Remmick Vampire / FTM Reader | Sinners AU | Trans AU MasterList | Vampire AU Masterlist | MultiFandom MasterList | AO3 | My Stories MasterList | Tip Jar💰
Warnings : Vampire mlm / Ftm Reader Insert / Southern Gothic AU / Bl00d & G0re / Hot Irish Remmick in the 80's / Car Sunk in Swamp / /Lost In The Woods AU / T0ngue Biting / Oneshot / First of the Mont ftm fic - late / Sp*t / Kissing / hurt and comfort? / 18+
Your fingers sank into the wet southern ground, and as the soil stained under your nails black, mixing with blood and magic.
You couldn’t help but feel as though the swamp that had taken your car, the murky alligator-swarming water, was trying to pull you back under with it.
Your clothes soaked to your skin just as close at it did from the humidity.
The cicadas screamed, the dark southern night swallowing you whole.
As the headlights to your car blinked with its last breath, like the last candle flickering out from the swamp, whatever hope you had at being saved went with it.
Those moss-covered trees swayed with the spirits more than any kind breeze.
What haunted them tonight, that was to be your fate.
The dirty water spoiled your white T-shirt and acid jeans, yanking the fabric over your head; a chill covered your flesh.
It wasn’t the temperature of the water, but moreover the knowledge that your scars in this far into the Deep South would be looked upon with hatred and violence.
But as the wet t dripped heavy in your hands, there was no placing it back on your shoulders.
A bit of blood leaked from a thick gash on your forehead, the impact of you hitting the steeringwheel before busting your car hood first into the hungry water.
You eyed your bumper as it stuck out like the last hand waiving at you from it’s watery grave.
Your shoes sloshed from the shifting weight of your uneasiness.
SNAP
You twist around wildly to pinpoint the noise, but all you can see is the darkness of an unforgiving wood. You’d been so far from a main road you might as well be asking the alligators for help.
So what was that?
You drop the T-shirt and take your first step forward.
Towards the noise, maybe?
But hopefully more towards any semblance of a way back. If it stormed or washed out any more, your tire tracks would be gone.
But for now, that was your best case to finding something.
And you aren’t going to wait out here to be ‘Deliverenced’ or ‘Chainsaw Massacured’ so you must walk into the belly of the beast.
The wet footsteps ring in your ears like firealarms.
You certainly weren’t stealthy in your little hike.
You had the paranoia that anyone alone in the middle of nowhere has.
The unmistakeable urge to turn, the goosepimply flesh on the back of your neck, and that seeking suspicion.
You are not alone.
But as your heel sunk into the moss, you tried to remember that this wasn’t that kind of story.
You weren’t the type who would have a sexy werewolf jump across the forest and devour you on the floor. Nor would Mr.Right come out in a scary mask and- oh damn you needed to get laid.
The point was, no Ted Bundy would be out here with you, and as so-forth, you needed to stop acting like the main character.
You ground your teeth just enough to try and starve the migraine that threatened from your cute little concussion.
The bit of blood dripping into your eyes, you push it away with the back of your dirty hand, but the blood droplets spring from your eyelashes.
You trip on a root older than you sticking out of the ground, you catch yourself only to hear a man speak;
“Easy there love, you don’t want another nasty bruise now do ya?” The irish accent was sultry, seductive and smooth. Like that spicy taste that hits the back of your throat with a bourbon. Still it was deepy and sinister, it clung to your naked shoulders as you twisted to look behind you.
Nothing.
“Hello?” Your voice cracks, nice. It’s so stupid, but what else do you say?
You twist back ready to ask who was there, when a figure stood three feet away - too close, too personal.
“Hello love,” The mans got a gas in the side of his arm, he smiles, there’s a strange light in his eyes.
It’s impossible not to notice, it burned as if two fireflies were fucking in his skull.
“Wh- Are you- you’re hurt.” You can’t decide on a thought, much less one sentence so you say three ontop of each other.
He doesn’t move, a nasty flow of blood moves down his arm.
“You don’t drive so good, you know that Darlin?” His accent is thicker as the stranger tries to force friendliness.
You don’t know why it’s off putting, somethings just…off.
Sort of reminds you of when a house has a secret wall, and you can sense the room is smaller. That sort of worked two way.
Being under his gaze was making you claustrophobic.
“Are you okay?” You questioned, in a state of shock yourself. As you two seemed to be having two very different conversations, two different reactions to the injuries at hand.
“You should look where you are going, not that it’s too bad now. What with you being so pretty.” The man’s teeth shine in the slender of moonlight like maggots wiggling, starved for the rot.
“I hit you?” Your voice is barley a whisper, yes shock must have settled in your skin.
“Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t lookin for ye.” His lips smacked gluttonously for a feast you weren’t privy to.
“We need to find help.” You pant, but you hadn’t a clue how to get any. The paper map you’d been working on was in your waterlogged car with the rest of your belongings.
The only thing in your pocket was a soggy pack of smokes, and a money clip with a ten in it. You were useless to both victims of this crash.
“You don’t seem the type to ask for it.” His smile faded with a sorrow for your hurt. Not the splitting of skin, no, that was juicy texture on the bone. No, his soulless eyes cut deep enough to see it, see you. The festering parts of you that you’d hoped no one would ever notice, growing the mold in your pitiful sadness.
Water drips from the back of your hair down your shoulder blades.
You gump, throat moving up and down, pulse thumping.
The stranger tracked every human thing you did.
“Names Remmick.” His hand shot out and you did not take it. The blood…it was me clear was all over him…not simply his open wound.
Some of it….even in the darkness….was clearly older than other bits.
You don’t move.
“Darlin, this is where ye shake me hand. Or else I’ll tend to get my heart broken. After all, yer not a boyo one finds by thee road every day.” He talks in riddles you can’t begin to break down enough to understand. Like Remmick was using folklore and satire you were too dumb to laugh along to.
“I’m not-“
“No, yet so much more than a simple boyo. I can smell it.” His nostrils flare and you are instantly startled.
If the blood and creepy vibes weren’t enough. He could…smell you?
“We should- should find some-“ you run out of lies. Run out of pleasantries. You should make a break for it.
Remmick stares, a dead one, sardines in a can type. The emptiness that only the swamp could create.
By the time you are thinking of your space plan he slaps his palms together to make your ears ring.
“Let’s, come on love. It’s dangerous times, best for two blokes to walk along side one another. Shoulders high, arm an arm, better than brothers. Eye maybe even hand in hand if ye get scared on thee way.” Remmick spins on his heel to be as he states, too close to your left.
Liked lovers in the moonlight. His shoulder brushed against yours.
He was…..something else.
“Since you won’t share yer name. Will you tell me wher? The irish man prodded, you stepped forward and it was as if he was a shadow. Matching each stride with your own, mimicking you. A tactic you’d only ever heard with psychology, manipulation, smoothing over whatever as to come.
“Why?’ Your dirty hand balls into a fist by your right.
“Never have I ever seen such a bonny boy so frightened.” Remmick laughed, and you did not.
“Where are you from?” You counter back just as quickly.
“Isn’t it clear sweetheart, I’m from the clover land, ol’ Ireland.” Remmicks stare as you slosh in the mud doesn’t waver from you.
You don’t know how to carry that string of conversation. Finding the end of it too abruptly, but Remmick isn’t done, oh not by a long shot.
“Were yee going home?” He tried again, and you bristled. The strange man made a humming noise of understanding.
“That tugs at me heart, a handsome fella like yerself, no kin, no one to lick yer wounds.” His eyes flickered up to the gash that was still bleeding.
You inhale sharply, the migraine having caught up with you.
The blaring concussion, the way the mosquitoes sat on your wet skin, or walking in the dark with a stranger was all reason to be on edge.
But all you could think about was how uneasy you found being near Remmick.
You missed the double meaning as he licked his lips at the sight of your bleeding forehead.
“I’m better this way.” The statement one you’d repeated long enough, but couldn’t find the effort to believe.
Remmick made a sad tisking noise, and you tried to walk faster. The pain in your body was screaming for a break. Now the faster walk was matched with the Irishman.
“Sure, but for who Darlin? Yer a fit fellar, ye must have a lover, no?” Remmick asked again, his forearm brushed yours. You tried not to bounce back in fear; why did that feel so good? Had you been so touched, starved that something so trivial could make you squirmy?
“I-” You tried to find a lie, anything to make it sound like someone over the dirty wet swamp might be waiting for you.
“Nah, but with that face?” The irishman whistled loud and long, his grin spreading pervertedly.
Your stomach tightened, your naked upper half feeling more exposed to Remmick now.
“Yer too young to be so sad boyo-”
“Stop calling me that, all of it. No nicknames, and I’m not-” You gruff out, ready to lose your cool. To pretend to be tough when Remmick places his bloody hand on the back of your neck and you just about jump out of your skin.
But you don’t pull away.
“Shhhh, little Darlin. You’ve fought so long and hard, don’t go hurt’n yerself any further.” He coo’s and you want to push him hard.
