The Snuggle Coven🩷🦇🖤

I feel like he lets you do whatever you want, but he judges himself for nearly everything he does (depending on what Ed you're after.) 

Like you can have an army of plushies, and he supports your endeavors, but there is constantly a tiny voice in his head that tells him he should feel ashamed for having a teddy bear and that it's childish of him. He would def appreciate the reassurance but it's gonna take a long ass while for you to finally convince him it's okay to sleep with a teddy bear. 

And that's not really the only time this would come up. He probably feels the same way in regards to mental health. He's constantly on the verge of having a breakdown at any given moment and he just tells himself to suck it up, but God forbid you happen to be in a similar position because then he's doing everything he can to make you feel better and secure. 

But on the other hand, I can 100% see Ultimis Richtofen being an absolute menace and indulging in all sorts of weird behaviors with you because he no longer has the sanity to give a flying fuck lmfao. So yeah, what if he has an army of plushies? What about it? Say anything and he'll spend a few hours making a DIY monkey bomb (or would it be a teddy bomb? bunny bomb? whatever plushie he can get his hands on, I guess.) 

“This is goin’ in the end scenes,” Remmick announces from behind the camera, his voice carrying through the cramped upstairs bedroom as the lens follows you across the faded floral wallpaper. “Show everybody how serious our little actress takes her craft.”

You turn toward him with one false eyelash already glued into place and the other pinched between your fingers, rolling your eyes dramatically. The yellow sundress they picked for you hangs open at the back, its halter ties dangling against your bare shoulders as you lean closer to the vanity mirror and carefully press the strip of lashes along your lid.

“Keep talkin’, farmer boy,” you murmur, smoothing the lash down with one painted nail. “You’re the one who forgot his line six times last week.”

Remmick lowers the camera enough for you to catch his crooked smile above it. He’s already dressed for the scene, though calling it dressed seems generous when his faded overalls are hanging from his hips without a shirt underneath. A red handkerchief sits loosely around his neck, his boots are dusty from walking around the property earlier, and somebody—Stack—has rubbed a little dirt across his chest to make him look like he has spent the morning pitching hay instead of helping you arrange camera angles.

“That scene required concentration,” he says, adjusting the focus as you reach behind yourself to fasten the sundress. “Hard to remember dialogue when you’ve got your mouth full.”

“You weren’t the one with your mouth full,” you remind him, catching his reflection in the mirror.

“That was the concentration problem.”

Remmick has been unbearable since Stack bought the Super 8 from a man outside Memphis and declared that enough lonely perverts owned projectors for the three of you to build a business around them. Stack handles the advertisements, the mailing list, and the plain brown packaging meant to keep curious postmen from learning what is hidden inside. Remmick develops every reel in a washroom he converted himself, spending long nights hunched beneath red light while the films dry from lines stretched above the basin. You provide the pretty face stamped across the catalogues and the body responsible for nearly every repeat customer they have.

Honey Belle is supposed to be your most ambitious picture yet, complete with costumes, an actual plot, and a title card Stack painted by hand after three beers. 

You play the sweet farmer’s daughter left alone after her daddy drives into town. Remmick plays the quiet farmhand who has spent all summer watching you carry baskets across the yard in your little dresses. Stack arrives in a pearl-snap shirt with a story about car trouble, and Honey Belle’s understanding of Southern hospitality becomes increasingly indecent after she invites him inside for lemonade.

By the time Remmick carries the camera downstairs, Stack is waiting beside the front door with his hat tilted low and his shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose the chain resting against his chest. He glances up when you descend the stairs, his gaze sweeping from the ribbons tied into your hair to the way the sundress clings to the soft give of your hips.

“Well, damn,” Stack drawls, reaching beneath the brim of his hat to scratch his temple. “Ain’t you just precious.”

You spread the skirt of your dress and give him a small curtsy, keeping your smile sugary enough to suit Honey Belle even as his eyes settle shamelessly on the tops of your breasts. 

The costume department consists entirely of the three of you and a closet full of things purchased from yard sales, though Stack has treated his cowboy role with the seriousness of a Hollywood leading man. He even polished his belt buckle.

Remmick checks the film, points the camera toward the front door, and gives Stack a lazy signal with two fingers. Stack steps outside, waits until you have taken your place in the parlor, then knocks three times against the screen door.

You open it with your hands folded sweetly over your skirt, blinking up at him beneath your heavy lashes as the camera rolls from across the room.

