#without any taint | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ichorai · 2 months ago

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xerox ; robert reynolds ; part one.

part two. | part three. | part four.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 7.8k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; violence/gore/death, human experimentation, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), foul language, walker is an asshole, everyone's mental health sucks!

a/n ; this is part one !!! a second part is already in the works :) this was written all today so apologies if there are any mistakes!

main masterlist. read on ao3!

listen to a xerox playlist on spotify / youtube music! xerox's face claim :)

It didn’t seem a hard task. One kill. One more. Then you could go. Quit the clean-up business for good. You could practically hear Valentina’s sickly sweet smile through the phone.

“You’ll be in and out of there in no time,” her voice crooned. “And I wouldn’t worry too much about your target. After all, you’re rather… disposable, aren’t you?”

You frowned at that. “My self-copies aren’t disposable. I feel it every time one of me dies.”

Valentina laughed—a high-pitched keening noise. You assumed she was waving her hand about in a dismissive manner, as she usually did with you. “You’ll get back up. That’s kind of your thing, isn’t it? Good luck. Try to have some fun. It’ll be your last one, anyway—make the most of it.”

“Yeah,” you said. Your free hand wound around your midriff, almost as if you were cradling yourself. “I’ll take care of it.”

You hung up before you could hear Valentina say one more word.

There were ringing gunshots, muffled grunts, and resounding thuds when you arrived. Who else was here? Your target was only one person—an untouchable woman. A Ghost. Would a thousand of you be able to tackle one of her?

Or perhaps the better question was… were you willing to sacrifice yourself a thousand times to kill one woman? You definitely have before, on previous missions. Over and over again, the bitter taste of death was stuffed into your mouth, dry as a sock, tainting your innards like black tar.

You waited outside the junk room’s entrance, counting the voices you heard. One man, for sure. One unidentifiable. Two women. You split yourself into two, then three. With a begrudging sigh, you spliced once more to make four.

Three copies ran in. One stayed out.

You spotted the ghost immediately. She was phasing between the shield of another masked assassin. Were they also here to kill her? Another copy spotted a woman being pinned down by another man, a blade inches away from her throat. Not your mission, not your problem.

Though, it certainly became your problem when the woman croaked, “There you are!” upon seeing you. “Holy shit, there’s three of you.”

She bucked the man off after tasing him, scrambling towards her gun. A click, a point, a shot. Your copy dove behind a pile of sturdy cases, but clearly not fast enough. You felt the bullet pierce your chest, the warmth of the blood pool across your ribs—and then you were dead.

“Fuck,” you winced, feeling the resounding ache of the gunshot in your own body, eyeing your dead self. Without a second thought, you split once more. Your copies scattered from your assailant, off to find the ghost.

You tackled your white-masked target as soon as she materialized once more, managing to get only one powerful strike in before you fell to the ground, the ghost phasing away and disappearing once more. Then your head pierced with the terrible, agonizing pain of a bullet fracturing your skull, and you were dead. Again. And again, and again. Impaled by a shield, stabbed by the ghost.

You gasped from outside the room, crumpling to your knees. How many more times were you willing to die? How many times could you?

Then there came a nauseous, gagging sound from inside the room. For a moment, you wondered if one of your copies had miraculously survived and was making that sound. You split yourself and crawled inside. Maybe you could save yourself. Spotting you coming in, the man with the shield seemed to realize there was one of you waiting outside. He sent the shield—already covered with your blood—arcing outside and striking you clean across the throat before you could react. Your decapitated head hit the metal floors with a disgusting, bloody noise, lolling to the foot of the entrance.

That left one copy inside the room. You gasped for breath, air painfully dragging within your esophogas as you clutched at your neck, the veins beneath your skin popping. For safety, you duplicated yourself once more.

“Woah,” came a voice beside you. There was a man in… hospital clothes? You scrambled away from him. He watched you with an open mouth, blinking in a manner not unsimilar to an owl.

One of the assassins was dead already, bullet wound in the head, not unsimilar to one of your deaths here. You could see your own bodies scattered about, in varying states of mutilation. The three assassins left were all pointing their guns at each other, then you and your copy, then to the man gagging next to you.

“Which one of you is the real you?” said the blonde woman.

“I’m all me,” the both of you said at the same time.

She shuddered. “Well, that’s not creepy at all.”

The man on the ground made a disoriented noise, as if realizing that he really shouldn’t be in a room full of people with guns trying to kill each other. “Actually, I—” He struggled to his feet, then turned to run. Thick metal shutters fell down over all the entrances before he could leave. It crushed your decapitated head as if it were a grape, your blood splattering all over you, your copy, and the hospital-man.

Shit. If you were still outside, you could have gotten away.

The assassins all trained their guns at the man, spooked by his skittish movements.

“No, no!” he exclaimed, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m—I’m Bob.”

It didn’t look like he had any place to hide weapons. Still, just to be safe, you split yourself again, now three of you. The faux Captain America flinched. “Fuck!”

“Who?” said the ghost, eyes trained on Bob.

“Bob,” said Bob, shrugging.

“Who sent you, Bob?” asked the blonde woman.

“Nobody, why would I be sent?” he said, hands trembling. He was afraid. “You were all… you guys were all sent?”

His question went largely ignored. The woman’s eyes, lined with hazy blue makeup, darted to you. “You—how am I meant to kill you if you can’t die?”

You raised your hands in surrender now, mimicking Bob. “I can die. It’s the one thing I’m really good at.”

Something flickered in her gaze. She lowered her gun just slightly. “Who sent you?”

The ghost rolled her eyes and lowered her gun. “I’m not sure what’s happening here, but my job is done.” She gestured to the dead assassin on the ground and stepped forward to go.

One of your copies blocked her way. “My job isn’t.”

She scoffed, then phased straight through you. You felt a cold chill traverse down your spine.

“Neither is mine,” said the blonde woman, turning the barrel of her gun to you.

“Don’t waste your time,” you snarled. “I have infinite lives. You have finite bullets—do the math.”

The man with the shield tilted his head at the woman. “Convenient cover for someone stealing weapons from O.X.E.”

“I’m not stealing, Copy-Cat here is ste—” She paused, and realization came over her bloodied face. Then, she raised her hands in the same way you did. “Okay. It’s clear we have all worked for Valentina in some sort of shadow ops capacity.”

“Yeah, so?” said the man.

“So all of this shit is O.X.E’s secrets. And so are we.” She gestured to the mountainous stacks of boxes and crates.

You felt your heart sink to your stomach. You should’ve known Valentina would pull something like this with you. It should’ve been suspicious how easily she accepted your request to leave. How could you be so stupid? So naive?

“We’re liabilities no one would miss,” said Ghost.

The man scoffed. “Speak for yourself. I was sent here on a mission.”

“Look around!” said the blonde. “We are the evidence, and this is the shredder! She wants us gone.”

The three began to bicker over who was in the right. From their argument, you learned that the man with the shield was John Walker, officially Captain America for about three seconds before he had murdered a man in public. And the blonde woman—tasked with the impossible mission of eliminating you—was Yelena. Former Red Room assassin.

Bob began to shuffle closer to you, and you tensed.

“Hey—” he said, reaching out a hand to help you up. “Are you okay? I watched you die, like, fifty times or something.” He fidgeted when you hesitantly accepted his hand, pulling yourself up with his help. Bob took turns smiling at you and your clones, all lopsided. He was so… off-putting. You scrutinized him with a narrowed gaze.

“What are you doing here, Bob? You clearly aren’t… like us.”

“Wh… Why not?”

“You’re in a patient uniform. It’s the kind of shit I always wore as a kid,” you said, beckoning to his pants.

Bob was about to respond, but clammed up when John Walker began stalking closer to the two of you. Subconsciously, Bob edged behind you, almost as if he were using you as a shield. You sure as hell didn’t know who Bob was, or what he was doing here, but he certainly didn’t seem deserving of the piercing glare Walker was sending his way.

“I’m not leaving here without completing my mission,” said the man. “Valentina gave me a clean slate, guaranteed—I’m not screwing that up.”

“And you believe her?” you said in disbelief, almost a whisper. You stepped back, bumping into Bob in the process. He felt strangely solid behind you. “She promised to let me go. A rogue, powered assassin let loose out of the cage. I was stupid for letting myself believe her. And you are, too.”

Walker’s face crumpled with anger. “Listen here, you freak. You multiply like… like bacteria. Obviously Valentina doesn’t trust you. She may be lying to you, but she trusts me. And you—” He rounded on Bob. “You were part of my job, so I gotta know. How’d you get in?”

You shifted so you’d be able to see Bob. He seemed to shift with you slightly, unhappy that you were no longer between him and John. Fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve, Bob shrugged. “I don’t… Pfft. I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

One of Walker’s eyes twitched. “Terrific answer. Great. Well, alright!” He beckoned to you, Yelena, and Ghost. “Tie yourselves up. I’m sure there’s rope in here somewhere.”

“Wow,” said Ghost—Ava, you remembered reading her name from your mission casefile. “No.”

“Hey,” whispered Bob, tugging on one of your copy’s utility belts. “I just realized I don’t—I don’t know your name.”

“Now’s probably not the time for niceties,” you said. After staring at him for a moment longer, you sighed. It was pitiful how lost he looked. “I’m known as Xerox.”

“Xerox—that’s a… that’s a cool name. Way better than Bob.”

To your surprise, you found yourself giving him a small twitch of a smile. “Bob’s a palindrome. Same backwards as it is forwards. That earns it at least half a point on the cool scale.”

Bob paused, regarding you with an equally twitchy, uncertain grin. “I never thought about it that way. Yeah, that’s… thanks.” He let out a nervous laugh that was obviously forced—and yet still somehow endearing.

As you spoke with Bob, Ghost walked on ahead, intent on leaving. She phased out of tangibility, so you knew there was no way you could stop her even if you tried. You watched her go passively—you no longer cared if you failed your mission. It was clear it wasn’t a real mission, anyway. You were glad that Yelena had come to the same conclusion. She didn’t seem intent on wasting any more bullets in your copies’ skulls.

When Ghost drew within an inch from the door, a piercing sound echoed throughout the chambers. You and your copies keeled over in pain. The noise made violent shudders ripple through your body. It reminded you of all those times you had to be strapped down when you were a child before you could control your powers, riding out your seizures with a belt across your mouth to muffle your screaming.

You could feel shaking hands drift to cover your ears for you. Bob’s. Your head snapped up, meeting his worried gaze.

Eventually the noise subsided, and his touch fell away.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, eyeing him cautiously. What did he want from you?

“You were hurting,” was all he said in response, tone hesitant and soft, as if worried he’d done something wrong.

You felt your face soften and you let out a weak exhale, suddenly feeling as if your heart was going to fall out of your chest. Why was he making you so flustered?

The five of you were left sitting around for the next ten minutes. Walker and Ava took to raiding the dead assassin, Taskmaster’s body. Yelena didn’t seem too happy with that, snapping at them to respect the dead, job or not.

“You knew her?” you quietly asked the blonde as she paced to and fro like a caged tiger, watching as Ava took a gun off the corpse.

“I did,” she said, nodding solemnly. Then, she gestured to your own dead bodies strewn about. “Sorry about—”

“It’s fine. Comes with the job,” you mumbled, voice soft.

Yelena nodded grimly. “You live and you die, right? You more than most, I suppose.”

You blinked at her. Before you could say anything back, a siren blared across the room. The lights turned an angry shade of red that made the blood on your hands look black as tar. You felt your stomach roil.

Ghost looked upward. “It’s not a shredder,” she said. “It’s an incinerator.”

There was a large timer by one of the entrances that started to count down from two minutes. “Two minutes before Valentina’s slate is wiped clean,” said Yelena.

“Don’t know that for sure!” John protested. “Could be for when they come to pick me up.”

You could only barely withhold yourself from driving your fist into the smug look on his face. It did, however, make you feel slightly better that you weren’t the most stupid, delusional one in the room.

“Do you not feel that? The temperature rising dramatically, as if heat were involved?” Ghost pointed up at the gaps in the ceiling, where heat was filtering in, so strong that space warped and wobbled looking through the columns of air.

“Oh, boy, that is no way to go,” said Bob, nervously wringing his hands.

Walker scowled. “Well, how would you like to go, Bob? With a hand around your throat choking the life out of you or a bullet to the head? Either could certainly be arranged!”

“Stop,” you barked. “You really want to spend your last moments alive being a complete asshole?”

The man clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Yelena stepped in before another fight could start. “Listen, Ghost-lady—”

“Ava.”

“Sure, whatever. We need to get you through one of the walls so you can open the door.”

“She tried that already,” said John, eyes rolling up to the pipes on the ceiling.

“I know she did, but we haven’t tried shutting off the sound barrier!”

“If they built a barrier specifically for her,” you said, recalling your casefile. Her weakness was high-frequency sounds that caused interference with her suit’s technology. “The emitter must be in close-range. Somewhere inside the room. Outside would be too weak and dampened to work.”

Immediately, you spliced a few dozen times and scattered, looking for some sort of power source.

“What—what exactly are we looking for?” asked Bob, hurrying alongside one of your copies.

“Not stupid questions, Bob!” John said.

“Ignore him. Look for something with circuitry. Wires, a battery cell, that kind of stuff.” You tore through a few crates, feeling up the nooks and crannies of the walls.

Fifty seconds left on the clock, rapidly ticking down. You were no stranger to dying, but this was strangely a different experience altogether. True, complete death. It sounded like both a blessing and the most terrifying thing possible. You could feel the panic rise up like bile in your throat.

To your relief, Ava found the power source, and John immediately hacked away at it without thinking, orange sparks flying with the power of his strike. You would’ve been angry with his impulsive behavior if it hadn’t worked—Ghost successfully phased through the walls and disappeared.

Twenty seconds.

She was going to come back, right?

Ten.

The furnaces above grew hotter and brighter.

Nine.

One of your copies pushed Bob forward, since he was loitering directly beneath one of them. “Don’t stand under there.”

Five.

One of you caught sight of Yelena shutting her eyes in solemn acceptance.

Four.

You heard Walker curse under his breath.

Three.

You braced yourself. Would death be kind to you this time, despite all of its ugly cruelty before?

Two.

And then—a blaring siren. The slabs of metal began to shirk upwards. The four of you dashed out just as the columns of fire began to spew out.

Bob was slow. You split yourself multiple times to keep shoving him forward. You could feel fire engulf your body, shrieking as the searing flames tore through your suit, into your skin, eating at your flesh, burning you to a crisp.

Some of you escaped, thrown by the explosion. One died instantly with a broken spine. Others clung to the walls, injured but alive.