His arms are gorgeous, muscular and veiny; you inhale his scent. Unable to compare it to anything sold in a store. Remmick smelled of the earth.
The image of him fucking you in the woods flashed in your mind, you both completely nude. Covered in blood and mud, rutting with no moonlight, puncture wounds in your neck. Remmick's cock relentlessly hitting the spots inside of you as you lose yourself.
You blink back at him, and now you two are facing each other; you’ve stopped the hike, the Irishman is leaning in - kissing distance. The tire marks are long gone, whatever road far off in the distance.
“We stopped walking.” You state, your voice holds no emotion.
“It’s a beautiful night to enjoy such a stroll with such a fellar.” Remmick remarks, and you notice for the first time the spit turning to drool down his lips.
“Why do I feel like Little Red Ridinghood talking to you?” You don’t mean to play with him, but as his canines appear more prominent now. You’re unsure if that werewolf fantasy might actually be correct.
Remmick laughs good-naturedly at your question.
“Oh, now that’s a sweet ting to say! Does that make me Mr. Wolf den?” Remmick flirted strongly, his body radiating next to yours.
His nails feel longer now, but you can’t be sure, as her wraps the back of your neck carefully. You don’t feel like you can run, unsure if you really wanted to.
Remmick's eyes are hypnotizing now, the little light inside the only thing keeping you warm.
You swallow dryly, sweat mixing into your cut, making it burn.
Remmick leaned towards your face, making you hold your breath, the last bit of your brain shutting down, turning off the lights, and leaving.
“Do you want to see what big teeth I have, little red?” His spit is now down to his chin.
“I think the road is up ahead, just that way-” You point to the right, but he doesn’t so much as follow your words, much less your finger. You feel his other hand grab your bare hip, his nails long like knives knick your soft skin.
“You know, I could take away all that pain.” He tried to sell, and your hand awkwardly touched your forehead. But he quickly batted it away, not wanting you to touch it.
“No, no, not that pain, sweet boyo, the deep kind. I can bring ye home.” Remmicks heigh hovered over you now, the light of the moon dimmed.
The shadows grew seven inches, and the bugs stopped singing.
“I don’t have a home.” You admit, unsure if you ever did.
“Ye do now, Darlin.” He smiles, and you can’t find the lie.
“Are you a werewolf?” You squeak, and his hand moves down your neck; he laughs again. It’s melodious to you now, a song long forgotten.
“No, bonny boy, but we can play that? Ye like folklore, ghost stories, the boogeyman?” He teases, but his mouth moves to the right of your cheek. He’s whispering it into your ear.
A bit of his saliva drips onto your collarbone; you don’t wipe it away.
You nod, unable to articulate, your heart no longer beating for you. But matching a metronome of the conductor cradling you.
“Shhhh, listen to the night little Darlin. Can ye hear the song yet?” Remmick questioned, and you closed your eyes, not out of fear. But because you wanted to hear it, needed to hear it!
Remmick's mouth moved back to your lips; he kissed you tenderly.
Not angry, not possessive or forceful.
It was as if he was giving you a gift, the first of many.
But maybe that was dumb.
Maybe he was kissing you in front of the swamp as a warning to all the other creatures.
His boy was to come home now.
“Ye make me thirsty; it has been too long since I had a me a boy so grand. I promise ye, I’ll make it last.” Remmick says as he kisses your cheek, your lips down your jaw.
You gasp, then reach out and grab his shoulders, pulling him closer.
The man’s bloody body presses against yours. He’s all muscle, strong like a railroad track. His body is encompassing you, pulling you deeper into his embrace.
The Spanish moss-covered trees reach higher, trying to shield the moon from what was to happen.
You hiss as his kisses become open-mouth, saliva and tongue invading you. You can’t stop the moan, unsure if you were controlling any bit of your body anymore.
When your kisses grow more sure, you try to love him back, the way Remmick was already owning you.
Your tongue hit something sharp. Pulling back only for a millisecond before Remmick lunged forward.
Sucking on that tongue like an IV bag with a straw.
You let out a guttural noise, and Remmick growls, actually growls.
Your knees give out, eyes rolling back, and then Remmick bites down on your warm muscle.
The blood fills your mouth faster than you can swallow.
But all you feel is bliss, as the vampire sucks, with the promise.
No more pain, no more loneliness, a home forever.
Centuries of companionship.
Your eyes open wide, your body dying like a star, burning hotter and hotter, and then turning cold.
You are suddenly colder than the murky water you swam out of.
The soil under your nails feels like stories, and the world begins to buzz with a language you never spoke.
You die that night, in Remmick's arms.
But when you come to, the carnivorous beast kisses you as passionately as men only dream of. All muscle and hold cucooning you like bats.
And with that you become something new.
Covered in blood and swamp water, in the arms of a vampire.
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๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Summary: Remmick has always been hungry. Two weeks without feeding have turned his hunger into something insatiable and more dangerous than you could imagine. You discover exactly what his idea of love looks like when his hunger gets the better of him.
๋࣭ ⭑⚝ A/N: This is 1/7 submissions for the JOC Dead Dove Fest: starting with Gluttony! Each will be based on one of the Seven Deadly Sins. I have wanted to write this short series for over a year, but didn't get the kick up the butt to do it until now. *Technically, this is also a part of my Root Cellar fic, though it actually began as a fic I planned to write called 'Ptolomnea'.
๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Character Death, Explicit, Fingering, Monsterfucking, Necrophilia, Non-Con, Graphic Non-Con, Violence, Graphic Violence / Gore, P in V, Predator / Prey Dynamics, Unprotected Sex
๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Tags: @jocficlibrary
Please adhere to the warnings.
Here you are, a shaking thing whose initial shock has finally melted enough to react. There they all were: a reeking pile of filth and rot that chokes and crushes your senses at once.
Not just dead.
Destroyed.
They are all dead, and all you can do is cover your nose and mouth from a horror unlike anything you have experienced before. You stare at the matted corpses and dripping viscera… He'd even got pieces stuck in the walls... oozing where his inhuman claws had carved straight through.
The dim light barely allows you to detect crucial information past the heavy buzzing of flies. This wooden room is more of a bastardised coffin than your living room now, and it was no longer safe. Frantically, your eyes dart between old and fresher blood from what you assume to be flesh. The gnawed organs are still seeping out onto the floorboards, unhurried as they unfold.
The smell is more overwhelming than the sight. Some of it is easily days old and bejewelled with white maggots writhing for space in their new home.
Your stomach lurches at it before you can completely register it all. Hunting animals for survival had been enough to harden yourself to a world of dead things, but this… This is different by all accounts.
The effort to hold your breath burns your throat until you're forced to let it open for a deep inhale. When you do, a fresh wave of the smell hits you. Against your best wishes, you can't stop yourself from heaving thick vomit onto the floor.
You slump forward violently to brace your knees, coughing to clear your throat and spitting the acrid taste from your mouth. When you think you can make out a familiar set of brown eyes, your legs stumble back until you have retreated to the threshold of the dark room.
It isn't obvious that you're even crying until a voice calls softly to you. "Ya shouldn't'a seen this, sugar…" The level of caution wrapped around the words is enough to make your joints lock up. Before you've even turned, you know whose it is, and you know you can't bear to look at him.
The phantom who had been haunting you for too long now.
"S'alright, darlin'. Don't gotta be scared." You expect footsteps, but it comes as one gentle brush over wood rather than anything discernible.
Long claws graze over your shoulder to claim it, and it forces out a startled sound from you. "NO. Don't touch me-" The feeling makes you fiercely peel away from him, turning to glare with pain struck across your features that he doesn't understand. "I-I don't- What did you do?" You despise how pitiful your own voice warbles in your ears. You know full well what Remmick did.
More importantly, so does he.
When you dare to raise your eyes to Remmick, it's unlike anything you've witnessed in him before. Something dressed up with a mock smile carved into it, unfeeling and cruel. A wicked sort of cold thing too old to even fathom. Long-dead by now and shambling in the dark; hungry for more.
The flash of his knowing grin is as calm as it is haunting, because he means what he says. "I needed to feed. I had to do it." You can't hear any attempt at emotion there. "Besides, nobody can hurt ya again, sugar. Did it all for ya." The red glint in the darkness keeps you frozen on a knife's edge, and you know that somewhere in the scraps of sinew behind you, Thomas is spread across the floor in pieces.
Something lodged in your throat prevents you from making a sound. Not a single noise escapes you as Remmick approaches you again. The way your heart thunders in your chest makes your vision blur at the edges, and you note the curious tilt to Remmick's head.
Your feet remain glued to the spot, and an extended claw raises to sweep over your chest. The contact makes you flinch again before you hear him press on. "Standin' there lookin' so cute... Y'er makin' me want to feed again…" It dies off with a low growl as his stretched lips curl around each syllable.
Cold trickles down your spine as your tongue searches for words, trying to avoid any raised emotions. "You just ate…" It makes your eyes well up again, pretending not to understand why throats have been slashed and torn apart in your home.
