this time. this time for sure. you'll get it right this time.
you have to get out, you have to be free, what haven't you tried?
what are you willing to try? what are you willing to do to escape?
no matter the cost, you have to escape.
(You cannot rest, cannot become one with the moss, it's gone with each reset)
how much have you lost? what have you sacrificed? who have you become?
..... And what comes next? if this time you're free, what comes after?
how do you know this is the time, and you won't lose it all again?
Voting ended onOct 18, 2024
edit (10/23/2024) now that the poll is over: Original version, with 10 questions, from April 2023 here
And, given that the original is from April 2023, that means I can very easily say:
No, this was not an ISAT reference!
Just because I use parentheses and 2nd person pov and love the same concepts of what a time loop can do to a person doesn't mean it's ISAT
(Yes, I like ISAT, the original poll is why I was recommended the game! But if you look at the original, you can see all the origins of the options to choose from, including what spurred me on with the moss option from the replies)
If I were going to make something for ISAT, I would never be so vague, you can simply look at my ao3 for proof of that
I feel like I should start a counter of my wips so I can reward myself when I whittle down a good amount. Currently I have seventeen wips, which I know might not seem like a lot, but is so much work for me. That being said, since I'm always curious...
Which (sort-of) vague WIP that I'm currently working on sounds the most intriguing/do you most want to see completed?
Simply throw Jason Todd off a roof as a blood sacrifice to restore Gotham and bring our beloved wife Archie back home from the seaside where she went to cure her ailments
Headcanon that Kon finally works up the nerve to confess his love to Tim- except he messes up and confesses on April Fools day, so after a long pause where Tim’s heart nearly leaves his chest, he just laughs and says “good one”
And while Kon is momentarily confused (and a little crushed), he quickly is reminded of the date by a less than favorable prank pulled by Bart- and instead of explaining things to Tim, he decides to roll with it
It becomes an inside joke between them both. Kon starts saying “love ya” before every mission- and he means it. But Tim just takes it as a joke, and he pretends it doesn’t make his cheeks flush, pretends it doesn’t make his heart race.
The longer it goes on without Tim confessing back, the bolder Kon grows. He is pretty sure Tim likes him back, given he can hear how Tim’s heart races each time he flirts- but he’s still waiting for the proper confession. And what better way to draw it out than by getting flirtier and flirtier?
“Have a good meeting, baby, I hope they don’t keep you from me for too long”
“Hey there hot stuff, is that a batarang in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”
“Have I ever told you how beautiful your eyes look Tim? Because they really are. Brighter than the whole night sky alight with stars.”
Tim goes insane. He can’t show how much the phrases are affecting him, can’t let Kon know it isn’t a joke to him- so he flirts back. Because why on earth would he be normal and just talk about it?
He starts small, and works his way up to bolder statements. Speaking his heart, veiling the words as bits of their joke.
“Hey pretty boy, you gonna join us on this mission or is your head still in the clouds?”
“Calm down Kon, this is a sparring ring, not our bedroom”
“Can I get a kiss for luck babe? You know I always perform better when I’m around you.”
It’s like a game. Of wits, of wills. Everyone watches from a far with their eyebrows raised, watching the gayest friendship they’ve ever seen as the boys both flirt and flirt, a sort of game of chicken that neither seems to know the rules to.
It takes months for things to escalate so much till they’re essentially just dating. Tim doesn’t realize it until they’re sitting curled up on the couch together after a mission, his head on Kon’s shoulder, their legs intertwined under the blanket.
“We’re dating… aren’t we?”
Kon kisses the top of his head. “Took you a while, Mr detective.”
Tim’s face flushes as he rethinks every phrase Kon ever said to him, before winding back to that first fateful confession.
His heart skips a beat as the meaning dawns on him.
“You love me,” he says, less a question more a statement.
“I do,” Kon replies, fighting off a smile.
Tim’s heart races a mile a minute. He pushes away from Kon to look him in his eyes, his ribs feeling too small to contain his growing heart.
“I love you too,” he says, breathless with the confession.
“I know,” Kon answers, his eyes twinkling. Tim wants to punch him- but then Kon is kissing him, and Tim forgets every hostile feeling.
He pushes their combined idiocracy aside and grabs Kon by his shirt, and pulls the super into him.