You watched in horror as many of your selves wailed in agony, dying a slow, agonizing death. You curled up into yourself, a few tears silently rolling down your cheeks. You supposed that was another one of your talents—you were very good at crying quietly.

“Thanks for coming back,” you heard Walker say to Ava.

“I had to use someone. They cut the power to the elevator.”

“Hey,” the ghost said, reaching out a hand to you. You looked up at her, furiously wiping the tears away with the back of your hand, trying your best to ignore the pain. “Come on. Up you get. We need to find a way out of here.”

When she helped you up, she noticed that you were shaking violently. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve never been set on fire before,” you murmured. “Burned alive is a new one to add to the books.” You kneeled down to close the eyes of one of your corpses. You caught sight of Bob on the other side of the room, having just woken up from being knocked unconscious beside Yelena. He was uninjured, to your relief.

“You helped me out,” he said, once you neared him. “Why did… Why did you do that? You died for me—so many times. I’m not…” He fidgeted uncomfortably. You could see the guilt weighing heavy in his eyes. “I’m not worthy enough for that.”

You didn’t know what to say. You were never good with sentimentalities.

To your dismay, John cut you to the chase. “I won’t disagree with you on that,” he told Bob. He stormed forward until he was nearly nose-to-nose with Bob, who cowered away just slightly before straightening himself to his full height. “I’m tired of your bullshit! Tell me how you got in here right goddamn now!”

“I swear I just woke up in this place,” he said, placating, as if he were talking to a spooked mare. “One minute I’m having my blood drawn for this medical study, and the next I’m here. I don’t know what’s happening, I really don’t.”

“Okay, then show me where you woke up!”

Bob hesitated, then pointed into the incinerated room. “In—in there.”

“Where everything’s on fire,” John deadpanned. “That’s real convenient.”

“Walker, relax,” said Yelena.

“You don’t remember anything?” asked Ava. “Bag over your head, a needle in your neck?”

“Chokehold? Nerve pinch?” Walker asked. It was beginning to feel terribly like an interrogation of sorts.

Bob stepped back again. “No, none of those.”

“I think he’s just a civilian,” said Yelena, eyeing Bob carefully.

With an edge to his tone, John hissed, “Okay, well, if he’s a civilian, he knows too much and if he’s an agent he sucks. Either way I say we throw him back into the fire!”

“No,” you said, glaring daggers at the man. “I died multiple times just to get him out. We’re not murdering an innocent man.”

“What do you want, a medal? And we don’t know he’s innocent!” Walker fired back.

Suddenly, Bob started to laugh. It was a wheezy, chuckling noise. You looked at him in surprise.

“You said you’re… Captain America?” he said, smiling incredulously.

John’s countenance grew even stonier than before. “What’s funny about that?”

“It’s just, heh, you’re… you’re an asshole,” Bob said between his peals of laughter.

There was a beat of tense silence. Then John smiled, wolfish. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. In an instant, he was an arm’s length away from you and Bob, grabbing Bob by the throat and shoving him back so hard his back crashed into the wall behind him. You scrambled forward, multiplying twice to place enough hands on Walker’s chestplace to shove him back. Yelena also came to help, physically placing herself between the two men.

“Okay, woah!” said Yelena, shooting a warning glare at John. “We swung our tiny dicks—it was a lot of fun, but we need to have some space now. Walker, you go over there. Bob, come with me.”

You watched the blonde woman whisk Bob off to the side, who followed her with no complaint. When you looked back at John, he was toeing one of your burnt corpses with his boot. He caught you staring at him and stopped.

“Sorry,” he said. Even he knew that crossed a line.

“Force of habit?” you taunted him with a tilt of your head.

John apparently had nothing to say to that. He turned away from you. Then, he began hacking at one of the walls with the shield. “There has to be a way out of here if we go in one direction for long enough, right?”

You shrugged. “Go right ahead. Be my guest.”

After a few more pummels, the solid concrete gave in and revealed metal doors. He pried them open, grunting with exertion, revealing an empty elevator shaft. There were no wires or indented surfaces to climb. Just sheer, smooth metal walls for as far as the eye could see. Likely even further than that. You gulped as you stared up.

“Hey, are you guys done with your therapy session yet?” John snarked to Yelena and Bob.

Yelena, after saying a final few words to Bob, let him go. Bob made his way to you. Whatever it was that Yelena said to him, Bob didn’t seem particularly settled. You decided not to dwell on it for too long.

“So, this is—our way out?”

“Looks like it. No way to climb, though,” you said. You glanced at his head. “You okay? That looked like it hurt.”

Bob glanced at you strangely, not used to others being concerned over his well-being. First Yelena, and now you. “Yeah, I’m fine. Can’t have been as bad as you.”

“It’s no competition,” you said, pursing your lips. Then, to the rest of the group, you asked, “Should we all get in there? Maybe we’ll figure something out once we scope it out.”

All of you crowded into the bottom of the elevator shaft, staring up at the endless void above.

“So… none of us fly? All of us just… punch and shoot?” Yelena asked, looking around.

“Don’t worry,” said Walker. “I got this.”

He pushed you and Ava to make more space for himself, ignoring both of your startled noises. Then, he leaped up. An insane distance for a regular human, and what you assumed was just above average for one pumped with super serum. You watched him disappear into the darkness for all about four seconds. And then you heard screaming as he came back down. Bob tugged you back just in time not to get crushed beneath John crashing back down on his shield.

“You should try that again,” Ava suggested, grinning down at him as he struggled back to his feet with a pained groan.

John looked at you and you clones expectantly. “You can multiply. Why don’t you, I don’t know, make enough copies for us to climb up there?”

“You want me to form a human ladder for you guys?” you asked, horrified.

“Well, yes—”

“My clones have limited range,” you interrupted, voice curt. “We’re a collective mind. If we don’t all stick within a few meters of each other, I get seizures and lose control.”

Walker frowned down his nose at you. “Is it not worth a shot?”

“Not unless you want to risk me spazzing out mid-climb and all of us falling to our deaths,” you retorted. “We need to think of something else.”

Then, Walker turned his gaze to Ava. “Can’t you just phase up there and throw down a rope for us, or something?”

“First of all, someone other than you would have to ask me,” she hissed. You had to admit, you were starting to warm up to her. “Second, I’ve only ever been able to hold it for a minute, and who knows how long it would take to get up there—I’d be crushed under the weight of it before I could phase back.”

“Just a minute?” Walker deadpanned. “What is it with you lab rats and your limitations?”

“Shut up!” both you and Ava exclaimed at the same time.

“I… have an idea,” said Bob, raising a tentative hand.

All of you turned to him expectantly.

Your backs were pressed up together, your legs splayed out onto the metal wall as the group slowly inched upward. For the plan to work, there was only space for one of you, so you reabsorbed your copies into one body again. The rest of the group watched you do it in a mix of muted curiosity and horror. Bob gave you an awkward thumbs up, which made you smile despite the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

A part of you wanted to leave a copy down on the ground in case something happened, but you couldn’t risk having a seizure if you got too far away, and with everyone else on the line, too.

“Ew,” said Yelena. “Which one of you is wet?”

“Sorry,” Bob winced. “I run hot.”

You shifted the arm looped around his, grimacing at the sweat dripping down your own face. “I get it. It’s fucking sweltering in here.”

“Someone’s got a weird, hard butt,” Walker groaned.

“That’s not my butt, that’s my suit,” Ava hissed in return. “Pardon me for the inconvenience—I only spent my entire life in labs, hooked up to machines so I could create this physical cage to keep my material body from disintegrating at all times!”

You heard Yelena let out a bark of a laugh. “You don’t want to start the whole sob story game. I’d win. Enslaved child assassin over here.”

For some reason, John said, “Well, you were just a kid, so—”

“Oh!” said Yelena. “Does that make it better? Gee, I wish someone had told me that earlier! That makes me feel so much better.”

“Not that it’s a competition, but I’ve spent my whole life quite literally dying over and over again,” you said.

“Oh, really?” said Walker. “Sounds like you’re making it a competition.”

You fell silent, not wanting to waste your breath arguing. The group, panting in ragged, short breaths, simultaneously decided to fall silent. You were so high up now that you couldn’t see the bottom of the shaft anymore.

After what felt like eons, Walker finally gasped out, “I see a door!”

“Now what?” Yelena asked.

“Uhm—I guess one of us should… go first…” said Ava from your other side, uncertainty weighing her words.

“No, then the rest of us would immediately fall!” protested Yelena, breath trembling with the strain of holding herself up.

“Shit… sorry guys, I guess I didn’t really think this through,” Bob muttered.

“Genius fuckin’ plan, Bob!” Walker exclaimed.

“Always making things worse,” the man on your right muttered.

Your brows furrowed. “Bob, we’re all the way up here because of you. Come on, we’re so close. I can duplicate and—”

“We can’t risk your additional weight,” Walker barked out. “One slip and we all come tumbling down!”

“Then what do you want to do?” you asked.

“Hand me a baton, I can reach it!” he said.

Immediate protesting ensued. “No way, you’re just going to leave us!” Yelena gritted out.

“We have to hurry, I don’t know how much longer I can keep my bloody boots from slipping!” Ghost said. True to her word, you caught sight of her shoes slowly gravitating downward.

Yelena inched upward. “Spin us around and we’ll—”

“No! Are you crazy?”

Bob shook beside you.

“Bob, are you alright?” you asked, wondering why he was tossing his head from side to side like a dog shaking off excess water.

“Cucumber—cucumber, cucumber!” he said, scrunching up his face.

“What the hell is happening?” Yelena asked.

“Growing up, somebody told me if you have to sneeze, you yell out cucumber to confuse your brain. I have to sneeze, but if I do, I’ll lose control and we’ll—”

“This is insane!” Walker bit out. “I can get us all out of here, I just need to go first!”

“NO!” Ava said. “There must be another way!”

Bob tilted his head back, knocking against yours. “Oh, no,” he said.

“Oh—” You began to panic. “Cucumber! Cucumber, cucumber! Bob!”

Yelena and Ava both began chanting with you. John, his patience worn thin, reached behind and grabbed Yelena’s baton. Then, he jumped out of formation.

You felt yourself falling, your heart dropping to the balls of your feet in sheer horror, trying your best to grip onto the slippery metal walls. In your panic, you duplicated yourself in an attempt to slow down your descent. Just above you, Ava punctured the walls with her dagger, braking to a halt.

Then, to your shock, you were abruptly smacked against the wall when Ava grabbed hold of your wrist. But only one of you.

“No!” you exclaimed, watching as your copy plummeted downwards with a blood-curdling shriek. After several seconds, you could feel your mind grow hazy, dizzy with the distance. “No, I’m—”

Your pupils rolled into the back of your head and you began to convulse. You didn’t register that Yelena had grabbed a hold of your ankle as she fell, and she sent a grappling hook down to catch Bob.

He tried his best to catch your copy, but you had streaked past so fast that you slipped right through his arms, and fell into the darkness below.

The rest of the group, minus Walker, who had climbed through the opening, watched as you shook about violently. After several agonizing seconds, there was a resounding thud and splattering noise. It seemed a twisted sort of blessing that the fall had killed your copy immediately. You broke free of your seizure but immediately fell into a bout of pain, doubling over. It felt as if you were on fire all over again, and someone had carved you open, poured honey all over your innards, and released a thousand fire-ants to crawl over you.

You were so out of it that you only barely realized Ava was pulling you through the entrance with John’s help. Yelena hauled herself up after that, Bob shortly following her.

The ghost kneeled down beside you, gently tapping your face as you came in and out of consciousness. “Hey. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

With slow, painful movements, you nodded, sitting back up. It took you another moment to realize that the entire group was huddled around you. “Oh, God. I felt my brains spill out down there.”

“What did you go doing that for?” Walker said in an irritating I-told-you-so tone, kneeling down beside you. “I told you not to duplicate yourself, didn’t I?”

“I really don’t think a lecture is needed right now, thank you,” Yelena told him.

“I’m sorry,” said Bob, looking wearing yet another expression of guilt. “I tried catching you, but—”

“Thanks, Bob,” you said, nothing but sincerity in your eyes. “I felt you. Thank you. And thanks for holding onto me, Ava. Even though I tried to kill you.”

The woman averted her gaze, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah, well. Would have been a terrible weight on my consciousness. So really, I did it for my own benefit.”

“Alright,” you said, not believing her in the slightest, but you decided not to comment on it.

With the help of Ava and Yelena, you stood up on your own two feet, albeit a little wobbly, and completely exhausted from the climb up.

“You selfish prick,” Ava spat at Walker. “If you had just waited for one goddamn second—”

“I made a tactical decision to secure my own safety before ensuring all of yours,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Pretty ungrateful, if you ask me.”

Then, something strange happened. Bob placed a hand on John’s shoulder, saying, “Thanks for saving us, Captain.”

Instead of making a snarky comment, John’s face grew dazed. Unfocused. He turned and stepped closer to the elevator shaft, feet just a few inches away from joining your dead clone on the ground.

“Walker?” Yelena asked, wondering what on earth he was doing. Both she and Ava stepped closer to check him out.

You looked to Bob, one of your brows arched. “What’s up with him?”

Bob spared you a cursory glance. “I don’t know,” he said. You chose to believe him, but frowned nonetheless. “Are you okay, though? You were—you were shaking really badly in there.”

“A seizure,” you whispered. “Sorry I scared you guys. I panicked and duplicated. It wasn’t very smart on my end.”

“No, I get it,” he muttered. “The only one you can truly trust is yourself. I get it.”

You tilted your head, regarding him curiously. As much as you thought Bob was a perfectly ordinary civilian, he said some very cryptic things sometimes. “Right… yeah.”

“I know I haven’t given you any reason to, but… you can trust me,” he offered. His hand trembled, and you could read the anxiety plainly across his features. When you took a second too long to respond, he retracted slightly. “But, I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t—”

“I trust you,” you said, cutting him off. You spared him a downturned smile, which made him relax just a smidge. “You haven’t given me any reason not to, Palindrome.”

The mellow blue of his eyes shone with mild amusement. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Is that my nickname now? Palindrome?”

“If you want it to be,” you said, shrugging. “It is a bit catchier than just Bob. The same forwards as it is backwards.”

Bob looked back to John, who still wouldn’t move away from the shaft's sheer drop. “I guess that’s fitting,” he whispered. “Nothing changes even if I want it to.”

Before you could ask him what he meant by that, John finally seemed to snap out of it. He stumbled back from the edge of the shaft.