Somehow, you fear you already know. This is everything Remmick holds secret on the inside: his rage, cold and feral.
This is his love.
The only real way it knows how to.
He really is a monster, and you had been stupid enough to humour him for so long.
As if on cue, he moves quicker than your eyes can track. Suddenly, Remmick's words are much closer in your ear, louder and husky, like he's expecting something. "Isn't my little fawn gonna thank me?" The tip of his claw drags over your neck enough to scratch, and you can feel it slick with blood that isn't yours.
Unable to answer, you can only give in to your instincts and bolt for the door. It's clear that the house can't be a home for you anymore. Not since he stepped foot inside. Remmick's scoff trills behind as he lets you shove past him, amused with the effort until your sprinting has his eyes lock onto you like a predator. You ignite his own instincts.
Then, like a stumbling fawn indeed, your legs are desperate to carry you to safety. As if your fate weren't already sealed. As if the starving wolf weren't seconds behind, close enough without needing to pounce. Ugly rasps punch out of your throat as he taunts you with purposeful thumps against earth and snaps of twigs underfoot. Remmick wants you tired. He wants to let you know exactly how close behind he is, that he could catch you with as little effort as it would be to crush an insect.
Excitement within the husk gorges on the newfound fear. And oh, how you feed it so well.
Splintered tendrils of wood and thorns grab at your face as you race through the thicket. They catch and rip out fresh blood into the air to whet his appetite, like stone against a blade.
It was never supposed to be like this.
With just one pull, it unwravelled too easily. You can't pinpoint exactly when things went wrong, only that it probably started with the drool.
Having been unwilling to leave your side resulted in Remmick not feeding for over two weeks. What had only started as mild clinginess morphed into a full-blown obsession, bearing a hungry smile.
The memory is cut short as, without warning, pain spikes from your ankle, and your face collides with the clammy ground with a smack. You have no idea if you tripped or if you were pushed, only that before you get so much as a chance to scramble up, Remmick's claws lodge themselves into your back with a squelch.
A wail bursts from your chest until his full weight lurches onto you, cutting it short from sheer force. The starving growl echoes out of Remmick; you can hear his fangs bruxing loudly with unrestrained excitement.
You try to turn to shove him, winded pleas of his name repeated in the cold air. They dissipate into icy puffs before they even reach his ears.
There's only his gruff chuckle, dipped in something desperate to the point of tears. "Love ya. Love ya so much, sugar." A low, filthy sound drags out of him as your struggling rubs back against his groin; enough that you feel the outline of his cock as it twitches to life. "Starvin' fer ya-" His words die as his fangs slip into your shoulder with a wet crunch, and all sound around you is replaced by a shrill ringing in your ears.
Fear vibrates unevenly through your limbs at how hard his cock presses into the crease of your ass now. Humiliation runs cold in your veins at the slick pooling in your underwear, already too accustomed to reacting to Remmick's need. He had been nigh insatiable before, but now? You can't even pretend that him becoming sated is a possibility. Not at how strongly you can feel his length jerk against you. Certainly not as you hear a buckle come loose, followed by the roll of his hips while you begin to feel lightheaded. When you begin to feel floaty, it isn't clear anymore if it's from the slow loss of blood, or what you fear is coming next.
This was too much. Sick and warped, clouded in something that mimics sincerity. You had fallen for it, and for what? Because the interest he paid was as overwhelming and as addictive as your blood was to him? You couldn't pretend instinct or feelings were anything other than what the situation had stemmed from: gluttony for more. No care, no warm feelings. Not really. Just a way to siphon something from each other like a pair of starved ticks clinging to each other for warmth.
It was blindingly obvious to you now. None of it has been real, but you've known that from the start. And you were gullible enough to keep playing anyway in the hope that it wasn't true.
"-'M sorry…" An apology meaningless by any stretch, wet and muffled by oversized fangs lodged in your neck. When your blood gargles thick in Remmick's pleased mouth, all thoughts are ripped clean from your skull. You scarcely remember how to breathe through your laboured sobs. The liquid copper rising up from your throat to meet the back of your tongue is too distracting.
There's a tingling sensation in your fingertips about the same time your skirt is torn from your body by needy claws. You barely recognise it as you plead with Remmick in a worn exhale. "Stop…" Your thighs are scraped apart along the rough ground as he ignores you. Even in the dark, you can tell your vision blurs as two claws dip into your soaked entrance.
Only then, Remmick unlatches from you to look down with a filthy groan. "Soaked… Y'er soaked fer me… look-" His voice dies in his throat as he plunges both claws into your tight hole at once. Your breath hitches weakly in response; with less blood to let you think properly, all you can do is let out a small moan at the mix of fullness and the sharp pain against your walls. Remmick's moan echoes it, seeming pleased by your noise. "Still…. Stay still, love…"
You think you shake your head, not that it does anything to help you. The way Remmick's claws move inside you feels like a sick joke. Every reach for the spongier spot he's familiar with makes your brows crease with pain. It's overwhelming for you, enough to make you tremble with alarm at the wet sounds. When Remmick pulls his claws back out, you don't look back in fear that they're coated in a fresh wash of blood. From the sharp stinging left by cuts along your walls, you wouldn't need to check anyway.
The muted sound of Remmick sucking them clean all but confirms it for you. "Mph- More-"
It's only when you feel him shuffle his weight that a new, more panicked feeling whips through your body. You shake your head as much as you can, trying to catch your breath through short hiccups. "No- R-Remmick, no-" To no avail, and your voice shatters and curls in on itself like a spider caught in death's grasp. The tiny plea does nothing to help; he's already forcing the weeping head of his cock to your tight, bloodied cunt. He always warms through after a feed, but this is different, intense to the point where he's sweating profusely over you with damp curls clinging to his forehead.
...It's reminiscent of a time you have lost the capacity to remember.
A starved growl rumbles up through Remmick's chest and out of his throat as he bullies himself all the way inside with one brutal shove. The sting of it is raw, unbearable. You don't have to see his fangs to know they're bared in a wild snarl as he stretches you. Between the pain and the fullness, it feels impossible to think straight.
The hollow whine that leaks from Remmick makes your stomach twist in disgust, though not as much as the low words that follow. "Love ya so much I could eat'cha up." They linger in the air for all of a few seconds. By the time your body runs icy at the threat, new tears are already breaking and rolling down your face.
"Starved me for too long- 'm so hungry, sugar-" It's obvious then. The snap in Remmick's voice and talons snaking around you with a hunger you couldn't begin to comprehend. All those bodies part-devoured, and still he isn't satisfied.
His fangs change tactics to sink in again, deeper, slicing through spent muscle and with a throaty whimper. Blinding stars flood your vision as Remmick begins to tear into you with his teeth, his cock nestled inside you as his hips move with lazy, shallow bursts. Your throat cracks with its thin scream, weak and cut off by long fingers resembling hooks that clamp around your mouth. Until your lungs all but give up from the impossible effort, his misshapen hand forcing you to hold your breath. The space between you fills with revolting crunches and slurps of your flesh. He rips it off in messy chunks, with indescribable pain that sears white through every fibre of you.
The shock of it has you paralysed, trembling in Remmick's bloody grip and too unaware of the extent of the damage his appetite has caused. Your vision flickers as he enters your vision; you don't register being turned over to face him. Tears roll down your cheeks as his head bobs out of your sight, then fresh pain again that has your body spasm against him. You can barely focus on him, not on the muscle snapping between Remmick's fangs, or the guttural nature of him chewing on something wet, red, and dripping with drool.
The pressure of his cock shoving back into you splits you apart, enough to steal attention from whatever is left of your mortality. Every harsh, filthy slam of Remmick's hips has you hanging numb in his arms, dirt eating at your wounds with no nerves left under your skin to feel the scrape of it. Until they're sodden with sticky blood pooling underneath you both.
He always was so messy.
You don't notice the cold as it steals life from your body, or that suddenly, nothing hurts anymore. Remmick had taken too much, more than you could have possibly feared. Finally, your vision scatters to white, then to nothing as you crumple. Remmick's cock thrusts into your limp body harder as he swallows all remnants of you that he can, desperate to show his love.
His crimson eyes search to meet yours, vacant and unmoving below him. Your blood coats his face in a vile display, shreds caught in his fangs or spilling out onto what was left of your chest. Some distant understanding settles heavy in his full stomach, wretched and as guilty as it is full. Through a disconnect of his own actions, Remmick's eyes become wet as he watches his body act of its own accord.
Or at least, that's the lie he will tell himself later.
His throat swallows too quickly and without pausing to chew, instincts fighting against the want for breath. Despite his blurring vision, he can't figure out how to look away from your dead eyes.
He would save them for last.
Most of you is already gone by the time he realises what he's done.
pls, for anyone in the joc fandom if you post on ao3 drop your username in the comments because i have my 15 hour road trip next week and i need fics to download for when we drive through dead zones
I hate when I spend over 20k words writing a one-shot, only for Tumblr to refuse to let me post it, forcing me to cut it down and rework the entire thing.