Hiii, Vex!! (Do let me know if you don't want to be called that) I've been wanting to write more demonwoods so thank you for requesting them (:* I'm gonna put this under the cut because it got a little long
Prompt: 🤒 Sick bed
"You're the most stubborn sick person I have ever met." Merilwen declares with crossed arms.
Prudence mimics the move from her four-postered sick bed, "Good to know being sick isn't affecting my evil ways.".
A sigh drops from Merilwen's lips as she fights the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. Truth be told, she never thought Prudence could get sick, that it just didn't mix with her effortless elegance, that any sickness was far too scared of her, like everyone else they'd met, save for the other members of the guild, to even try to infect her. Unluckily for her girlfriend, Merilwen was clearly wrong. So instead, she sits shoved up against her black goose-down pillows, pouting like a child.
"While it's good to know you're clear-headed enough to be snarky, you still have a fever and you need to take your medicine."
"No I don't."
"What do you mean no you don't?"
"No I don't. Simple as that."
"Yes, you do. You've been burning up since sun up!"
"Well, that's normal. I am a Tiefling, Merbear."
"Well more than usual, Pru!" she lifts Prudence's blankets higher, up over her shoulders, "And you need your rest!".
"Nuh-Uh." Prudence retorts in lieu of an actual argument.
"Nuh-Uh?"
"Nuh-Uh." she repeats with a curt nod.
Merilwen drops her hand with a sigh, "Why are you being so difficult?".
"Because it's fun." Prudence answers with a mischievous smile. Her smile widening when Merilwen narrows her tired eyes at her. Instead of dignifying it with a response, the wood elf settles herself on Prudence's bed with a soft thud.
Watching her little legs dangle off the side, Merilwen comments "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you want something.".
"Oh?"
"Yes," she turns to Prudence, "and I have a proposal for you.".
Prudence gasps, "Really, Merilwen? I mean this is all so sudden!"
Merilwen levels her with a fond glare, "You know what I mean.".
"I do." Prudence admits, leaning back against her pillows with a smug smile.
Merilwen shakes her head of the distraction before pulling herself closer, "So I was thinking, if I get you what you want, you will take your medicine and rest.".
Prudence leans closer, stretching her hands out like a cat after a nap, "Are you sure? It might be more than your true neutral heart will allow." she teases with a flash of her fangs, sending a delightful shiver down the wood-elf's spine.
Merilwen's hands pull into fists, crumpling the sheets under her, "I'm sure.".
"Well then, I will take my medicine if," she lifts a pointy nail, "you kiss me.".
Merilwen almost laughs at the simple request, "That's it?".
"For the medicine, yes. But! I want more in order to rest.".
"Oh?" Merilwen probes dryly, tilting her head forward with a fond look.
"Yes, in order for me to rest, you have to forget about anything you wished to do today and lie here with me."
That manages to drop the joy from Merilwen's face, "Aw, what? I wanted to plant my carrots today!".
"Well, too bad!" Prudence remarks, folding her arms again, "I want cuddles!".
Not wanting to argue again, Merilwen relents "Okay, I can always plant them tomorrow.".
A smile lights up Prudence's face before she schools it down into a mischievous look, "Exactly. And isn't cuddling with me so much better than toiling away in the sun and dry grass?".
Merilwen can't hide the grin spreading across her face, "It is very nice. Or should I say very evil.".
Prudence hides a giggle behind her hand before she can turn it into a "Boo, that was cheap.".
Merilwen shrugs, "Eh, I liked it.".
Prudence slaps the spot on her bed next to her, "Oh, just get over here!".
Merilwen does as she's ordered, crawling up to the pillows and plopping herself down next to her girlfriend. She reaches up and guides a strand of hair out of Prudence's face, then runs her hand down her jaw and hooks a finger under her chin. Not used to being on the recieving end of flirting, her diabolical dear turns a darker shade of red as she leans in. Their lips meet and they all but melt into each other, Prudence wrapping her arms around Merilwen while she pushes her hands into Prudence's dark hair.
Much too early for the tiefling, Merilwen pulls away, leaving Prudence's lips to trail after hers. Pressing a finger to Prudence's lips with a giggle, she reminds "Now you have to take your medicine.".