“Afternoon, miss,” Stack says, removing his hat and pressing it over his chest. His other hand hooks through his belt, the pose practiced enough that you know he tried it in the mirror before coming downstairs. “Hate to trouble you, but my car gave out a ways down the road. Reckon I could use your telephone?”

Your character does not have a telephone, though she does have a pitcher of lemonade and very little sense when a handsome stranger smiles at her. You invite him inside, take his hat, and guide him toward the kitchen with your fingers wrapped around his wrist. Remmick follows with the camera, capturing Stack’s eyes drifting toward your ass each time the dress sways above your thighs.

The first part goes nearly according to plan: you pour lemonade, Stack asks whether your father is home, you tell him Daddy has gone into town and will not return until supper, pausing to suck a drop of sugar from your thumb as Stack watches your mouth.

Then you lean across the table to refill his glass and give the camera a perfect view down your dress.

Stack clears his throat before setting his glass aside. “That farmhand of yours always lurk around?” he asks, gesturing toward the window where Remmick’s character is supposedly spying from the yard. 

“He’s sweet on me,” you explain, slipping fully into a breathy little voice as you move around the table. “Daddy says Remmick’s got more muscle than brains, but I think he’s awful handsome.”

Remmick makes a quiet, offended noise from behind the camera. 

Stack catches your wrist when you pass his chair, drawing you between his spread knees with an ease that makes the lemonade tremble inside the glasses. “Maybe you oughta quit teasin’ that poor boy,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb across the soft underside of your wrist. “Fellow might get ideas.”

Honey Belle only giggles, resting one hand against his shoulder as his other palm travels beneath your skirt. The flimsy cotton lifts around his forearm, hiding what he is doing from the camera until your knees part and your expression goes pleasantly vacant. His rough fingers find the soaked crotch of your panties, pressing the fabric up between your plump lips so the wet heat coats his skin.

“Mister,” you breathe, gripping his shirt as his fingers slide beneath the white panties chosen specifically because they show up well on film.

Stack angles his body so the camera can catch his hand moving between your thighs, two fingers stroking through the slick gathering there. Your clit is swollen and sensitive under the pads of his fingers, and every slow circle makes your hips twitch. “All this hospitality for a stranger,” he says, tugging you closer until your legs press against the chair. “Your daddy know how friendly you are?”

You shake your head, lips parting when his fingers find your clit. 

Remmick circles the table, lowering the camera toward the place where Stack’s wrist disappears beneath your skirt before raising it again to capture your expression. The ribbons make you look especially soft and oblivious, which only becomes more convincing when two rough fingers sink into your cunt, walls soft and greedy as they suck at his knuckles, and the line you were supposed to say dissolves into a breathless little moan. 

“Thought you said you were a good girl,” Stack remarks, glancing toward the camera as he curls his fingers inside you. “You’re drippin’ all over my hand.”

Stack works you until the heel of his palm is slick, then removes his fingers and holds them apart for the camera, thin strands of your arousal shining between them. 

Remmick keeps the lens trained on his hand before cutting.

When it resumes, you’re bent over the kitchen table with your dress bunched around your waist and your panties hooked around one ankle. Stack stands behind you with his jeans pushed beneath his hips, his shirt hanging open and his cock jutting thickly from the shadow of his belt. The head is already wet by the time he takes himself in hand, rubbing it between your folds until your slick coats the flushed skin. 

“Make sure you get how wet she is,” Stack tells Remmick, slipping briefly out of character as he spreads you open with his thumb.

“Oh, I’ve got it,” Remmick answers from near your face, and the low amusement in his voice makes your cunt clench before Stack has even entered you.

He angles the head against your entrance and pushes, letting the swollen ridge stretch you gradually until it slips inside. Your mouth falls open toward the camera as the rest follows, each thick inch forcing your cunt wider until his hips finally settle against the soft curve of your ass. 

Stack had joked earlier that a stranger with a broken car ought to fuck like he has somewhere else to be, and he commits to that idea with enough enthusiasm to send the table grinding across the kitchen floor. His belt buckle knocks against the back of your thigh each time his hips meet your ass, the sharp clink joining the filthy sounds spilling from where his cock disappears into you, the dark hair at the root of his cock already shiny.

“Thought farmer’s daughters were supposed to be shy,” he pants, curling one hand around the back of your neck as your cheek presses against the tablecloth. “Look at you, takin’ a stranger’s dick before the lemonade’s even warm.”