The chocolate cake that you make lures the presence of Remmick into your home where he enjoys two different types of cake.
Warnings: Abuse. oral sex (on you). secretion. fingering. misuse of frosting.
You laid in bed reminiscing that night with Remmick thinking of how worshipped you felt within his hold. You knew he would return tonight and the unbearably wait of his return made you spiral. For the first time since you’ve been married, you didn’t ponder on what your husband might be doing at the bar besides drinking.
Your body twitches slightly at the reoccurring thought of Rem’s length penetrating u over and over again; letting out small accidental moans as you walk around the house. You need to distract yourself, desperately.
“A cake, I’ll make a cake”
You make your way to the kitchen and grab the necessary ingredients for the chocolate cake you’ve decided to make. As you begin mixing the batter you clutch the bowl and the whisk still imagining yourself under Rem’s body. You whisk the batter harder eventually opening the oven, ready to bake the contents of the cake. As you close the oven you continue to think of Rem and how much he would love this chocolate cake you’re currently making. Maybe he’ll fuck you even harder tonight if he likes it.
You put on the brown oven mitt you knitted last week to again keep yourself occupied. You took out the cake, smelling the aromatic scent of the chocolate waving through the air. When you look outside, the state of the sky tells you that Rem would shortly be coming to fulfill your fantasies that you’ve been thinking about all day.
You rushed around the kitchen gathering more ingredients to make the chocolate frosting for the cake, swiveling your head around to the window watching the sun set a little more every few minutes.
Finally, it was done.
You set it on a nice white plate with blue floral designs around the edges that accentuated the beauty of the homemade cake. You hoped that Rem would like it enough to taste something more than just this cake.
The sun fully set under the horizon and the moon rose up to the dark sky making you anxious for his arrival. Suddenly, three knocks could be heard from the door.
“Darlin’, you gon’ let me in or do I have to get on my knees and beg you to?”
You picked up the cake as you hurried towards the door opening it to him looking at you with so much hunger and need, your legs almost collapsed from the feelings you’ve felt all day building up in this very moment.
“Come in”, you said confidently.
You held out the cake in front of him where he took the fork resting on the side of the plate wasting no time to taste it. His mouth melted as he felt the flavor creating an array of goodness in his mouth.
“Damn darlin’ this taste so good, though I know somethin’ better”
“Oh, and what would that be Rem?”
He had backed you up all the way from the door to the kitchen without even laying a finger on you yet. You set the cake down carefully on the counter where Rem then pushed it further back so he could have room to pick you up and place you on the counter. He pushed his lips to yours causing both of you to make small noises and hearing him whimper:
“I…I need you so bad darlin’, fuck, I…I just can’t help myself.”
He moves his right hand to your hip where it quickly traveled down to the hem on your dress pulling it up to revealing your already wet cunt. You didn’t wear panties today, for him. His cock grew hard by the second, he was practically already about to cum through his pants. He placed two digits in you but took them out a second later. You were still being devoured by his passionate kiss, but you were left confused as to why he stopped fingering you. That’s when you felt him again, only this time, there was a third finger.
He figured you could take it, and you surely could.
“Yea, stretch out that cunt f’me baby, you’re gonna take whatever I give ya’”
Your legs squirmed as you wrapped your fingers around his neck squeezing a bit hard, but he wasn’t affected by it, not one bit. He saw your face, and the way your body twitched, and the way your cunt got wetter for him, both of you looking down to see your fluids dripping on the kitchen floor.
“Looks like you’ve made a bit of a mess darlin’, don’t worry though we can clean it up later. Although I think it would be best if I could stop the source of where the mess is coming from.”
He pulls his 3 thick digits out of your dripping cunt and puts each of his large but delicate hand on your thighs. He fangs were more visible by the second and his eyes glow red as he looks up at you, but then, over to the bowl of frosting on the counter.
“Is that the bowl of frosting you used for your cake darlin’?”
You nod your head trying to figure out what point he was getting at, when suddenly he stands up quickly to retrieve the clear bowl filled with leftover chocolate frosting. He uses one of his hands to push your legs open for him to take the wooden spatula and smear chocolate frosting all over your cunt. It drips between the folds and some of it joins your slick on the floor. He quickly puts the spatula down to now use both of his hands to grip your thighs giving himself complete access to the sweet treat he was about to devour.
“That cake you made me darlin’, it was delicious, but this…now this is even better.”
His tongue circles the chocolate covered clit that he now realized was very sensitive as your body twitched slightly forward and you whimper, “Rem please”.
He didn’t respond to you because now he was nose deep into your cunt licking every crevice and wall. His tongue moving gracefully up and down, left and right, in circles, and in and out of you. Almost half of the frosting was gone now but as more was devoured by Rem, more cum dripped out of you.
He finally lifted his head, not to get some air, he didn’t need air, he just wanted to look at your face that begged him to keep going even after you felt like you were on the verge of breaking. His nose and chin were covered by the smooth chocolate mixed with the milky white contents of your cum.
You weren’t the only one dripping though. In his pants a few drops of cum managed to seep through his underwear as he was now addicted to your taste.
You felt yourself coming closer to finishing. The chocolate on your cunt was all gone now but Rem kept going faster and faster being fueled purely off your juices.
“that’s right finish f’me baby”
Your body curls up towards him, your left hand supporting your body on the counter and your right gripping onto his hair in attempt to try and push him away, but your strength was nothing compared to his especially when he kept your legs forced open after you instinctively tried closing them together. You moaned loud in sweet euphoric pleasure of Rem’s tongue fucking you as it pulsed in and out of you in your occurring orgasm. He drank your cum with tears swelling up in his eyes from the succulent taste. It was rich, it was sweet, it was savory, it was yours.
“darlin’, I don’t know what your made of, but it surely is addicting.”
You were drained, tired but needy for more of his touch. He saw the look in your eyes; he was so good at reading you which led to him swooping you up over his shoulder and carrying you to the bedroom. After he set you down gently on the bed, he looks down at his shirt and saw in covered in your cum, and a bit of chocolate sauce. He unbuttoned it throwing it onto the floor intending to wash it later after he’s done making sure you were comfortable, your body had been through so much. He went into bed with you pulling you closer to him, the warmth of your body made him feel right. After about 15 minutes, you fell asleep, but Rem stayed awake. He did this because he wanted to make sure he was protecting you, that he could lift any worry off you even in your own home.
30 minutes later, he heard that familiar sound outside the front of the house. It was your husband. He hated that man with a burning passion after all that he’s put you through, he honestly would’ve killed him already, but he wanted your permission first before he went full vampire on him.
He swiftly but carefully slid himself from you clearly upset that he couldn’t be in your grasp not just tonight, but forever, never letting go. He whispered softly to you.
“I’m sorry I have to go darlin’, but your bastard of a husband is here and even though you know I could handle him, I don’t even wanna imagine what he would want to do to you when I’m not here for you.”
There was no time to put on his shirt that he quickly swiped off the floor, so he ran out shirtless stopping by the kitchen on his way out. He saw the mess that was made on the floor, the spot he said he would clean up later, but he keeps his promises especially when it comes to you. He grabbed two pieces of tissues, one to clean up the mess, and the other to hold a slice of chocolate cake that he would eat to remember the sweet taste of you.
synopsis: you meet a cute guy at the grocery store, and start dating him. he quickly invites you to his place in the countryside, and you go along. after all, he’s lovely, right?
you met him at the grocery store. so handsome, so charismatic. he was cracking jokes, complimenting you. he really made quite the impression. he asked for your number, of course you gave it to him.
remmick. what an interesting name, you thought. not from here.
you went on a date with him soon after. it was the most fun you’d ever had on a date.
you went on another date, and another one. soon you were completely smitten.
he asked you to come with him to his place in the countryside. you were overjoyed, of course you said yes. you didn’t tell anyone the location of the place, you were too distracted by how hot remmick was.
the place was massive, super fancy. in the middle of nowhere, of course. you suspected nothing, not until he took your phone, locked you in a small room.
you were really fucked.
you’re not sure what’s happening, you seem to be on an operation table, tied up.
"remmick?" you whimper, teary-eyed. "yeah, sugar?" remmick coos, petting your hair. he has on rubber gloves.
"what are you doing?" you sob. "shh, darlin’... jus’ go to sleep", he purrs, putting an anesthesia mask on your mouth.
you try to resist it, but eventually you fall into a deep sleep.
you wake up with a throbbing pain on your buttock. it feels weird, lighter somehow.
you’re lying on your stomach, still on the operation table. remmick kisses your hair. "ya awake?" he coos.
"what did you do?" you cry. "i jus’ took a lil’ somethin’, baby", remmick says calmly, petting your hair.
he makes you stand up, putting you in a pink dress. it has a fucking bow. "don’t ya look pretty", remmick coos.
