grinding into you softly, letting you milk him for everything he had as he almost whined at the feeling.
You felt numb with pleasure - floating, and Paddy falls into your arms, chest to chest as you both quiver. His head rests in the crook of your neck, one of your hands resting on his lower back as the other reaches up, gliding into his hair.
It was a surprising feeling, being so full of him in more ways than one, and you feel Paddy press a kiss to your shoulder as he slowly pulls out, causing you to whine.
He mutters an apology, pressing another kiss to your lips as he guides your head towards him. You can feel the remnants of your lovemaking seep out, and he looks down, eyebrow raised before he looks back to you.
--
The first thing you became aware of was the weight around you the next morning.
Not heavy. Secure. Warm, unapologetically him.
Then the slow rise and fall of his bare chest pressed against your back. One of Paddyās arms was tucked beneath your head, curled beneath your pillow. The other lay draped across your waist, his hand resting flat against your stomach like a quiet claim. His breath stirred the loose strands of your hair, slow and steady.
You couldn't believe it was real, that he was real.
You hadn't imagined everything.
Youād fallen asleep wrapped in his embrace, and heād never let go.
The room was quiet, now alive with sunlight. The town, too. There were faint sounds in the distance, pots clanging, the early stirring of soldiers from both sides, townsfolk reclaiming what they could - but in here, it was just you two.
You didnāt want to move at all.
But eventually you shifted, just enough to look over your shoulder, seeing that Paddy was already awake.
His blue eyes met yours instantly, soft and tired, full of something you couldn't believe you were seeing after so long apart.
Like the sadness that he had drowned himself in for so long had finally loosened it's grip on him overnight.
"Good morning." You whispered, and Paddy's arm lifted, just enough for you to roll over and face him.
His arm slides comfortably around your back, pulling you in until your nose brushes against his. "Mornin',"
War wasn't comfortable, but for just a brief moment, the two of you could forget about what was outside and live for what was right in front of you. For the first time in too long, the day ahead didnāt feel like a sentence for either of you, it felt like a brand new beginning.
"You're here," He continues, words soft, said to himself if anything. You nod as you rest your hand to his chest, over his heart. "Really here."
"I was always here," You nod, pressing your palm deeper against his warm skin. "And I'll remain here, always."
His eyes close at your words as he nods, his lips pulling into a soft smile.
"Whose doin' poetry now?"
You both laugh, cheeks hurting at how much you're grinning from ear to ear, and Paddy pulls you into his arms, rolling onto his back with you in his grip.
Summary: It's been a week since your last heated encounter with Professor Remmick. A week without his attention and touch. A week that's left you aching and desperate for more, willing to act out just to get his attention. Your efforts prove effective, but you'll be punished for it.
WC: 12.7k
Tags/ Warnings: NSFW/MDNI 18+ ONLY. more Dom! & Brat Tamer!Remmick. modern day college professor AU. no use of y/n. hivemind plot device. semi/public masturbation and sex. classroom sex. degradation and humiliation. praise. vampire sex. full vamp form. irish accent. edging. denied orgasms. cunnilingus. blowjob. face fucking. face riding. face slapping. spit kink. rimming (m!receiving). pussy/clit slapping. bondage w/ a belt. unprotected vaginal and anal sex. vaginal fingering. exhibitionism. blood sucking. soft aftercare. soft aftercare sex. shower sex. heavy smut that ends with fluff, because I can't help myself. there's a certain line in here that's inspired by qotd.
A/N: Thank you to those of you that loved part one enough to want more! Credit to @fuckoffbard @remmicks-salvation @weavingduck for their ideas and demands that inspired this part two & to Vamp again for help with editing the header. Thank you to my lovely @eternalstrigoii for beta reading.
The sound of strings echo throughout the small amphitheater, a bow expertly gliding along a fiddle in the hands of tonightās guest of honor at the local cityās Irish American Historical Society. It sounds much like the recordings Remmick has played in class, or the tunes he himself has played by hand for you all. The man standing before the small crowd on stage is no Remmick, nowhere near as nice to look at, but undoubtedly talented as heās met with your chorus of applause at the end of a ballad.
An impulse to glance at your professor passes through, assuming heās no doubt enjoying the show given his repeated displays of passion for Irelandās culture. But, that would require glancing to the row behind and youāre feeling just bitter enough to not want to give him the satisfaction of catching your eyes seeking him out.
That night in the classroom merely a week ago hasnāt left your mind since, nor has your body forgotten his touch, and youāre starting to believe it never will. That the memory will continue to plague you long after youāve graduated, even until your deathbed. But itās not just simply reminiscing on the passion and filth shared between you two, itās what hasnāt changed since.Ā
After a night like that, youād assumed things would be different. That he wouldnāt be so hard on you anymore, that youād carry on some kind of semblance of a relationship, albeit in private, but something nonetheless. Especially after heād verbally and physically laid claim to you, especially after youād broken up with James the very next day. And granted, in the week thatās passed there havenāt been any assignments to grade you harshly on, but you at least expected to receive more favorable attention.
Alas, he still barely meets your eyes unless necessary. Hasnāt asked you to stay after class. Hasnāt reached out to you in any way since that night. Hasnāt even flashed you that charming smile or a knowing look.
At first you felt foolish. Chastised yourself for getting so wrapped up in him so quickly, for letting his actions or lack thereof impact your mood, for so eagerly waiting to lap up any bit of attention heāll give.
Until realizing this has all been a game to him.Ā
A game that two can play at.
āHeās pretty good, right?ā The sound of your classmate Chrisās voice breaks the train of thought, drawing your eyes to his at your side instead.Ā
āOh- yeah, heās good.ā
āYou um, you look really nice tonight by the way.ā He mentions in a hushed tone with a shy, boyish smile, briefly glancing down to the short dress and cardigan adorning your body. Your own eyes briefly follow, glancing down at yourself before meeting his again.
āThank you.ā
āIām uh, sorry to hear about you and James.ā
āOh? Eh, donāt be. I realized heās a loser anyway.ā You respond with a sigh and nonchalant shrug.
āSoā¦ youāre single now then?ā Chris inquires out of his own curiosity, having always had a crush on you even before becoming one of Remmickās spawn.
Your brows raise in surprise, though given the looks youāve caught him giving you in class, you really shouldnāt be. Whether youāre imagining it or not, the sensation of eyes boring into the back of your head passes over you along with a smirk at the realization this may be the perfect opportunity youāve been looking for.
ā...yeah, I am. Why? You gonna ask me out?ā A playful retort and flirtatious smile makes Chris chuckle.
āWell, Iād be stupid not to try. Youāre beautiful.ā
An abrupt clearing of his throat and a chastising call of your name from behind disrupts the conversation, prompting your eyes to seek out the unmistakable source of Remmick sitting behind you.
āQuiet. Show some respect.ā Remmickās expression and tone are stern but hushed as the fiddle player begins the next song. You roll your eyes with a sigh, attention shifting back to the stage. An unspoken, perhaps harsher warning is given to Chris, who settles back into the seat without another word.
As the tune of āKing of the Fairiesā begins to play, a smug satisfaction settles within you. Remmickās warning, what feels like the first glimmer of attention heās given you in so long, only strengthens the rebellious resolve burning in your chest rather than quells it.
It puts an extra pep in your step, a more intentional sway in your hips as the event finally closes, sending the guests back out into the stone halls of the Irish American Historical Society. Intentionally, your stroll slows until Chris steps align side by side with yours amongst the small crowd exiting the building into the fresh, cool night air.
āYou know if you were to ask me, Iāll probably say yes.ā You pick up the conversation where it last left off, goading Chris on as Professor Remmickās footsteps trail behind. Chrisās eyes widen momentarily before a grin stretches along his lips, gaze trailing over your body as you step ahead of him and onto the universityās shuttle bus.
Chris follows behind with every intention to follow into whatever seat you land, forgetting Remmickās lingering warning and presence until an iron grip around his arm guides Chrisās body into an empty booth at the front of the bus, Remmickās body quickly following behind to block him in by the window.
Remmickās expression is cool and composed, until those bus doors close and the tires pull away from the curb and onto the road. Slowly, those dark eyes shift, his head turning with them until landing on Chrisās stony face.
āDo you take me for a fool?ā His brows furrow, right eye twitching as he dismisses the hive communication so Chris can really hear him, once and for all.
āN-No, I justā¦ā
āJust what? Thought you could stick your slimy hands over whatās mine? Have you forgotten I can hear you?ā Remmick scrutinizes as he leans closer, pushing Christ back against the metal siding of the bus with nowhere to go.
Chris gulps and stutters on a breath. Thanks to that web of communication, heās known about the night you and Remmick shared, but also the lack of such moments since. That, and his own foolish, immature drive and lust for you fueled his unsavory pursuit tonight, his own filthy thoughts that flowed into Remmickās.
āI gave you eternal life, child. I can take it away just as easily. Donāt. Make. Me.ā With a flash of those smoldering red eyes and the resolution that Chris will need a harsher, more controlling grip of guidance, Remmick leans back into the leather booth seat and fixes his gaze onto the road ahead.
From a few rows back, you catch a brief glimpse of the interaction through the semi-blocked view of the other students ahead, heads swaying with each bump and turn to obscure your vision. It peaks your curiosity and makes you think briefly that maybe Remmick cares more than heās let on. That he takes his own testament that you are his more seriously that heās shown in the week since that night, fueling the fire of desire burning within you.
A vibration radiates through your palm, blue-light illuminating your face on the dark bus.
Come on baby talk to me. You canāt just break up with me for no reason!
The newest text from James in a string of messages you havenāt responded to in the week since you broke up with him, ranging from pleading to despair to anger. You scoff and dim the screen, wondering how long itāll take until he finally gives up. He didnāt give a damn about you anyway, and though you only had Remmickās vague words and their implication to go off of, even through the haze of lust in that moment you knew them to be true. And after sealing the deal while bent over that classroom desk, youād known there was no other choice.Ā
Itās rich, really. The way James is putting in more effort now that youāre broken up than he ever did when you were together. Staring out at the passing streetlights and the stars in the sky, you marvel at how you used to look at his messages with such excitement and love, to now viewing them as an annoying pest that just wonāt leave you alone.
Pushing those thoughts to the side makes way for Remmick to return to the forefront of your mind. If his interruption during the fiddle show and choice to sit next to Chris is any testament, your efforts to grab his attention tonight are seemingly working, and are only just getting started.
Despite this, Remmick keeps up his own efforts to uphold his uninterested facade once you all return to the classroom to finish out the short remainder of time by immediately jumping into a discussion about the show, the songs played that have already been referenced in class. All the while looking everywhere and at everyone but you.
His words are muffled, nearly unintelligible to your ears as you drink him in, body shifting back and forth in front of that desk he had you bent over last week. A spark of heat blooms lower, radiating throughout your body with the thought. The unmistakable pulse of your walls with the phantom sensation of his cock filling you up, stretching you so good you canāt help but sigh with the vivid memory. Saliva pools in your mouth just as your folds grow slick, hungry eyes feasting on the body that drove yours to new heights of pure bliss.
Just as Remmickās eyes scan toward your side of the classroom, your thighs part beneath the desk, a shiver tingling through as the air hits your bare, slick cunt. An upward trailing hand along your thigh pushes the fabric of your dress higher. From his position at the front of the classroom, heās the only one that can see the downright filthy sight. At just the right angle to view the puffy, slick folds of that sweet pussy of yours beneath the dress, between your parted thighs.Ā
And he does.
The tantalizing scent of your arousal hits him just as the sight does, causing only a brief stumbling in his words, but faltering nonetheless. His throat runs dry, the clearing of it and wet swipe of his tongue along his lips doing little to mitigate the thirst. His eyes slip up to your face, observing the way your teeth dig into your bottom lip as they curl into a smirk. Just as quickly as you captured his sight he forces his gaze away, but not without you noticing the slight fumble of his words and expression, the clear effect you have on him.
With a quick glance to ensure none of your classmates could see, your hand travels higher and higher, slipping beneath the dress as Remmick tries to carry on the discussion. Your fingers softly pass over the wet slit of your pussy causing a hitch in breath while you continue to drink him in.
The now tense set of his jawline, the fresh wetness of his plump lips, the flex of biceps as his arms cross over his chest.
Remmick tries to focus on a student sharing their thoughts on the performance, meanwhile every breath fills his nostrils with more of your scent, the smell of your aroused cunt. Even as Jess speaks, he peeks back over to you only to find the sight of your fingers now parting the wet folds between your thighs. His nostrils flare, thick saliva fills his mouth, and that deep seated hunger spreads through his chest and body with a low, muted growl rumbling up his throat.