“Jesus Christ,” Yelena said, completely bewildered. “Are you crazy? What did you do that for?”

“Do what for?” John grouched, waving her away as if she was a fly. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Ugh, nevermind, then,” said Ava. “It’s time we all get out of here.”

Once Ava pressed a button for the exit to slide open, light spilled in from outside. But—it was nighttime. You knew because you arrived at 10 PM on the dot, and you also knew for certain that not enough time had passed for the sun already to be rising. The lights were coming from cars. Multiple of them, at least three dozen. There was chatter as well. Boots. Guns. Tactical armor.

It was an entire squadron out there. No doubt sent by Valentina.

Ava, John, and Yelena then started bickering about a plan and who was in charge.

“I think I might just surrender, probably,” said Bob.

“I suppose she won’t hurt you if you’re just a citizen,” you said. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“Okay, fine,” John said, shrugging. “Every man for themself, then.”

“Why should you be in charge?” snarked Yelena. “You almost killed all of us right there!”

John propped his fists onto his hips. “Well, let’s see—I’ve been in the trenches of every war-torn country there is, rescued God knows how many hostages, and shook the hands of two US presidents!”

“And how, pray tell, does any of that help us in the slightest way?” you hissed.

Walker ignored you. “What else—oh! High school state football champs, back to back to back. Go bears!”

You stared at him incredulously. You never met Steve Rogers, but you wished you had that Captain America rather than this one in front of you right now. You were sure Steve was infinitely more tolerable than Walker.

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Oh, wow. When I was five, I was in a peewee soccer team named the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts, sponsored by Shane’s Tyre Shop. We won zero games, and one time one of my teammates did a poo midfield! Anyone else have any pointless stories to share?”

Exasperated, Ava pointed to herself. “Grew up in a lab prison.”

Bob scratched the back of his neck. “Meth-addicted sign twirling chicken. Was a… summer job.” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Had my entire skeleton pulled out of my body once. Took me twelve minutes to die,” you said, bouncing on the balls of your feet. The rest of them turned to you, horrified. “What?”

“... Great,” said Yelena. “Now that we’re all done sharing, here’s the plan…”

It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the only one on the table. You and Walker take out the first wave of soldiers coming through, wait for Yelena (and Bob) to turn the lights off and back on once the second wave of soldiers came in with night vision goggles, effectively blinding them, all while Ava went out to find an escape vehicle.

Naturally, Walker didn’t wait. He went barreling into the wave of second soldiers, knocking them all down with his shield and picking them off one by one. You hadn’t even bothered to step in, watching him punch through all of them on his own.

“Thanks for the help,” he spat at you once he was done.

“Didn’t want to get in your way,” you snarked in return. “Now come on. Let’s get their gear on and head out.”

Eventually, Yelena and Bob came back, the former angry that the two of you hadn’t waited for her. John was quick to defend themself, but you merely tossed Yelena and Bob their own sets of tactical wear.

“No time to argue. We can’t keep Ava waiting.”

Walker sneered. “If she’s even waiting for us at all.”

Once everyone was changed, the four of you walked out, dragging Bob as if he were a fallen soldier.

“I don’t think I want to be carried anymore,” Bob groaned, arms stiff and aching from where they were grabbing him.

“Shut up, Bob. You’re injured, remember?” Walker gruffed, which made Bob fall silent.

“Just a little further. Ava should be here somewhere,” came your gritted mutter.

“We don’t know where she is. She could be halfway to Mexico for all we know,” Walker retaliated. Behind your visor, you rolled your eyes.

And then, from the corner of your vision, you spotted Valentina. Pristine as always, sipping a warm cup of coffee. Envy and white hot rage scratched within your chest, but you swallowed down your anger. It took everything you had in you not to storm right up to her, chug down her coffee, and punch a hole straight through her pearly whites. You had a cover to keep up, after all.

Finally, after a few minutes of dragging Bob, a truck pulled up to the four of you. Ava materialized in the driver’s seat. “Get in,” she said.

You smiled. A small part of you really did think she was going to abandon you. You were glad she came back.

Yelena and John clambered into the front while you and Bob sat in the back of the tactical vehicle, where there was nothing inside but two wooden benches for seats. “Will you be okay back there?” Ava asked, and the two of you sent her tired thumbs-ups.

Both you and Bob swayed back and forth as the truck began to purr to life and rumble ahead. “I wonder what they’ll think once they see all my bodies down there. Can’t be a pretty sight,” you whispered.

Bob gave you a sympathetic grimace. “Do you still feel them? After they…?” He motioned vaguely with his hands.

“After they die?” you finished, sucking on the back of your teeth in thought. “I don’t feel them, no. I feel the pain right before they die, though.”

Bob slumped into the truck’s wall across from you. “Sorry,” he said, to which you just shook your head.

“So…” You started, eager to change the subject. “What did Yelena say to you back in the incinerator after your little argument with Walker? You seemed a bit… downcast.”

Bob squinted in thought, trying to jog his memory. “Oh… that. Well, I told her that sometimes I have… really high highs… and then really low lows… and it’s hard to remember things in the middle.”

“Must be a really low low right now, hm?” you said, a laugh lacing your words.

“Hah… yeah. No, I mean… right now I’m fine, I think. Compared to other times, now is… much better.”

“Yikes,” you said, now only half-laughing. “Glad you’re having a relatively good day, then.”

Bob laughed along with you, awkward as ever, then cleared his throat. “Ahem. And then I, uh, to Yelena I said there’s this… darkness… inside me. Never-ending. Like, uhm, I called it a void. Anyways, she said she felt the same way, so I asked her how she dealt with it.”

You motioned for him to keep going, leaning forward. “And?”

“She—she just said she pushes it down. Deep, deep down. Heh. I mean, i-it makes sense, I guess,” Bob said, stumbling over his words a little. “Like, what else is there to do, even?”

Judging from the way your brows knitted together, Bob came to the conclusion that you didn’t seem to think it made much sense. The thought crossed his mind that you looked rather endearing the way your nose wrinkled in thought. You would be a terrible poker player—the cards were written all across your face. Bob liked how easy it was to read you. It made him feel safer to be around you. But these thoughts were quick to wash away when he remembered that you were just—another bump in the road. You would pass, and everything would go back to being… nothing. A void.

“It makes sense for an ex-red room assassin,” you told him, not unkindly, roping him out of his drifting thoughts. “Doesn’t mean you should take the same advice, seeing as you’re not an assassin. Right?”

Bob itched at his wrist. “Right.”

The truck slowed to a grueling halt when a few soldiers stopped the group. Walker, to no one’s surprise and everybody’s dismay, insisted on being the one to talk. They asked for identification and a reason for leaving the base, since the medbay was northside, and they were currently heading southward. Walker tried to bluff his way through, but it was clear that the soldiers were not buying his story.

Bob’s expression twisted as if he had swallowed something sour.

“I’m sorry for this,” he said.

“What?” you asked, watching in confusion as he softly took your hand.

And then, strangely, you were no longer in the truck.

You were in a hospital. The air smelled distinctly of sterilizing chemicals with the sharp twinge of copper—blood. There was a belt in your mouth. Screaming muffled around the stale leather as they hacked away at your leg. Your copy stood off to the side, also bound, but whole. There were tears streaking down both of your faces. You looked younger then—your hair was longer, your face rounder. The years had weathered you.

“Again,” said one of the surgeons. Your younger, whole self trembled, then split into another copy. It took longer back then. An entire minute of straining yourself just for one duplicate. Now, you could make hundreds of yourself in an instant if you wanted. Nurses came in and took the other copy away. Off for more screenings, more tests, more surgeries, more experiments. That’s what you were to them—an experiment.

“Please stop,” you croaked. You weren’t sure whether that came from the younger you or just—you. “Please… I don’t want to die again.”

“Oh, sweetie,” said the surgeon, coming around the dissecting table to push sweaty strands of hair away from your head. “You’re not actually dying, though. Not really. None of these—xeroxes of you are actually you.”

You broke down into silent, heaving sobs when he returned to the other you, and began hacking away more parts of you. “For science,” they’d always told you.

Present-you turned, desperate to leave. Only, you were met with… Bob?

You searched his face, completely dumbfounded. “Palindrome?” you whispered.

“That’s where Xerox comes from?” he asked, clearly perturbed by the scene he was watching. You didn’t spare him a response.

His lips pursed and he reached out to take your hand again. In this strange, hazy world that you knew not to be real, his touch was cold. You rather liked how it felt against the warmth of your own palms, sticky with blood. Was that yours or one of your copies? You couldn’t remember. Was there any difference at all?

You held onto him tighter, shutting your eyes. Bob’s free hand raised to cradle the back of your head, shielding you from your own memories.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” he murmured. “I’ll fix it. Leave it to me.”

Then, he pulled away from you despite your protests, and the nightmare realm seemed to spin and spin and spin, caving in on itself—

By the time you came to, Ava was shaking your shoulders and calling your name, as you were passed out on the floor of the truck. You glanced around with glassy eyes, confirming what you already knew to be true.

Bob was gone.

#thunderbolts x reader #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts bob x reader #thunderbolts bob #robert reynolds fanfiction #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds fanfic #thunderbolts fanfiction #robert reynolds #bob reynolds fanfiction #thunderbolts

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priisprii · 1 month ago

Text

Feel it- C.SC

Summary: making seungcheol jealous might not be a good idea (it's a great idea).

Contains: dom! seungcheol x subfem!reader, possessive Cheol, unprotected sex, degradation (heavy) , choking (by hand, by biceps), headlock, dirty talk, reader is simp for Cheol.lil fluffy in the end

Word count: 3 k

A/N: don't you sometimes just want headlocks from Cheol :3

Minors don't interact.

Seungcheol has a big heart, he's someone who would happily give up the bigger portion his favourite food without any lingering bitterness in his heart.he lets his friends borrow his high-end clothes and shoes without expecting them to return it. he's someone who doesn't mind sharing and loves he can be helpful and wanted, needed by the people he loves.

He kinda gets a confidence boost realising what he has is desired by people around him , the ownership remains with him despite the possession being with someone else, whether it be his clothes, shoes, watches, pcs or even his past girlfriends.

However with you, seungcheol can't even let the thought of his friends hugging you in a friendly way pass in his mind without feeling like someone has shoved a knife in his throat and is twisting it .

You are untouchable for him, someone who can't be tainted by the gaze of others , even thinking about you should be privilege for them —he thinks.

Seungcheol knows how hot you are and he also sympathizes with random average guys who can never bag a beauty like you in their cursed lifetime but you are his and only his .

He hides this part of himself, the side of him which is overly possesive over you and which gets nauseous thinking about you just talking with other guys. He doesn't want to scare you off with that toxic trait and make you feel trapped. The last thing he wants is to make his little baby sad and uncomfortable because of his own insecurity.

On the other hand you were frustrated and angry and in pain cause' seungcheol was holding himself back from absolutely breaking the spines of your guy friends whose eyes lingered a little too long on your form and acted all fine and nonchalant when his friends gave you hugs and teased you with flirty remarks.

Occasionally, once in a blue moon, you were able to capture the dark glint and anger in his eyes but it disappeared as soon as it formed.

In bed when he's balls deep inside you his idgaf attitude crumbles and he fucks you so hard like he's trying to ingrave the shape of his cock inside your pussy and hit you with the realisation that no one can fuck you better than him, no one can make you feel so good that you can't even form coherent words and cry helplessly without knowing whether you want him to stop or choke you to the point of passing out.

Still in those moments he doesn't admit he's jealous and wants to hide you from the world, keeping you locked in his bedroom forever. Oh how tempting that idea sounds. You want cheol to break Fully, let his possessive side out and make him claim you, you want him in ways you can't explain without sounding insane.

you will do whatever in your power to break seungcheol's cool guy act even if it's a little scandalous.

"your biceps are so big ,I never really noticed just how big they actually are, mingyu!!"

you squeaked ,oogling at mingyu's biceps, mingyu smirked, blatant cockiness clear on his features but Seungcheol visibly tensed beside you a little, taken aback by your sudden interest in mingyu or particularly in his biceps . seungcheol thinks his ones are probably much bigger and better.

"oh, really? Wanna feel erm' angel?" Mingyu asked extending his bicep to your face and flexing it you won't lie they looked absolutely delicious and you want to bite that muscular flesh but you want to make seungcheol jealous not play with his confidence so you just resorted to touching and squeezing the muscle softly and letting out a excited sound mimicking a child.

"damn, it's really just soo hard and big~~"

air in the room shifted at your comment, the underlying meaning being understood by everyone and their reactions being exactly what you wished for .

You looked at seungcheol while your hand still remained on mingyu's bicep and the look he gave you almost made you get on your knees and beg for his forgiveness. He was glaring at you. Note that he never glared at anyone and the anger in his eyes made you drop your hand right then and there.

"I guess she had too many drinks tonight let me take her home" seungcheol announced, the friend group knew you didn't even have a sip of alcohol and were fully conscious playing games . However mingyu quite didn't like the fact seungcheol was tearing you off of him so soon, he actually grew quite fond of your attention.

"she doesn't drink why you are lying to us?" Mingyu smirked before continuing "your ego so brittle that you can't handle your girl praising your friend?"

Now, you want to slap mingyu cause' he was adding fuel to the fire you ignited yourself, you wanted cheol a lil bit in a sour mood a lil bit angry not what you are currently dealing with; him eyeing you like you're his prey and tightly gripping your wrist as he dragged you out of party ,not giving his friends one single glance.

You already love this.

The whole ride back to home was silent and uneventful, he didn't even looked at you nor his hand was resting on top of your thigh,so you thought he won't even talk to you let alone touch you .

As soon as you entered your shared apartment seungcheol pinned you against the nearest wall, his hand pulling your hair and tugging your head backwards,studying your face intensely . here he is; pure uncontrolled anger in his eyes mixed with endless lust.

Seungcheol ran his tongue over your lips not kissing you just wetting them then suddenly he bite your lower lip harshly drawing out a little blood," you keep acting like a slut maybe it's just the time I treat you like one"

"I -i was just trying to be friendly" you whined licking up your lips, tasting faint mixture of blood, your cherry lip gloss and whiskey from seungcheol's spit(yum),. your words only earned a scoff from him.

"whoring yourself out to my friends isn't called being friendly sweetheart" seungcheol chides, the sweet nickname sounding nothing close to sweet. technically you weren't really whoring yourself but the way seungcheol said it with so much malice made your core quiver in anticipation.

His mouth moved down to your neck, inhaling your scent before sucking onto your sensitive neck harshly as he strangled your neck putting quick and intense pressure on your windpipe making you cough,being unable to breathe you tried pulling seungcheol's hand off your neck but he didn't even budged a bit.