You attempt to answer in Honey Belle’s breathless voice, though Stack drives into you harder and turns the words into a moan. Your tits are mashed against the table, the soft flesh spreading under your own weight, nipples dragging against the rough cloth with every thrust.

Remmick zooms in on the wet mess coating Stack’s shaft—cream already frothing white around the thick base—then slowly moves the camera along your body until the lens settles on your dazed expression.

“Tell the folks watchin’ what happened,” Remmick whispers, amusement roughening his accent as Stack holds you still for the shot.

“M-Mister Stack’s car broke down,” you manage, your lashes fluttering as Stack grinds deep and makes your voice climb. “So I’m helpin’ him.”

“Helping me plenty,” Stack groans, resuming his pace as he pulls your hips back against him. “Sweet little thing’s squeezin’ me like she wants me stranded here all summer.”

Remmick sets the camera on the tripod, grabs the prop, and swings the door open on cue. He pauses in the doorway with a feed sack thrown over one shoulder, staring at you folded over the table beneath the stranger who arrived less than half an hour earlier. 

You gasp and try to push yourself upright, though Stack’s hand returns to the back of your neck and keeps your cheek planted against the cloth.

“Remmick,” you whine, reaching toward him as if the devoted farmhand might rescue you. “It ain’t what it looks like.”

Remmick drops the sack near the door and crosses the kitchen slowly. “Looks like Daddy left his sweet girl alone,” he says, stopping beside the table as Stack continues fucking you. “And she went spreadin’ her legs for the first stray that wandered onto the property.”

Your eyes widen at the accusation, though the offended little pout you offer him disappears when Stack lands a firm smack against your ass, the sharp crack echoing. Remmick cups your chin, turning your face toward him as the table rocks beneath you.

“I was bein’ hospitable,” you insist, your voice growing softer when Remmick’s thumb presses between your lips. You suck it in without thinking, tasting salt and dirt and the faint metallic tang of the camera gear he’s been handling.

“Course you were, honey,” he murmurs, watching you suck the dirt from the pad of his thumb. “That empty little head couldn’t think of another way to help him.”

Stack laughs behind you, slowing into deep grinds that force his cock against every sensitive place at once. “You gonna stand there sulkin’, farm boy, or help me teach her how to entertain company?” 

Remmick glances toward the camera to ensure all three of you remain in frame, then unhooks one strap of his overalls. The other follows, denim falling to his boots before he steps free and moves around the table. You stare at his cock with theatrical amazement, though the expression becomes considerably more genuine when he wraps his hand around himself and taps the flushed head against your lips.

“Been watchin’ you prance around this farm all summer,” Remmick says, smearing precum across your mouth. “Reckon it’s time you did somethin’ useful.”

You open for him obediently, letting his cock slide over your tongue as Stack begins fucking you harder. The thick head pushes past your lips and the salty taste floods your mouth. Remmick keeps one hand beneath your jaw and uses the other to gather your hair, holding it away from your face so the camera catches every inch disappearing between your lips.

Your throat works around him as he feeds himself deeper, the stretch making your eyes water and your cunt clench hard around Stack’s cock. The coarse hair at the base of Remmick’s cock brushes your nose when he bottoms out, and his balls rest warm against your chin.

The rhythm settles quickly, Stack driving you forward onto Remmick before Remmick eases back and gives you enough air to moan. Your lipstick stains the base of his cock, spit gathering beneath your chin as he feeds himself deeper.

When you gag, Stack groans and tightens his hands around your hips, clearly feeling the way your pussy clenches around him. The wet sound of your throat taking Remmick is continuous, mixed with the wet slap of Stack’s hips against your ass.

“There she goes,” Remmick praises, pulling out until only the tip rests against your tongue, a thick strand of spit connects your lip to the head of his cock. “Pretty thing can’t remember her daddy’s rules, but she knows how to take cock.”

You try to protest around him, though Remmick pushes back into your mouth and turns it into a muffled whine. Stack leans over you, his open shirt brushing your back as he whispers against your ear, “Ain’t enough room left in that head for talkin’, sweetheart. We’re fuckin’ every useful thought right out of you.”

The camera catches your eyes rolling upward as Remmick’s cock slides down your throat and Stack pounds into your swollen cunt. Your hands scrabble uselessly across the tablecloth before finding Remmick’s thighs, nails pressing into his skin whenever both men thrust at once.