Only indulging in the sight for a moment, Remmick rips his gaze away with a sharp inhale just as Jess concludes her thoughts. āThank you, Jess.ā A courteous but stiff smile is thrown her way before addressing the rest of the class.
āWhy donāt we go ahead and call it a night there. Donāt forget yāall got a quiz on Tuesday over the readings this week.ā The other students immediately begin to collect their belongings and rise from the seats to shuffle out of the classroom.Ā
āNot you.ā He interjects upon seeing you begin to do the same. āYou stay. We need to have a chat.ā The sternness of his words send a thrill through you, wordlessly settling back into your desk seat.Ā
It only takes a mere matter of seconds that feel much longer until the classroom clears, leaving only you, your professor, and the thick air of tension that's been brewing between you.
Leaning back against the desk with his arms crossed, Remmick finally fixes his narrowed gaze back onto you.
āAre you enjoying yourself?ā His tone is almost accusatory, impatient, unamused. And you canāt help but grin, teeth digging into your bottom lip doing little to stifle it.
āMaybe I am. Trying to atleast.ā
He exhales a short chuckle before trailing his eyes down your body and still parted thighs.
āSo desperate for my attention youād throw yourself at that boy, play with yourself in class where anyone could seeā¦ Like a needy lil whore?ā
Your eyes widen and breaths hitch before coming out heavy and short, body blazing from within.
The degrading insult has you stunned in silence, mouth hanging ajar. You arenāt sure how to take it, even as your pussy pulses in response.
āSpeak when youāre spoken to.āĀ
A slight tremble courses through you with a stifled whimper and a harsh exhale through your nostrils. āYes, Sir.āĀ
Remmickās arms uncross, hands settling to grip onto the edges of the desk.
āI never told you to stop... Keep goinā. Show me how needy that cunt is for me.ā
A nod and the way his gaze zeroes in on your throbbing pussy leaves no confusion behind his command, and you waste no time to obey.
Shaky fingers find the sensitive bud atop your slick folds, earning a jerk of your hips as the pad of your finger brushes over it. You donāt dare stray your stare from his, even as a blush creeps over your skin with the exposed feeling that comes with never having masturbated in front of someone before.
It's different now than it was a few minutes ago when you were merely trying to grab his attention. And now you have it, undivided and unwavering.
Itās nerve wracking and thrilling, like youāre putting on a performance for him.
Your thighs spread as wide as they can beneath the desk as you rub slow lazy circles onto your clit, strained whimpers barely slipping through your lips. Each rock of your hips into the motion presses your finger harder against the bud, spurring tingling waves of pleasure that heighten the sounds rising from your throat.
Remmick can see the way you grow slicker with each second, the way your cunt pulses and begs to be stretched, can hear your heavy breaths and moans grow higher pitched as your movements grow faster, needier.
āEyes on me.ā Heās quick to correct as soon as your gaze begins to falter, lids threatening to shut with the heady sensations.
With a soft whine you obey, a glance down to the outline of his hardening cock only heightens your arousal, prompting your fingers to move faster and harder, drawing tight circles. The wetness seeping from your pussy spreads, easing your movements, skin gliding against tender skin, sparks of pleasure coursing through tensing limbs.
Just as youāre about to reach the crescendo, his voice still echoes through the haze of your pleasure and pounding heartbeat. āStop. Now.ā
āPlease.ā A pathetic plea exhaled through heavy breaths, your hand shakes to fight the urge to keep going as you attempt to obey, even as your hips tremble with the desire to rock against it for friction.
He smirks with a dismissive shake of his head. āAfter the way youāve been actinā, like a brat, you deserve to be punished.ā One hand leaves the edge of the desk to slowly palm the aching erection in his pants, jerking at the touch. āYou donāt get to cum until I say you can.ā
The words send a rush through you, even as you huff and sink back into the seat with reluctant obedience.
The air of silence that hangs between you is thick, palpable with unbridled lust and desire, but brief as your phone vibrates on the desk, the sound echoing throughout the classroom.
āSomeoneās callingā¦ā Remmick observes with a cocked eyebrow as the buzzing continues.
āItās not important-ā You begin before his movements cut you off, lifting himself off from his desk to lumber toward the source of the interruption.
The incoming call ends just as he rounds your desk but the screen remains illuminated long enough to see the numerous notifications of ignored calls and text messages from James. Closed lips deafen his throaty chuckle at the sight.
āBaby, I miss you so much.ā His tone is theatrical and condescending as he mocks the most recent text. āCanāt seem to take a hint, can he?ā
His gaze shifts from the phone to regard you, hand reaching out to curl a finger under your chin. āOr maybe you werenāt clear enough, makinā him think he still has a chance. If the way you threw yourself at Chris is any indicationā¦ā
Your lips part to gawk at the accusation undercutting his words, the idea you could be stringing James along in any way.
āI was clear. He just doesnāt want to accept it. And Chrisā¦ I was just trying to get your attention.ā
The pleaful retort puts a smirk on Remmickās face. āWell youāve got it, darlinā.āĀ
The pad of his thumb brushes over the swell of your bottom lip before pulling his touch away entirely, striding leisurely toward the front of the classroom.
āI trust youāve been keeping up with the readings in your free time?ā His eyes flicker back to you as he rounds his desk.
āYes, Sir.ā
His pointer finger crooks, beckoning your body to rise from the seat and join him at the front of the room, nerves of anticipation sparking throughout you with each purposeful step.
āYou sure? You wouldnāt want to disappoint me now, would ya?ā The low, rumbling words settle into a tingle between your thighs, wide eyes gleaming up at him as he takes a step closer, leaving barely an inch between your bodies.
āNever.ā You exhale, shaking your head in tune with the declaration that pulls a teeth flashing grin from his lips.
āLetās just see about that, hmm?āĀ
Strong, firm hands grab onto your hips, turning and shifting your body until your back meets the cool, smooth surface of the whiteboard. You watch as Remmick slowly descends your body, hands dragging down your sides until his knees hit the hard tiled floor.
āYou were supposed to read āThe Mysteryā this weekā¦ā His hands glide down your bare thighs before moving to hike the hem of your dress up to your hips. āRecite it for me.ā
Those blue eyes lock onto yours, breath fanning over your wet, bare cunt before his hand slides to the back of one of your thighs, hoisting it up and over his shoulder. You let out a breathy gasp, adjusting your balance with only one leg to stand on, a hand reaching for his hair to steady yourself.
One hand grips onto your thigh as the other rests over the softness of your stomach. The smell of your arousal is too intoxicating to resist and his tongue slips out to slowly drag through your folds to taste that sweet, heady nectar before he can even give you a chance to follow his command, eliciting a breathy sigh instead. He just canāt help himself.
A low hum rises from his throat at the taste. āGo on.ā
You gulp and take a shaky deep breath as your mind races to recall the poem youād just read last night, visualizing the lines of black ink on paper.
āI am the wind which breathes upon the sea,ā You remember the starting line easily enough, eyelids fluttering with another long drag of his tongue.
āI am the wave of the oceanā¦ the murmur of the billows- oh!ā A heavy flick of his tongue makes your back arch off the cool whiteboard. Your fingers sink deeper into his hair and your hips shift to press more firmly against his mouth as his tongue begins a relentless assault against the bundle of nerves. Licking, swirling, suckling.
āThe ox of seven combatsā¦ I am- fuck - I am the vulture on the rocks.ā
āUpon.ā The correction is muffled against your folds.
āUpon the rocks.ā Your voice is breathy and unsteady, shaken by the overwhelming pleasure of his tongue.
With a glance down you find his own eyes closed, seemingly lost in savoring you as groans begin to replace his voice. His face is buried between your legs, tongue lapping at every inch of your cunt he can reach. Tongue dipping into your entrance, swirling against your walls to lap up your essence before returning to abuse your throbbing bud.
āI am the beam of the sunā¦ oh god, yes!ā Remmickās lips seal around your clit, sucking hard just as his hand leaves your thigh to prod two of his thick fingers against your wet, clenching hole, sinking in knuckle by knuckle until they're fully sheathed inside you.
āFuck, I am the fairest of plants!ā The words of the poem come out through strained moans, the leg holding your weight beginning to tremble.
The sucking sensation against your sensitive bud feels like pure, electric sin, fueled by his fingers stretching and stroking your fluttering walls. The dual sensation is overwhelming and derails your train of thought, your mind unable to resist leaning into the intense haze of pleasure.Ā
You donāt even realize you stopped reciting the poem, too overcome with the new avenue of pleasure that once again, only he seems to be able to give you. No one else has ever eaten you like this, and your own fingers are nothing in comparison.
A whine bursts from your lips when his thick digits stop moving inside you, his mouth no longer suctioning your clit. You look down to find his eyes now open, peering up at you.
āI donāt remember tellinā you to stop.ā He pulls his lips away, now glistening with your slick, just enough for you to hear him clearly, to hear the underlying warning in his voice.
āFuck, umā¦ā With a shake of your head you try to refocus back on the now blurry memory of the poem in your mind, chest heaving with ragged breaths. āI am theā¦ā
Your face scrunches, your mind panicking as it pulls a blank on the next line while your body aches for the return of his touch.
āWild boar.ā Remmick jogs your memory, voice hoarse before fixing his eyes back onto your swollen cunt. He shouldnāt guide you, shouldāve reprimanded you, but the craving for more of your cunt overtakes it.
āI am the wild boar in valour.ā The line returns to you, relieving some of the panic while his tongue and fingers immediately return to work your pussy, obliging your aching body.Ā
The way his lips suck your clit is greedy and harsh, sending an intense spark of pleasure through you that only escalates with the curling of his fingers.
āFuck, yes!ā You cry out, eyes squeezing shut with your head falling back against the hard surface behind you, your thighs trembling beneath you and on his shoulder. Your grip tightens in his hair as your free hand scrambles to grip onto the bottom ledge of the whiteboard, sending markers and an eraser to clatter onto the floor.
āI am- oh god- a fish in theā¦ fuck, the water!ā The heat flushing your body blazes into a raging inferno, your now slick skin beginning to slip against the smooth surface of the board against your back.
Too fast for your hazy mind to keep up with, Remmick abruptly pulls his mouth from your clit, the hand against your stomach moving down to land a firm, chastising slap against your wet, throbbing cunt. You gasp, hips flinching and walls clamping down around his now still fingers.
āSalmon.ā The reminder carries the same low and warning tone from earlier. His gaze is hard, even as his expression twitches between domineering and a satisfied sneer at your desperately wrecked reaction.
āSalmon. A salmon in the water. Please!ā The wanton, helpless plea is music to his ears, shooting right to his aching, throbbing cock.
He obliges, returning his mouth to assaulting your swollen clit and fingers relentlessly caressing that spongy spot along your walls. Your throat grows dry with the unmistakable building pressure in your core.
āI am the lake,ā You attempt to begin the next line, voice as unsteady as the leg supporting your weight is becoming. āIn theā¦ in the field?āĀ
The uncertainty in your voice proves to be true as you feel Remmick begin to pull away from you once more, breaking off the pleasure building to a shattering cusp in your core. Youāre so desperate for it, trembling and aching for it so badly that without thinking your grip tightens on his hair, holding his mouth to your clit. Your hips begin to rock, chasing the incoming high with ragged breaths falling from your parted lips.
Remmickās tongue swipes against the bud, lips sealing to give one last hard suck before he overpowers your hold. With a dizzying speed he pulls away and rises to his feet with a growl, firm chest restraining your body against the board.
āOh, youāre just begginā to be punished.ā A calloused hand wraps around your throat, fingers lightly pressing into the sides to begin hindering your heavy breaths. His nose brushes against your cheek, obscuring his face from your vision but still able to hear the shaky restraint in his voice.
āTold ya you canāt cum without my permission and look at ya, actinā like a bitch in heat.ā He spits out the last words with exasperation, but they only make your now empty cunt clench in response. āIs that what you are?ā
āIām sor-ā
Another slap to your swollen clit cuts off your words with a yelp, fingers tightening ever so slightly in warning around your throat, spurring your hands to grip onto his arm.
āAnswer me.ā
āYes, Sir.ā
āSay it.ā
āIām a bitch in heat.ā The restrained, whimpering repetition pulls a low, gravely chuckle from him, vibrating against your skin.
āThatās right. Now, clean up the mess you made.ā He removes his hand from your throbbing cunt, bringing the fingers slick with your juices to your parted lips.
With a humming groan you readily take the digits in and suck them clean. He holds his fingers in the warm, wet expanse of your mouth, plunging them deeper and deeper to the back of your throat until you gag. A string of saliva connects them to your mouth as he pulls them out, a strained gasp rising from your throat still hindered by his grip.