Prudence groans like a teenager being told to clean her room but flips over and grabs the bottle on her bedside table. Merilwen watches as her werebear strength easily twists off the lid and pours the liquid into a little cup before knocking it back like a shot. Finally, she drops against her pillows once more and curls up next to her darling, "Now can we cuddle?".
"Of course." Merilwen kisses to Prudence's cheeks before nuzzling into her like a very pleased cat.
The year was 1967, and by August, Dee, a lapsed preacher's daughter, is adrift in a world of drugs, anti-war protests, and an identity crisis as the optimism of the Summer of Love began to crumble for its original believers. She's primed to make a bad choice or two, but it just might cost her her life. Maybe.
Honestly, this is just a fun "survival" au that got out of hand. Enjoy, if it's your thing. AO3 version here.
Words: 4040
Rating: Explicit, 18+
Pairing: Remmick x OFC
Tags/Warnings: Sex, Drugs, and Rock n' Roll, mentions of self harm, blood drinking, vampire typical violence, Oral Sex, penetrative sex, car sex,
🚫 18+ ONLY 🚫 This fic is rated Explicit and is not intended for minors. Please do not interact if you're under 18.
❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈❈❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈
The bonfire crackled into the oncoming dusk on the beach, the smell of burning wood mixing with salt water and weed and sweat. The shadows elongated over the sand while what had only an hour ago been voices of adamant protest was now raucous laughter and singing. The sun had just dipped below the horizon when Remmick, seeking amusement, followed the sounds to a war protest, into the throng of the young and passionate filling the streets. He just wanted to find a little trouble, something to do, and maybe something to eat. Their voices chanting slogans for peace, and the signs they carried demanded an end to the war. Now that the protest was over, they were taking over a beach, sprawling out and dividing into sub groups.
He leaned against a sun-bleached fallen tree a little beyond where the fire’s light reached. His fingers tapped against his thigh as he watched the crowds. He was too damn restless tonight, and it was lucky that the others were all too busy to babysit him. There were rules he knew he was supposed to follow, but he itched too badly to think too hard about them right now. And anyway, the rules didn’t say nothing about a roll in the hay. His only hope was avoiding getting caught before having some fun.
He saw her again, chatting with the others, a woman he'd observed marching earlier, whose face, he thought, would be better suited to a Dutch painting than protesting in San Francisco. She was a milkmaid in a crowd of hippies. She wore a knit blouse beneath a knit cardigan and a cotton skirt, had flowers in her hair, and dark circles under her eyes. The gold cross at her neck caught the firelight, and she stood too straight; her curls were too nice, and lacked the heroine thinness of the other youths. She held her joint carefully, taking the most demure of drags. She was trying too hard to fit in, and her eyes were far away. Unable to resist, he pushed off the log, casually keeping his hands in his denim jacket pockets. Stack always kept him looking decent.
He moved in closer to observe her and heard her voice, unexpectedly quieter and rougher when she spoke, like she had smoked for decades she couldn’t have lived. He wondered if she’d lost her voice from all the yelling that day. She took another drag and waved the smoke away into the wind, clutching her too-white cardigan around her against the ocean breeze. When she caught him staring, he produced an expression of admission with no guilt. She blushed and looked back away to her friends, but her eyes darted to him every so often after that. They were talking about music, Joan Baez’ latest album. The musician seemed to be an acquaintance of the group. He’d heard of her, or at least Stack and Mary had.
She drifted a few steps away from the circle, maybe to escape the noise and came to stand near the edge of the firelight with her arms crossed and her profile lined in orange. The wind caught the hem of her skirt and pressed it against her long legs. He watched her pretend not to monitor him from the corner of her eye. She had fragile poise. He liked that. It meant there was a crack somewhere.
He took his time making his way over to her spot away from the crowd. She glanced up when his shadow crossed the sand in front of her. Her hand hovered halfway to her mouth with the joint, like she might offer it, but reconsidered.
“Can I help you?” Though he'd expected something else, her voice was a near whisper, but her face showed an intensity that belied any lack of interest. If anything there was a sense of amusement beneath her annoyance.
He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Help me?” he repeated back to her, pointing to his face. He leaned back against the tree, putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “No darlin’ I don’t need any help. Hardly my fault a pretty thing like you’s all surrounded. Makes a fella nervous.”