They keep you there until your mascara begins to run. Stack pulls out before he comes, leaving your cunt stretched and shining as Remmick guides you down onto the kitchen floor. Honey Belle kneels between his boots with her dress gathered at her waist, lips swollen and face streaked, looking considerably less innocent than she did when she answered the door.

Stack stretches out on his back beneath you, sliding between your spread thighs so his face is right under your dripping cunt. He grips the soft backs of your legs and pulls you down onto his mouth, exposing everything to the camera as his tongue drags slowly from your entrance to your clit, collecting the slick he fucked out of you. Remmick groans when you whimper around his cock.

The flat of Stack’s tongue is hot and rough, lapping up every drop before he pushes it inside you, fucking you with it the same way he just fucked you with his cock while your thighs frame his head.

“Got the farmer’s girl leakin’ all over the floor,” Stack mutters against you, pushing two fingers inside as his mouth closes around your clit. 

Your hips jerk against his face, though his forearms pin them down as he eats you with no concern for keeping the scene pretty. His tongue presses inside you, his nose grinding against your clit while Remmick continues using your mouth. Spit runs over your lower lip and down his shaft, mingling with the lipstick already smeared across his skin. Your clit is swollen and hypersensitive under the suction of Stack’s mouth, and every time he curls his fingers you feel another rush of wetness spill out of you and onto his chin.

The orgasm catches you hard enough to make the ribbons slip loose from your hair. Your pussy tightens around Stack’s tongue as your thighs tremble on either side of his head, and Remmick pulls out just in time for your cry to reach the microphone. The sound is raw and broken, your cunt pulsing so hard that Stack has to hold you open with both hands to keep licking through it.

Stack holds your hips against his mouth and licks through every helpless pulse, groaning as you soak his chin. Remmick crouches beside you, brushing damp hair from your forehead before guiding your hand to his cock.

“Think Honey Belle learned her lesson?” Stack asks, lifting his head with his mouth shining.

Remmick studies your unfocused eyes and the drool clinging to your chin. “Don’t look like she learned a damn thing.”

Between the two of them, they ease you forward onto your hands and knees on the kitchen floor. Stack slides underneath you on his back, positioning himself between your spread thighs so the head of his cock presses up against your soaked entrance while Remmick settles into a half-crouch behind you, one knee down, the other braced so he can thrust. 

It took several attempts during rehearsal to arrange everyone correctly.

Stack had complained about Remmick’s knee digging into his side. Remmick had accused Stack of taking up the entire floor. You had laughed so hard during the first test that neither man stayed hard, and the three of you eventually abandoned the camera to practice properly on the bedroom rug.

Remmick’s thumb presses against the smaller, slick opening above your cunt. The muscle gives gently beneath him, already softened by the careful preparation he insisted upon yesterday and repeated before filming. He had spent both mornings bending you over the edge of the bed, working oil into you with one finger, then two, then three, refusing to hurry even after you began begging him to. 

“Farmhand’s been savin’ somethin’ special for you,” Stack says, tapping his cock against your inner thigh as Remmick opens you slowly. His fingers slide in with almost no resistance now, the slick heat of the earlier oil and your own arousal making the tight ring of muscle flutter and accept him easily. “You gonna let him have it?”

You nod, leaning forward to kiss Stack as Remmick adds another finger. “Wanna make him happy.”

“That’s our good girl,” Stack praises, sliding his fingers beneath your chin. “Always so eager, even when she ain’t got the brains to know what she’s askin’ for.”

Remmick removes his fingers and positions himself behind you, his slick cock pressing carefully against your ass, and when he pushes forward the muscle yields for him the way it was trained to, familiar and overwhelming all at once. Stack enters your pussy from below first, letting your wet entrance swallow him until your body remembers his size, and Remmick follows, pushing into the prepared muscle.

The stretch makes your arms buckle.

Stack reaches up and catches you beneath the shoulders before you can collapse, drawing your chest down against his as Remmick pushes deeper. Your mouth falls open against Stack’s neck, your face tightening at the overwhelming pressure of both men filling you until there seems to be no space left between their bodies and yours. The thin wall between them is pressed so tight you can feel them moving against each other inside you.

“Christ above,” Remmick groans, his hands trembling where they grip your waist. “Can feel him through you.”

Stack’s breath leaves him in a strained laugh as he rolls his hips carefully upward. “Knew our girl could take us both.”