A tremble rises from deep within his body and vibrates into yours while his face shifts, grip loosening to allow his nose to brush along the curve of your neck. His mouth hovers over your pulse point while your chest heaves against his with desperate gulps of air.Ā
Overwhelming, withheld passion mixes with hunger and the frustration you pull from him that he loves more than heād ever admit to you, combining into an all consuming transformation he doesnāt have the strength or desire to hold back anymore.
Youāre too absorbed in catching your breath to notice the slight shift within him; the thick saliva now sticking to the sensitive skin of your neck, the long nails beginning to dig into the soft skin of your jaw- until it bleeds into his voice.
āYe know, ye were right to be suspicious of me. Yer smart when ye want to be, aye?ā The foreign accent catches you off guard, one so similar to the recordings youāve heard in class. Irish. āWhen yer cunt isnāt takinā over, that is.ā
His chuckle rumbles against your neck before pressing his lips to it with a wet kiss, dragging his tongue along the prominent vein your blood courses through.
Slowly, Remmick begins to shift, pulling his face from your neck to come fully into view of your gaze. Thereās an unnatural red glow reflecting in his eyes, the same fleeting flicker you saw a week ago, except this time it doesnāt disappear. Parted lips reveal a row of jagged, sharp teeth, two drops of thick drool seeping out. Teeth meant for tearing into flesh, for feeding, for killing.
Neither of you speak for a moment, letting the revelation hang in the air and seep into your bones.
āAre ye scared?ā The question is low and breathy, red eyes studying your reaction as his clawed thumb slowly drags across your bottom lip.
You should be. Your intuition that something is off about him was true, but you never imagined this was the truth. Heās not entirely human. Heās immortal, fully capable of ripping you to shreds in this moment if he wants to. Even stillā¦
āNo.ā You answer without missing a beat. Adrenaline may be coursing through your body, but itās not from fear. Itās from excitement. Thrill. Arousal.
A low hum meets your ears as his claws shift, caressing over your warm cheek to cradle the side of your face. His solid frame presses more firmly against yours until thereās no space left between you, free hand trailing over the goosebumps now spreading along the skin of your arm.
āDo ye trust me?ā The question comes out softer and you swear you see it reflected in those red orbs beholding you.
The answer comes to you right away, and perhaps it makes you insane.
Perhaps wanting to stay here under his mercy instead of running for the door makes you stupid.
And even if you are, with the look heās giving you now, one youāre sure is of not just hunger but of pleading, you wouldnāt want to be anything else.Ā
In this moment thereās only one thing youāre sure of. You want him. All of him, and anything heāll give you.
āI do.ā
Remmickās expression softens briefly, a genuine smile twitching at the corner of his lips before they instantly capture yours in a kiss. Itās passionate, possessive, consuming. Like he canāt add another second to the week thatās passed to feel your lips against his again. With a moan, your tongue canāt help but to slip out and run along the jagged line of his fangs. Fearless. Enamored. The action earning a deep groan from his mouth into yours.
Just as quickly, he breaks the kiss. His lips moving to hovering over yours, shared heavy breaths filling the space between.
āThatās my girl.ā The possessive praise makes you weak in the knees along with the tender gesture of his nose brushing against yours, the reverence in his eyes.
āYe still need to be punished, though.ā The tips of his fangs peek out with a lopsided smirk, eyes locking onto yours as his hands drop to the belt around his waist. Even with the metal clinking sound of the undoing buckle, the whoosh of the leather gliding out of the fabric loops, your near hypnotized gaze doesnāt dare drift from his.Ā
āYe gonā be a good girl and take it, wonāt ye?ā He asks with a tilt of his head, belt clasped in one hand as the other reaches for your hip, pulling you a step away from the board.
āYes, Professor.āĀ
Sliding his hands down your arms, he gathers yours behind your back. Watching your face as the leather wraps around your wrists with ease, he pulls the belt taut to restrain them. Instinctively, your hands flex to test the secureness of your new restraints only to find them tightly bound with little give, the material digging into your flesh with every move of resistance. Itās a loss of control youāre giving to him so freely, and one that only makes you wetter.
āNow, get on yer knees and put that pretty mouth to use.ā The command comes out as a low purr that shoots through to your core like an electric current. With wide eyes locked onto his, you find yourself immediately obeying as your body lowers until your bare knees hit the cool, tiled floor.
Sitting back on your heels, you feel your mouth begin to salivate as you watch his fingers pop open the button of his slacks and slide down the zipper. You watch the outline of his bulging cock move, his hand reaching in to grasp and pull it out. A desperate moan slips out of you at the sight of his long, hard, and veiny length bobbing in front of your face.
Without waiting for any directive, you lean in to wrap your lips around the leaking, swollen head, sucking and swirling your tongue around it. A low, groaning chuckle echoes above you before his claws grab hold of your hair, pulling your lips off his tip with an audible pop.
āGet it nice anā wet first, kitten.ā The new pet name spoken in that Irish brogue makes your eyes flutter, though you force them open to maintain eye contact.
As you lean closer with an outstretched tongue, his grip loosens. Your tongue glides along the underside of his length, from the base to the tip before diving down to repeat the motion again, along the sides and every throbbing inch of him your tongue can reach.
āThaās it.ā He comments breathily, the sharp edges of his fangs digging into the plump flesh of his bottom lip.Ā His cock jerking along your tongue as you stare up at him doe-eyed, obediently licking every inch of his length.
Collecting all the saliva in your mouth, you spit along his cock, using your tongue to drag the slickness all over his shaft, swirling along his tip with every pass. Seemingly satisfied, he wraps his hand around the base and rubs the tip along your parted lips with a soft groan. The tip dips into your mouth, pressing against the inside of your cheek and stretching your lips wide. Pushing and stretching until the tip pops past and out of your mouth, glimmering with your saliva under the fluorescent lights.Ā
You keep your tongue out even as he slaps his cock against your cheek, dipping it into your mouth only to pull out and do the same to the other side. Your soft sounds begin to carry a pleading tilt with his continued teasing, only increasing the craving to have him fully in your mouth again.
āPlease, Professor.ā
āPlease what?ā He coaxes, more strings of drool slipping past his lips.
āPlease, let me suck your cock.āĀ
āWell, since ye ask so nicelyā¦āĀ
He guides his cock toward your eagerly waiting mouth before immediately sliding a couple inches in, catching you off guard. With a heavy exhale through your nostrils, you recover quickly enough to begin sucking and dragging your tongue along the underside of his shaft, moaning at the taste and feeling of him spreading on your tastebuds.
The grip on your hair tightens, claws lightly scraping along your scalp as he uses the leverage to plunge the rest of his cock down your throat and holds it there. He admires the way your lips stretch taut around his girth, your wide eyes staring up at him as they begin to water, your nose nuzzling against the patch of curls at the base. The way your throat begins to constrict around him pulls a low growl from his throat, making you choke on him until you gag.Ā
He pulls his full length out just enough for you to gasp for air before plunging back in again, hips bucking and setting a fast and steady pace. One of his hands braces himself against the whiteboard behind you, the other keeping a hold on your hair as his hips rock, fucking your mouth with his thick cock.
Low whimpers mix with the quick, heavy breaths that slip out of his parted lips, fighting between the impulse to close his eyes with the pleasure and to keep them open to watch you. To watch the way you fight to keep up with his thrusts, the way your cheeks hollow with the steady sucking of your mouth around him. A sight that hasnāt left his mind in the last week, only this time, with your hands restrained and the full reign given over your mouth is much filthier.Ā
āSo good-ā The choked out moan is all he can manage as his pace quickens, his tip hitting the back of your throat hard and fast.
You try to focus on steadying the breaths flowing in and out of your nostrils, trying to keep yourself from gagging against the relentless fucking of your throat. Tears blur your vision, a stray slipping out and down your cheek. Each strained choke and gag beckons saliva to flood your mouth, covering his cock and dripping down onto your chest.
To him, itās a beautiful and glorious sight, reducing you to a visible mess. And to you? The slight discomfort is nothing compared to the desire to please him, to do anything he asks you to.
A dull but sharp pain radiates through your hands, nails digging into the pad of your palms as you attempt to keep up with his rapid thrusts, trying to keep your throat relaxed and open. Just when youāre sure you canāt take much more he pulls out, sending you gasping for air with a string of saliva connecting his tip with your lips.
He grins down at you, red eyes blazing as they observe the way you try to catch your breath, chest heaving and glistening with spit. After a few seconds, Remmick shifts closer again and rubs his shaft along your swollen lips sloppily, spreading the mixture of saliva and pre-cum over your now glistening face.
āJusā a cock hungry whore, arenāt ye?ā
āYes,ā Your now raspy voice immediately answers, wet eyes fluttering up at him.
One hand grabs onto your jaw as the other slaps your warm cheek, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to straighten your spine and make your eyes widen as he leans over you.
āSay it.ā Another slap sends an electric jolt right to your soaking cunt, clenching around nothing.
āIām a cock hungry whore.ā You repeat with a gasp, hips fidgeting with the fruitless seeking of friction, the slight sting of his slap radiating through your cheek and bleeding into pleasure.
The grip on your jaw tightens just enough to pull it down, opening your mouth wide. Your tongue lays out flat instinctively and he spits onto it, thick drool pooling onto the flattened muscle. His red eyes gleam as he watches you swallow it eagerly with a deep moan.
āYeah ye are.ā He groans approvingly, admiring the dazed glassy gleam in your eyes before returning to stand upright above you. āShow me how hungry ye are, darlinā.āĀ
The breathy words fill your ears just as he steps closer until he's practically straddling your kneeling form, one hand fisting his cock as he brings his heavy, aching balls to your waiting mouth.
A deep, broken moan falls from his lips, head falling back as your warm, wet mouth engulfs them. The beautiful sound fuels your resolve and hunger, gently sucking the heavy sacks. Soon, your moans join and mix with his, your tongue licking and swirling around them, coaxing more of his moans as his hips slightly jerk from the sensation.
The grip on your hair tightens as a rock of his hips pulls his balls from your mouth and sends your tongue delving lower to the space beneath them. You crane your neck, tongue readily lapping at the stretch of sensitive skin. Remmickās teeth grit, sucking air between them as he begins to ride your mouth, each pass sending your tongue closer and closer to his clenched hole.
āDirty little girl.ā His gravelly words respond to your depraved moans as you bury your face between his thighs, tongue seeking out to lick and prod at his hole.
One hand continues to lazily stroke his throbbing cock as the other uses its grip on your hair for leverage to grind himself onto your mouth. His moans grow breathier and broken with each swirl of your tongue around the hole, each act of worship and hunger for every inch heāll allow you to taste.
āYe pretty mouth was made for sinā¦ feels so good.ā A gasping whimper pours from his lips, every glide of your tongue sending sparks of pleasure through his buzzing body. The grip on his cock tightens, stroking movements growing hasty, hips rocking to chase the pleasure of your tongue. His thighs begin to twitch, eyes rolling back as your moans vibrate against the sensitive skin and throughout him.
Chest heaving with heavy breaths, he forces his rolled back head to shift and look down at you. The debauched sight alone almost unravels him completely. Most of all, itās finding your half-lidded, glazed eyes peering back up at him as your tongue hungrily licks his asshole, savoring every inch. He lets out a sharp sigh, a tremble running through his body with the exhale.
A tight grip of your hair pulls your face from its place buried in his core before his hold releases completely, only for both hands to fall to your hips, lifting you off the ground and onto unsteady feet. You donāt stand on them for long as his body locks yours back against the board again.
āYe gonā be a good obedient slut for me?ā He asks breathlessly, rushed and needy as his hands find the back of your knees, lifting your feet off the ground and bending your legs back to your sides.
āYes, Professor. Iāll be so good, promise.ā Your words mimic his, coming out in a breathless rush with your still restrained hands attempting to grip onto something.
A pleased purr rumbles in his throat in response, his heavy length finding your drenched folds, hips rocking to coat his shaft in your juices, to heighten your both already pent up states. The back of your knees hook over his elbows as his hands drift lower to the meat of your thighs, claws digging into the tender skin.
His crimson eyes hold yours and with one last grind through your folds, the tip notches at your entrance and he sinks the entire length inside you with one swift thrust. Your back arches against the board, throwing your head back with a gasping, guttural moan that joins his own. You can almost cry at the sensation, the deep, full, delicious stretch thatās plagued your mind and body in the week since your last coupling.
Your warm, wet walls immediately welcome him in, stretching and pulsing around his thick girth. Remmickās forehead rests against yours, noses brushing, heavy pants and groans filling the small space between your lips.
āHavenāt been able to stop thinkinā bout this pussy,ā he groans with a shallow thrust. āTakinā me so sweet.ā
You whimper with the filthy words wrapped in an Irish accent and the slow, dragging feeling of his cock sliding out of your cunt before stuffing you full again with a sharp thrust.