Your useless attempt to get him off you sending blood rushing down his cock.

You felt your vision blacking out before seungcheol released you, he detached his mouth off you before giving one last stinging and painful bite.you swear he was a vampire in his past life. You sucked air in relief, your surroundings blurry, only thing you could focus on was on breathing and drinking up the image of your boyfriend being all hot and bothered infront of you. You won't have complained even if he made you pass out, infact you would have thanked him.

"does this turn you on?hm? let's see" Seungcheol asked, bunching your dress up by one hand while another pressed hard against your clothed pussy cupping it savagely and you moaned. the touch being so intense for you as you were desperate and sensitive since evening.you wore your favorite lingerie which was pure lace, it did terrible job at hiding your overflowing arousal.

Seungcheol fingered you through your panties pumping them vaguely just wanting to make a mess, precum gushing out and smearing on his whole hand "as expected, dripping like a broken brain dead cum dump"

His crude words travelled straight to your pussy, making it clench against his fingers which barely entered inside.

"Cheol—" whatever you were about to say died down in your throat as he as he pulled your panties upwards, the material rubbing between your pussy lips roughly, you cried out feeling the sharp pain mixed with pleasure.

"you crying? I haven't even done anything yet baby" fake sympathy was dripped off from his voice as he cooed at you, pushing your panties to the side before dipping two fingers inside you, pushing them as deep as they can go as his thumb played with your clit. You were so sensitive and his touch was so unforgiving, the coil inside your stomach tightened, mind hazy with pleasure.

before you could reach your high, seungcheol withdraw his fingers from your cunt and grabbed your jaw in an unforgiving grip, pushing his fingers inside your mouth, making you taste yourself as he toyed with your tongue, flattening it down. Your spit was dripping down your chin uncontrollably, you felt disgusted but it was was heavenly sight for him.

"pathetic" seungcheol mumbled to himself before removing his fingers from your mouth and wipping them down your dress. He started walking towards your bedroom while you just stayed glued to your place waiting for his next command.

"follow me" seungcheol demanded with full blatant authority you started walking, following him before he hissed and turned towards you"crawl baby, crawl like a fucking dog"

You contemplated for one solid second before getting down on your knees and hand, crawling towards him. utter humiliation and shame spreading in your veins but pussy clenching and dripping around nothing but air,feeling so turned on and drunk on him, his commands, his gaze. Your boobs hung down and bounced as you kept crawling. You looked so hot and ruined and seungcheol was only planning to ruin you more and more.

Your face was squished in bedsheets ,ass in the air and drooling helplessly like a dog being pounded by Seungcheol from behind without ounce of care, like you were nothing but a fucktoy. The way he was manhandling you so effortlessly made your mind all mushy. he could easily break you if he wanted to and that fact makes you whimper helplessly.

"look at you drooling and howling like a bitch ,you wish Mingyu was the one fucking your tight cunt right?"

Seungcheol grunted, giving you a particularly sharp thrust as the memory of you squishing Mingyu's muscles clouded his mind, how could you flirt with other guy and the other guy being his bestfriend?, he thought he was probably not fucking you enough.

don't wa-nt anyone else —want you cheol" you whined in between your moans but your statement only fueled his anger, he grabbed the soft flesh of your ass roughly, nails piercing the skin, "darling, shut the fuck up" he spanked you hard , your other cheek getting the same treatment. pussy gushing uncontrollably getting high off the pain.

Suddenly, seungcheol slowed down his thrusts, an idea, a thought maybe sparking up in his head. He looked at your frame, hair sticking to forehead, eye makeup completely ruined, lipstick smeared and barely visible cause' he made you choke on his cock while pinching your nose making you drool like a broken water faucet. now he was about to choke you again but in some intresting way .

Seungcheol pulled your body closer to him, being able to manhandle you easily because of his sheer strength. He wrapped on of his arm around your neck, slowly tightening it around your neck and when the realisation hit you , you were unable to breathe, lungs panicking in fear as seungcheol's bicep strangled your neck.

"Seungcheol—" you choked, little hands flying to his bicep in useless attempt of making him loosen his arm. nails digging sharply, making him hiss.

"Feel it baby, are they smaller than mingyu's?" Seungcheol asked rhetorically as he resumed to plunging his cock deeper inside your pussy, he could feel you clenching so hard, warm walls hugging his cock perfectly.

You were feeling like being on cloud nine, experiencing heaven, as seungcheol's thick bicep made you lose your sanity, his delicious scent hitting your nose and his arm felt like it was meant to be there, he flexed it so hard that you were able to feel each muscle, even a thick vein. Breathing wasn't necessary,you could die like this as your lifelong dream of being headlocked by Seungcheol was finally fulfilled and it better than you ever imagined while his cock head was literally kissing your cervix . Never once in your life you experienced such a euphoric feeling .

"can't breathe?" Seungcheol asked, clearly mocking you as he saw how your eyes were literally at back of your skull, he loosened his grip a little bit not wanting to make you pass out but you whined , your high pitched voice ringing in his ears."please Cheol, keep choking me"

God , you were actually deranged seungcheol thought, how could you be such an insane masochist who prioritizes headlock over breathing. He felt such a visceral desire to ruin you further, his cock threatening to blow his load in you any moment.

"never dimmed you to be such a braindead painslut " Seungcheol grunted, his thrust getting sloppy as he tightened his hold around your neck again and you felt alive again ironically. Your stomach churn uncomfortably, feeling your orgasm approaching soon but you were too gone to ask for his permission or form any sensible words. all you could focus on being ravaged by seungcheol.

"you are close right? have you forgotten your manners to beg before cumming, doll?" Seungcheol asked, as his other hand travelled down to your clit, pinching the swelled up pearl roughly and it was enough for you to let go of yourself right then and there, all thoughts flying out of your brain as you squirted around seungcheol. Your juices dripping on the mattress, on his thighs. Fucking everywhere. incoherent words and moans leaving your mouth as you reached your high

"fucking messy baby" seungcheol cooed, loving the way you looked so gone and dumb. So beautiful and all his. He gave you one last thrust before emptying his balls inside your pussy, warm cum making home inside your walls. It was the best feeling in the world, being filled up by seungcheol's thick ropes of cum.

You felt so full as seungcheol kept plunging his cum deep inside you with soft thrusts. You kept moaning and whimpering, feeling like being teleported into another dimension. Seungcheol released your neck, layed you on mattress with care like he didn't rearranged your guts. He removed his cock from your walls, his and your cum dripping out of you uncontrollably, beautifully. He stopped himself from shoving it back inside your pussy as he knew you were a little too sensitive.

He layed beside you, hugging your frame tightly, as he patted your head gently and kissed your forehead. You felt like you jelly, being kissed and held by Seungcheol after such an intense sex was exactly what you needed, reminder that behind all that animalistic desire and actions is soft unimaginable love .

"are you still angry on me?" you asked after few minutes, looking into Seungcheol's eyes and seeing no ounce of anger that you previously witnessed, just filthy admiration.

Seungcheol sighed" I wasn't angry love, just jealous, very jealous, I honestly don't like you giving other guys attention,—its just —i feel like killing them when they look at you— i know you only love me but—"

You cut off seungcheol by giving him a quick peck on his lips, he stared at you dumbly.

"you are being so hot right now, Cheol" you beamed increasing Seungcheol's confusion even more .

"what? you don't think it's toxic?" Seungcheol asked furrowing his eyebrows.

"I pulled today's stunt just to make you admit it aloud love, I am not as timid as you think, I want you to fuck your anger and jealousy in me, be possesive over me do all sorts of things with me, use me as you please " you whispered the last part, holding back a moan. Seungcheol's eyes again darkened with desire as he hissed, a cocky smirk adorning his face.

"Careful babydoll, you're making me hard again"

A/N: Sooo Yeahh.. Yeahh, please like and reblog if you like it.

#seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #seungcheol smut #seungcheol x reader #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fanfic #choi seungcheol #scoups #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol drabbles #svt smut #scoups smut #seventeen scoups #scoups x reader #seungcheol #kpop smut

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freenightfall · 1 month ago

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ALL CROSSROADS BOUND TOGETHER

summary: twenty some years ago, you met a mysterious drifter who offered you something you couldn't resist and in return you offered him the only thing you had—your soul. just when you start to believe that he has forgotten you, remmick returns to collect what was owed.

pairing: remmick / f!reader

contents: f!reader, reader in their early 30s, no use of y/n, dark themes, vampirism, feeding/blood drinking, blood, fire, marking/biting, obsession, stalking behavior, yearning, corruption, feelings of hopelessness, religious undertones, selling of ones soul, violence (implied and explicit), abduction, death/murder. sexual content (MINORS DNI): oral (f receiving), p in v sexual intercourse, blood kink. cw: mentions of csa (not described in detail but still yucky—DEAD DOVE DON'T OPEN).

a/n: the title of the fic comes from the lyrics of "In Moonlight" from the Sinners soundtrack and the song included in the fic is "Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us" by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss (the song itself didn't come out during the time period, but it sounds like it could so that was enough for me to justify using it lol)

word count: 14.5 k

You were just a child, no older than ten, when you made that deal with him.

He came to you in the night, when the nocturnal critters emerged from their dens and amorously praised the stars for their guidance and protection from the dangers that prowled in the daylight.

He looked like any other man you’ve seen in town. Tall and handsome, wearing clean, crisp clothes that seemed far too nice to be sullied by the rotten tree trunk he sat on, strumming on the banjo that was strapped to his shoulders. A musician who found solace in the darkness, like the cicadas and frogs that sang all around you in a calming serenade.

Remmick, that was his name, the one he gave you freely.

You gave him yours, unaware of the power it permitted him over you.

He smiled as he repeated it back, like a response to a Sunday hymn or reciting a song he only had ever hoped to croon. He said it as if it was the most immaculate thing he’d ever heard.

You remember how his words were laced with a sickly sweetness that tugged on your heartstrings as he spoke with you. His voice was entwined with an accent, or maybe two you think, fusing together to create a dialect unique to a man that could only be him, something no one else would be able to recreate. It rolls off his tongue with ease, as if he had a century to perfect it.

He offers you something you can’t refuse, something that you had silently prayed for but never dared speak out loud, not if you wanted to come out of this horrendous ordeal unscathed.

And his eyes—the unforgettable, unnatural glow of them, as hot as embers—looked at you with a tenderness that you hadn’t seen in years, because he knew just by glancing at you that tenderness is what you needed on this night. Not harm, not violence, but tenderness.

He spoke of a promise to release you of this suffering and all you had to do was offer him something in return, something of equal value. It was simple enough, so you offered the only thing you had to give.

He accepted your conditions with a grin that stretched from ear to ear and assured you that if you truly agreed with all of your heart that he’d come back the following night.

And he kept that promise.

It was a night where the moon was bold, illuminating that hot, humid Delta night with an eerie glow only reserved for when the veil between this world and the next was thin enough for the wretched and malevolent things that haunted humanity to roam freely without fear of the sun’s divine might.

But the moon’s peaceful luminance was tainted by the blood-red stain of flames that painted the night sky a sickening crimson hue.

Your uncle’s house—the one that you were forced to call your home after losing your parents in that terrible accident some months ago—was now set ablaze by the flick of a single match, and the hand that held it was of the same wickedness that your grandmother always warned you about.

She told her stories by the warmth of the fireplace, her voice withered by time and the disease that ultimately took her life after spending much of it smoking from the same old pipe that her own grandfather had passed down to her.

You remember the tales she spun, woven with the same kind of fear mongering that spewed from the preacher’s mouth every Sunday, warning the congregation of the evils that corrupted this world, turning the innocent away from God’s graces and His salvation with the invitation of temptation.

Because that’s all what her stories were: warnings laced with images of demons and vengeful spirits and of beasts that stalked the swamps looking for their next meal to keep you on the right path in life in an attempt to save your soul from the eternal damnation that would await you should you not live righteously.

But the lore of ghosts and monsters and witches did not frighten you. Even as a child you knew that this was just a way for the adults around you to scare all the children into listening and obeying them, even when they were wrong. Even when they did wrong but did not have the decency to recognize their own hypocrisies.

No, you did not fear her stories, not at all… not when the only monsters you knew that existed dressed in the same cloth and patterns as you, spoke with the same dialect that fell from your mouth… closed the door of your bedroom late at night when your aunt turned a blind eye and acted as if she didn’t know what your uncle was doing to you.

The flames that tried desperately to escape from the wooden entombments of the house reflected in your irises. The heat that poured from the broken windows and cracks of the old wood, mixed with the ashen, black smoke that billowed out from the same crevices burned your eyes, tears welting up at the corners of your lashes as if begging you to look away from the devastation that unfolded before you.

But you could not look away, couldn’t tear your eyes off of it even if you wanted to. Your feet anchored you to the damp earth, keeping you in place as you swayed gently with the cool breeze that swept through, moving with the spanish moss that hung on the trees.

It was as if the fire had casted a spell on you, entrancing you to keep your gaze upon the smoke and embers that only grew more and more ferociously, climbing higher and higher and higher until it appeared that the flames tickled the star-studded night sky.

You couldn’t help but think that it looked as if they were trying to reach heaven, trying with all of their might to escape the evil that resided in that house.

Above the roar of the fire, something else permeated through the air.

A scream—so miserable and bloodcurdling that it pierced your sensitive ears.

It sounded as if the person at the other end of such a disturbing wail was screaming out to you as a cry for penitence and not just a frantic call for aid all while the fire continued to consume all that it touched.

But you knew better.

Your uncle did not cry or scream to ask for your forgiveness.

He was a man who did not know what the word forgiveness meant, wouldn’t know how to repent if his life depended on it—as it did now—because to men like him, his actions were not seen as sins. He was a man and everything belonged to him by his mere God given existence. There was not one thing that he could desire that he could not obtain purely by the fact that he was born as God intended. And if the almighty created all of his children in his image and some of those children had tendencies to do bad things, then surely they were not bad things at all… at least that was the way your uncle saw things.

It was how he justified the horrendous things he did; justifications that made it easier for him to sleep at night.

That’s why your heart felt empty as you sat in the crowded pews of the church house every Sunday morning since moving into that Godforsaken house. That’s why the preacher’s words felt meaningless, falling upon your deaf ears as you purposely turned your back on the God you were raised upon… because why would you give your devotions to a God if He would make vile men like your uncle? Why would you fall to your knees and pray to a deity that created a man who purposely harmed a child, one of His most precious gifts?

Why did this God not hear your own cries when your uncle preyed upon you?