They begin slowly, learning the angle even though the three of you already practiced it without costumes or cameras. Stack thrusts up as Remmick presses in, their cocks sliding against each other through the thin wall inside you, keeping you stretched without granting any relief from the fullness. Every movement is a deep, continuous grind that makes your belly feel tight and full, the pressure so intense that your thighs shake and your cunt and ass both flutter helplessly around the thick shafts splitting you open.

Your head drops against Stack’s shoulder, mouth open and wet as the men work you between them.

The camera waits in front of you three, its reel turning steadily as your tits bounce and sway with every hard thrust, the soft flesh jiggling between your bodies.

“Look at the camera, honey,” Remmick urges, one hand sliding around your throat to lift your face. “Show all those perverts what happens when Daddy leaves his dumb girl home alone.”

You attempt to focus on the lens, though Stack drives up into you and your eyes cross instead. 

His mouth catches yours before another moan can escape, kissing you messily as Remmick pounds into you from behind. Their pace grows rougher, the careful rhythm giving way to something greedy once your body softens around them. The wet, filthy sound of both cocks working your holes is continuous—slick, rhythmic, the slap of Remmick’s hips against your ass and the soft, wet suction of your cunt and ass taking them both.

When Stack’s thumb finds your clit, you’re crying without noticing. 

Remmick wipes the tears from your cheek with two fingers and pushes them between your lips, letting you suck them clean as both men keep fucking you. The pressure on your clit is almost too much on top of the relentless stretch, every circle of his thumb making your walls clamp down harder around both of them.

“Too much?” Stack asks against your mouth.

You shake your head quickly, tightening your arms around his shoulders. “More.”

Remmick’s laugh breaks into a groan as he thrusts deep. “Empty-headed thing still wants more.”

They give it to you until your legs no longer hold you. Stack supports most of your weight from below, keeping your body upright so the camera captures your ruined expression, and Remmick grips your hips from behind with enough force to leave handprints beneath the yellow dress.

Your ass and cunt are both stretched wide and shiny, the lips of your pussy puffy around Stack’s shaft, the tight ring of your asshole gripping the base of Remmick’s cock so hard that the rim follows his cock outward whenever he withdraws before swallowing him again.

Words have become breathless pieces that never assemble properly. Your mouth rests open near Stack’s throat, saliva dampening his skin as both men work you toward another climax. 

Your cunt clamps around Stack as your ass tightens around Remmick, drawing broken sounds from them while your body shakes helplessly between their chests. 

The climax is deep and continuous, wave after wave of pure pressure that makes your vision white out and your voice crack into something wordless and raw.

Stack comes first, burying himself deep as warmth spills into your cunt. Remmick follows after several rough thrusts, holding you still while his release fills you from behind. The sensation of both men pulsing inside you sends another smaller climax shuddering through your already exhausted body, leaving your head tucked beneath Stack’s chin and your mouth moving around words that never become anything intelligible.

They remain joined long enough for the camera to capture the aftermath. 

Remmick withdraws carefully, watching cum begin to slide from your ass before Stack eases out from below. Your holes stay open for a moment, soft and used, the pink insides visible and glossy with their combined release before the muscle slowly begins to close. 

You sink onto the floor with your knees spread, dress bunched around your waist and their release dripping together over your swollen cunt and across Stack’s skin.

Stack reaches down and gathers some of the mess onto two fingers, bringing them toward your lips. You accept them with a vacant smile, sucking slowly until his fingers are clean.

Remmick moves behind the camera again, zooming in on your flushed face before following the trail of cum running down your thigh. “Give us one last line, darlin’,” he says, his breathing still uneven as he steadies the lens. “Tell everybody whether you enjoyed showin’ our traveler some Southern hospitality.”

You look directly into the camera, mascara smudged beneath your eyes and one ribbon hanging loose beside your cheek. Stack’s hat sits crooked on your head, placed there sometime after your second orgasm, and the smile spreading across your face is too pleased to belong to any respectable farmer’s daughter.

“His car can break down here anytime.”

Remmick’s laughter shakes the camera so badly that the final few seconds will be nearly unusable, though he insists on keeping them when the film is developed.

HONEY BELLE : FARMER’S DAUGHTER SHOWS A STRANGER SOME SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY !

First printing : sold out in three weeks.

Second printing : ordered before the first month ends.

Stack spends the next several days answering letters from men who want to know whether Honey Belle has any sisters.