She rolled her eyes and laughed, a windy sound. Her smile was genuine, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was likely no older than twenty-five, but had a unique weariness. “You’re intimidated by a group of hippie nineteen year olds?”
“Not intimidated,” he pointed out, “just outnumbered.” He nearly licked his lips, but managed to school his expression. “Besides, I ain’t never been one for crowds of strangers. Prefer my company close-knit.” His gaze flicked over her cross again before meeting her eyes. “I’m shy.”
She took another drag, and this time he caught the sight of pale lines along her wrists peaking out from her cardigan. “I’m very flattered,” she deadpanned. “What did you say your name was?”
“Remmick.” She had thick, youthful brows and faraway, old eyes. Her long dark hair was messy from the bonfire and the wind, some of the baby’s breath beginning to get itself loose. She regarded him scientifically, like a bug. She was wary… but she had too much of a glint in her eye to not at least be curious. He could work with that. “Though I didn’t say. Pardon me for not introducing myself properly, seeing as you’re a lady.”
“Dee,” she said, extending the joint to him. “Where’d you roll in from?”
“Little ways east.” He gingerly took it from her hand and brought it to his lips, and tasted the familiar flavor of smoke before watching it dissipate into the air above them. He politely handed the joint back. “What about you?”
“Novato.”
“S’not too far from here, is it? What brings a nice girl like you out from little Novato to the summer of love?”
“I know a few of the organizers, and I’ve been living in San Francisco for eight years. We’ve been doing this shit since ‘63. Marching. Guerilla Theatre,” She shrugged, blushing when her voice cracked. “Peace on Earth, you know.” She laughed weakly, clearly more than a little disillusioned. “You?”
He grinned a little wider; she wasn’t giving him an inch. “Me?” He asked, feigning innocence. “Peace and love, darlin’.”
“Uh huh.” She took a long drag, giving him a doubtful look as she did. “You a vet?” She handed the joint back over.
He shook his head. “Nah. Just old.”
“You don’t look old.”
“Depends on the light. Trust me, you don’t wanna see this visage in the morning.” He let the smoke spill from his mouth as he spoke. The weed did nothing for him, but it was a burning sensation that itched a scratch. It also gave him something to do with his hands. “Honestly, I was bored,” he confessed, telling the truth.
“Not much of an activist then, I take it?” she asked casually.
“Nah. But I like a good cause.”
“I figured. You’ve got that look.”
"What look's that?"
"Trouble," she said, elongating the ‘r’, and hiding her tired smile behind pursed lips.
He took the joint from her fingers, his own brushing them enough to notice how cold her hands were. “You don’t seem the type,” he said.
“For what?”
“Trouble,” he repeated back to her, handing it back, grazing her fingers this time. He tried not to lick his teeth. He should have eaten last night. Her cheeks darkened at his words, but she just lifted the joint back to her lips and his eyes followed the line of her arm back to the cross at her neck, the baby’s breath in her hair, and the curve of her throat as she inhaled. He had to force himself to blink. She was a walking contradiction begging to be picked apart. It made him itch. She was cinched up tightly but tenuously, like delicate stitches over a too-wide wound. “You don’t strike me as a hippie, Dee.”
She regarded him more seriously over the smoke before offering it once again. “You don’t think so?” She hid her disappointment well. His fingers wrapped around the joint and he took another hit. “You think any of your free-love-friends would be caught dead wearin’ that little old thing?” He nodded to the cross at her neck.
She blushed, as if mortified by the idea of being seen practicing a faith. “There’s no rule against going to church the day after a protest.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe not, but I bet you’re breaking with certain parts of the 'scripture' at the moment.”
“Where is the bible does it say ‘thou shalt not smoke dope?’” She challenged, her eyes glinting with no small amount of mischief.
He laughed more heartily than he’d expected to. “I can’t say I’m all that familiar. But I have heard somethin’ about ‘be ye perfect.’”
“And you think the sermon on the mount was about reefer.”
“Probably not,” he conceded. “Damn, you are a church girl.”
She scoffed, looking away. “My dad’d beg to differ.”
“Oh, really?” he asked, too curious.
She nodded, exhaling away from his face. “At least he would if he knew where I was and what I was doing and who I was doing it with. He still thinks I’m in Berkley. But, I don’t exactly give a shit.”