Why did this God allow your aunt to let her husband hurt you in such a way, turning away with her head bowed in understanding of what he was doing to you when she should’ve been there to protect you from him?

No, He did not deserve your praise or your prayers, not when he abandoned you when you needed Him the most. When you were the most vulnerable. When you were still innocent.

It’s still night when the screaming finally subsided, fading into the darkness without much of an afterthought and leaving you in the beautiful smolder of the dancing flames and crumbling wood.

Amidst the thick smoke, something heavy imbued the air—a shift, one that you had never felt before but was undeniably palpable—and a scent, sweeping through the yard on a gentle breeze, carrying the smell of dead earth—wet, damp soil and wood after the rain—mixed with tobacco and copper.

Then, you saw him, a dark figure emerging though the wreckage.

From where you stood across the yard, you couldn’t make out the details of his face, shrouded in the shadows of the doorway that were created by the flames that raged on behind him, casting his intimidating form in a ghastly silhouette.

The figure looked up suddenly and his eyes glowed a dangerous, chilling shade of red that made your heart skip a beat. His gaze was hypnotizing, watching you diligently, the same way that a predator surveys its prey as it stalks, waiting to strike.

You blink slowly, feeling as if time has slowed, and when they open the man is standing before you, looming just mere inches from where you were planted in the yard, so much larger than your own smaller form.

He was still casted in that same daunting configuration, his broad shoulders outlined by the malevolent glow that endured endlessly behind him and the only distinguishable feature you could make out was the crimson glimmer of his rapacious stare.

Remmick doesn’t say a word, content in the silence that pervades around him while he continues to stare down at you.

He half expects you to tremble in his presence. You may be a child but you were not stupid, you were born in a place where danger lurked where you least expected it if you weren’t careful enough. But your heartbeat didn’t quicken, nor did it falter when he took another step closer. It remained even-paced and calm even when he inched closer and closer until he towered above you like a giant.

And just as he expected fear, he also expected that perhaps you would look upon him with defiance, to prove something to this stranger, but he doesn’t see it. Not an ounce of it in your large, doe-like eyes.

Instead what he sees is indifference: a small mortal creature that neither cared or not of what he was or what he was capable of doing. It was evident in the way you just stared at the fire while it destroyed the only roof you had over your head. You did not cry in distraught as you lost everything you had left in the fire nor did you jump up and down with joy as the cage that kept you bound to your abuser burned to the ground.

The wind picks up and instinctively he sniffs at the air, noticing another scent lingering there, one that doesn’t belong to him or the fire. His nostrils flare at the all too familiar metallic fragrance, his gaze drifting down your nightgown-clad frame to rest at the disheveled hem of it.

He breathes in slow, deep, when his eyes fall upon the red that muddies the cotton. The breeze tussles the bottom of your nightgown briefly, revealing the same crimson ichor that stains the flesh underneath.

His expression hardens and the corner of his lips twitch in a scowl as he tries to contain the disgust that eats away in his chest at the sight of the blood that coats your skin, still fresh. You shuffle at the unsettling look on his face, your small hands reaching down to smooth the edges of your nightgown while trying to ignore his dark, unwavering leer.

It quickly reminds him why he is here and the red glimmer of his stare slowly dims into its natural color at the sight of your uneasiness, but it doesn’t make him any less intimidating, any less frightening.

“My end of the deal is done, little dove,” he says then, voice softer than you expected yet still harboring that same level of menace that radiates off of him like heat. “I will come for you when it is time to hold up yours.”

“When?” You ask simply.

He tilts his head, mouth downturning into a pondering curl before he straights back up, his eyes never leaving your tiny, unmoving form. “When the time is right.”

“But,” the sound of your interjection causes the man to raise his brow in question, “how will you find me?”

There’s no emotion in your voice that Remmick can decipher, no indication that you don’t understand his words or the meaning behind them. You knew exactly what was asked of you and you accepted his bargain and with it every gruesome and horrendous act that he committed to fulfil his end of it without question.

He smiles, not smirking like you think he would, but genuinely smiles as if you asked the golden question, the one he’s been waiting for with keen ears.

Slowly he reaches out and patiently bides the time it takes for you to give him your hand.

His touch is soft as his fingers wrap around your wrist—not forcibly, not with the intention to harm you, but with gentle consideration he turns your hand over. His fingers slip from your wrist, his calloused thumb running down the expanse of your palm.

A quiet, surprised gasp leaves your mouth, eyes widening at the sight of his nail growing longer, sharper as it scrapes against the skin, causing a dull but angry looking line to blossom beneath his nail and for the first time you feel yourself panic.

He presses the sharp tip of his nail against the soft pad of your finger, causing you to wince at the pain. But even as the crimson ichor oozes from the small wound, you don’t pull away. You don’t turn and run like you know you should.

He swipes his thumb along the cut he’s made delicately, acting as though reverently handling the most holy of relics that lays in his hands, and coates it in the red warmth before bringing it to his lips and slipping his thumb into his mouth and sucks.

He inhales deeply, relishing the sweet metallic flavor that dances on his tongue, but then his brows furrowed briefly as another flavor overpowers the sweetness—vaguely sour, putrid almost as if spoiled.

He grins, knowing all too well of the taste and it forms a delightful pit in his stomach.

“There,” he says and releases the grip he has on your hand, “now I know. Wherever you go, wherever you end up, I’ll find you.”

It’s all he says and then he’s gone.

That was some twenty years ago and you haven’t seen him since.

It was quiet at first, no inklings that he was ever around, and that false sense of abandonment made you believe that perhaps it was all some kind of deranged hallucination your mind created as a way to cope with the trauma you endured… but then just a few weeks ago, you started to notice how the air suddenly hangs heavy, shifting with the weight of his presence—always at night, always where the darkness can hide him from you—and always lurking somewhere in the shadows.

Sometimes you think you catch glimpses of him amongst the treeline and those glowering red eyes of his, watching you from the dark sanctuary of the woods that surround your new home—that of your new home across state lines and miles away from the where you once lived with your parents and that of your uncle’s house, but it’s gone before you can even realize that it might be him.

The wind carries his smell from time to time, but still he’s nowhere to be found; even when you search and scour every last piece of land that surrounds you until your feet bleed from exhaustion, there’s not a single trace of Remmick anywhere.

It’s in your head, you sometimes think as you stand alone in the darkness. It’s been so long since that fateful night, surely he would’ve come to collect what was owed by now.

Perhaps he forgot about you, or perhaps he found someone more worthy of fulfilling their end of the bargain, you thought woefully.

Now in your thirties, you believed yourself past your prime, past any youthful appeal you once held, and reluctantly you doubt that you would ever see him again.

It was foolish to think that you were the only one he’d ever strike a bargain with. You certainly weren’t the first, not with how fluently he was able to coax the secrets out of your heart with nothing more than a kind look on his handsome face, begging you to speak your sorrows to him, your wishes, and you knew that you couldn’t have been the last.

Creatures like him don’t tread through the world waiting for one insignificant, lonesome soul to be ripened.

They hide where the sunlight can’t find them—lurking, hunting— never satisfied with the offering some wretched, wayward nobody had presented to them on a silver platter. Ravenous beings such as he were always hungry, always wanting more, and would stop at nothing to chase their immeasurable appetite.

And though you knew better than to hold onto that fleeting sentiment, your mind was only consumed with the thought of him and the covenant you made—ever persistent, ever resolute— and the idea of him not wanting you in return devastated you.

It hurt more than how your uncle would use you, hurt more than how your aunt did nothing to stop it, hurt more than the passing of your parents and that of your grandmother… but the worst part was you didn’t know why he didn’t seek you out when he promised that he would.

Why didn’t he come back?

Why didn’t he return to you to finish the deal that was made?

Like a disease it ate away at you, purposefully taking its time to rot you from the inside until once again you felt empty, hollow, like that sad little girl at the mercy of your uncle; sinking its claws deeper and deeper as it gradually became a part of you, ensuring that you could never escape from it.

Still, as you swore that he was there, watching, waiting, he never made himself known to you. He never showed himself, never gave you a glimmer of hope that he hadn’t forgotten about you.

Besides, your soul was poisoned, blighted by the years of resentment that found its home in your worn out heart.

Even now you can still feel the heat of your uncle’s foul breath on your skin, smell the rancid stench of it invading your nostrils when you speak to other men like him, knowing who they truly are without being told so.

It followed you, clinging to you like a ghost.

Why would he want a soul that was mired, infected with the incapability of letting go of the memories that tortured you?

And you tried forgetting, tried letting go, by everything that was still good in this world you tried, but no matter how much light you let it, you always found an excuse to cast it out.

And so, you buried that hurt away deep in the caverns of your downtrodden heart and did the only thing you could.

You waited.

Tonight was like any other and when the sun finally descends past the horizon, you spend your time basking in the solitude you’ve grown to live with.

The house was quiet, even more so now that you lived in it alone.

Your mother’s cousin passed away some summers ago, leaving you to tend to the aging house that had cared for you these last couple of years.

It was easy living with only yourself in that house once she was gone. Everyone in your life had the tendency to either leave or betray you—your parents, your grandmother, your aunt and uncle, even Remmick—so you found yourself embracing the loneliness, the solitude of it all, and you were content in living in the little, two bedroom house on the edge of the Mississippi.

There were no painful reminders here, no devils prowling in the shadows waiting until your back was turned to strike. Just mundane memories that didn’t fill you with complete disdain and scorn.

The window in the living room was wide open, allowing the fresh, night breeze to sweep in and breathe life into the house.

Sitting in the rocking chair that once belonged to her, you allowed yourself to sing the ballad that she had taught you.

“Strange things are happening every day, I hear the music up above my head. Though the sight of my heart has left me again, I hear music up above—”

Outside, the harsh chirp of crickets slowly fades into silence, as does the croaking of toads and cicadas and all the sounds of the night around you until only your voice endures through the uncanny stillness.

“Secrets are written in the sky. Looks like I've lost the love I've never found. Though the sound of hope has left me again, I hear music up above—”

The wind picks up faintly, causing goosebumps to prickle at your skin, but it’s not from the chill of the draft that makes your body react.

Your rocking stops and so does the song that fell from your lips.

There’s something different, something that was not quite right.

It’s the same shift in the air that signals that his presence is near—not here, but somewhere close by, so close you can almost feel him there in the room with you.

And then, out in the distance, you hear it—a voice.

His voice.

He calls out to you like a whisper in your dreams, faint and dulcet as he recites the same lyrics that have since died on your tongue.

“Standing in my broken heart, all night long. Darkness held me like a friend when love wore off—”

Somehow your feet have pulled you from the chair, your body reacting solely on it's own accord, leading you out the house as if in some kind of surreal trance and drawing you out into the black Delta night.

The soft strumming of a banjo hangs in the air, enticing you to venture further and further into the darkness, into the unknown, and far away from the comfort you've built in that little house.

The earth is soft under your feet, sighing and kissing your skin affectionately with every step that you take.

Closer to him, closer to the voice that lured you towards him like a siren’s song.

Your gaze remained on the unpathed road before you, through the fields and grassland and into the swampy woods that separated you from your destiny, the one you sealed to him with a vow as a child.

It was almost pathetic how you followed his voice without a second thought, as if this was meant to happen… because to you, it was.

You had waited faithfully and now all of your patience was to be rewarded.

“—Looking for the lamb that's hidden in the cross. The finder's lost…”

Through the swampland you tread, turning and wading through it until the ground that once welcomed your journey now spites you; the twigs that litter the ground stab at the soles of your feet, at your ankles, and the prickly branches of the trees snag at the material of your nightgown as if trying to stop you—warning you.

You could feel the wrenching of your grandmother’s withered hands grabbing at you, silently begging you to reconsider before it was too late—an attempt to save your soul from the covenant you were about to seal with this blasphemous creature.

Her voice reverberates in your mind, soft and mild yet undeterred to break you of the spell that he had casted on you; for you to understand what was to come should you continue on and that your time on this earth would come to an end should you not turn back now, unable to join her and your parents in the afterlife.

But you didn’t heed that warning.

You embraced whatever fate you had resigned yourself to long ago and no attempt at saving your soul would prevail.

You found your own voice effortlessly calling back to him, singing gently as your voice carried itself on the wind, hoping that he’d hear you.

And in the echoes of your mind, you hear your grandmother weep.

“I know I loved you too much, I'll go alone to get through—”

That slow, simple yet tantalizing strumming of the banjo leads you through the wood, deep and dark and twisting without the glow of the moon to guide you.

Still you pursue it, even when logic and reason told you to stop and reconsider what might undeniably be the death of you, but there was no turning back. Not now that you were so close to what you had longed for.

“I hear Rosetta singing in the night,” you both sing in unison, your voices melding together and becoming one singular, exquisite proclamation into the night. “Echos of light that shines like stars after they're gone. And tonight she's my guide as I go on alone, with the music up above.”

Time has evaded you, unsure of how long you’ve walked along this barren road, but eventually you reach the end.

Through the thicket and trees of the forest lies a house—worn and old and decaying from years of abandonment, and yet it still stands tall and proud across the clearing, a remnant of another time that has refused to be forgotten.

This is a place where the cypress trees and oaks have lived far longer than any human has, a place where they’ve planted their roots and refused to leave. Spanish moss hangs from the branches, spinning silvery green-gray threads of garland that sways with the wind, dancing to a melody only known to them, one they lived in harmony with.

Though distance separates you both, you can see his shape lingering in the darkness, standing in the doorframe with his banjo in hand and strapped across his broad shoulders.

Remmick.

As you approach you can’t help but think that he still looks the same as you remember, untouched by time.

With his sleeves rolled up to his elbow you can see the veins that pulsate beneath his unblemished skin and the lean muscle underneath, a testament of the strength that he undoubtedly has. His dark hair frames the top of his head, catching the shadows that play off the contours of his handsome, angular face.

He watches as you proceed towards him, those glowing red eyes never leaving the sight of you, drawing you closer and closer like a moth to the flame until you stand before him at the bottom of the few steps that lead up into the old house.

You’d think that he’d be hardened from all the time that has passed since you've last seen each other, weary of you and unsure that you’re the same girl that he made that unholy promise to all those years ago.

You trace every curve of his face, mapping the lines that kiss at the corner of his eyes and the relaxed slant of his lips, searching for any inclination that his perception of you is not what it once was.

But the longer you look, the more you don’t see any uncertainty of your intentions reflecting back at you in those inhuman eyes of his, only adoration, only reverence.

It makes your heart flutter pitifully inside of your ribcage.