A deep chuckle bubbles past his lips. āAye, looks like sheās missed me too.ā He remarks, feeling your walls already clenching, squeezing his dick like it never wants to let him go.
āYe missed my cock, kitten?ā The sultry question comes out in a purr against your ear just as his hips roll, setting off a deep and hard pace that knocks the breath from your lungs.
āOh- yes! Missed your cock- so much!ā You let out a loud moan, words strained and broken with each thrust that rock your entire body up against the whiteboard, smearing the leftover words from tonight's lesson.Ā
You long to grab ahold of him, to grasp at his skin and the shirt lining his broad shoulders. The leather of the belt burns against the tender skin of your wrists as they flex against the restraints, the pain dull and bleeding into the pure ecstasy of his body joined with yours.
A hand slides up your side, seeking the strap of your dress to yank down and fully bare your bouncing breasts to his gaze. His mouth immediately latches onto your nipple, thrusts never faltering as he groans against the sensitive peak. The sensation of his tongue flicking against your nipple before giving a harsh suck, sharp teeth teasing the skin sends a shiver down your spine, mixing with his thick shaft dragging along your pulsing walls.
Your sweaty palms attempt to grasp onto anything, finally curling around the ledge of the board, the metal beginning to creak under your hold. But it gives you just enough leverage to aid in the bouncing of your body, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts and fucking yourself onto his cock.
Loud, guttural moans flow from your mouth, mixing with his and the wet slapping where your bodies meet to create a debauched symphony, filling the classroom and no doubt echoing down the empty halls.
The unmistakable feeling of that coil tightening in your core hits you, hanging on by a thread threatening to snap at any second and send you tumbling over the edge into an orgasm. Your entire body tenses, your cunt squeezing around him as you try to hold it off, remembering his rule.
āP-please! Please!ā You cry out, the wet popping sound of his mouth releasing your bruising nipple soon following after.
āFuck,ā He falters momentarily with a breathy moan before his hand moves, curling over your thigh to land a sharp smack against your slick clit, earning a sharp cry and jerk of your hips. āPlease what?ā
āPleaseā¦ can I cum, Sir?ā The wrecked, pathetic sound of your voice makes his cock throb inside you, but heās not going to give you what you want so easily.
āAh, ye can do better than that.ā
āOh god. Please may I cum, Sir?!ā Your broken plea wavers with each relentless thrust, thighs trembling over his arms as you hover right along the edge of sweet release.
Just as youāre sure you canāt hold back any longer, the fullness inside you is suddenly gone as Remmick abruptly pulls out of you, leaving your cunt frantically clenching at the absence. You let out a whine of protest, eyes growing wet with your near-climax denied once again. The wrecked and pathetic but all the more endearing sight of you like this, hair a mess, lips pouted, face scrunched up and eyes nearly streaming tears permanently burns itself into his mind.
āShhhā¦ yeāll get yours. Need to make sure youāve really learned your lesson first, aye?ā He coos, almost tauntingly as his fingers brush along your chin. Youāre not ready yet, thereās still another domino working on falling into place first.
Slowly, he begins to let your legs fall from his arms until your feet collide with the hard floor. Your legs are still shaking, but his chest against yours provides enough stability as his hands slide behind your lower back to reach the leather bounds around your wrists.Ā
āYe can keep goinā for me, canāt ye, love?ā He murmurs as his hands begin to unravel the restraints, glimmering red eyes perusing your face as you watch, mesmerized by the way the sharp tips of his fangs peek past his lips with every word.
You gulp, attempting to ease your dry throat before nodding. āYes, Professor.ā
A sigh leaves your lips with the freedom of movement as the belt is finally removed, thrown carelessly across the room to clatter along the hard tiled floor. They immediately seek him out, coming to rest along his biceps as he begins to pull you away from the wall. Your eyes are locked, a million unspoken words flowing between them as Remmick steps backwards, guiding your body with him until he stops.
His body sinks down into his desk chair, tongue slipping past the fangs to swipe at his bottom lip as he gazes up at you. Using the hands on your hips, he shifts your body, turning you around with your back toward him and pulling you down onto his lap.
Your body immediately melts into his, head falling back to his shoulder with his hard, aching cock nestled between your cheeks. The flimsy dress once adorning your body is bunched around your waist as his claws slide along your skin, coming up to grope and massage the mounds of your breasts, making your back arch against him.
āPut your feet up āere.ā A hand under your thigh guides your feet to the seat, bracketing his knees. āYe liked when I fucked your arse last time, aye?ā
The tingle that runs through your body in response answers before you can.
āGod yes, Sir.ā Your hips, now hovering above his, begin to rock in anticipation as he guides his swollen, red tip through your soaking folds, collecting your slick along his length.
"Greedy little slut.ā The murmured words pulls a soft whine from you, just as he notches the tip against your puckered, fluttering hole.
Without waiting for an order, you immediately begin to slowly sink yourself down onto his shaft, sucking in a gasping inhale as the head pushes past your rim, your juices aiding in the breach. Your fingers grip onto the arm rest, nails digging into the leather cushions lining them with each inch that fills your still inexperienced hole, trying to keep your walls relaxed to ease his way in. Despite the foreign feeling that still lingers, the pleasureful ache and stretch of his cock overpowers it.
You sink lower and lower until he's fully hilted inside, and give yourself a moment to adjust with the sounds of your heavy breaths filling the space. Slowly at first, you lift your hips and slide your aching walls up and down his shaft.Ā
His breath shudders against your ear, claws digging into your hips as his own begin to rock slightly to aid your movements, driving himself even deeper into your tight ass.
One of your hands lifts from the arm rest, reaching behind to sift into his hair just as one of his claws slides up the curve of your hip to palm the tender flesh of your breast.
"Feels so good, Professor." A soft whine falls freely from your parted lips as you bounce faster, fucking your ass onto his plunging cock.
Two of his fingers slide over your pebbled nipple, slotting it between them, squeezing and twisting the sensitive nub. Earning another high-pitched sound of bliss from your mouth.
"Squeezin' me so tight." Remmick grunts, choking on a moan as your walls clench around him in response.
The slick steadily seeping out of your cunt drips down onto his shaft, easing each thrust inside your asshole as the pace picks up, legs bouncing you faster up and down his length. His other hand leaves your hip to trail lower, listening to every breath and sound you make as it brushes over your swollen clit. Your hips jerk and you whimper, earning a shaky grin against your skin as he nuzzles his face into the curve of your neck.
His hand dips lower, brushing over the bundle of nerves until finding your leaking, empty, and clenching pussy. With a curl of his fingers, he slowly sinks two claws into your wet, fluttering cunt, relishing in the way both your holes squeeze around him in unison with the unexpected intrusion. Introducing a tantalizing, aching fullness you've never experienced, pulling a drawn-out, deep moan from the depths of your throat.
There's barely a moment to adjust to the added sensation before his fingers are rocking into you, matching the hard and fast pace of your ass bouncing on his cock. His claws curl just right, rough pads pressing against that special spot inside, the one that makes stars line your vision and sends a tremble down your thighs.
Your grip tightens on his hair and he groans in return, relishing the sting. "Ye like that, lass? Both ye holes bein' stuffed full'a me?"
"Yes! Oh- fuck, yes!" His cock throbs inside you from the sound of your unrestrained, wanton cries of pleasure, feeling both your holes pulse in sync around him.
The sweet, filthy, debauched music of your coupling fill the room, the sound of your ass bouncing off his hips, the wet gushing of your cunt, your combined wrecked moans and heavy breaths. It's the most beautiful song he's ever heard, one he plans to replay over and over again.
The layered sensations overtake your body, thrumming with pleasure threatening to burst at the seams of your skin. Your jaw begins to tense from the effort to keep it from trembling in time with the rest of your body, with the restraint to fight back the incoming avalanche from crashing over you.
A cocky smirk spreads across his lips as the sounds of steps and a shutting door meet his ears, knowledge from the hive mind of his scheme coming together, but it's a sound you're far too oblivious and lost in the throes of pleasure to notice. Not until his lips brush against your ear with a murmur.
"Looks like we got an audience."
Your heart jumps and eyes fly open, though your movements only falter slightly. There, through the window of the classroom door stands James, your classmate Sarah at his side. He's wide eyed, frozen still with his mouth hanging open while Sarah just grins, a light much like Remmick's reflecting in her eyes.
Shock and surprise rush through, dulled by the pure ecstasy coursing through you, but enough to make your breath hitch and goosebumps to rise along your skin. You should be alarmed, surely you should stop, but you don't. You can't.
Something about it is exhilarating, electrifying, and it's only heightened by the deep chuckle that rises from Remmick's throat, vibrating into yours.
"Now's ye chance to put him in his place, darlin'." Remmick's thrusts grow harder, making up for the falter in your pace, keeping you tangled in the toe-curling sensations. "Tell him who ye belong to."
His words hit you like a wave, sending a tingle to your core and anchoring you back into the feeling of him, all around and filling you.
"You- god!" Your moans grow louder with the added thrill, the possessiveness, the way your bodies move harder and faster together. "I'm yours!"
Remmick's red eyes gleam with your declaration, staring down James's paling face through the window. "Say it again." He pushes, pressing opened mouth kisses and dragging fangs along your pulse point.
"Yours, Professor. Only yours!"
You desperately suck in gulps of air, filling your lungs and exhaling as desperate cries. The shame at being caught and watched completely disappears, overtaken by the sick satisfaction of rubbing how good your Professor's cock makes you feel in your ex-boyfriend's face.
The stretch of three denied and edged orgasms builds to a crest, tears blurring your vision and slipping down your cheeks as your body feels like it may burst, the rumble before the explosion of a volcano.
His thick cock stretching your ass, fingers buried in your cunt and mercilessly rubbing your gspot, his other hand tweaking your nipple as he mouths at your neck, the thrill of being watched. It's all too much, too intense in the most deliciously depraved way possible.
"Please! Please let me cum, Sir!" Your cries turn into needy sobs, limbs trembling atop of him, body coiled tight. He breathes heavily against your neck, his own release rapidly approaching, the pulse of your walls and blood in your veins taking over his focus.
His mouth presses firmer against your neck as his moans grow higher, a fang scraping and breaking skin. The sting mixes beautifully with pleasure and his lips immediately latch onto the blood already seeping out of the small wound, your eyes rolling back with a deep moan at the feeling.
"Cum for me, baby." The gasping, murmured words send you over the edge, releasing the cracking dam holding back the flood of ecstasy to gush all over his fingers.
You let out a scream of pure rapture as a blinding intense orgasm hits you like a freight train. Tears fall freely, you entire body tensing and shaking against his, both holes clamping down on his cock and fingers. His moans become near animalistic as your blood floods his mouth and he greedily gulps it down. Chest shaking against your back with the weight of how own climax crashing over him in time with yours, his seed flooding the aching, clenching walls of your ass.
The overwhelming pleasure flows through and between your bodies like crashing waves, slowly receding and calming, pulsing with each touch to your tender body. Each breath that inadvertently drives his length deeper inside, the soft brush of his calloused fingers over your nipples, the slowing draw of blood from your neck until his lips pull away, tongue dragging to collect the last drops from the wound.
"Look at ye. So pretty and pathetic for me." The tone is affectionate, matching the brush of his nose along your tear stained cheek. He presses a kiss to the flushed skin, more teeth than lips as you whimper at the withdrawal of his fingers from your soaking cunt, his softening cock sliding out of your puckered hole.
The feeling of his claws softly drag along your lips and you immediately part them, moaning softly as you suck his fingers clean of your juices, still wading through the afterglow of your intense orgasm. Your entire body feels heavy, tired legs giving out to lay atop of his, his other hand dropping from your breast to wrap around your waist.
Sliding his now clean claws from your lips, they gently drop to cradle your jaw and turn your face toward him. Your lips meet in a kiss that takes it's time, slow and deep, but not lacking in passion. It's intimate, reveling in nature, letting yourselves bask in the connection you share, not just in flesh.
No, it feels different somehow. Transformed into something else, something deeper. Maybe it's your blood now spreading into his body, maybe it's now having seen who he is and giving yourself to him nonetheless.
Regardless, you readily welcome it, eagerly sinking into his lips pressing tenderly against yours.
"That's my girl. Ye did so good for me." The murmuring praise spreads like a soothing balm through your tired limbs, filling you with a different kind of warmth than the blazing inferno of your coupling. His strong arms shift your body, lifting your legs so you can curl into him, cradled against his chest.
The soft touch of his hands, feeling less like claws now, caress over the skin along your back and thighs to ease the descent from your intense climax, from the harsh words and treatment. In the arms of a man, a creature, that you still don't fully understand but know could mortally harm you if desired, you feel like you're floating. Each tender touch, each brush of his lips against your hair makes you feel more cherished than you've ever felt in your life.