Remmick keeps one copy of the final reel hidden in the converted washroom, tucked behind the developing chemicals where Stack will never think to look.

You catch him watching it alone less than a week later.

He doesn’t even pretend he was studying the camera angles.

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Mystic Falls had seen its share of vampire drama, but the Salvatore boarding house had never hosted this particular family reunion.

"They're related to us?" Damon poured bourbon with more force than necessary, eyeing the two strangers who'd materialized in the parlor like smoke and bad intentions. "Since when do we have Irish cousins?"

"Since 1847," Stefan said quietly, his journal forgotten. "Remember Father's sister? She married a shipping merchant, moved to Belfast. We thought that line died out."

"It did," said the first stranger—lean, dark-haired, with eyes that held the weight of decades.

He wore modern clothes like a costume, uncomfortable in the present. "And then it didn't. I'm Remmick. This is my brother, Paddy."

Paddy Mayne looked nothing like his sibling.

Where Remmick was all sharp edges and stillness, Paddy was broad-shouldered, a tank in human form, wearing a henley that strained against muscle earned in life and maintained through violence.

He was already raiding Damon's liquor cabinet.

"Your great-aunt's grandchildren," Paddy said, pouring two fingers of bourbon and downing it. "Turned in 1943. Cairo. Bloody mess."

"Egyptian vampires?" Elena asked from the doorway, where she stood with you—her best friend since childhood, human and stubborn and currently trying not to stare at the two new vampires who looked like they belonged on opposite sides of a war.

"British army, actually," Remmick said, his gaze finding yours and holding it.

You felt the impact like a physical blow—those eyes seeing too much, wanting too much. "Paddy was special forces. I was... following him. Trying to keep him alive."

"Failed at that," Paddy grunted, pouring another drink. "Bloke with fangs got me in an alley. Remmick tried to save me, got himself turned in the process. Poetic, innit? Two brothers, two bites, one eternal headache."

Damon looked between them, something calculating in his expression. "Let me guess. You're here because...?"

"Klaus," Remmick said simply. "Heard he's making hybrids. Making trouble. Family should stick together."

"Plus," Paddy added, finally turning—and freezing when he saw you standing beside Elena. The glass in his hand cracked. "Bloody hell."

"Language," Stefan murmured.

"That's the girl," Paddy said, not looking away from you. "The one from the dreams."

Remmick went still. Dangerously still. "You've been dreaming about her too?"

"Gentlemen," you said, stepping forward despite Elena's warning hand on your arm. "I'm standing right here. And I don't know either of you."

"Yet," both brothers said in unison, then glared at each other.

The dreams had started three weeks ago. You standing in a field. Two figures approaching from opposite horizons—one from shadow, one from sunlight that somehow burned despite your sleeping mind. They met at you, and you woke gasping, sheets tangled, heart racing with a longing you couldn't name.

Now here they were. Real. Vampire. Family to the Salvatores, which meant absolutely nothing good for your life expectancy.

"They're obsessed with you," Caroline said, applying lip gloss with such precision at the Mystic Grill. "Bonnie did a locator spell. The dreams were a summoning. Something about your bloodline. It creates a... pull."

"That's ridiculous," you said, stirring your coffee aggressively.

"That's supernatural," Bonnie corrected, sliding into the booth. "And dangerous. Remmick's old. Like, old old. He was turned in '43 but he'd been living quietly before that, moving through decades. He's... different from other vampires. More patient. Predatory in a way that makes my skin crawl."

"And Paddy?"

Bonnie hesitated. "Newer. Turned the same night, but he never stopped fighting. He's killed more vampires than I've had hot dinners. He's got this code—protect the innocent, burn the monsters. He doesn't see himself as one of us. Or one of them. He's just... Paddy."

"That doesn't tell me how to make them stop staring at me like I'm the last meal on earth."

"They don't want to eat you," Caroline said, leaning forward with gossipy delight. "They want to keep you. Two vampire brothers, one girl, epic love triangle—where have I seen this before?"

"Shut up," you and Elena said simultaneously.

You found Remmick on the roof of the boarding house, smoking a cigarette that he didn't need, staring at the stars with the patience of the immortal.

"You shouldn't be up here alone," he said without turning.

"You shouldn't smoke. It's a disgusting habit."

He laughed—low, surprised. "Old habits. I started in 1920. Thought it made me look dangerous."

"You don't need help looking dangerous."