“You found me,” you say finally, breaking the silence between the two of you.

He smirks, recognizing the steadiness in your voice as you speak.

Still unafraid, he thinks, still that same unfaltering spirit that he remembers from when he first encountered you just before that blood-stained night that lived in his memories like a keepsake.

“I told you that I would. Did you doubt me?”

You shake your head, not so much as a response to his question, but more of trying to shake away the disillusion of your own equivocation.

“I thought…” you start, feeling that familiar, unwanted hollowness in your chest return, “I thought that maybe you’d—”

“Forgotten you?” He answers with a seriousness that makes your heart stop beating for a second, “Forsaken you and the vow we made?” He tilts his head and smiles. Not smirks like he did before, but smiles, genuine and true. “I’m a man of my word, little dove, a man who keeps the promises he makes.”

Little dove, he called you that on the night when he slaughtered your uncle some twenty years ago. Such a fond endearment, one that he spoke as if he reserved it only for you.

“It's been so long, why wouldn’t I think that?”

“You were a child when we made our bargain, I needed you to be prepared when I came to collect what you owed. I needed you to be willing to give it to me without a doubt in your heart. Not taken from you. Not stolen. I wanted you to welcome it, to welcome me. Not fear me.”

“I don’t fear you, I never did.”

He chuckles. “I know you didn’t, not back then at least, but time changes people. Memories change how people perceive things. Maybe as you grew older you would come to resent me and the things I did to your uncle. I wasn't kind. I didn’t spare him one moment to repent for what he did to you… and who knows, maybe you found it in your heart to forgive him.”

“I can’t forgive him," you counter sharply, "don’t think I’ll ever be able to. And I don’t resent you either, not for giving me a second chance to live without knowing if the next time he’d visit me would be my last. Why would I resent you for that?”

He hums in response, your words somewhat convincing him that he was right in believing that you were ready for this, but he still has to ask, even when he already knows the answer. “And you’re still sure? You still want to uphold it?”

“Yes,” the word escapes your lips before you can even register it.

Remmick nods solemnly, staring at you with those soul-piercing eyes.

He’s spent the last twenty years waiting for this, letting time and severance come between the two of you and fermenting those memories, those emotions of that night until just the right moment that allowed this reunion to become all the sweeter for him; and for you too.

“That song of yours,” he purrs, inhaling deeply and allowing himself to reminisce about the lyrics, the sentiment behind it, of how it resonates with him just as much as it did with you, “it's beautiful.”

“It was the only thing that gave me comfort for a long time,” you say. “It was something that I could hold onto without fear that someone would try and take it away from me.”

“A beckoning,” he interjects slyly. The points of his fangs peek out from beneath the curl of his lip when he smirks, glistening in the moonlight—the canines and the rest of the teeth behind them are large and elongated and serrated, like a mouth full of knives. “An enticement.”

You nod, “In a way, yes, but not how it might seem. I just needed to know that you were out there somewhere and that you heard me, that you still remembered me. But you never answered—”

“It was never the right time,” he replies, “but I did hear you. Every time you sang out into the night, I heard it.”

Remmick treads down a step, then two, until only one separates the two of you. He places a hand on your chest, right where the source of your music lies, the same beating mechanism where you kept your memories of him. Your intensity. Your longing.

His hand is cold, just as you remember, but it exudes more warmth than you felt in what feels like a lifetime.

“Heard the saccharine crooning of your blood, even when you didn’t sing, especially when you didn’t sing… your heart reaching out in an attempt to call me back to you. Aching. Pleading for me to return—but you knew I was there, didn’t you dove?”

“I did, that’s why it hurt so much. Knowing that you were there, close enough to sense you but just far enough away where I couldn’t find you.”

He’s quiet then, eyes wandering over every little detail of you, every line that’s etched in your pretty face, every minute change.

You’ve grown since he last had a proper glance at you, now taller and with a fuller figure that has filled out every curve of your body that he can see through the silhouette of your nightgown, clinging to the sweat that coates your skin like raindrops from the humid Delta night; not exactly the same thin, sickly looking girl he found decades ago with blood on her thighs and tears in her eyes—cursing silently to herself about all the wrongdoings that had happened to her, ones that should never befall a child as young as you were—but despite the changes, he can see the same spirit sweltering in your heart, untouched by circumstance and time.

Remmick never let you drift too far from his sight, choosing to keep at a distance in order to preserve the decorum of the arrangement the two of you made, but over the years he noticed how your restraint began to wade and contort into something more zealous.

He saw the way you searched for him relentlessly when you thought he was there, watching you or not. He felt the way your heart called out to him, felt it when you were in the arms of some long-forgotten lover that you still only ever thought of him, wishing that he would just come back to you, even when time and time again he never did.

This, what he had, wasn’t an easy life, but it sure as hell was easier than the life you’ve lived thus far. And he just had to be sure, not needing to make a mistake that you would surely regret, a mistake that would make you resent him.

“I wasn’t completely truthful when I told you that I had fulfilled my end of the bargain.” He says, his glowering eyes never leaving yours. Just as terrifying, just as soft.

“What do you mean?”

He pulls his hand from your chest and straightens, nodding towards the inside of the house.

“There’s one last loose end that needs to be taken care of before you can fulfill our deal.”

There’s something sinister that laces his voice and it sends a shiver down your spine.

He turns and enters the house, leaving you alone once again as you watch the darkness swallow him.

Without hesitation, you follow.

Remmick’s already at the top of the stairs when you enter, walking down the short corridor that leads into one of the seemingly empty rooms. He moves seamlessly through the hall and without a sound. Like a ghost that is bound to this place, an apparition that haunts each brick and plank that holds the walls up, holding the nails and cement in place that prevents the house from collapsing in on itself.

Your feet carry you up the steps and the floorboards creak under your weight as you ascend the rotten wood, quietly threatening you with each step that it might be your last.

Still, you venture further into the dying house.

The wallpaper peels off the walls in captivating spirals downwards, trying to escape the atrocities that this house has seen, of what it’s about to see.

The air is stale around you, unmoving and void of any life that has not thrived within these walls in decades. Untouched by loving hands or caring souls that should be felt in any house. Instead it was just left to rot from the cancer that dwells in its underbelly until even time has forsaken it.

Pale moonlight seeps through the torn and tattered lace curtains, the glittering of dust hanging in the air as if frozen in time.

Small paintings decorate the walls, depicting the vast and fertile swamps and wetlands of the only land you’ve ever known, of the dirt roads that lead to the small shacks that people here called home. But their colors had faded from neglect, drenched in the sunlight that filters through the window on the hottest of Southern days.

Other than the moonlight, there is nothing to guide your way, so you carefully make your way down the hall.

One of the doors on the right side of the hallway is slightly ajar and you can see the flickering of lamplight from beneath the wooden door, a sign pointing you in the direction of where you needed to go.

Cautiously, you push it open.

Remmick stands in the center of the room, facing you fully, his face devoid of any emotion yet nothing about him is unnerving, least not to you.

Surely if he wanted to kill you he would’ve done it long ago, back when you were some weak little thing that was unable to protect itself. It was easy for him to kill your uncle, it would no doubt be easy to kill you too, you think.

Remmick seemed like the kind of man that could take life without reservation, not caring for who or what it was that he destroyed as long as he had a reason. If that reason was right or not, you didn’t know. But he didn’t kill you, didn’t touch you without your sanction, nor did he drain you of the one thing that kept you alive, and that was enough to reassure you, even when it was stupid to do so.

He’s watching you with such intensity simply because he could, because he wanted to—wanted you to know that this was it, the exact point of time that you’ve been anticipating since you were that lost, shattered little girl he met all those summers ago.

This was your salvation.

Something makes a sound in the room and your eyes linger on him a second longer before they drift to the source of such a pitiful whimper, to the figure that kneels with their head bowed and eyes screwed shut, trembling on the floor just past him at his feet.

His crimson gaze follows yours, neck craning to glance down at the pathetic excuse of a woman that shakes terribly behind him like a rattled dog.

The sound of your unwavering footsteps makes the figure look up frantically and your whole body stills, goosebumps princkling at you skin when you come face-to-face with one of the demons that has plagued your nightmares since that fateful night—one that instills a knot of dread to form in your stomach, twisting and churning your insides violently.

It is your aunt who kneels on the ground before you, her graying hair thin and wiry and not at all the same hue of brown that you remember from your youth. It frames her gaunt face, the skin around her eyes sunken in from all the years she spent in fear as guilt festered in her bowels.

Once you thought her beautiful with a face that was round and jovial, her enchanting eyes that caught the splendor of the sunlight in the summer, and a smile that promised nothing but love and warmth, but soon enough you saw that facade wane when the truth came to light. A truth of the horrors that her husband harbored in that godforsaken house of theirs, a truth that she was too cowardly to face.

Now as she kneeled before you, whimpering and weeping with crystalline tears that smeared down her wrinkled, hollowed cheeks, all you saw was the reflection of her soul staring back at you—Weak. Craven. Spineless.

Any fear you felt just moments before slowly ebbs into something darker, something more ominous and insidious as it maliciously seeps into your bones. There’s an unspoken itch that tickles at the back of your mind like a vindictive spirit whispering awful, terrible things in your ear.

Your aunt doesn’t seem to recognize you, her brows furrowed in confusion and squinting in the dim lighting of the room to get a better look at you.

But how could she remember you?

It has been over two decades since she last saw you, and now you stand before her a grown woman, so vastly different from any recollection she has of the small girl that once lived under her roof.

To her, you look like any other stranger she’d meet on the street in town.

But there’s something so familiar about you, something she can’t place.

It’s unsettling how she can’t put a name to the face that stares down at her with an abhorrence that makes all the color drain from her face and the gnawing ache in the pit of her ribcage intensifies. It invokes memories laced with secrets that she has long since tried to forget, locking them away deep in the recesses of her mind.

Secrets that were buried with her husband—whatever was left of him—hoping that with his untimely passing that they would never resurface.

The floorboards creak quietly and suddenly Remmick is standing behind you, slightly at your side, his breath fans across the nape of your neck and dragging heat along your jawline. He’s so close that you can feel the measured cadence of his chest heaving against your body with every breath he takes.

His nostrils flare, filling with that compelling fragrance invading his mind—infiltrating, penetrating.

You reeked of sin ready to be committed, of retribution yet to be reaped.

It clings to your skin like the finest of perfumes with the same veracity and allure as the blood that coursed through your veins. Just as potent, just as loud, and just as electrifying.

His eyes flutter shut, sensing it pulsate in the heavy thrumming of your nerves as his fingers caress up and down your arm lightly, tracing the path of it under your warm skin.

With his breath in your ear, Remmick speaks, brushing his nose into your temple with almost tender affection.

“That night when we met, you asked to be rid of the monsters that caused you harm. You only spoke of your uncle then, but I could hear your heart whispering another name, one last monster to be free of.”

It hits her then, hard and fast as if struck by a train running at a hundred miles an hour.

Her eyes, now glossy and bloodshot, widened in horror as her mouth falls agape.

Tears once again trickle down your aunt’s pale face, realizing what all of this was—of who you were and what you were going to do to her, her mind running amuck with the horrible possibilities.

This was no mere act of random violence bestowed on a stranger who was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.

No…time and patience had crafted this diabolical reunion, carefully and delicately with heinous consideration and all of it orchestrated by Remmick’s sadistic need to corrupt all that was good in this world and make it his.

And he succeeded, seizing all of the anguish and rage and bitterness that dwelled in the abyss of your heart and manipulated it—manipulated you—with his deceitful promise of freedom, laced with honeyed words and kind smiles.

But you were too blind to see it, influenced by the wickedness of his black tongue.

She almost feels sorry for you for being easily tricked by this devilish cretin… almost, if it wasn’t for the fright that ran rampant within her.

Something small presses into your palm and you glance down to see Remmick slipping a box of matches into your hand, followed by the heavy metal handle of the oil lamp.

You glance at him briefly, but he doesn't say a word.

He doesn’t need to, the depth of his profound, burning eyes tells you all that you need to know; of all that needs to be done and what you had to do to obtain it, and you feel the grip on the items in your grasp tightened.

Remmick steps back, watching in reprehensible awe as you move fluidly towards the women, his red eyes glowing with nefarious intensity.

His mouth waters, the thick, vulgar sludge running down the side of his mouth and down his chin but he makes no attempt to wipe it away.

Your aunt scuffles back, knees tripping over the tattered hem of her dress with her hands up in front of her in a pleading gesture though no words leave her dry and cracked lips, unable to utter even a single word as absolute panic overwhelms her.

It’s too late to beg anyway, too late to ask for your forgiveness.

Twenty some years too late, you think ruefully.

Perhaps if she had ever reached out to you in an attempt to rectify what she had done and what she had failed to do, you could find it in your heart to absolve her of her passive sins. She was a woman oppressed by the hand that brought food to her table, indebted through marriage to a man who gave her a roof over her head and the clothes on her back.

But she could have protected you from the detestable hands of her husband, and yet she didn’t. She allowed that evilness to thrive, allowed it to defile you.

She could only stare in absolute terror as you brought the lamp up to your lips, blowing out the flame and casting the room into shadows, replacing the reddish-orange glow of the lamplight with an eerie hue of blue and silver that drapes over the room.

She finally speaks, calling out your name. The sound of her heartbreaking voice implores you to reconsider, to let her live because she was your aunt, because you were family and she didn’t know any better. She was scared, just as you were, afraid of what her husband would do to her if she were to have interjected.

She begs you to not be seduced by this devil and all of his false promises, but her pleas are futile.

You ignore her excuses, just as she ignored all of your cries for help that left your throat raw and dry as your tiny body was desecrated by the fiend that kept you prisoner in that house.

Remmick’s heavy breathing behind you saturates the room as you doused her in the slick oil and light the match with a single flick against the striker strip.

It does little to light the room and the flickering of the small flame creates shadows that dance across your face.

Your aunt can't help but think that you look nothing like the little girl she once knew.

You shared the same name, shared the same pretty features, but beyond the color of your eyes and hair, beyond the birthmarks she remembers, the woman who stands before her is unrecognizable.

Once you were sweet, and kind, but all of that warmth that she knew you possessed was gone.

And she was part of the reason why.

The realization of it makes her weep.

Not because she knew this was the end of her, but because of all of the hurt she inflicted upon you had led you into finding refuge in the darkness, led you into his arms.

Her eyes find yours and through despair that enrapts her, she musters enough strength not to look away, not daring cast her gaze to the match between your fingers even when you toss it onto her lap.

Her resolve only lasts so long before her screams penetrate through the room.