"c’mon baby, i’ll make us dinner", remmick coos, picking you up into his arms. you cry out from the pain. "shh, shh, so dramatic, baby.. i gave ya pain meds", remmick chuckles.
he brings you to the kitchen, makes you sit down. as you sit down you realize what it is. you’re missing a buttock. sitting down hurts like hell, so you start bawling.
remmick comes to you, hushing you, wrapping his arms around you. "none o’that now, darlin’", he coos. "wait here", he says and leaves the kitchen.
you could make a run for it, you should. but right as you’ve gathered up the courage, remmick comes back with something bloody wrapped in paper.
you freeze. "is that my-" you ask, shuddering. "smart girl", remmick says, opening the paper.
it’s a bloody piece of your flesh, ripped from you. you’re mutilated. you start sobbing again.
"baby.. stop cryin’", remmick sighs. to your horror he takes a large knife and starts cutting up little pieces of your flesh, even putting some of them in his mouth, chewing on them. "so good, baby", he says. "best meat i ever had", he adds.
he starts cooking something, with your flesh no less.
you keep crying until he brings you a plate. spaghetti and meatballs. you gag.
"don’t be rude now", remmick says. "i made that wi’ love", he adds.
he takes a forkful of the food and puts it on your mouth. "say ahh", he says. you shut your mouth as hard as you can, shaking your head.
remmick sighs. "jus’ fuckin’ eat it", he hisses, shoving the fork inside your mouth. you gag at the smell, that’s when he manages to feed you your own flesh.
"swallow", he says, forcing your mouth shut, pinching your nose. soon you have no choice but to swallow. you gag, crying. "good girl", remmick praises you. "now i wanna see that plate empty", he says. "no!" you sob. "if ya refuse to eat i’ll take the other one as well", remmick hisses.
he gets himself a plate as well, only that he’s not having spaghetti. just pieces of your flesh. "c’mon then, eat", he says.
you take a small forkful of food and eat with shaking hands, gagging. "that’s a good girl", remmick says, starting to eat as well.
you eat in silence, remmick sometimes breaking the silence by praising you for how sweet you taste.
you manage to keep it all down somehow, a miracle. remmick gives you a kiss once your plate is empty. "such a good girl i have", he coos.
"c’mon now, ya deserve a reward", he says, picking you up again.
he carries you upstairs to a bedroom. it’s full on whips, handcuffs and other restraints. you also see ball gags, masks, and different dildos and vibrators.
"no, no, no", you whine as he lies you down on the bed, ass up. he gets restrains, spreading your arms, tying your wrists to the bed. then it’s your legs.
soon you’re spread out, in an uncomfortable position, blood gushing out your wound.
remmick roughly lifts your bloody dress, revealing your mutilated ass. "so pretty", he coos.
"stop!" you cry.
"shh, darlin’, we’re gon’ have some fun", remmick says.
you don’t see what he’s doing, but soon you feel the blade of a knife on your back.
"no!" you scream. "shut the fuck up, slut", remmick hisses, his mood suddenly changing. "ya do as i say", he says, voice low and cold.
then he presses the blade on your skin, making a cut. you scream, it hurts like hell. the pain on your ass is worse, though.
he puts his mouth on the wound, hungrily licking your blood. "sweet as sin", he murmurs, feasting on your blood.
once he’s done you feel him taking off his belt, pulling down his pants. his cock slaps your wound, you cry out from the pain.
"wha wha", remmick mocks you.
he spreads you open, fingers digging into your wound. you scream and cry from the pain as he rubs the broad tip of his cock on your entrance.
"cry all ya want, ain’t gon’ stop me", he says, slapping the healthy side of your ass.
he starts pushing in. you cry as he bottoms out, it’s way too big, and the pain on your back and ass is throbbing.
he starts thrusting, hard and rough, not caring that you’re in pain.
"stop, it hurts!" you scream. remmick lets out an annoyed grunt, putting his hands around your neck. he squeezes hard, choking you, completely cutting off your airflow.
your eyes water up more, you can’t do anything as he violates you.
you can’t breathe, your ass is hurting so much you could die.
your eyes close, and you slowly drift off to an unconscious state.
"darlin’?" remmick says, leaning in, releasing your neck. he doesn’t stop fucking you.
"poor lil’ baby passed out?" he chuckles. "ain’t gon’ stop me", he murmurs, starting to go faster.
even in your passed out state your cunt can feel everything, and you start lubricating. "aww, she’s droolin’ f’ me", remmick purrs.
his balls are slamming against your ass as he fucks your limp body, moaning. "fucking slut", he groans, slapping your ass again.
you whimper in your unconscious state, which arouses remmick. "cryin’ f’ me even in yer sleep", he says.
your cunt involuntarily clenching around his cock, remmick moans, burying himself deep inside you.
his warm cum floods inside.
remmick slaps your cheek. "time to wake up", he says. you slowly open your eyes, immediately letting out a cry from the pain hitting you.
"i’ll get ya more pain meds", remmick says, kissing the back of your head.
Pairing : AU Celebrity Vampire Remmick x female reader
Summary : In a world where vampires coexist with humans under the fragile Blood Accord, you're just a struggling entertainment journalist assigned to interview Remmick—the most famous vampire celebrity of the age.
Warnings: Predator/prey dynamics, power imbalance, biting/blood kink (implied), slight dub-con elements (consent established), obsessive behavior, age gap (centuries), explicit sexual content, graphic violence/gore, blood drinking as sexual activity, supernatural bond/enthrallment dynamics, body horror (Council hunters), mentions of genocide/extermination (historical, Siren backstory), dubious consent elements (supernatural influence), knife/blood play adjacent themes, death threats, captivity themes
CLICK HERE FOR PART ONE
PART TWO
This fic contains graphic depictions of sex. This is your last warning
You'd been with him for three weeks when they came.
Three weeks of learning the brownstone's secrets—the panic room behind the wine cellar, the weapons cache that predated firearms, the tunnels that led to the river.
Three weeks of discovering what Remmick truly was beneath the celebrity veneer: older than he'd claimed, more dangerous than the Accord allowed, a vampire who'd survived centuries by being the thing other monsters feared.
Three weeks of him learning you, too.
The spots that made you gasp. The rhythm of your heart when you were afraid versus aroused versus happy. He'd memorized your symphony, he said. Could play it back in his mind during the daylight hours when he slept and you wandered the sunlit rooms, touching his things, wondering what you'd become.
The hunters came at dusk.
You were in the kitchen, making coffee—an absurd domesticity, you brewing caffeine while he prepared his evening meal from a refrigerated bag of O-negative—when the window shattered.
Not exploded. Shattered. A sound like breaking ice, and then the room filled with mist that smelled of ozone and old magic.
Remmick moved.
He was across the kitchen before you could scream, knocking the coffee from your hand, shoving you behind him with force that bruised.
"Elder magic," he hissed. "Stay behind me."
Shapes formed in the mist—three of them, tall and thin, wearing the gray suits of Council enforcement.
Their faces were wrong. Too smooth. Like wax masks that had partially melted and reformed.
"Remmick of the Northern Court," the center one intoned, voice echoing from everywhere at once. "You harbor a prohibited entity. Surrender the Siren and submit to judgment."
"Fuck your judgment," Remmick snarled.
You'd never heard him sound like that. The celebrity charm, the old-world courtesy—gone. What remained was ancient and feral and hungry in a way that had nothing to do with blood.
"The Accord—"
"Doesn't cover this," Remmick interrupted. "She's not in your registry. Not in your laws. She's mine."
"Then you choose war."
The mist solidified into blades.
What happened next was too fast to track. Remmick shoved you toward the pantry—"Run! The cellar!"—and met the hunters head-on. You saw him move, a blur of darkness, and heard the impact as he struck the first hunter. The sound was like a car crash, metal screaming against metal.
But there were three.
You reached the pantry door, looked back—don't look back, you idiot, never look back—and saw one of the hunters sink a gray blade into Remmick's side. He didn't cry out. Vampires didn't need to breathe. But you saw the pain ripple across his face, saw him stumble.
The music, you thought hysterically. He needs the music.
You didn't remember deciding to move. One second you were in the doorway, the next you were in the kitchen, grabbing a cast-iron skillet from the stove—absurd, ridiculous, a frying pan against Elder magic—and swinging it at the hunter attacking Remmick's blind side.
The impact shuddered up your arm. The hunter turned, smooth face splitting open to reveal something wet and glowing inside.
"Siren," it breathed, and the word was reverence and hunger. "You come to us."
"She comes to me," Remmick roared.
He moved.
Later, you would try to describe it and fail.
He became something else—something that wore Remmick's face but had nothing human in it. He tore through the first hunter with his bare hands, ripping the gray suit open to expose the thing inside, which screamed in a frequency that shattered the remaining windows.
The second hunter turned to face him, and Remmick smiled.
That smile would haunt your dreams.
He was fast. Faster than the hunters, though they were Council-made, though they had magic that predated the Accord.