By the time you fully come down from the high and open your eyes, the two observers are gone from the window and for a moment, you forgot they had even been there at all. You aren't sure how long ago they left and truthfully you don't care, but they didn't leave without a warning. One from Remmick himself, spoken through Sarah's mouth and to James's ears.
"He won't be botherin' ye anymore. And if he does, I'll take care of it." Remmick murmurs upon noticing your gaze flicker to the now empty hallway, his delivered threat no doubt weighing heavily on the boy's mind. If he wants to keep his pathetic life, he won't even glance your way ever again.
Your eyes meet Remmick's, still glimmering but less intense now, the crimson hue slowly fading back to ocean blue. His fangs now lack their jagged edges, like they too are fading and his claws, almost entirely receding to a normal man's hands.
With a nod, you leave his assurance at that, no doubts lingering in your mind. And perhaps, what should be alarming, no concern for James either.
Turning your gaze away from his, you can't stifle the soft chuckle that bubbles past your lips at the sight of the white board. Neatly written words in black marker now smeared and unintelligible, evidence of your unbridled passionate exchange.
"Think I made a mess of your lesson plan." His eyes quickly follow, a chuckle of his own mixing with yours.
"Aye, I say we should leave it like that." He glances back down at you, cocking an eyebrow. "Think anyone would catch on?"
A wide grin spreads across your lips, a blush flushing your cheeks as your soft giggles now fill the room.
After a moment he sighs, observing the weariness in your half-lidded eyes and body melting against his.
"Let's get ye back home, aye?"
You meet the softly spoken suggestion with a nod and stretch of your limbs, his strong hands steady as they help you onto still wobbling legs that feel more like jello than meat and bones. Rough hands move gently to refix the straps of your dress back over your shoulders, smoothing the fabric back over your hips. He pulls his slacks back on, threading the leather belt back through the hoops and fastens the metal buckle.
With a hand on your lower back, he guides you out of the classroom, switching off the light before you step out into the hallways and then into the fresh, cool night air that licks deliciously at your hot skin.
The campus is already near deserted this time of night, but he leads you down the pathways that go largely unwalked anyway, winding behind the main buildings until the familiar lights illuminating your dorm building come into view.
"Go on and head in, I'll meet ye inside." He gives you a nod, hand slipping from the space at your lower back to let you walk ahead. Your paths split with you walking toward the main entrance as he cautiously heads toward the dark parking lot stationed at the backside of the building.
With every step along the stairwell, you feel the weight of the days events and earlier exertions in your limbs and heavy eyes. Your key clicks into the lock, the door opening to reveal Remmick already there. His figure draped in shadows, the moonlight shining through the windows behind to illuminate the outline of him, curtains softly billowing with the breeze flowing from the open window.
In that moment, you're grateful you managed to land that RA job that provides your own room and bathroom. Explaining to a roommate why your professor just somehow managed to climb through your second floor window might be a little tricky.
The door clicks shut behind you as you tilt your head, observing him with curiosity. "Do you do that often?"
"Hm?"
"Help yourself into people's windows?" Amusement tinges your words with a smile and he chuckles in response, taking tentative steps closer.
"Usually I'd need an invitation. But, given my employmentā¦" His movements halt just a few steps away, hands tucked into his pockets. "But no.It's not my first time, in general andā¦ in here.
Your brows furrow with confusion as you struggle to read his face, still shadowed by the darkness of the room. A few seconds pass before your brain catches up with a sudden realization.
"Did you come in here and steal a pair of my underwear?" The accusation carries more surprise than anger, eyes watching as his head dips with another chuckle, shoes moving another step closer.
"I knew what ye were doin' that night in the bathroom. Decided I needed to come and take a souvenir for myself." He's close enough that your breaths mingle together, close enough to see the soft edges of his face hovering mere inches from yours as he observes you.
"Couldn't help but to get a taste too while I was at itā¦ Bet ye woke up with quite a mess between those pretty thighs that mornin', didn't ye?"
That night was far from the first or last time you'd dreamt about him, but none of the others quite affected you as much as that one didā¦
"Youā¦ tasted me while I was sleeping?"
"Are ye upset?" The slightest smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, as if he already knows the answer.
As your eyes trail over his face, your own softens and reflects the smirk on his.
"Noā¦" You respond simply with a shake of your head, hand reaching out to slide down the fabric of the buttoned shirt covering his chest. "I was already yours then, just as I am now."
Remmick stills for a moment, his blue eyes soaking in every detail of your soft face gazing back at him. The calloused skin of his hand reaches toward you, coming up to gently cup the side of your face. As he leans closer, you don't waste a second to meet him halfway, lips colliding in a kiss that feels indulgent, sacred, carrying something deeper, bigger than either of you can bring yourselves to speak of yet.
Your hands anchor themselves on either side of his neck, bodies pressing flush together as his other arm wraps around you, holding you to him.
When your lips part, he remains close. Lips hovering a breath away, nose brushing against yours.
"Why don't we go and get ye cleaned up? Made a right mess of ye." The gently murmured suggestion elicits a smile and nod from you, taking his hand in yours before moving toward your bathroom.
Heavy steam fills the small room, billowing from the hot water cascading over your now slick bodies. His strong hands, covered in soapy suds, glide over your wet skin leisurely, cherishingly, as if to commit every inch of your body to memory. It feels like an intimate act of worship, a stark contrast to the other side of him you're so used to, a side that's soft and tender.
Every caress eases the tension held within your muscles, works you down from the intensity of your earlier coupling, makes you feel cared for in a way no other man has, encourages your body to lean back against his as his hands slide over your hips to your stomach.
"So softā¦ so beautiful, mo chroi." Goosebumps rise along your skin as he breathes out, nose pressing against your cheek and you melt even further into him, feeling his lips brush against the flushed skin.
Your hand slides up his arm, stalling to lightly grasp onto the muscle of his bicep as his touch trails lower, breath hitching with the slightest brush of his calloused fingers against the tender, puffy lips between your thighs.
"Rem- I'm so sensitive." The soft whine you let out isn't made as a deterrent despite the gentle movements of his fingers, as if to ease its effect on your overstimulated clit. As much as your earlier acts in the classroom took out of you, your mind and body could never deny more of him.
His name slips out so easily from your lips without thinking, not Sir or Professor, and you half expect him to reprimand you, to tease you until you get it right. But he doesn't, a finger rubbing slow, dragging circles around the sore bundle of nerves.
"Shh, I knowā¦ but ye don' gotta beg or earn it," He turns your body to face him, the physical remnants of the creature within long gone as his blue eyes admire you. "just let me make ye feel good, baby."
It only takes a moment before you find yourself nodding, hands moving to clasp at the back of his neck as your lips meet once again.
Caught in a tender, passionate kiss, you moan softly into his mouth as his body presses yours back against the shower wall. The hardened peaks of your nipples rub against his chest, flush against yours, the warmth from the hot water and your body seeping into him.
Your lips move against one another with ease, without even trying, savoring the taste and feeling of the soft skin adoring one another. He grabs onto the back of your thighs, lifting and encouraging you to wrap them around his hips as his hands move to your back, arms wrapping around to hold you close.
He greedily swallows every sound you make as his tongue slips past your lips, hard cock nudging between your wet folds, each brush against your clit eliciting a whimper.
Your tongues tangle in a slow, passionate dance just as his swollen tip notches at your entrance, breaching past with a gentle push. You groan into each others mouths as he slowly sinks deeper, inch by inch with your walls eagerly welcoming him back in, stretching to accommodate his pleasantly thick girth.
The movement stills once he's fully hilted inside, relishing in the sensation of you wrapped so sweetly around him. "So perfect." The murmur slips out quickly before his tongue is back on yours, exploring and claiming.
Despite expecting him to pull out almost all the way to slam back in, he doesn't. He keeps himself buried deep, slowly rocking his hips to grind himself inside you with sensual strokes. It's entirely different from when he had you in the same position barely an hour ago, but it's unraveling you just the same.
One arm remains wrapped behind his head as the other trails higher, fingers threading into his wet hair as your plush thighs squeeze around him, each gasp and whimper encouraging his movements.
Hot water pours over you, amplifying the heat flickering between your bodies, the sounds of them colliding. The drag of his shaft against your gspot with each rutting thrust works your overstimulated pussy closer and closer toward the peak, your walls tightening to pull him with you.
He can feel it with each quickening pulse of your walls, each pounding of your heartbeat against his chest and his own breathing grows ragged, strokes growing faster but still soft and passionate.
Every sensation and feeling of you consumes him, the way you're clinging to him, your whines of pleasure, your scent, the unwavering desire despite the beast inside.
"Tell me ye love me." He pants against your ear, pads of his fingers gripping onto the flesh of your back.
The way you looked at him in his true form with nothing but hunger and devotion in your eyes instead of fear, if you-
"I love you." You exhale sharply with moan, feeling your body coiling tight around him. The words fall easily from your lips without hesitation or second thought, and as soon as they leave your lips, they feel right. Now that you've had him, have had thisā¦ you don't want to imagine never having it again.
A shudder passes through his entire body, "Oh god. Say my name." The words are more of a desperate plea than an order, rocking into you deeper and faster.
"Remmick! Fuck, don't stop!" Your moans turn into cries, fingers tightening in the locks of his hair, nails digging into the skin of his shoulder.
"That's it, let go for me." The desperation, the unraveling in his voice that reflects yours blends in with the intoxicating pleasure filling your body with each thrust.
The back of your head meets the shower wall as you let out choked cry, pussy clenching around his length with your rapidly building climax. Your juices flood his shaft and with a whimpering grunt, his own peak hits with yours, burying himself deep inside as ropes of his seed fill your pulsing, gripping cunt.
Your body trembles against him with the weight of your orgasm, ears ringing and dulling the sounds of the water hitting the shower walls, the sounds of his groans and heavy breaths against your ear.
You remain clinging to each other as the waves of pleasure pass through, even as they diminish into the soft hum of an afterglow.
"Made for me." His words are reverent, murmured through soft kisses placed along your skin, trailing from your jaw until meeting your lips again.
Once his hands have finished washing away the remnants of the day, you find yourself even more ready to sink into bed, a blissful weariness weighing heavily in your bones. Dressed in a simple baggy tshirt, you're about to climb into the soft embrace of your sheets before Remmick's words stop you.
"Justā¦ one more thing." He pulls your hand into his, eyes fixing to the silver Claddagh ring still set on your finger. After he'd changed it's positioning, it hasn't felt right to take it off, even since breaking things off with James. Because atleast in your eyes, it no longer was a reflection of your relationship with him, but to Remmick.
A silence passes between you as his fingers work to remove the band, only flinching slightly as the silver singes his skin. Without a second though, he tosses the ring into the trashcan before digging into his pocket and pulling out something gold, glimmering in the moonlight.
Your eyes squint, brow furrowing as you try to make out the piece of jewelry he now slides onto your finger to replace the old one. Instead of the silver Claddagh ring James had given you, a gold Claddagh ring now replaces it.
It's new to you, but there's a weight of age to it. A ring that's been around for a long time but well cared after, only small signs of wear etched into the band.
"Only felt right to replace that with somethin' real, originalā¦ somethin' mine." He explains, tilting his head to study your reaction as the pad of his thumb brushes over the heart and crown.
The weight of the ring and his words spur a flutter in your chest and a spark of warmth with it, shifting your gaze from the band and up to his peering, blue eyes.
"Thank you." Is all you can bring yourself to say, but it's enough for him. Just you, is enough.
He guides you into bed, sliding in under the covers after you. It doesn't feel strange or foreign, even if it is the first time you find yourselves sharing a bed, your legs immediately coming to tangle with one another, heads heavy on a shared pillow.
Your half-lidded eyes hang heavy, but he can still see the gears turning behind them.
"I know ye got questions, and I'll answer 'em. Tell ye everythin' ye wanna know." His low, smooth voice matches the soothing touch of his hand along your lower back. "But for now, just rest, darlin'."
A soft sigh leaves you with the weight of the unanswered questions looming in the back of your mind put off for another day. You close the small gap between you, pressing your body flush to his, seeking the comfort of his hold with your face nuzzling into the curve of his neck.
"I won't be here when ye wake in the morn', but I'll stay as long as I can."
And as his palm rubs circles into your back and lips press a kiss into your hair,
You believe him, drifting into a deep, peaceful sleep within his arms.
I am but a puddle on the floor. This is beautifully written, beautifully executed. INSANELY HOT. The dynamic between reader and Prof!Remmick is so goddamn delicious.
summary: Born during the first few years of the Rage Virus outbreak, you grew up in a brutal world where survival trumped compassion. In the remains of society, your community saw youth as a liability. Weak, disposable, and easily replaced. You were treated like nothing, sent beyond the gates to scavenge through infected ruins while the lazy and powerful 'overseers' stayed behind.