The fire that started at her skirts ascended upwards quickly, violently and without hesitation, keen on destroying the last boogeyman that had ever haunted you.

Her hands frantically try to swat the flames as if it will save her from this terrible fate, one that she had brought upon herself.

The sight of her brings you back to that night, back to when you witnessed your uncle’s demise, taking all of his sin and evil with him.

And just like that night, you simply watch as the flames take her, devouring her whole until there is nothing more of it to take.

Eventually her flailing stops, as does the screams, and her body falls to the ground with a loud thud.

The flames continue to grow, reaching out past her lifeless body and sprawling across the floorboards. They climb up the walls, feeding off of the dried out wood and engulfing anything that would satisfy its appetite—one that always burned, one that could never be sated.

Remmick’s hands are on you again, tighter this time and rougher, breaking you from the trance that the flames have placed you under with their deadly hex.

He lulls your head back to rest on his shoulder, exposing your neck to him and breathes in the delicious aroma that emanates out of every one of your pores—of all the corruption and depravity and wickedness that floods through your veins like the most lethal of poisons, a product of the seed he had planted inside of you.

This was his plan all along afterall, to fill your head with nothing but thoughts of him— his image burning in your mind until it was all consuming and replenishing the void in your chest with the lachrymose notion that one day the two of you would be reunited.

That was why he waited so long before he made himself known to you again—through fleeting gazes that made you question your sanity, through the lingering of his scent that wafted in the cool, Mississippi breeze that drove you to the verge of madness—ensuring that you wouldn't forget him so that the yearning that festered inside of you didn’t diminish. That it only grew and grew and grew until it became an obsession you couldn’t break free of.

He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t find it amusing, your infatuation with him, because he too had his own sick fascination with you.

In the beginning, Remmick’s bargain was just that: a bargain.

You had something that he wanted, something he craved, and he was willing to linger unseen until he was able to collect what was owed.

But the more he visited, the more he watched from the obscurity of the treeline that surrounded your home and saw how you pined for the same need for connection that had plagued him for centuries, the deeper his twisted affections grew for you.

Just like you, the time he spent abiding his time was maddening.

For a creature of his nature, years passed by like hours, making all of the time he spent drifting through the world feel less excruciating, less unbearable. But even the most sensible of minds can lose themselves to the overwhelming spiral of despair that arises as they watch their loved ones perish to the cruel consequences of time, surrendering to the inevitable, over and over again. And Remmick was not far from falling headfirst into that spiral, so he needed to act fast should he lose that fight.

For far too long Remmick has roamed this earth in search of a companion, to find someone who would stay at his side and ease the ache that has cemented itself in his lonely soul. There have been whom Remmick saw promise in, others who’ve sought the same as he, but it never lasted. Some left willingly, others found the other half of their soul in men that weren’t Remmick, and others simply perished.

Even now Remmick didn’t know if what he felt was genuine or if he was merely projectioning what his soul wanted onto you, but it didn’t matter to him… you were his now, completely and utterly his.

The thrum of your pulse beats against his thumb as he holds your jaw in his palm pulls him out of his wandering thoughts and he sighs with admiration at the surge of your vitality that it courses through your body.

To him it was more than merely drinking from you, it was about forging a bond that would last in this lifetime and the next, sharing the most vulnerable and intimate parts of you with him, and he you.

What he craved wasn’t power over you, or control, he didn’t even want your blood as sweet as it tasted, as tempting as it was.

No, what he wanted was your warmth, your depravity, your affection and devotion… he desired the music that your heart curated and sang only for him.

It reminded him of a time before his turning, back when life was uncomplicated. Back when all he wanted was companionship.

And he found that in you, his fallen angel. His dark muse.

“This is it, little dove,” he pants, breath scorching and burning hot, unlike the rest of him.

You feel the scrape of his fangs brush along your pulsepoint dangerously and your breath hitches in your throat.

“I need to hear you say it, that you want this,” he says, almost begging, almost as if not to you at all and only to silence the doubt that holds him back. He needs to hear the words fall from your lips, to prove that he’s deserving of this—deserving of you.

That’s what Remmick tells himself, trying to convince himself that he’s holding onto a shred of humanity that he still had left dwindling inside of him by offering you a choice in the matter—sure it was choice molded and influenced by his deceitful hand, but it was a choice nonetheless—and making you say it outloud made it tangible. Made it real.

“Say it.”

“I want this,” you whisper, voice unwavering in your decision. Absolute. You look up at him, “I want you.”

Remmick swears he sees starlight glimmering in your eyes, full of veneration and fondness and love and it’s exactly what he needed, that push forward.

Your eyelids flutter shut when he leans in, lips brushing ardently in a kiss reserved for the most reverent of lovers despite the blasphemy of it all, despite the sacrilege of it.

And then he bites, sinking his fangs deep into the tender flesh of your throat and tasting the rush of your blood filling his mouth.

You wince, gasping at the painful pressure of where his teeth were embedded into you, his lips sealing around the wound as he drinks, swallowing hungrily at the metallic nectar.

It makes him dizzy with exhilaration, his mind fogging over from the euphoria that courses through him.

There’s an agonizing sting at first, but it’s not nearly as violent as you think it would be.

You’d imagine Remmick ripping off ribbons of flesh from your throat and tearing your arteries to shreds like some brutish creature devouring its prey.

He’s not greedily draining you with the intent to kill—he’s tasting every drop of blood that spills into his mouth, savoring the sanguine taste of you on his tongue and memorizing it.

You aren’t a one-off meal that he’ll tear into and quickly discard. You are now his one prized conquest, marked by his bite.

Remmick is surprisingly gentle in the way he cradles your cheek in one of his large hands while the other is wrapped around your waist, preventing you from stumbling over from the heavy weight of his body pressed securely against yours.

A shiver runs through you, feeling the chill of death creeping up your arms like mist, up your chest and neck despite the heat of the fire that rages all around.

You know that you should be frightened knowing that death is right at your doorstep, waiting for you to take that final step through the threshold, but you aren't scared, not when it feels like this—a merciful pull into the darkness, slowly draining you until your body grows weaker and weaker the more he takes. .

Like death itself was comforting you, consoling you, encouraging you not to be afraid and tread into that darkness without fear of the unknown. Apologizing for all the pain you endured, but assuring that there would be no more suffering once you let it in.

Let him in.

And you do, bearing every part of your soul to Remmick as he drinks.

Tears form at the corners of your eyes, finally finding the peace you so desperately sought in this grim, dreadful world, washing over you like a Baptismal fountain.

Through the warm ichor, Remmick can see the life that you lived thus far.

He sees your parents, both grinning ear-to-ear as they walk you up the steps of the church you all attended every Sunday and the hearty meals your mother had prepared after. He sees you standing at the edge of freshly dug up dirt, watching as the gravediggers lower their caskets into the ground. He sees the fireplace where you sat while your grandmother told you stories of her homeland and the origins of the traditions of your people and then the disgraceful excuse of a gravesite where they buried her, nothing more than a plank of wood with her name scratched into the grainy surface; the only thing your family could afford. He sees the last time you smiled before being ushered into your uncle’s house, ignorant to what you would experience at his hands. He sees himself in the threshold of the burning house behind him.

But he isn’t the only one who sees the lingering reflections of a time that have since passed.

Through the darkness that trickles into your vision, there are flashes of a life that don’t belong to you flickering behind your eyelids—a foreign land with vast green countrysides surrounded by treacherous waters, a small village with townsfolk that fill the air with laughter and music so touching you can feel it reverberate in your chest. A place where gods and spirits inhabited each stone, in every tree and in the lakes and rivers that flowed through the land, living side by side with the people who thrived there, undisturbed by marauders from across the sea who would eventually come.

The rush of images dissipate shortly after drifting into your mind as the world around you is fading, and the sharp, thunderous drawl of Remmick’s bite dulls.

He can feel it too, how your body slacks in his embrace with every second that passes. How the vigor of your blood’s song steadily begins to dim.

His tongue runs along the wound of his making on your neck, leaving a thick line of saliva on the skin there and quickly replacing it with an amorous press of his lips.

You groan at the fatigue that infiltrates your mind, your body instinctively pushing away the urge to sever the thread that binds you to this existence.

Your fingers find purchase on his thick arms, unconsciously trying to shove him off of you, but you have no strength to do so.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispers into your hair, so soft, so reverent, like a prayer. “Think of it as falling asleep and when you wake, you’ll be anew.” He coos against your temple and places a kiss to your cold forehead, “I’ve got you. Let go.”

And you do, with one final exhale you let go.

Silence greets you. And blackness. The world around you is gone, having ebbed away into absolute nothingness.

Growing up hearing the sermons from the preacher upon the pulpit, you’d thought death would be different, more dramatic. Blinding white light that leads to the pearly gates. Or of fire and brimstone that foretold the eternity torture that awaited you after a life of vice. Perhaps even of the muddled gray of a purgatory you’d never leave, condemning you to wander in uncertainty forever, but it wasn’t like that at all.

Just blackness envelopes you and you feel weightless, like floating on the waters of the Mississippi River just before the sun rises above the horizon.

Time is meaningless in a place like this and you’re unsure of how long you’ve lingered here in death, straying mindlessly in that cold, dark void. Like the passing of seconds into centuries, like surviving through a never-ending winter before a long awaited spring emerges, blossoming into something wondrous and exhilarating.

Finally, your eyes begin to open and the world around you is bold, vibrant with perfect clarity.

There are colors and hues that are new to you now and with amazement you watch as the inferno dances around you in splendid destruction.

You can see every flickering flame that burns deep into the walls and scorches the wood beneath it, like the brushstrokes of a painting of meticulous detail—so rich, so sharp, alive as if every shadow and streak of color had a soul within itself.

Still in Remmick’s embrace, now cradled ardently in his arms as he carries you out of the burning wreckage of the house you can feel every stitch of his skin on yours, amplified. The once cold hands that held you now radiate a warmth that you never noticed before.

The night birds and insects that chant their nocturnal melodies sing with sublime coherence. Even the sound of the leaves that sway gently in the night’s breeze sound as loud as the strumming of a blues guitar.

Your hand reaches up to caress his jawline, sharpe with the stubble that frames his chin. Despite the prickle beneath your fingers, the expanse of his skin feels velvety under your touch, taut and smooth like marble, sending electricity through your fingertips.

Remmick leans into the tender stroke of your knuckles along this cheek, trembling slightly as your nails rake down the column of his throat, feeling the hum of his blood dancing below with delight.

Once outside, Remmick lays you down on the lawn with the crisp air nipping at your skin. The softness of the grass against your back makes you sigh, like laying on sheets of silk.

His mouth is on you suddenly, hot and slick and hungry.

Your legs part, welcoming Remmick between them without hesitation and he moans when your hands cup his face, slanting your lips perfectly to deepen the kiss.

You cling to him, causing Remmick to hiss at the sting of your nails clawing into the nape of his neck, creating crescent-shaped into his skin through the fabric of his collar.

It spurs him on, how unaware you are of your new-found strength, and it stirs something dangerous in his gut.

His tongue traces your bottom lip, desperately asking you to part for him—an invitation—and when you do, he licks into your mouth like a man starved.

You can taste the remnants of the irony tang of your blood on this tongue and it eases a whine from your lips.

Once it would have repulsed you but now it remedies a craving you’ve never experienced before, but only a little; only in the slightest of ways, in a way that teases you, in a way that demands more.

Your head spins at the feeling of his hands on your body—fondling the swell of your breasts though the thin material of your nightgown and making your nipples pucker beneath his touch.

It has heat and wetness pooling between your legs and you chase the urge by lifting your hips upwards to grind against the hardening of his cock beneath the rough cotton of his trousers.

His tongue pushes deeper into your mouth, matching your eagerness, and he rocks back into you forcefully, enough to render another sound out of you which he does easily.

You should be ashamed at how pliable you are under his touch, at the pathetic and lewd moans that leave your mouth when his lips linger across your face, kissing and nipping at the skin of your jaw, down the expanse of your neck.

He places searing, wet kisses on each collarbone and between the valley of your breasts as he slides lower and lower down your body.

You arch into every kiss he lavishes on your clothed skin, desperately needing to feel all of him on you, to feel the heat that exudes off of his body bleed into you. You're so lost in his touch that you don’t even notice that one of his hands snakes under the hem of your nightgown, pushing it up and revealing the temptation of your flesh while the other tugs your underwear down your ankles until he maneuvers it off of you, throwing it aside carelessly.

You writhe against the damp grass, skin burning up. Like a fever you can’t break, kindled by the scorching trail of his tongue down your stomach, the weighted press of his body against yours, feeling the heat spread through your bloodstream and into every part of you from your head to your toes—igniting every cell with heightened pleasure.

Your mind spins haphazardly into a spiraling descent of hedonistic madness. Even the intensity that exudes from the dilapidated house that cries out for merciful release feels cool in comparison to his touch.

The flames and smoke fades into a smeared mess of orange, red, and black until you don’t recognize it at all. It just becomes a part of the night, like the stars and moon above.

You feel drunk off of him, mind blurring into enraptured grandeur.

Remmick leans forward, nuzzling the side of your thigh with his nose as he catches your intoxicating scent and it racks a shudder up his spine when he breathes it in gluttonously.

His name falls from your lips, full of want and desire, but he hushes your plea quietly.

It almost makes him laugh from the irony of it all—of how easily you traded one monster for another.

He wonders if the thought ever crossed your mind or if the hatred you harbored in your heart for your uncle and aunt have blinded you of the fact.

It doesn’t matter now, not when he has you right here he wants you and Remmick isn’t going to let you slip through his fingers by revealing the epiphany he had.

He’s going to indulge in all of the horrors you have hidden inside of you. Coddle it. Exploit it. Foster it.

“It’s alright dove,” he whispers, kissing your inner thigh before draping one over his lean shoulder, then the other, “it’ll all be alright, just gonna make you feel good, real good.”

Another kiss, closer to the glistening of your cunt.

He shifts his gaze to yours, finding the natural hue of them now glowing a rich tinge of orange, the same shade as the flames that swelter behind the both of you as the house continues to burn in an endless inferno.

It makes his heart falter at the sight of you, perfectly grotesque.

Pushing up on your elbows, your mouth parts to object but whatever questionable demur you plan to say dies before it can even form and a drawn out moan replaces it as the sensation of Remmick flicking his tongue over your cunt suddenly overwhelms you.

It renders you boneless, falling back amongst the grass while hot embers erupt across the sensitive flesh. Using the roughness of his tongue, he sluggishly drags it along the seam of your folds, tasting the wet ambrosia that lays between the sanctuary of your thighs, the only altar he’d ever kneel before.