He moved like music—like the music he heard in your blood, all rhythm and devastating harmony—and when he struck, the hunter came apart. Literally came apart, gray suit falling empty to the floor.
The third hunter retreated to the mist.
"Remmick," it called, voice coming from everywhere. "The Council will not forget this. You protect an abomination. You slaughter enforcement. You are—"
"Free," Remmick finished.
He reached into the mist—impossibly, physically reached into vapor—and grabbed something solid. Pulled. The hunter materialized, gasping, Remmick's hand buried in its chest where a heart should be.
"I was old before your Council was formed," Remmick whispered. "I signed your Treaty because I was bored, not because I was bound. And she—" he twisted his hand, and the hunter shuddered, "—she is the first interesting thing to happen to me in four hundred years. So tell your masters: come for her again, and I will unmake you. All of you. From the youngest fledgling to the Elders themselves. I will burn your courts and salt your earth and sing her name while I do it."
He withdrew his hand. The hunter collapsed, dissolving into gray ash that smelled of burning libraries.
Silence.
Remmick stood in the wreckage of your kitchen, covered in blood that wasn't his—too dark, too thick, wrong in a way that made your stomach twist. He was breathing hard, though he didn't need to breathe at all. Trembling.
"You're hurt," you whispered.
He looked down at the wound in his side, the gray blade still embedded there. "It will heal."
"Remmick—"
He crossed to you in two strides, pulled you against him with desperate strength. His body was cold, always cold, but his mouth was fever-hot against your throat.
"I told you to run," he growled.
"You were losing."
"I don't lose." He pulled back, cupped your face in blood-stained hands. "But I would have. Without the music. Without knowing you were here, waiting, I would have let them take me before I let them take you."
"You would have died?"
"I was never alive, sweetheart. Not until you." He kissed you, fierce and claiming, and you tasted copper and ash and something that might have been tears. "They're coming back. More of them. The Council doesn't forgive defiance."
"Then we run."
"There's nowhere to run. They have resources. Magic. Time."
"Then we fight."
He stared at you. You stared back, this human who'd somehow become a Siren, this woman who'd chosen a monster and refused to regret it.
"You're not afraid," he observed, wonder in his voice.
"I'm terrified," you corrected. "But I'm also angry. They came into my kitchen. Threatened my vampire." You reached up, touched the wound in his side, ignored his hiss of pain. "Nobody threatens what's mine."
Something shifted in his expression. Possession, yes, but matched now. Met equally.
"Your vampire," he repeated, tasting the words.
"Mine," you confirmed. "Just like I'm yours. That's how this works, isn't it? The binding. The enthrallment. It goes both ways."
He laughed, breathless and broken and real. "It was never supposed to. The Sirens controlled the vampires. The vampires didn't… didn't get to keep them."
"Well," you said, stepping closer, pressing against him despite the blood and the ash and the shattered glass, "I'm making new rules."
He kissed you again, softer this time. Reverent. The gray blade in his side scraped against your hip, and neither of you cared.
"There's a place," he murmured against your lips. "Old. Older than the Council. Where the first treaties were signed, before they became laws. A neutral ground."
"Will they honor it?"
"No." He grinned, feral and young. "But they won't expect us to go there. They'll expect us to run to the New World, to the colonies, to anywhere modern. They forget I remember the old roads."
"Then let's go."
He pulled the blade from his side with a wet sound, tossed it aside. Already, the wound was knitting, flesh rejoining with soft whispers.
"Pack nothing," he said. "We leave in ten minutes. The tunnels to the river, then north. There's a car waiting in Hartford."
"How long have you been planning this?"
"Since the interview." He touched your face, gentle now, the predator sheathed. "Since I first heard you sing and knew I would destroy the world to keep hearing it."
You didn't pack. You didn't need to. The only thing that mattered was standing in front of you, wounded and ancient and yours in a way that defied the Council, the Accord, the very nature of what you both were.
He held out his hand.
You took it.
Together, you walked into the dark—two monsters, two outlaws, two notes in a harmony that would either save the world or destroy it.
And somewhere behind you, in the ashes of the hunters, a phone began to ring. The Council, calling to report failure. Calling to plan the next move.
Let them plan, you thought, as Remmick led you down into the tunnels. Let them prepare.
The music was coming for them.
And it didn't know mercy.
The neutral ground didn't look like much.
You'd been driving for fourteen hours—Remmick behind the wheel of a stolen Tesla he'd hotwired with disturbing ease, you drifting in and out of sleep in the passenger seat.
The car smelled like leather and his cologne, and every time you stirred, his hand found your knee, your shoulder, your hair.
Checking. Reassuring himself you were still there.
Still singing.
"We're close," he said as the sun began to rise. He'd borrowed a driver's cap and sunglasses from somewhere, enough coverage that the dawn wouldn't burn him. "The old roads don't appear on GPS. I have to navigate by memory."
"How old is this place?"
"Older than the Council. Older than the written word." His voice had gone quiet, reverent. "The first agreement between our kinds wasn't signed in ink. It was carved in stone. In blood that still hasn't dried."
You didn't ask what that meant. You weren't sure you wanted to know.
The road turned to dirt, then to gravel, then to something that might have been a path centuries ago. Trees closed in—ancient oaks that predated the colonies, their branches weaving a canopy so thick the morning light came through in scattered coins.
The car died.
Not stalled. Died. The dashboard went black, the engine silent, and the doors unlocked with a sound like a sigh.
"She knows we're here," Remmick said.
"She?"
He didn't answer.
Just opened his door—exposing himself to the filtered sunlight without flinching—and came around to yours. When he offered his hand, you took it. His palm was cool. Steady.
The forest swallowed you.
You walked for what felt like hours but might have been minutes. Time moved strangely here, elastic and subjective.
Your heartbeat seemed loud in the silence, the only percussion in a symphony of whispering leaves.
Then the trees opened.
A clearing.
Perfectly circular, as if drawn with a compass.
In the center stood a structure that hurt to look at—not because it was bright, but because it was wrong. Stone that shifted between gray and white and something translucent. Architecture that seemed to move when you weren't looking directly at it.
And on the steps, waiting, was a woman.
She looked human. At first.
Dark hair, dark skin, dressed in something simple and white that might have been linen or might have been woven moonlight. But when she raised her head, you saw her eyes.
They had no whites. No pupils. Just irises—violet, impossibly vivid, swirling with patterns that made you think of galaxies, of nebulas, of the birth and death of stars.
"Remmick of the Northern Court," she said, and her voice was three voices, five, a chorus. "You bring music to my silence."
"Siren," he said, and dropped to one knee.
Not the theatrical gesture he'd used with you—something deeper. Older. The supplication of a creature facing its origin myth.
"Stand, child," the woman said. "I am not your goddess. I am only what remains."
He stood, but kept you behind him. Protective even here, even now.
"You know why we came," he said. It wasn't a question.
"I know why you came." Her violet eyes—those terrible, beautiful eyes—fixed on you. "But she does not know herself. Do you, little one?"
Your throat went dry. "I'm… I'm a Siren. Remmick told me. My blood sings, and vampires can hear it, and the Council wants to kill me for what I am."
"Yes," the woman agreed. "And no."
She descended the steps. She moved wrong—too smooth, joints bending in directions that shouldn't be possible. When she reached the grass, you saw that her feet weren't touching it. She hovered, barely, suspended by something invisible.
"You are not merely a Siren," she said, stopping an arm's length away. Close enough that you could smell her—ozone and petrichor and something that reminded you, viscerally, of Remmick's bedroom. "You are the next Siren. The evolution. The reason my children were exterminated."
"I don't understand."
"No. You do not." She reached out, and before Remmick could intervene, touched your face.
The world unmade itself.
You stood in a different forest.
Ancient, primal, the trees so tall they scraped the belly of heaven. Around you, figures moved—humans, but wrong somehow, their shadows too dark, their movements too synchronized. They danced around a pyre, and on the pyre burned bodies.
My sisters, a voice whispered. My brothers. The first Sirens, who sang vampires to their knees and made them worship.
The scene shifted.
You saw the Council—younger then, hungrier, wearing robes instead of suits. They moved through villages with blades of silver and holy water, executing anyone whose blood sang. The genocide Remmick had described, but worse. So much worse.
They feared what we could do, the voice continued. The control we had. So they made examples. They wrote laws. They reduced us to myth, to legend, to bedtime stories told to frighten fledglings.
Another shift.
You saw this clearing, this impossible structure, but whole and shining. A woman stood in the doorway—this woman, but more. More real. More alive. She held a child in her arms, a baby with violet eyes that hadn't yet learned to hide their nature.
I was the last. The only one who escaped. I took my daughter and I ran, and I ran, and when there was nowhere left to run, I made a bargain.
"What bargain?" you whispered.
The vision shuddered.
You saw the structure being built, stone by impossible stone. Saw this woman standing in the center of the clearing, arms raised, as vampires and humans alike bowed before her. Not as subjects. As witnesses.