It was all you ever knew, normal really, until the day you crossed paths with a strange bunch of folks wearing wigs, bright colours and eager defiance.
They were weirdos, loud and intimidating. So was he really, but they were one thing you longed for - free.
wc: 8.2k
Edited, shocking I know.
warnings: post apocalypse, future dark!romance I guess? seeing as it's Jimmy, cult dynamics, power dynamics, manipulation, religious themes, coarse language, abusive tactics from your former group, mentioned mistreatment/starvation from former group, intimidation, mentiond of alcohol, trauma bonding, power imbalance(?), blood, gore.
I'm trying to get better at world building, please let me know what you think!
--
Home was safe.
Home was all you needed.
It was a fortress of pine wood mixed with steel, tucked deep into the highland forests of Scotland's outskirts. Thick fences were woven in barbed wire, encompassing the entire compound. It had rusted with age, being trapped in ivy and other various plants.
Home had sharpened stakes pointing out to the unknown, a line of buses and old camper vans with flattened tires welded as a form of blockade from the infected.
There was only one way in and one way out, which always confused you. But you knew better than to voice your concerns.
Regardless, it was safe and had been standing for over 25 years - if the infected were going to cause an issue with the walls, it would've happened by now.
At least, that's what you would tell yourself to help you sleep at night.
Inside, woodsmoke paired with dampened earth surrounded you, just enough to mask the sweat of those working on their chores.
Everything smelt like woodsmoke here. It clung to everything and everyone like a second skin. The frail clothes on your back, the machete by your hip, even the breath in your lungs. The trees were shield. They hid you all from what lay outside in the dark. The infected, the weather, from whoever remained in what was left of the UK.
The fences and the trees were the only consistent things in your life. You'd never known anything else, nothing that stayed for very long at least.
Home was a compound where an old hydroelectric station used to run, having closed down long before the Rage virus took over. It didn't work, having long since corroded before your group found it - but it was enough. Shipping containers and broken down vans were used as homes, stacked and connected by rope bridges.
Those in the council lived in the turbine room, concrete and without holes, a luxury most dreamed of. The forest canopy hung above, various branches littered with lanterns and jar lights that had to be manually lit every night.
Most of the residents of Home were older, early forties and well past. All hardened survivors who could remember what the world used to be like before the infection started. They would reminisce of electricity, of working cars, hell, some even said they missed working their jobs pre infection.
Now, everything smelt of blood, of mildew and nature. They would mention mundane things like birthday parties and shopping malls, how much they missed grocery shopping and going to bars.
You didn't. You were born after the virus took over, just a few years later. There wasn't anything you remembered that you should miss, just your dad.
Your mother had passed during your birth, the community not wanting to spare what already short supply of medicine they had on someone who willingly got themselves pregnant.
Your father passed just shy of your twelfth birthday, having not returned from a supply hunt.
You missed people you never met and someone you could barely remember. There weren't any photos. No reminders of their voices. Just two expendable members of Home that meant two less mouths to feed.
They didn't let you mourn - they didn't see a point. Gatherers were considered expendable, and the ultimate 'gotcha' of such a tedious job was being killed whilst outside the Home.
It was funny in a way to those inside when someone didn't return, often placing bets on whether it was an infected, suicide or a runaway.
You knew your dad would never have willingly left you behind, so you prayed to whoever would listen that his death was swift and painless - something that he deserved after all of his hard work protecting a community that wouldn't return the favour.
But you knew that wouldn't have been the case.
From what little memory you had - your dad was kind, protective, teaching you how to read and how to protective yourself with little tips and tricks of the outside.
Where traps should be placed, where people would hide even the most small but useful supplies. It was these lessons that stopped the council from throwing you out after he didn't return.
As disposable as you were, useful you are.
You were in your twenties now, and you well and truly knew your place. They made you a gatherer just weeks after your dads death, twelve and out into the world.
The compound wasn't exactly a democracy.
The Council were made up of the survivors who had initially found the place. It was a mixture of ex-military, ex-police, ex-anything that gave them some sense of superiority over those who came later to the station.
The ones who actually ordered everyone around were called the overseers, strutting around and barking orders like the war hadn't been lost years ago, leaving the infected to rule the earth.
There weren't many young people your age around either, actually, you were considered one of the youngest in the compound. The council didn't allow newcomers unless they could benefit the group, and those with children were never considered. Their belongings would confiscated, and they'd be sent on their way to their deaths.
The very few people around your age didn't gather or scavenge either. They didn't hunt - nor did they know how to even hold a weapon. Didn't do anything really. They were higher up in the hierarchy - council children.
They weren't allowed to get their hands dirty, they were the future after all.
Being insulted daily, made to feel small and stupid. When your supply finds were small, or your hunts weren't up to their high standards - you were punished.
Starved of rations you had found. Starved of game you had hunted. Made to sleep outside the walls if you stepped out of line, or if they deemed your findings insulting, branded.
It was normal, it was Home.
There were only a few other gatherers in their forties, but they wanted next to nothing to do with you. To them, you were considered a liability as both a young woman and 'inexperienced' to the new world.
When they sent you out alone at twelve, you had begged and cried to be let back in, scratching at the metal gates until your fingernails bled.
The world was dark, it was chilling, and infected certainly didn't care if you were a child. The world would grip you in it's claws, sinking it's teeth in until nothing but blood remained.
But it wasn't the infected who hurt you.
It was a human who first inflicted pain, your first ever punishment for not listening and following orders.
The scar on your hip was a clear reminder that if you stood out line again, someone would be there with a blade to set you straight.
No one was kind, and you forgot what the word even meant. You were a stain to these people - just another mouth to feed.
You didn't care anymore.
You learned then and there that survival didnāt care about fairness. You worked hard. You pulled your weight until your feet were blistered. You shut your mouth and kept your head down.
And thatās what you did every day since, day in day out. This routine kept you inside the gates of Home for now, and after awhile, it became normal.
You did what you had to in order to keep a roof over your head.
This is what life was supposed to be.
-
You were already dressed and halfway to the gate when someone calls your name from behind, roughly grabbing at your backpack.
"Ye didn't sign out," A gruff voice startles you, and you turn slowly, keeping your eyes trained on the ground. It was one of the overseers, Russ. His beard had gone mostly white with age, and he walked like he owned the place.
Which - technically he did. Still, he hated you all the same, and you wondered if it was because - much to his dismay, you survived more gatherings than anyone else. "Where d'ye think yer going with that bag?"
"It's mine, my last pack was ripped off by an infected sir," You reply flatly, gripping the straps of your backpack tightly. "S'all I have."
"So ye just took it? And without signing out?" His wrinkled hand reaches out, gripping your chin roughly and forcing your head up to look him in the eye.
He wore gold rings across his middle and pinky finger, one engraved with the word 'king', the other a cross. The metal felt cold against your skin. "Is that what I'm hearing?"
"No - No, I bought it with my rations," You say quickly before tilting your head towards one of the watchtowers, seeing two figures looking back. "I have signed out, already wrote in with Pete and Colin... Sir."
His eyes narrow, and you know deep down he believed you. He just wanted to find a problem, wanted to have a reason to scold you in front of everyone.
Russ' boots crunch in the gravel as he shifts on his feet and he reluctantly lets you go, making sure to send your head back roughly as he does so.
He steps forward just a little, hunching down to your level with narrowed eyes. "Y'know, all that lip and attitude will get ye in trouble one of these days," he mutters, his voice thick with threat. "We don't want a repeat of last time, do we now hen?"
You stare at him, your jaw aching from how tightly you clench it. Last time still left a slight ringing in your left ear.
This was already your fourth run this week, having brought back a stag just two days prior, having nearly got your shoulder torn into by an infected doing so.
But you kept your mouth shut. Instead tightening the straps of your bag and nodding. "Sorry sir," you matched him with a more quieter tone. "May I go now please?"
"Mmh, Michael said he wants to see ye when yer back," He starts to back away from you. "Think he wants something' from ye."
You didn't reply, just giving him a sharp nod.
The gates had started opening behind you with a rusty and deafening groan, and Russ nods once, telling you to go be useful.
The Watchers didn't like opening the doors out of sheer laziness, having to pull the levees with muscle they clearly lacked.
There were no ceremonies, no well wishes or even a mutter of 'be careful'. Just eyes watching you, bows and arrows in their hands, ready to mark you down as a no return if you don't show up in the morning.
It was better this way. No one could hurt you and get away with it out here.
You decided to venture further out than usual, keeping moving like you always did. Quietly and with intention, knowing the weight of other people's survival depended on you. It pressed into your spine like a steel capped boot, weighing on you with every step.
The forest stretched on forever, endless greenery and damp soil. Eventually, you had walked far enough to no longer hear Home, and it gave you some relief.
The trees started to whisper with each gust of wind, the sound of nature and birds providing you with some reassurance of there being no nearby infected.
It was the kind of vast wilderness that swallowed everything whole, and you had realised when you were younger that it was part of the reason that not many infected nor non infected had found the compound.
A broken tree marked the start of a new venture, it's trunk having been splintered by lightening many years ago. Past it, you had never journeyed before, and an arrow was already notched, ready for anything that may step your way - whether it be an animal or an infected.
The land felt different out here, the trees especially.
Older, taller, and more to your acknowledgment, none cut down for any nearby shelters. You had never walked this trail before, and you were sure no other gatherer had either.
It was considered high risk on the map the gatherers before you had made, the terrain too uneven, too close to packs of infected and far from any safe spaces.
High risk was good.
It meant more chances of returning Home with a packed back. The stag hadn't been enough last run despite feeding everyone and then some, not that you were allowed seconds. Russ and the other overseers had just stared at you with those scornful frowns, urging you to do better, to be better.
The council children, despite being in your age group, just snickered at you, hiding behind their parents.
Youād bitten your tongue until you were adamant it bled, until you could taste iron. And now you were here, walking deeper into the unknown than anyone from Home had before.
Because at the end of the day, it wasn't enough. It was never enough.
You were born having to prove yourself.
Over and over again.
After hours of walking - you came across a stream, taking the time to rest and refill your water canister. Your thighs burned slightly as you sat on a rock and you looked around, taking in the sights.
It was beautiful all things considered, that is if you ignored the whole lingering threat of death at every corner.
Your breath appeared in front of you with every exhale, a reminder of just how cold and sharp the morning was. Your clothes weren't exactly suited for the climate either, but you had to choose with your rations whether to buy new clothing or a backpack, and so you sat by the waters edge, rips and tears in your shirt and trousers.
Your shoes were one hard run from falling apart, and so you walked with caution, taking notice of the rocks and roots that hid in the mist.
Every step was calculated after you left the stream. Bow in hand, machete at your hip. Every click, you would pause, waiting to hear any telltale signs of infected, for the rustle of birds, anything.
Bloaters, runners, alphas... anything.
But there was nothing.
And that was almost worse.
It was past midday when you found an old trail. Nature had well and truly taken it back, but there was no mistaking it had once been walked on in the past.
It took you past what used to be an old farmhouse, long collapsed with it's roof eaten by rot. Beside it lay another trail, a narrow break in the underbrush.
You hesitated, wondering whether to stay on your chosen beaten path or opt for the new, albeit more edged out path. If supplies were out there, they'd be hidden in places like this.
Hidden in the earth.
Forgotten about.
Places that others, not just from your group, would fear to follow.
You adjust the straps on your back, double checking the machete on your hip before gripping the bow in your hand tighter. The air was colder the more you walked, and every now and then, you would spot the remains of fences, something once man made hiding beneath.
There would even be literal remains, skeletal figures lying in and amongst the tall grass, having been killed during the early days.
When you were a kid, the idea of death would scare you, naturally, but now it gave you something to think about.
You would often wonder if any of the many bones you'd find belonged to your dad. Or about who they might've been before they met their end.
You were envious in a way, jealous of their peace.
Most of the houses you found were one hard fart away from collapsing, and so you kept on with a steady pace. Eventually, you came across a low set house that didn't appear on your map.
It was stone built, half of it being swallowed by the earth. Ivy strangled it's windows, reminding you of the rusted fences back Home. The roof however, much to your shock, was mostly intact.
You circled it a few times, bow raised as you peered into any window that wasn't smashed or glazed over. The door was locked, or more so blocked by something inside.
It didn't budge as you shoved your shoulder against it, and you sighed, making the decision to climb through the closest window that wasn't littered with shards of glass.
The air beneath your feet had swirled around you as you landed on the ground with a huff. It was stale, reeking of something once forgotten, but to your delight - no stench of death, no stench of infected.