Remmick turned then, and the moonlight carved his face into something beautiful and terrible. "I'm not here to hurt you. Either of us—Paddy and I—we came because something's coming. Something worse than Klaus. And you're in the center of it."

"Why me?"

He moved closer, close enough that you could smell rain and tobacco and something ancient. "Because you're the first thing that's made me feel human since 1943. Because when I look at you, I remember what it was like to breathe without it being a habit. To want something without planning how to take it."

His hand rose, hesitated, then brushed a strand of hair from your face. "Paddy feels it too. We always wanted the same things. Always fought for them. But this..." His jaw tightened. "I won't step aside for him this time."

"Remmick—"

"Don't say my name like that." His eyes darkened. "Not unless you mean it."

The roof access door slammed open. Paddy emerged, shirtless, carrying a wooden stake that dripped with something black and foul.

"Killed three hybrids on the property line," he announced, then saw Remmick's proximity to you. His grip on the stake whitened. "Touching my girl, brother?"

"She's not yours," Remmick said, not moving away.

"She's not yours either." Paddy stepped forward, all coiled violence and protective fury. "We agreed. She chooses. No compulsion, no manipulation. Clean fight."

"Since when do you fight clean?"

"Since the prize is worth more than winning." Paddy's gaze found yours, and the ferocity there softened into something devastating. "I don't care that you're human. I don't care that I'll outlive you by centuries unless you choose otherwise. I care that you're here, now, and I'm bloody terrified of what I'll become if I lose you to him."

"Poetry now?" Remmick's voice dripped with centuries-old sibling rivalry.

"Honesty," Paddy shot back. "Try it sometime."

You stood between them—Remmick with his shadows and his patience, Paddy with his sunlight and his chaos.

Two brothers.

Two vampires.

Two hearts that had stopped beating long ago, somehow thundering now for you.

"I need you both to back off," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "I have a history test on Monday. My grandmother's birthday dinner on Tuesday. And a werewolf bite on my ankle from last month that still itches when it rains. I don't have time for a supernatural love triangle with distant cousins of my best friend's vampire boyfriends."

"History," Remmick murmured. "I lived through most of it."

"I blew up most of it," Paddy added helpfully.

"Not helping!" You pointed at each of them in turn. "You—stop lurking outside my window like a creeper. And you—stop leaving dead hybrid bodies on my porch like gifts. I don't care if you're both obsessed with me because of some bloodline prophecy or cosmic joke. I'm not a prize. I'm not a destiny. I'm a person who wants to graduate high school without becoming a vampire snack."

"You'd never be a snack," Paddy said, offended.

"You'd be a queen," Remmick agreed.

"OUT!" You pointed toward the door. "Both of you! Go... wrestle or brood or whatever vampire brothers do!"

They looked at each other. Something passed between them—old battles, older love, and the new war you represented.

"She's magnificent," Paddy said.

"She's everything," Remmick agreed.

And then, to your absolute horror, they both smiled—sharp, identical, family smiles—and vanished into the night, leaving you alone with the certainty that this was far from over.

Damon found you downstairs, pouring whiskey you didn't drink into a glass you didn't need.

"You, Damon," you said without turning. "Why are they like that?"

"Which part? The obsessive devotion or the homicidal sibling rivalry?"

"Both."

Damon leaned against the counter, surprisingly sympathetic. "Stefan and I spent a century and a half trying to kill each other over Katherine. Then Elena." He shrugged. "Love makes us stupid. Immortality makes it worse—you've got forever to regret your choices, so every choice has to be perfect. Remmick's been waiting for something real since 1920. Paddy's been fighting for something to believe in since North Africa."

"And I'm supposed to be what? The solution to their existential crises?"

"You're supposed to be you." Damon poured himself a drink. "Just... maybe invest in vervain perfume. And decide soon. Because those two? They're not patient like Stefan. They're not reasonable like me." He grinned at your look. "Okay, they're not reasonable. But they're serious. And when vampire brothers get serious about the same girl, things get biblical."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning Cain and Abel had nothing on what those two are capable of." He raised his glass. "Welcome to the family."

You found them at the cemetery—fitting, you thought. Remmick sat on a headstone, looking like he belonged among the dead. Paddy paced like a caged wolf, destroying a stress ball by squeezing it to dust.

"I've made a decision," you announced.

They both went still.

"I'm not choosing either of you," you said, and watched their faces fall. "Not because I don't feel... whatever this is. The pull. The dreams. But because I'm not a passive prize in your war. If you want me, you both have to earn me. Separately. No fighting, no manipulation, no vampire tricks."