I became the Agreement. The space between. The neutral ground where your Council and your coalitions meet. She turned to face you in the vision, and her eyes were weeping blood. I am the Treaty of 1987. I am every accord, every contract, every binding word spoken between our kinds. I am not alive, little one. I am the magic that keeps your world from burning.
The vision released you.
You gasped, stumbling back into Remmick's arms. The clearing snapped back into focus—the modern trees, the impossible structure, the woman standing before you with her galaxy eyes and her floating feet.
"You became the magic," you breathed.
"I became the cage," she corrected. "And for three hundred years, I have waited. For the bloodline to continue. For the song to return."
"Why me? I'm nobody. I'm just a journalist with student loan."
The woman—the First Siren, your mind supplied, the Agreement made flesh—smiled.
It was terrible. It was tender.
"Because you are what I was," she said. "Before the power. Before the worship. You are a Siren who does not know her own strength. Who loves a vampire not because he is enthralled, but because he is worthy." She looked at Remmick, and something like recognition passed between them. "You chose him freely. That has never happened. In all the centuries, the Sirens controlled. They commanded. They never… loved."
"I don't—" you started.
"Don't lie," she interrupted, gently. "Not here. Not to me. I am the truth between species. I know your heart better than you do."
Remmick's arms tightened around you. "What do you want with her?"
"Want?" The First Siren laughed, and the sound was thunder, was rainfall, was the first note of a song that had ended before language existed. "I want her to succeed me."
Silence.
"No," Remmick said, immediate and absolute.
"It is not your choice, child of darkness."
"It is her choice," he snarled, and you heard the predator in his voice, the thing that had torn through Council hunters without mercy. "And I will kill anyone who tries to take her from me. Even you. Even the ground we stand on."
The First Siren studied him. "You would die for her?"
"I would unmake myself for her. I would burn the sun and drown the moon. I would—"
"Stop," you whispered.
He stopped. Looked down at you with those ancient eyes, and you saw fear there.
Real fear.
Not of death. Of loss.
"Let me understand," you said, turning back to the First Siren. "You want me to become… what? A building? A treaty? A disembodied concept?"
"I want you to become the next Agreement," she said. "The old magic fades. The Council grows bold. Your Remmick slaughtered their hunters, and they will not forgive that. War is coming. The only thing that can stop it is a Siren powerful enough to enforce a new Accord. A Siren who loves a vampire. Who understands both sides."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you die," she said simply. "As I did. As my children did. The Council will find you, and they will burn you, and your Remmick will burn beside you, trying to protect what cannot be protected."
You thought of the kitchen. The blood. The way he'd looked at you like you were music made flesh.
"How long do I have to decide?"
"Sunset," she said. "The magic requires the threshold between day and night. Between human and vampire. Between what you were and what you will become."
She turned, began floating back toward the impossible structure.
"One more thing," she said, pausing at the steps. "The transformation is not painless. You will feel every death I felt. Every burning. Every betrayal. You will carry the weight of three hundred years of treaty and truce. And you will lose something."
"What?"
"Your song," she said, not turning. "The music he hears in your blood? It will go silent. To become the Agreement, you must become… agreeable. Neutral. You will no longer enthrall. You will no longer captivate. You will simply… be."
She disappeared into the structure. The door—if it had been open—was now closed. Solid stone.
You stood in Remmick's arms, in the clearing where the first treaties were signed, and felt your heart beating its desperate rhythm against your ribs.
The music he loved. The song that had drawn him to you, that had made him protect you, that had turned a self-interested celebrity into a warrior.
Gone.
"Don't," he whispered against your hair. "Don't even consider it. We'll run. We'll fight. I'll kill every Council member one by one until they leave us alone."
"And how many will die in the meantime?" you asked. "How many wars? How many Sirens they find later, kill later?"
"I don't care about them. I care about you."
"And if I become this thing?" You turned in his arms, faced him. "If I become powerful enough to stop the wars, to rewrite the Accords, to make a world where we don't have to run?"
His face crumpled. Just for a moment—the mask slipping, the ancient predator becoming desperately, humanly afraid.
"Then I lose you," he said. "Not your life. But you. The you who looks at me like I'm worth something. The you whose blood sings B-flat minor when you're annoyed. The you I—"
He stopped.
"The you I what?" you whispered.
He kissed you.
Hard and desperate. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the taste of your breath, the exact frequency of your heartbeat.
"I love you," he said against your lips. "I have loved you since the interview. Since you sat across from me with your little recorder and your professional smile and your heart beating seventy-eight times per minute. I have loved you through three weeks of hiding, through slaughter, through the certainty that I will destroy the world before I let them take you. And I will not—" his voice broke, "—I will not trade that for peace. I am too selfish. I have always been too selfish."
You touched his face. The sharp cheekbones. The mouth that had worshipped you and killed for you.
"What if," you said slowly, "there's another way?"
"What?"
"The First Siren became the Agreement because she had no other choice. She was the last. Alone. But I'm not." You took his hand, pressed it to your chest, over your heart. "I have you. I have whatever this is between us. What if… what if we became the Agreement together?"
His eyes widened.
"Two signatures," you continued, thinking aloud. "The treaties were always signed by representatives. Vampire and human. What if the new Agreement requires the same? A Siren and her… whatever you are."
"Her victim?" he asked, wry and broken.
"Her partner," you corrected. "The one who hears her song. The one who chose to be enthralled."
"She said the transformation requires neutrality. That you would lose the music."
"She said I would lose it. But what if it's not in me anymore? What if I give it to you?"
You didn't know where the idea came from. The clearing, maybe. The old magic that lived in the soil, in the stones, in the space between species. But you felt it, suddenly and certainly—the shape of a bargain that had never been made before.
"Remmick," you said, and your voice sounded different. Resonant. Like the First Siren's chorus, but singular. Distinct. "Do you trust me?"
"With everything," he said, without hesitation. "With my life. With my death. With whatever comes after."
"Then kiss me," you said. "And don't stop until the sun sets."
He didn't ask why. He just obeyed.
The kiss was different.
You'd kissed him before—desperate kisses in the kitchen, hungry kisses in the bedroom, tender kisses in the stolen moments between. But this was something else. This was transmission.
You gave him the music.
You felt it leaving you—not painfully, but completely. The frequency that lived in your blood, the melody that had drawn him to you, the song that had made you special. You poured it into him through the kiss, through the connection, through the bond that had formed in three weeks of danger and desire.
And he took it.
Not stole. Received. His body went rigid, then soft, and when he pulled back, his eyes were glowing. Amber and gold, the pupils blown wide, and you heard it—the faintest echo of your heartbeat coming from his chest.
"What did you do?" he breathed.
"What she couldn't," you said. "I shared."
The clearing erupted in light.
The First Siren exploded from the structure, screaming, but not in anger—in recognition. In awe. The violet of her eyes bleeding into the sky, into the stones, into everything.
"You split the song," she gasped, floating toward you with hands outstretched. "You made it… reciprocal. Shared."
"Can it work?" you asked.
She looked at you. At Remmick, glowing with your heartbeat. At the bond between you, visible now as a silver thread that pulsed with rhythm.
"It has never been tried," she admitted. "But the magic… the magic recognizes it. The Agreement requires two signatures. You have given him yours. He has given you… what?"
"His death," Remmick said, understanding dawning. "His endlessness. I am vampire. I do not age, do not die unless killed. I give her that. She gives me her song. We are…"
"Balanced," the First Siren whispered. "Equal. The first true partnership between Siren and vampire since the beginning."
"Will it stop the Council?" you asked.
"It will rewrite them," she said, and smiled—that terrible, tender smile. "The new Agreement requires consent. Mutual exchange. No more enthrallment. No more control. Just… choice. Freely given. Eternally binding."
She looked at the sky. The sun was sinking, bleeding gold and crimson across the horizon.
"Decide now," she said. "Together. Become the new treaty, or run, and let the old world burn."
You looked at Remmick. At the glow in his eyes that was your heartbeat. At the man who had killed for you, who had offered to die for you, who had somehow become the only thing that mattered.
"Together?" you asked him.
"Always," he promised.
You kissed him again as the sun set, and the magic took you both.
It didn't hurt.
That was the surprise. You'd expected pain—fire, ash, the deaths of three hundred years. But this was different. This was joining.
You felt him in your veins. His endlessness. His hunger. His love, vast and ancient and yours in a way that nothing had ever been yours before.
And he felt you in his. Your mortality, yes, but also your vitality. Your song, now living in his chest, beating with his silent heart. Your love, new and fierce and overwhelming.
The First Siren watched, weeping violet tears, as the magic wove around you. The clearing grew bright, then brighter, then blinding—and when the light faded, you were different.
You stood in the center of the circle, holding Remmick's hand, and you felt the weight of it. The Accords. The treaties. The fragile peace between species.
But you also felt him. His presence, constant and warm, a tether that anchored you to yourself.
"It is done," the First Siren said, and her voice was only one voice now. Tired. Relieved. "The new Agreement is signed. The Council will feel it. They will know."