One of your hands finds refuge in his hair, fingers threading through the short, curled locks while the other grasps at his forearm for dear life, knuckles turning stark-white from strain as that wicked tongue teases you—slowly sliding over your dripping, heated slit and stroking over your clit in deliberately tedious licks.

His large hands grip at your thighs firmly, holding you in place to ease the mindless gyrations of your hips towards his sinful mouth as he devours you—the wild, hungry way that he works his tongue against you, over you, inside of you.

Remmick hums in content, feeling the thin strings of your resolve snapping one by one with every trawl of his devilish tongue against your flesh, unraveling a little more with each needy whine or ragged sigh you breathe out into the night.

You shudder when he moves his mouth up to find that little bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex and captures it between his lips, flicking over it in slow, teasing manipulations, and you jerk, your body already nearly spasming and you dig your heels into the muscles of his back in a hopeless attempt to keep him rooted against you.

He moves his mouth lower once more, hands moving around to cup the ample swell of your ass and pressing you even closer as he delves his tongue into the hot, wet depths of your pussy.

And fuck if the strangled cry that tore from your throat wasn’t the most retched, profane sound he’s ever heard, especially when it was accompanied by a violent tug at his hair that pushes his face deeper into your quivering cunt, sending his tongue plunging even further inside of you.

The swollen ache turns into burning and you feel your inner walls tighten, knowing the sensation of your impending orgasm creeping up your spine.

Remmick senses it too, feeling the same coil tightening in his abdomen, but he doesn’t relent in his attention. His moans meld with yours, matching it pitch for pitch and accompanying every sound you make with one of his own like a sordid melody.

He wishes he could stay like this, tucked deliciously between your legs and drinking from your immaculate cunt until the sun rises beyond the horizon and for the rest of his infernal lifetime, especially as you grind herself against his face shamelessly and keening his name desperately despite the firm grip he had on your thighs, but he can’t ignore the almost painful throb of his hardening cock rubbing against his pants.

The reverberation of his groans and whimpers make your thighs tremble against the sides of his head, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. His body rocks in sync with the roll of your hips, flowing in the same rhythmic cadence as you both become one through the tormenting ministrations of his mouth.

Never had a man or woman touched you like this, uncaring of how obscene he looks with his head buried between your legs. His hands, calloused and strong, message the delicate flesh of your thighs and ass in soothing motions. He places enough pressure to induce bruising to flourish beneath the supple skin and the pleasure that blossoms under his touch is inebriating. Addictive.

The grip you have on his arm trails up to thread your fingers through his, your nails digging deep into his palm to rouse another elongated moan from him.

You smirk, satisfied at the sound you pull out of him, but the smugness is wiped clean off your face as the tightening pressure that had been building in your spine and lower belly intensifies, your mouth parting in a sequence of short, breathy sighs when it hits you.

It’s blinding and red-hot, a kaleidoscope of euphoria bursting from inside of you in a flash of liquid fire, and with a broken cry of Remmick’s name on your lips you cum into his eagerly awaiting mouth.

He slurps at your sweet slickness as it floods his senses, flaring his nostrils to fully bask in the scent of you, and a low, guttural growl rips from deep within his chest.

He licks and laps at your cunt, fervently catching every drop you offer him to not miss a single drop, not wanting to let any of it go to waste. Not on your thighs, not on the grass below, not even on his chin. No, he had to devour you thoroughly until there was nothing left for you to give.

And god is his tongue relentless, repeating the same motions over your sensitive bud that has you squirming under his touch, trying hysterically to push him away but he keeps fighting against you, his tongue stroking incessantly and arduously into the sanctity of your cunt.

You sit up suddenly, causing a glimmer of worry to flicker cross Remmick’s face when he looks up at you, but it quickly subsides when he sees the wanton glint in your glowing orange eyes.

A smirk spreads on his handsome face when you grab at him, pulling him toward you until your mouth clashes with his, lips slanting against mouth. His face is wet, and warm, and tangy sweet. And now as you kiss him, open-mouthed to allow your tongue to dance with his, all you can taste is herself.

In a swift movement, Remmick pulls you into his lap, mouth never parting from yours as he squeezes and caresses the sweat-glistened skin of your thighs. He guides them to rock your sex against his, still fully clothed, but the friction of his cock through his pants surrenders a moan that seeps from your mouth into his, feeling his pent up desire grind against you.

Your hands fall to the open collar of his shirt, fingers diligently tracing over the expanse of the exposed skin that lays beneath the fabric, beneath the golden chain that hangs from his neck.

Caressing the taut muscles at the juncture of his throat and chest, you palm the heated flesh and claim it with the drag of your nails down his pecs and then up again, leaving angry red scratches on his pale skin.

He groans at the pain that arises from your marking—your nails now sharper than ever, sharp like the edge of a blade as they pierce the skin deep enough to cause damage.

When you pull away, your eyes are drawn to the crimson flow of blood that oozes from the wounds you inflicted and he smiles.

He doesn’t have to say it because the enticement of the crimson ichor instinctively calls to you, whispering and screaming in equal measure to sate the new ache that gnaws and twists in the pit of your stomach. A hunger. One that you didn't know existed as your heightened senses emphasizes the thirst that leaves your throat dry.

What was once an intrusive thought now becomes a craving, a need to quench the growing impulse to drink. It draws you in like a magnetic force, one that you can’t escape from, one that continues to invade your thoughts until it makes your head throb with excruciating agony.

You can’t resist the lure, can’t fight the urge that beckons you with welcoming arms like the sweetest of songs. You lean forward, tongue flat against Remmick’s chest and lick the sticky substance up from the droplet at the bottom of his sternum up to the source of the wound at his collarbone.

Remmick laughs when your body trembles when you taste him, the rich, warm liquid coating your tongue like the most divine of holy wines, but his tone is anything but degrading or mocking—its breathy and sincere, a quintessential jovial sound that teeters on hysteria.

He laughs because now you are utterly and completely like him, a creature of his making. Corrupted. Perverted. Damned.

Gently, he cradles the back of your neck and allows you to indulge in the taste of him, his blood, his soul, and watches through hooded eyes with triumph as you drink selfishly from him.

It’s thick and sweet, igniting a fire that burns as it runs liquid hot down your throat. It's unlike anything you’ve ever sampled in your sad little life. Nothing tastes as delicious as this does, nothing could even compare to it. It engulfs all of your senses simultaneously, quickly soaking into every nerve-ending of your being.

You groan when the sacred liquor of his body is eventually tapped out, but Remmick hushes you with another vulnerable laugh and places a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, his nose nesting tenderly into your hair.

When you look up he kisses you again briefly, not as rough as before but you can taste the desire that imbues his lips.

“There’ll be more of that later, dove,” he whispers, eyes tracing every detail of your disheveled expression, “but for now I need to fuck you good, need to feel that sweet pussy of yours around my cock as I make you scream my name so everyone knows who you belong to now.”

His vulgar words, mixed with the euphoria of his blood coursing through you, make you dizzy, drunk from pure delirium.

You are his, forever and all eternity.

The notion of being some unholy bride to this monstrous brute should have scared the living hell out of you, but after experiencing the thrill of his blood dancing in your belly and the absolute bliss of his mouth on your cunt, you couldn’t think of any other place you’d rather be.

Heaven and hell be damned, you’d make whatever time you had with Remmick at his side your own paradise on earth.

In a swift, seamless motion Remmick undoes the buttons of his trousers, hissing under his breath when his cock springs free from its confines.

You moan when he pushes his cock against your slick folds, gliding effortlessly due to the wetness between your thighs, and you lift your hips slightly, just enough for the tip to prod against your entrance.

His hands fall to your hips, yours finding purchase on his broad shoulders to support your trembling body, already alight from the pleasure that ripples up your spine.

Slowly, Remmick lowers you onto him and you sigh, feeling every pulsation of his thick, needy cock as you sink down inch by inch to take all of him.

The measured push of him into the most sacred part of you is agonizing, maddening until he bottoms out fully, splitting you with a sadistically pleasurable burn.

Your mouth falls agape at the sensation of him filling you completely, and he can’t refrain from grinning at the sight of your utterly blissed out expression.

One of his hands loosens the grip he has on your hip, fingers creeping up from under the hem of your nightgown and fanning out to feel your velvety skin beneath his fingertips, pressing gently into the dip of your spine to press you closer to his body.

His bright, glowing eyes find yours and Remmick pauses to take in your new appearance wholly.

Any lines that once decorated your face have disappeared, leaving behind smooth, soft skin in its wake; like a moth breaking from its cocoon to reveal the splendors after a long awaited metamorphosis.

Your blood-stained fangs peek through from your upper lip when you moan, elongated and razor-sharp. If you wanted you could rip out his throat, he thinks, and make a meal of him right then and there, feeding off his throat like a parched man would suck the nectar from a ripened, summer peach.

His cock twitches at the image of you, mouth and chin saturated with the slick of his dark, red blood as it coagulates on your pretty face, your throat, and clothes—grotesquely painting you in his cruor and gore.

Your breath catches in your throat, nails digging painfully into his shoulders when he thrusts forcefully up into you, the violation quick and powerful.

“Oh fuck, Remmick—” you moan, falling forward to press your forehead into the crook of his neck and place sloppy, lingering kisses to his damp skin. Your hot breath fans over his jugular, smelling the saccharine aroma of his pulse thrumming in his veins.

He groans when your fangs scrape against his throat, teasing the skin dangerously and chases the fleeting sensation of implicit peril with another rough thrust.

The grass beneath you is damp, causing your knees to slip from under your weight and spreading you unbearably wide so that when you meet his thrusts the tip of his cock prods against the spongy patch of muscle along your upper walls that musters a whine from you.

He feels it too, how you squeeze around him, and wraps his arms around your back to press you impossibly close to him, desperate to feel it again. Your tender nipples brush against his chest and the friction of it is almost too much to handle, but you don’t pull away, don’t push him off of you, and instead you rock your hips to match his pace.

Quickly you both find your rhythm—harsh, almost cruel thrusts followed by the slow, merciful grinding of his hips meeting the sickly tender cadence of yours.

The night air was filled with the sounds of your mingled, interwoven moans, muffled slightly as they spill into each other’s mouths, greedily swallowing every groan, whimper and sigh that you both make in shared pleasure.

Your thighs shake uncontrollably, your walls clenching around him in anticipation of your approaching climax, the coil tightening and tightening with every thrust of his powerful hips.

Remmick realizes just how close you were when you continue to pant and whine like a rabid dog in heat and your voice musically invades his ears. He eases his head back to gaze up at you and locks eyes with yours. You stare at him with heavy-lidded eyes, your pupils blown wide and your lips swollen from biting them as you move on top of him like the blasphemous goddess you are.

One of his hands runs down between the apex of your thighs, pressing his thumb against your clit and rubs a slow, maddening circle over it, causing your hips stutter and your breath catch in the back of your throat.

He presses firmly at the bundle of nerves and reality slips away, begging you to give in. And you do, grabbing at the back of his neck while the other holds onto him hopelessly while your inner walls spasm around his thick cock and voice a desperate, strangled moan.

Remmick's eyes are drawn to the look of absolute elation that adorns your face, a look of awe, of pure amazement. It was like he just couldn’t tear his eyes from you, afraid that he’d miss something, anything, if he were to look away for even a moment. There was nothing in this ungodly world like watching your body respond to him, nothing like knowing that he was the one to pull these responses from you.

And watching you reach that peak climax, watching you plunge headlong into the throes of this intense orgasm, prompts his own body to respond. His hips thrusts erratically even as one of his hands grasps at your shoulder, curling around it to hold your hips square against his as he pumps his hips violently, his cock twitching as he finally lets go, cumming hard inside of your hot, wet cunt that still grips him mercilessly.

Remmick grunts as his pelvis jarrs against yours, pressing insistently against your clit with every thrust he gave. Your eyes screw shut and your whole body tenses just before you clench around him once more, throwing you into another intense orgasm.

His glowing red eyes widen as he stares at you amorously, his mouth hanging open in utter rhapsody. A slow, sure grin stretches clear across his face as he watches your features convey a look of complete and perfect euphoria.

You collapse on top of him when the initial high is over, your body laying limp against his as you continue to tremble and shake, burying your face into his neck and lazily nuzzle your nose against him, struggling to regain your breath.

He turns his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead and brings his hand up to gently brush your damp hair out of your sweat-soaked face, the other soothingly caresses up and down the length of your back.

A sigh leaves your lips, your torrid breath fanning against the contour of his throat with every hot inhale and exhale you take, whispering his name.

The night air is quiet as you and Remmick sit in each other’s embrace and the dull murmur of the crickets and cicadas slowly becoming louder as you ease back into the world, accompanied every so often by the sound of the house falling apart.

The fire still rages, but it has pacified immensely since it first started. Planks of wood fall to the ground with a muffled thump and most of the fire has died out, now replaced with the smoldering of the thick, grayish smoke that billows into the night sky, muddying the color of it.

It’s still beautiful, you think with your cheek resting against Remmick’s shoulder, bright eyes watching the smoke as it dances up towards the stars.

Now after all that you’ve endured you finally allow yourself to breathe, knowing that everything that has ever haunted you is gone, that every monster has been vanquished.

For once you can live without worry about what may come, you think with a silent chuckle.

It wouldn’t have mattered if Remmick ended your life instead of turning you because even then he would’ve kept his promise. And that was all that mattered to you—that he kept his word, just as he said he would. And that alone brings you peace.

It’s a while before he finally moves, shifting in little, anxious movements, and it’s enough for you to glance up at him, eyes scanning his face to find what troubles him.

His eyes—still that ghoulish, dazzling shade of vermillion—are compelled to the horizon.

“We need to get movin’,” he says, but you can hear the slight unease in his voice.

Turning your head, you look out to where his gaze remains and although you don’t see it, your blood tingles with astute awareness, knowing that something dangerous awaits should you linger here any longer.

Though the night sky is still cloaked in shadows, you can see how out in the distance it leisurely changes from that dark, navy blueish-black into lighter hues of magenta and gold with your enhanced vision—bright and shimmering as the sun awakens from its overdue slumber.

Daybreak approaches.

Seeing how Remmick reacts, you should be worried but you aren’t.

The worst of it all was behind you now and whatever the future had to offer was there for the taking.

Because with Remmick at your side, you were unstoppable.

tagging: @eddiesvixen

#remmick #remmick x reader #remmick sinners #sinners 2025 #sinners #sinners fanfiction #jack o'connell #nicole writes #my stuff

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