"And if we can't agree?" Remmick asked quietly.

"Then you both lose." You stepped between them, close enough to touch, far enough to be fair. "Show me who you are. Not who you were in 1943. Not who you are when you're fighting each other. Show me you."

Paddy was the first to move. He took your hand, pressed a kiss to your knuckles that burned with life despite his cold skin. "I've stormed bunkers with less courage than it takes to stand here," he murmured. "But for you? I'll learn patience."

Remmick appeared at your other side, not teleporting—just moving with that eerie grace. He touched your face with reverence, like you were a prayer he'd forgotten how to speak. "Forever is a long time to wait," he said. "But I've waited for worse things."

"One condition," you said, looking between them. "No more dead hybrids on my porch. Bonnie nearly fainted."

"Deal," they said together, then glared at each other for saying it together.

You laughed, and for a moment, the cemetery felt less like a graveyard and more like a beginning.

Somewhere in the shadows, Damon watched with Stefan, shaking his head. "Salvatore men and their terrible taste in women."

"Speak for yourself," Stefan said, smiling slightly. "I think she's exactly what those two need."

"Chaos?"

"Purpose." Stefan vanished into the night. "Same thing, really."

A/N: This literally came to me in a dream. I was rewatching TVD the other night and went, "Remmick would absolutely be a match for Klaus." Then I thought... wait, Paddy too. Come on, that man is basically a war machine.

I also decided to keep the original cast because it just makes more sense, and honestly... who doesn't love the Salvatore brothers? I genuinely think Damon and Remmick would become best friends—they'd be absolute menaces together.

He followed the man’s instructions and found the netting, diving in to find the frightened girl tangled in the net, her beautiful green tail bleeding in several spots from the rocks cutting into her. He used his claws to cut through the net and free her, watching her swim off faster than he thought anything could swim.

Later that day Remmick found himself in the open, unable to find anywhere to hide before the sun came up, crouching behind a boat that he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide behind all day. Just before the boat moved something grabbed his ankle and yanked him into the water his skin beginning to burn in the sunlight. He kicked hard but was unable to get free, something pulling him down farther under the surface until his skin stopped burning and he found he was in the darkness, taking a breath as he broke the surface before a match was struck and Remmick saw the woman from earlier lighting several candles on a rock in the fairly large cave she’d dragged him to.

‘Thank you.’ Remmick spoke, his voice echoing in the watery cave.

‘You’re welcome. Thank you in return. You saved my life, I saved yours. You may hide here during the day whenever you’d like…I’m Y/n.’

‘I’m Remmick. Pleasure to meet myself a gorgeous mermaid…ca-can I touch it?’ He asked, watching as she had moved to sit on a rock with just the tip of her tail in the water. He was right, she was beautiful! Her breasts were on display, though her long blonde hair covered them fairly well, and her green tail reflected the light in a lovely way.

‘If you’d like…if you harm me or scratch my tail with those claws I will rip your eyes out…go ahead.’ She permitted and Remmick reached out carefully, ensuring his claws were hidden away, and he caressed her tail which was shockingly smooth.

‘Wow…I expected it to be slimy like a fish but…it’s soft.’

‘Of course it is-How Dare You! I wash my tail with a sea sponge twice a day, how dare you think I’m slimy!’ He could see she was quite offended and he felt bad instantly.

‘No, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just don’t know any better-please forgive my ignorance. You have a lovely tail is my point, and it’s my favorite color!’

Remmick could smell her blush as the blood rushed to her cheeks. ‘Thank you Remmick, that’s sweet…you are forgiven. Your eyes are my favorite color, I love that soft blue…that shade of blue doesn’t exist much down here…will you tell me what it’s like?’

Remmick looked at her, tilting his head to the side curiously. ‘What what’s like?’

‘Living on the surface, of course!’ She giggled and Remmick instantly decided that her sweet giggle was his new favorite sound.

‘Oh, of course!’ He laughed along with her. ‘Sure. I can tell you about living on land if you’ll tell me what it’s like to live down here. Deal?’

‘Deal Remmick.’ Y/n agreed with a smile.

Remmick and Y/n spent the rest of the “day” talking about the differences in their lives-Remmicks threats being sunlight, garlic, bullets and of course, humans-while Y/n’s threats were large sharks, fishing nets, maelstroms, and of course, humans.