His eyes widened in faux surprise and genuine delight. “Language, young lady.”
“Maybe you’re not the good little church girl I thought. Although, protesting for world peace ain’t exactly sinful behavior. I’d venture to call it saintly.” The large fire at the center of the tangle of silhouetted bodies blazed, sparks swirled into the air.
“Tell that to my arrest record,” she countered.
“Dee, I'm not sure if I can figure out what type of girl you are. I’d like to, though.” She held his gaze stubbornly, and he saw the rapid beat of her pulse against her skin as he stepped closer. “I ain’t gonna bite too hard.”
She produced a pout and drew the last of the joint before it burned out. “Shame.”
He took a deep breath to calm down. He’d been so good. “Careful, I’ll be tempted to play with my food before I sink my teeth in.” His fingers twitched at his sides, fighting the urge to touch her.
Dee tilted her head thoughtfully and crossed her arms. “I just hear you threatening me with a good time.”
His breath caught. Dangerous Saint Dee.
She looked from side to side, seemingly making eye contact with someone else before taking a deep breath. “My car’s parked a little ways up the beach.”
Her words electrified him. “Lead the way.”
She jerked her head in the direction of her car and led him towards the long, shallow parking lot at the top of the sand that spanned the beachfront. Her car was parked off by itself, a long station wagon. When Stack and Mary had said something about there being ‘free love in California’, he couldn’t have imagined this.
“What’s it take for a good girl to fall from grace?” she asked, apropos of nothing, fumbling with her keys as they approached a lone, ugly station wagon.
"Is this a question, or are you plotting something exciting?"
She didn’t bite. “Answer the question.”
“I’d say you’d have to be real sinful.”
She scoffed. “You sound like my father.”
“I can work with that,” he crooned, getting closer but she shoved him with her shoulder, laughing.
“Enough. That is enough.” She was continuing to try and seem serious, but she was giggling.
He laughed too. “What, you don’t want me to be your daddy?”
“You haven’t earned the privilege.” She dug a ring of keys out of her macrame satchel.
“And how’s a fella go about doing that?”
“I’d say you have to be real saintly,” she parried.
“...you are somethin’ else, Saint Dee.” He hovered closer, their noses practically touching. “What do you say we scrub somma that good girl polish off you?”
For the second time that night, she blushed. “I could use a back scratch,” she sighed, her eyes darting from his eyes to his mouth and back again. She paused, her brow furrowed, and for a fleeting moment, she looked like she might change her mind. When she finally unlocked the trunk, the back seats were missing, substituted by a mattress.
“Nice place you got here,” he said. There were piles of clothes and books pushed off to the sides. She clearly lived out of it. “This by choice or-?”
She gave him a scathing look. “Sorry, I didn’t know I was shagging Prince Charming.”
He laughed out loud and held his hands up in surrender. “Touché, honey.” He tilted his head to the side in a way that he hoped was more puppy than wolf. “Forgive me my trespasses?”
She rolled her eyes, groaning dramatically, but she was betrayed by the smile she couldn't hide. “You possess remarkably good manners.” She began shucking her cardigan and tossed it into the car. The thin pale lines on her arms went all the way up to her elbows. “For a heathen.”
“I ain’t that polite,” he assured her. His eyes carved the generous curves of her body. She was soft and strong, hardly a delicate flower of a girl. More meat to sink his teeth into. He leaned next to her against the car, his hand brushing over her hip for the first time. He struggled to maintain his composure, and if he scared her, he wouldn’t be getting any. “You don’t mind shackin’ up with a heathen?”
“If I did, you wouldn’t be here,” she sighed, her hands running up his chest and under the shoulders of his denim jacket. Her touch sent a renewed spark through his body, using all his self-control not to pick her up and fuck her against the side of the car. If he was careful, he might be able to get more than one fuck with this human.