You moved quick, having swapped your bow for your machete. Items were strewn across the hallway as you walked, a sign whoever had left here was in a hurry.
It reminded you of what your dad had once said - that a lot of people didn't have time to prepare when the virus started. Many had escaped, or tried too, with just the clothes on their backs.
In what used to be the kitchen, you found drawers that hadn't been opened in a long time. Two packets of pasta, a bag of what looked like white rice, a roll of wire. You bagged them all, heart thudding at such rare finds.
It still shocked you that some things could last this long without expiring. In what used to be a bedroom, you found what probably would make every overseer cheer, whiskey.
Dusty and it's label well and truly worn, it was unopened, and you wondered if its original owner had been waiting for something special to drink it. It weighed your bag down, but you ignored the strain, pressing on.
They might even praise you for the find, might even let you have a sip of the luxurious drink. But deep down, you knew better - you had found plenty of fancy drink in your time gathering, and not once were you allowed to try.
You weren't sure what was so special about it, but you knew that when the overseers and other council members had a lot of it - they were nicer. They didn't yell as much, call you names.
Not useless this time, you thought.Ā Theyāll have to admit that, at least.
You couldn't help but smile - they might even thank me.
You'd never been thanked for anything before.
Upon finding some more various items that could be traded with, gloves, a scarf and even a pocket knife - you left, climbing out of the same window you arrived in.
It was mid afternoon now, and you knew you would have to find some shelter soon. The house was honestly your best bet, but with still a few hours of daylight left, you wanted to keep gathering.
You made note of it on your map before venturing out once more, your pack noticeably heavier now.
Every step felt quieter now. More careful and concise. Your map read that were was a village ahead, or what would've once been a village, but you moved around it.
It was marked with a clear red X.
It belonged to the infected.
So you stuck to the beaten track like before, the light dimming through the trees. It would've been a few hours before sunset when you heard it.
Or stopped hearing if anything.
The birds had stopped their singing, even the wind felt different.
You didnāt trust the quiet. Quiet brought bad.
Your path opened to the remnants of an old road, swallowed by ferns and weeds. You followed it hesitantly, knowing that eventually it would bring you to some more man made buildings.
Your stomach dropped as something darted in front of you, a blur of ginger and white, and you relaxed just a little, watching as the fox scurried off further down the road. You waited with your arrow notched, pointing to the ground.
No growls. No shrieks. No twitching infected.
Still, a running animal always left you on edge.
Another hour passed. Maybe two, you recklessly stopped keeping track, wanting nothing more than to try and find more for the compound.
You had found a small shack buried beneath broken beams. It was dangerous but you had left with a lighter and a box of bandaids. You stood in front of it's broken door, zipping up your bag when something caught your eye.
Another blur of colour in the trees, but this time, it was vibrant.
Red.
You blinked, and it was gone.
But there was no denying that something, someone had been watching you.
Your heart pounded in your chest, and you quickly threw your bag back onto your back, once again lifting your bow. Your eyes scanned the tree line, not finding anything.
It was an infected, you would've heard them, hell, you would've been attacked by now.
You shouldāve turned back. You knew that. But something about the carelessness of it all Ā pulledĀ at you.
You moved slower now. Quieter. Bow in hand.
Following in the direction of the colourful blur, you crouched, looking at the soil. The footsteps were clear, deep and heavy in the dirt and you shivered, knowing you were in fact being watched.
You followed the tracks for what felt like hours, but you knew it would've only been over ten minutes.
Your mind screamed at you to turn around, to find somewhere to sleep and return Home - but that childish part of you, the little part that the compound hadn't completely cut down was jumping at the chance of exploring.
Eventually the tracks disappeared as you came across another stream, almost like a divide between the land. A log lay in the middle, and you looked around, knowing whoever it was had crossed and done so quickly.
The sun was beginning to set, and so you continued, following after them with haste.
You were tracking the footsteps again when a scream sung out.
Snarls followed it. Wet. Gurgling with shrieks.
Infected.
You moved without thinking, swift and quickly, jumping over tangled roots and into trees with each tussle of your backpack. The forest opened above a shallow glade when you noticed them.
Two people, non infected, were surrounded. Except, they weren't screaming in fear like you had thought, instead they were grinning from ear to ear, makeshift weapons in their hands.
The infected had them cornered. The pale, blistered skin of the monsters causing a contrast to the bright clothing of the strangers.
Are those wigs?
They wear wearingĀ blonde wigs.
You blinked, confused and bewildered. Apart of you wondered if the dust you had been inhaling was making you see things - but one of the non infected, a woman in red, screams again in delight, raising her weapon as she strikes the first infected that came too close.
They were wearing tracksuits.
The other, a man in a white, raised his own weapon, taking out another. They both fought against the infected as they ran towards them with their grins never falling, but more infected piled in, and eventually the two were once again pushed back.
You snapped out of whatever daze had taken over you, lining up your arrow with an infected that lunged for the woman.
It fell at her feet, and she looked up with widened eyes, locking onto where you stood in between the trees, even taking the time to wave at you before striking another down.
You kept firing, taking out the bloodied bodies as they continued charging. Shot after shot, they fell down in a heap, arrows lodged in their heads or throats.
They were laughing.
The woman swings a baseball bat around, the man practically dancing between lunges, wielding what looked like a pronged staff. Their wigs whipped around with each swing, tangled and long.
You weren't sure if they were insane or just... confident. Something about the ease of their movements, the way they work side by side. They weren't new to this by any means, and it shocked you, seeing people close to your age outside.
One infected breaks from the little circle they pounced from, fast and silent, heading straight for White's blind side. Your body reacts before your mind catches up, letting another arrow slices through the air and into the infected's eye socket from behind.
It drops mid-sprint, falling into a heap by White's feet. He spins, wild-eyed, then follows the arrowās direction back to where you're standing.
Youāre standing taller now, bow still raised. Your heart hammering in your chest.
You had never done this before.
The most you had ever had to do with strangers was the occasional trading - never putting yourself at risk.
And yet, you just did. Your arrows dwindled in numbers, stuck into the many infected who lay in the dirt.
Red throws her head back and laughs, waving again - this time for you to come down from your little hill. "Hey!" Her breathing was laboured, an attempt to catch her breath as White took out the last runner. "Come on down!"
The two strangers are still catching their breath, though neither seemed shaken or worried. If anything, theyāreĀ thrilled. Their eyes flick between you and the dead infected with something close to admiration and familiarity.
"C'mon!" She yells again, not seeming worried about her volume by any means.
You hesitate, not being used to strangers - let alone friendly ones.
The clearing smelt like blood and damp moss. The wind has shifted, colder, and the sun was sliding behind the hills fast, dragging darkness across the glade by the minute.
The area was becoming dangerous by the second, and this many runners usually meant an Alpha wasn't too far away.
But the pairs attitude was careless in away, and so you make your way down, sliding against the grassy hill until you were level with them.
Red tracksuit steps over a corpse, holding out her hand. "Thank you muchly," Her voice was light, but breathless. "Jimmy Ink,"
You eye the hand, not used to to such formalities, nor genuine gratitude. It felt abnormal, foreign in a way, almost undeserving. Maybe she didn't mean to thank you, the words slipping out her mouth by accident.
Slowly, you raise your hand and she takes it, shaking for the both of you. "Where you from? Haven't seen you around these parts."
The man in white wipes his hands on his already stained trousers before taking your hand afterwards, introducing himself before you can speak.
His wig sat crookedly, wispy bangs clinging to his forehead with sweat. "Jimmy Snake, you?"
It confused you to no end, the whole 'Jimmy' schtick, but you knew better than to question people.
You give them your name with a nod, looking around incase any more infected were hiding. "You were watching me up by that house." It wasn't a question, you knew she was.
Ink shrugs with another playful grin. "Guilty."
"Okay... Well - it was nice meeting you two, I'll uh, I'll be off now," You give them an awkward thumbs up, not used to conversing with people outside of the compound. They were incredibly unusual, a stark difference to the people you had grown up with. "I'm just gonna get my arrows and be on my way."
They looked almost upset at your instant dismissal of them, clearly used to people their age being more receptive. It didn't matter. There wasn't time for a back and forth.
"What? Wait - wait, no," Snake says, shaking his head. "You don't live around here yeah? Where are you gonna go?"
"Sun's coming down," Ink matches his concerned tone. "Why not come back with us? We owe you one."
āAye,ā Snake immediately cuts in again, watching as you shake your head, walking around to start collecting your arrows from the dead infected. āIt's not far."
"I don't know you guys," you mutter, bending down to pull an arrow that was lodged in someone's skull. Your boot pressed on the naked skin of their back, using them as leverage to free your arrow with a huff. "S'fine, just - you go your way and I'll go mine, y'don't owe me anything."
You take a step back.
Ink is still talking, gesturing to somewhere behind them like theyāre pointing to salvation. Snake flashes another lazy, sideways grins like it might be enough to reel you in.
But youāve heard this pitch before, albeit from other survivors much, much older than you. Clearly ones wanting something more.
The same story.
Safety. Supplies. People.
āNo.ā You say, flat and final, a tinge of fear lingering beneath your skin at your harsh tone. People were dangerous.
People were more savage than the infected who laid dead at your feet.
Their smiles flicker, eyebrows furrowing.
You adjust your bow on your shoulder and start walking. Not fast. Just enough to sayĀ this conversation is over - we are done here. The wind bites at your neck as you move back up the ridge.
You had already turned around, walking away when you hear them muttering amongst themselves - hearing snippets about another 'Jimmy' and 'like the stories'.
āHey,ā Ink calls after you. āWeāre serious, you'll love it, we'll even throw a little party."
You donāt respond.
Youād rather take your chances in the dark than deal with strangers who giggle when taking down infected and wear wigs.
It didn't concern you, and so you continued back to the hill when a flock of birds fly overhead causing you to flinch, followed by a stillness in the air.
Like the forest itself had started to hold it's breath in anticipation.
Then the sound comes.
A low, guttural growl, not like the other shrieks that belonged to the infected. Not panicked or feral.Ā Controlled. Deep.
Too deep for a normal human throat. It vibrates through the ground, through your broken boots and into your spine.
Your blood felt like ice.
An Alpha.
The others - runners, they would scream as they charged.
But Alphas - theyĀ watched. They waited.
And when they moved, it was never alone. Alpha's were just that, in charge of their packs.
Behind you, you hear someone exhale sharply, Snake.
āSounds close.ā
Ink mutters with him. āMm hm."
You turn halfway, hands shaking slightly as you swap your bow for your machete - trying to pin point the direction of the feral infected.
You didn't stand chance if one found you - a machete was a fucking paper cut to those large freaks.
The glade grew darker as orange and purple hues peaked through the trees, the dark well and truly lingering around the corner.
You glance over your shoulder, Ink and Snake are still there with almost knowing smiles. They weren't running. JustĀ waiting.
For you.
You stare at them for a moment. The wind tugging at the blond strands of their scratchy wigs. Blood dried on their ridiculous tracksuits, the one thing that echoed your own appearance.
You donāt say anything, looking over at them as you stop moving.
Ink notices first. āChange of mind?ā
You turn around, nodding lowly as you grip your machete tighter āAt least if you kill me - you won't pull my spine out," you walk towards them as they laugh. "Rather deal with you lot than what's out there."
It was the truth, and they respected it. Any sane person would avoid an Alpha at every opportunity.
Snake grins once again, no smugness present. Just understanding. "You're gonna love it, trust me."
You didn't trust them. You just didn't want to be ripped apart by an overgrown infected, so you ignored his comment.
Ink waves you along with a call of your name, her friend having already turned around and beginning the walk. "C'mon, tracker."
She waits for you with a gentle smile, noticing your hesitancy. But still, you wait, letting her walk head as you follow behind them, scanning the tree line with your machete in your grasp.
The growl echoes again, deeper this time, and you find yourself closer too them before you even realise it.
They don't comment, don't belittle you for already going against your word.
"You been out here for awhile?" Snake asks as you walk, not even seeming phased by the nearby Alpha, eyes locking onto your bow. "You hunt?"
You nod. "I'm a gatherer."
It felt unusual talking to people this close to you in age, not used to proper conversation that didn't follow with an insult or a request for supplies. Ink and Snake walked just a metre in from of you, just enough to give you space, clearly having sensed your uncertainty about them.
You trail behind, machete in hand, eyes constantly peeking around and scanning your surroundings. It worried you how careless they were acting, not even walking with haste.
They move ahead like they've walked this path a hundred times, which clearly they have. Every now and then, one of them would place back, making sure you were still with them.
All three of you walked further into what felt like unknown territory. It was darker, the sun having well and truly set. The Alpha hadn't caught your trail yet, nor had you heard any familiar growls, but that didn't settle the pit in your stomach.