"What happens now?" Remmick asked. His voice resonated—your song, giving him depth he'd never had.
"Now," she said, beginning to fade, her form becoming translucent, becoming part of the clearing itself, "you enforce it. Together. As long as you both choose to remain."
She looked at you one last time.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For giving me… an ending."
Then she was gone. The structure crumbled—not destroyed, but released. The magic that had sustained it for centuries, now freed to become something new.
You stood in the forest, holding hands with a vampire who carried your heartbeat, and felt the world shift around you.
The Council would come. The wars would try to start. But now, now you had the power to stop them.
Not alone.
Never alone.
Remmick turned to you, eyes still glowing with your song, and smiled.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
You considered. Felt the weight of treaties, the warmth of his presence, the endless potential of what came next.
"Like music," you said. "Finally where it's supposed to be."
He kissed you, and for the first time in three hundred years, the forest sang back.
"Can you feel it?" he growled against your lips, his hands already working at the buttons of your shirt with desperate precision. "Can you feel how alive you make me?"
You could.
Through the bond, through the silver thread that now connected you permanently, you could feel him—his arousal like a thunderstorm building, ancient and electric, and beneath it something new: your own heartbeat echoing in his chest, amplifying everything.
"The forest," you managed, though your own hands were already tearing at his clothes, needing skin, needing contact, needing the proof that you were both still here, still real, still yours.
"Let them watch," he snarled, and shoved you back against the ancient oak at the clearing's edge.
The bark was rough against your bare back as he stripped you efficiently, worshipfully, his mouth following every exposed inch of skin with lips and teeth and tongue.
When he reached your throat, he paused—hovering, breathing you in even though the act was unnecessary.
"Say it," he demanded, his eyes glowing amber in the twilight, pupils blown wide with desire.
"Take me," you whispered, arching into him. "Drink me. Feed."
He struck.
The pain was sharp, exquisite, a bright flare that dissolved instantly into pleasure as his venom hit your bloodstream.
But this was different than before—through the bond, you felt what he felt: the taste of your blood, rich and singing with the treaty-magic, flooding his mouth, and beneath it the overwhelming ecstasy of the connection, the intimacy, the rightness of it.
You cried out, your body bucking against his as he drank, his hands holding your hips steady, pinning you to the tree while he fed.
Each pull of his mouth sent shockwaves through the bond—his pleasure becoming yours, your arousal feeding back into him in an endless loop.
"More," you gasped, tangling your fingers in his hair, holding him to your throat. "God, Remmick, more."
He growled against your skin, the vibration traveling straight to your core, and you felt him hard and desperate against your thigh. You reached between you, wrapping your hand around him, and he shuddered so violently he had to release your throat just to keep standing.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough, his lips stained with your blood. "Look at what you do to me."
You looked—at his face, transformed by need, at his body, pale and perfect and yours, at the place where your hand moved on him, the evidence of his desire slick and hot against your palm.
"I want you inside me," you said, and it wasn't a request. It was a demand. A claim. "Now. While you can still taste me."
He lifted you as if you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist, and then he was pushing into you—slow, agonizingly slow, giving you time to feel every inch, to adjust to his size, to the overwhelming fullness.
The bond exploded.
You felt it from both sides—your body's stretch and acceptance, his desperate relief at being sheathed in your heat, the way your muscles fluttered around him and the way he throbbed in response.
You were drowning in sensation, unable to tell where you ended and he began, your pleasure and his tangling together into something that transcended either alone.
"Move," you begged, your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood. "Please, Remmick, move."
He started slow—controlled, deliberate strokes that hit exactly where you needed, grinding against you with each thrust until you were sobbing with pleasure.
But the bond demanded more.
The treaty-magic in your blood sang for completion, for the full joining of what you had become.
"Harder," you demanded, biting his shoulder, tasting the copper of his ancient blood. "Don't hold back. Not with me. Never with me."
Something snapped in him.
He snarled—truly snarled, the sound inhuman and feral—and began to drive into you with a force that should have hurt, that would have hurt if the pleasure hadn't been so overwhelming, if the bond hadn't been transmitting his reverence along with his violence.
The tree shook with each impact.
Your head fell back, throat exposed, and he dove for it again—biting, feeding, taking—while his hips pistoned against yours, relentless, merciless, perfect.
You were climbing fast, impossibly fast, the pleasure building through the bond like a feedback loop.
Every time he thrust, you felt his pleasure at your tightness; every time you clenched around him, he felt your ecstasy at being filled.
It was too much, too intense, a white-hot coil tightening in your belly that had no ceiling, no limit.
"Come for me," he commanded against your bloody throat, his voice barely recognizable. "Let me feel it. Let me feel you break."
You shattered.
The orgasm crashed through you with the force of the treaty-magic itself, your body convulsing around him, your scream echoing through the forest as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you.
And through the bond, he felt it all—your release triggered his own, his hips stuttering as he spilled into you with a roar that shook the leaves from the trees.
But he didn't stop.
Couldn't stop.
The blood, the bond, the magic—it demanded more.
He kept moving, slower now, drawing out your orgasm until you were weeping with it, until you were sensitive and overwhelmed and still desperate for more.
"Again," he whispered, licking the wounds on your throat closed, his hips rolling in a rhythm that matched the heartbeat in his chest—your heartbeat, shared between you. "Give me everything. I'll give you eternity."
He shifted his angle, hitting a spot inside you that made your vision white out, and his hand found you where you were joined, his thumb pressing exactly where you needed—
You came again, harder this time, your body bowing against his as the pleasure crested and broke and crested again. He followed you over the edge, his fangs sinking into his own lip as he fought to stay quiet, to maintain some semblance of control.
But you didn't want control.
You wanted him.
You pulled his face to yours, kissing him messily, tasting your blood on his tongue, feeling his still-hard inside you and the aftershocks that rippled through you both.
"Don't stop," you breathed against his mouth. "Don't ever stop."
He didn't.
He carried you to the soft grass at the clearing's center, laying you down among the violet petals that had fallen from the First Siren's departure.
The treaty stones hummed beneath you, amplifying everything, making your skin feel electrified, every touch magnified tenfold.
He entered you again, slowly this time, watching your face as he filled you, his glowing eyes tracking every expression, every gasp, every flutter of your lashes.
"Beautiful," he murmured, starting to move with long, deep strokes that made you moan helplessly. "My Siren.. My heart."
You reached up, tracing the sharp lines of his face, feeling the bond pulse between you like a living thing.
"Yours," you agreed, wrapping your legs around him, pulling him deeper. "Always yours. Just like you're mine."
He bent his head, finding your throat again, but this time he didn't bite—he kissed, licked, sucked marks into your skin that you knew would last for days, claiming you in ways that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with devotion.
"I love you," he said, the words torn from him as he increased his pace, chasing another peak. "I love you, I love you, I—"
You silenced him with a kiss, your tongue tangling with his, your bodies moving together in a rhythm that was older than the forest, older than the Council, as old as the first spark of desire between predator and prey.
The third time you came together, it was slower, deeper, a wave that built and built until it finally, gloriously crashed, carrying you both into darkness and light and the endless space between.
After, you lay tangled in the grass, your head on his chest, listening to your own heartbeat echoing back at you from his ribs. He stroked your hair with languid fingers, his other hand tracing patterns on your hip—protective, possessive, reverent.
"The Council will come," he said softly, but there was no fear in his voice anymore. Only certainty.
"Let them," you murmured, pressing a kiss to his cool skin. "We have an Accord now."
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest and into your cheek. "We have more than that."
You looked up at him, at the amber glow that still lingered in his eyes, at the love written plainly across his ancient face.
"We have forever," you agreed.
And as the stars emerged above the clearing where the first treaties had been signed, you made a new promise—sealed in blood and pleasure and the kind of love that could rewrite the world.
The music, you realized, hadn't stopped.
It had simply become the soundtrack to your eternity.
END PART TWO
A/N: Probably my greatest work to date, honestly. This took me weeks to edit, rewrite, and finally get to a place where i was happy with it. I also did an insane amount of research for this, which made the process even longer, but it was 100% worth it.
Sirens have always been one of my favorite mythical creatures, so getting to pair one with Remmick was genuinely a dream. The idea actually came to me while i was rewatching Twilight and thinking about how bella's blood is treated as something uniquely irresistible to other vampires. from there, I started wondering what that kind of concept would look like in Remmick's world.
The blood accord was also inspired by different vampire media, but I made sure to rework the idea and build it into something that felt like it belonged to this story rather than simply borrowing it. I wanted to take those inspirations and turn them into something that was my own.
Also, the GIFs i've attached for both parts are pretty much exactly how I envisioned Remmick while writing this. I can't explain it, but his long, dark hair in Tulip Fever absolutely does something to me... it's so ridiculously attractive that i couldn't stop picturing him like that the entire time.
I really poured my heart into this one, so i hope you all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed creating it. <3