“Reckon that makes me real lucky.” He lowered his head to press a kiss beneath her ear, lingering there to feel the hot flutter of her pulse against his lips before trailing down the side of her neck with languid, suckling kisses. She sighed and tilted her head back and he ached with the effort to not sink his teeth right into her jugular. Instead, he found it in himself to nip only once at the skin enough to bruise. She inhaled sharply, fingers digging into his shoulders. She shivered and he caught a whiff of her arousal. He let out an audible groan and pushed her against the car with an audible thud, pressing his knee firmly between her legs and meeting the side of the car with another. He kissed her, wanting to swallow the sound she made as he helped her to move against him, her arms wrapped around his neck. Her body arched against him, hips rocking, while his mouth trailed lower, teeth dragging over the line of her collarbone as he unbuttoned her blouse with impatient fingers.
“Mh… easy,” she warned, sending heat to coil in his gut. Fuck. It’d been too long.
“Easy?” he drawled, voice thick as he struggled to hold on to any semblance of control. As they continued to grind against one another against the car, he trailed a finger down her chest once the blouse was open to him, feeling the warmth of her bare breast. He loved California. His hands slid back down the curve of her ass, pausing to appreciate. "Mh, you’re makin’ me thirsty. An’ I ain’t real good at easy.”
They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, sinking into the car together, and he quickly pinned her to the small mattress. Her hands slipped under his shirt, her nails scraping gently over his skin. The sound of him groaning and the pressure of his body made her shiver. It felt too good to have the dense weight of a body over her again, even this stranger. For all his bluster, he seemed to be a genuinely enthusiastic lay, even before getting to anything particularly sinful. He shifted his weight and crawled lower on her body, breathing deeply.
“Smell good,” he said, pressing himself to her crotch. “Wanna taste.”
Her stomach twisted into a pretzel. “It’s… you don’t have to–” For being a bad hippie, she sure was not a shorn sheep by any stretch. Her voice was hollow and strained as it was, but the state of it now was almost foreign to her.
“Need to…” he said, “Please.” He licked her mound through her skirt.
“Nhg-” He was backed out the trunk half-way to get to where he wanted to be. She had a brief thought about his eyes, but she was also very high and needed a thrill. Or to feel anything at all. Even if that thing was fear. She nodded her head once, hesitantly, and he was quick to act. He hiked her floral skirt up all the way over her hips, and drew his tongue up the cleft of her panty-clad cunt, and then his teeth, making her squirm. He yanked the fabric aside and licked up the center. “Jesus!” she cried out, her arms flying over her head to grip the passenger seat. He hummed against her, his tongue working slow circles over her clit before sucking it between his lips, making her near bend backward in half, gasping as if in pain at the intensity of sensation.
“I told you my name’s just plain ol’ Remmick,” she heard from sing from between her legs, making her all the more delirious. She took a breath to curse him but he licked her again and was lost. How… long was his tongue? Any time she tried to pull away he only gripped her more tightly to hold her right where she was as he lapped at her relentlessly, thumbs holding her open. As he forced her towards the peak, fucking her with his mouth, the hot coil inside her began to fray and she was panting, the sea air sharp on her tongue. It had been years since she got this close this fast. She heard herself whine, her mouth hanging open. The energy crackled over her skin as she came harder than she had in two years, crying out to the grey ceiling of her station wagon.
She realized he’d crawled back up over her body only when his nose brushed hers. His eyes…. His tongue pushed past her lips and licked into her, a far wetter kiss than she expected, as if he were drooling. She’d never tasted herself before. His mouth parted from hers with a string of saliva connecting their lips before he moved to latch itself to her neck, where it seemed most at home. He licked up the column of skin, making her shudder, before biting down harder than she expected as his hand slipped between her legs, pressing two fingers into her cunt and curling.
“Mh-” she groaned, too aroused and stoned to be clever. He bit her neck again, a little harder, the rigid outline of his erection evident through his jeans as it pressed against her thigh.
“Ah, fuck me-” he rasped, his lips dragging against her skin, followed by sharp teeth. Through the fog, Dee could only distinguish what he’d said as instruction, her fingertips running along the leather of his belt as she worked to unbuckle it. His breath hitched, and he whimpered, his hips bucking against her. Even through the haze, she found his cock and wrapped her fingers around it, making his hips jerk again.
“You’re so tense-” she teased, half out of her mind.