"So where's your camp?" Ink asks, looking over her shoulder.
You didn't answer, just staring at her before looking back to the trees.
Snake fills the silence, giving their friend a knowing glance. "You clearly run back to somewhere."
"Not important," You don't look at them when you finally answer. "It's just Home."
Ink scoffs. "Short 'n sweet, nice."
You keep walking, almost worried that your truthful answer might've upset them. "No it's uh, it's actually called Home, just a compound."
"And they send you out to scavenge? Where's your partner?" she asks.
"Partner?" you say, looking almost confused by their once again shared glances. Youāve seen pity before. This doesnāt feel like that. "No partner, I gather by myself."
Snake frowns, now looking over his shoulder too. "You should always have a partner," he elbows Ink as he says it. "How long you been running for?"
"Since I was twelve."
Neither of them responds right away.
Inkās voice shifts. Lower, calmer even, but her irritation was evident. You wondered if you had said something wrong. āThey sent a kid to do runs?ā
It was your turn to be confused. Of course you were sent to do runs. The sooner you could prove your worth, the better. "You had to pull your weight, the council made sure of it."
Snake mutters something under his breath, but you donāt ask for him to repeat.
"It's better this way, lose one gatherer instead of two," you add, almost defending your situation. "What's wrong with that?"
"That's... messed up Tracker," Ink grimaces, and your stomach drops, feeling bemused. "Real messed up."
You finally look up, meeting her gaze head on. "That's normal, no?"
Snake glances once again to Ink, but neither of them answer.
"What does your family think about that?" Ink asks after their pause.
You shake your head, your eyes now narrowing as the dark closes in. You didn't have a torch, but the two in front of you didn't seem worried. "No family."
"Friends?' She follows with, her voice hopeful.
āNo.ā
The quiet that followed you was heavier. You decided to flip the questions back, a little surge of confidence trifling through you in an attempt to change the subject. āWhatās with theĀ JimmyĀ thing?"
Snake cracks a grin, though it wasn't as sharp as the others. "It's just who we are."
"Everyone is Jimmy with us," Ink continues for her friend. "Keeps things equal, keeps things fun."
"Whose your overseer?" You ask with a squint.
"Overseer?"
"Whose in charge," you repeat, your hand spinning your machete around to avoid the cramping on your fingers. "Runs the place."
"Sir Jimmy Crystal," They answer at the same time, their tones pleasant - proud even.
You were so used to sirs, men who ran places with iron fists. But they seemed happy to mention him.
As if sensing your thoughts, Ink once again peeps over her shoulder. "Hey, he's not like whatever it is you're dealing with, he's good - good to us."
"I don't... I don't know what you're talking about." You didn't understand, nor did you like her tone.
"Yeah, you do. You've got that little look to you, like you've been thrown around."
You glance at her, almost embarrassed at being read so easily. Again, it confused you.
Was it not normal?
"No judgment here," She assures you, stopping so that you caught up. She walks with you now, Snake just ahead. "I was the same once, then I found this lot, found Sir Jimmy."
Still, you donāt answer.
"It's true," Snake cuts in, still listening in. "He's looked after us, kept us safe - wouldn't have made it out here without him."
"Sure."
Ink nudges you gently with her elbow. āI think he'll like you.ā
You frown. āHe doesnāt know me.ā
āHe doesnāt have to,ā She says in a matter of fact tone. āHe reads people, got this sixth sense n' all."
āYou talk like he's some kind of prophet." You could already sense what kind of person this 'Jimmy Crystal' was.
"Either way, I think you'll like it at the Sanctuary," You can't help but notice she didn't deny your choice of words. "I know everyone will love you, especially after what you did today."
You shift your pack higher on your shoulder with your free hand, the weight starting to get to you, just nodding. You were sure that when you arrived at their 'sanctuary' that you'd either be torn to shreds and robbed or ignored.
Either way, you were too exhausted to care, the day finally starting to weigh down.
--
After what felt like an hour, the woods began to thin, the familiar smell of woodsmoke greeting you. Distant laughter echoed through the trees, not panicked or reserved - genuine.
Your steps slow without meaning to.
A fucking castle.
It was incredibly old looking, some sections in disarray. But for the most part, and from what you could see from outside, it was in good condition. You had seen countless scattered around the countryside in your time, most in ruins or beyond repair.
Ahead, torches were flickering across stone walls - high and sturdy, patched together from what used to be an old fort. A bunch of figures wave down from two watchtowers standing either side of a sturdy gate.
The gate opens quickly, it's sound matching the one back Home.
"This is the Sanctuary,ā Snake says, patting your shoulder as he runs ahead. "C'mon!"
You were shocked at what lay ahead. It felt almost impossible, like a scene you had only read about.
Life.
Real life.
Everywhere, not just hiding away like the council in their concrete walls.
People rush forward, faces lit by fire and something even rarer - joy, relief. It alarmed you to no end.
āThey're back!ā Someone calls out.
āGuys!ā
Voices raise, laughing, calling out. Someone whistles, and then others join in, a ripple of noise that echoes across the open courtyard.
Had they been away for weeks?
Did everyone think they were dead?
Youāre weren't ready for the way everyone rushed forward. Men and women, all in tracksuits of various colours.
All different ages. Kids even. You weren't expecting to see literal children, having been some time since you saw anyone under the age of 20.
Most were wearing the same chopped up blonde wigs, some messy, some were braided, others were just resting on their heads like afterthoughts.
Some didn't wear one at all, either hair buzzed, sporting shaggy curls or other unusual styles.
There's no rule, just a shared sense of strangeness.
They pull Snake and Ink into embraces like theyāve come home from war.
And then,Ā one hugs you.
It caught you off guard, tensing instantly, the grip on your machete tightening. They weren't trying to disarm you or pat you down, merely patting you on the back like you had returned from a long journey.
Arms were thrown around your shoulders, large smiles, a woman around your age beaming at you with a missing front tooth. "Welcome home."
Home.
No. This wasn't Home. This wasn't anything like Home.
Ink just laughs, gently guiding their friend off of your shocked frame. "Easy, easy - don't scare her off just yet."
"I'm not staying." You mutter, instinctively, but no one was listening.
They just... stare. Happy. Content. It bleeds out of them all in waves.
Ink urges you forward, and you finally look around.
It was massive.
The sanctuary is built around the castle, it's outer stone walls still surprisingly intact. Vines climb up the barriers and wooden scaffolding reinforce the still standing towers.
Tall torches burn along the interior perimeter, reminding you of Home, jar lights scattered around cast a golden red hue over everything. Inside, the sanctuary looked almost like a village - rows of man made cabins, albeit mismatched, rest side by side, their walls made from salvaged scrap.
It was a noticeable difference to the vans and shipping containers back Home. The homes looked lived in, loved. Hammocks swayed in between trees and beams, some already holding people resting.
That alone caught you off guard.
People are lounging.
Others sit by fire pits, meat crackling ahead. A group of 'Jimmy's' sit around it, passing around a jug and laughing over something you can't hear.
You already catch yourself scanning for any weak points, an exit, any weapons. It was habit. Reflexes that never left.
But there weren't any. There's storage huts. Smokehouses. It was clear even the castle was being lived in.
More people wave at you as you pass. Smiling like they already enjoyed your company.
You don't return the gesture, but you don't glare either.
"Over there's an old office," Ink leans in as you both step further into the centre of the sanctuary, pointing to an old building that had been built before the fall. "It's where we store a lot of our clothes, y'should go for a shop."
"Shop?" You ask, eyebrows furrowing. You knew what the concept was, but you didn't know how you could 'pay' for anything.
"Yeah, grab some things - you're cold aren't you?" She tilts her head towards your outfit, causing you to look down at your stained and ripped clothes. "'Cause I'm cold just looking at you."
Your shirt had plenty of tears, just like your trousers. Your jacket no longer zipped up, and your shoes were well and truly losing their outsoles.
You shook your head. You weren't allowed new clothes if you hadn't earned them, or more so paid for them with your rations. Any clothes you found when gathering were given to the council. "I can't trade for anything."
"What? No - Tracker," She stops, putting her hands on your shoulders like you had ben friends for decades. "You don't trade, if you need it - you take it."
Your eyes widened at the idea of just taking something, immediately stuttering over your words as you tried to dismiss the notion.
"Hey hey, It's okay, we don't have to worry about that now," She just laughs, resting her hand on your shoulder as she continues guiding you. "We should get a move on anyway, I'm sure He'll be waiting."
You look up as she continues talking, raving on about how you'll fit right in, how he'll love you, how you're just what is needed.
The castle looms over everything, weathered and ancient but clearly taken care of. Lived in. Some windows were shattered, boarded up with more scavenged scrap. It's towers held more people on watch, lit up by more torches.
At the very top of the main tower, you see a singular figure.
Standing. Watching. Hair swaying in the wind.
Their arms were folded behind their back, and they were the only person not standing in the light.
You didn't have to ask, and you knew that Sir Jimmy Crystal himself was observing everything that was happening.
He was gone before you could ask Jimmy Ink if you were right, his shadowed figure disappearing somewhere into the castle.
Ink looks towards you again before her gaze looks down, noticing you were still gripping your machete. She raises an eyebrow, and you mutter an apology, quickly sliding it into your holster.
It wouldn't be difficult to pull out again if need be.
She guides you over a stone bridge, and you peer over the edge with each step, seeing rushing water beneath. You could already tell that if infected found their way in - the castle was a failsafe.
You follow Jimmy Ink pastĀ doorways draped in beaded curtains. Thereās laughter echoing from somewhere deeper in the structure, a soft, distant sound. No one seemed tense. No one is watching the windows for any threats.
The inside is not what you expected.
You thought it would be like the outside, cold stone and dust. A ruin patched together with more scrap. Instead, itāsĀ alive, just like the little village that surrounded it.
The air inside was warm, a grand fireplace standing at the end of the room. It smelt of lavender and smoke, and you noticed jars of the plant littered around. Mismatched fabrics were strewn across the walls in wild patterns, connecting to each other like someone had hand stitched them themselves.
Candles flickered in old bottles resting in alcoves, lighting up the room alongside the fireplace. Rugs in an assortment of colours covered the stone floors, overlapping each other.
It was oddly inviting despite it's cold exterior. Someone had tried to turn a once war torn fortress into what felt like a children's dream of royalty. There we even toys scattered around, the odd teddy bear and action figure spread amongst the organised chaos.
It was colourful. Loved.
And yet, beneath it's inviting interior, you could feel the pressure in the air, like the walls were alive and watching everything.
You're led into what was once clearly a throne room, the high ceilings, tall stained glass windows, the way the room narrowed towards a raised platform. Beanbags, cushions and couches were all around leading towards a throne that rest in the centre.
A tall and carved wooden throne, hand made and intimidating. Around it, the space was warm, matching the room outside. Thick furs, a low table where cups and candles sat. A painted mural rest behind, a sunrise, small figures raising their arms towards an almost glowing figure outlined in gold.
You already guessed who it was meant to be.
Footsteps echo through the hallways outside, stopping just where you had once stood. You turn around, seeing Jimmy Snake and another man beside him.
Sir Jimmy Crystal.
He's the complete opposite of what you were expecting, much like your original opinion of the castle he resided in.
Heās hard not to look at. Even if you try to avoid looking him over.
He was older than you by a few years, having clearly been around when the Rage Virus took over.
TheĀ dark purple tracksuitĀ he wears looked almost shiny under the candlelight. HisĀ blond hair, real hair, falls to his shoulders, half brushed, half wild.
On his head,Ā a little crown - almost childlike in design, reminding you of the pictures in the books your dad would sneak in and read to you.
He wears it with an unbothered confidence.
Gold rings rest on every finger, some stacked, reminding you of Russ. Around his neck, various chains and an upside down cross, polished like a holy relic.
He's handsome in a way that shouldn't matter to you. His teeth are rough and marked by time, but none of it detracts.
"Our little tracker," he says as he approaches, arms wide and voice wrapped in velvet. "I just heard what ye did out there, quite the warrior if I hear correctly."
Immediately your eyes cast down, looking to his feet. You've been around enough authority figures to know your place by now. You nod, barely.
His head tilts, noticing your instant change in demeanour.
"None of that now, lift yer head," He tuts, walking closer until he stood just a blink away. "Ye don't look down in my house, I think you of all people earned better than that,"
It worried you. There was going to be a catch. Slowly you raise your head, and you meet his gaze. "Much better," He says, smiling again as he holds out his hand.
itās also my birthday so have some teletubbies 25th anniversary tinky winky red hat birthday edition pics of jack for the final hours of his birthday! š
going to split the G for jack tonight and also look for a lookalike, wish me luck šāāļø