“You don’t know the half of it,” he grunted. His desperation was a stark contrast to his earlier play at nonchalance and she couldn’t help but indulge herself. Her thumb swept over the swollen head, spreading slick in slow circles that made his thighs tense, and got another sound out of him. She moved him to her entrance, and he stopped bothering with fingers, hips snapping and drawing a sharp gasp from her mouth as he buried himself. He grunted. “You feel–” He fucked into her like an animal, panting against her neck, one of his hands palming her ass and lifting her slightly off the mattress. The car’s rocking made a quiet, rhythmic squeak. His nails… She wouldn’t be surprised if in the morning she’d find that he’d broken skin.
She whimpered lightly, her eyes rolling back as he slammed against her cervix, driving the air from her lungs. He angled himself (or her?) differently, pulling her closer and making it so that every thrust sent pleasure and shock curling up her spine.
“Look at you,” he purred against her mouth, biting her lip hard enough that she arched her back with a sharp cry. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She groaned. He was kissing her again, swallowing the sound and drinking it for himself, suckling on that wounded lip. She knew she was probably taking too long to come again but she didn’t know what would break her through. She wanted to. She wanted to come again. His teeth were scraping against her neck once again, and she extended it in invitation. She had said it would be a shame if he didn’t bite. He latched his mouth on the column of flesh, teeth and tongue working together to create what she knew would be a brutal love bite. The bite sharpened, but she was so high and horny that it only made her moan. Pain was not an enemy of hers, but an old friend.
It hurt, and then it didn’t. It felt wonderful. Even with her damaged vocal chords, a soft, high note drifted through the air as she orgasmed. She felt beyond lightheaded, blissed out, and far, far away. Better than any drug she’d sampled. His body stiffened slightly over hers, but he was still fucking her, never having stopped, but then he wilted. Did he come? He was sucking so hard on her neck the bruises were sure to be… Mm, her neck was wet. His tongue lapped at her again, groaning loudly, the vibrations sending another shudder through her. The word ecstasy kept swimming around her mind. She was so foggy that she barely registered the roar of a woman’s voice closing in on the car:
“REMMICK, you fuckin’ DOG,” she yelled. “What we tell you about–” He was ripped from the car, his cock slipping from her, accompanied by the sound of tearing fabric all round.
“She tastes like honey-” he sang, licking red lips. Sharp red teeth. Her stomach clenched. He looked all wrong. His eyes reflected strangely as he was dragged off of her.
From where Dee lay in the car, she saw he was covered in all in that deep red. There was a woman. No two. And a few men. All beautiful. Who were all these people? She knew she should cover herself, but she was so cozy and warm in her car. Two of them had him. They sounded annoyed. One of the figures came close to the car and peaked her head in, a beautiful pale face haloed in black hair.
“Hey sugar, you alr-” she drawled, her southern accent even more pronounced than Remmick’s had been.
“Hello-” she tried to say, but nothing came out.
The woman in the car made a face, and her eyes fluttered. “Ah, Jesus–” she crawled back out. Goodbye, lady. “Pearline, you gotta be the one to do this,” she covered her nose and went to join the others. The sheets were red. The car was red. There were long gashes on the mattress that made it look like an animal with long claws had been dragged out against its will. Another beautiful woman with a dark face and round painterly features came to look at her now.
“Hi, honey,” she started, same as the other woman.
“My bed-” she slurred, but she lost consciousness just as she noticed the ruby shine at the back of the woman’s eyes.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Interview with the Vampire (TV 2022)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Armand/Daniel Molloy
Characters: Armand (Vampire Chronicles), Daniel Molloy
Additional Tags: Mentioned Marius de Romanus, very minor mention but armand's time in venice is brought up, they go to a paint and sip night fun times are had, Vampire Daniel Molloy
Summary:
Daniel opened his eyes and looked blearily up at Armand. He was clearly already dressed and ready for whatever night out he had planned - a dark purple sweater that he didn't really need when facing the December cold, a few gold rings Daniel had gotten for him, dark eyeliner that made his irises stand out. Daniel looked down at his own shirt, something grey and soft that had migrated to his pajama drawer after it became too faded to wear outside. He glanced back to Armand, looked straight into his eyes, and started to pull the lid of the coffin shut. "Five more minutes."
With a swift movement, Armand caught the coffin lid and held it open. "There isn't time. I've reserved two spots for us at a paint and sip night, and if you sleep in any more we'll be late. I've already laid out clothes for you, all you have to do is get dressed."
