#no comment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hatethysinner · 27 days ago

Note

mgmgmgmdhgdjsdjdvdh begging for remmick taking care of you while youre ovulating n just being so sweet and soft and lovey please god thank you

ʙᴇᴅ ᴄʜᴇᴍ

ᴡᴄ: 6.3k

ᴀ/ɴ: come right on me, I MEAN CAMARADERIE! short n sweet was on repeat as i wrote this, and god damn did i love it. anon you are a genius for requesting this and i'm gonna need more feral asks from you by TOMORROW! i don't do taglists personally, so just follow me if you want to be updated when i post.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ MDNI (!!!!!!), filthy disgusting shameless smut, minimal plot all porn, established relationship, very very very exaggerated ovulation but is it really ladies, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, begging, baby fever, drool, spit kink, pussy drunk, vampirism, biting, blood, inappropiate use of heightened senses, praise kink, breeding kink, scent kink, body worship, hands-free orgasm, dry humping, rutting, belly bulge, cervix fucking, multiple orgasms, cockwarming, sick!reader, needy!reader, freaky!reader, a little bit of dom!reader, sub!remmick, pathetic!remmick, service!top!remmick, a little bit of pet!remmick too, excessive use of pet names, don't read without a rose toy

The fever had started sometime in the late afternoon, slow and creeping, like it was building itself bone-deep before you even noticed it was there. By evening, your skin felt too tight, your legs too weak, every nerve sparking and hot under the thin sheen of your nightgown.

It didn’t help that the gown itself—sheer as could be, clinging in all the wrong places—had been his idea. Or that he’d chosen it with those soft, guilty eyes, promising it would help you cool down.

It didn’t help at all.

You shifted in the bed, trying not to whimper as another wave of heat curled between your thighs, low and molten, like something was blooming there. Something that wouldn’t stop. No matter how you squeezed your legs together or turned your head into the pillow to muffle the sound.

Remmick was moving around the room in that careful, deliberate way of his, like he was trying not to spook you. Like he was afraid if he moved too quickly, you’d break apart entirely.

He set the teacup down on the little table beside you, fingers brushing your wrist as he pulled his hand away. Even that fleeting touch felt like too much. Like it cracked something open in your chest.

“Feelin’ any better, sugar?” His voice was low, uncertain, threaded through with worry.

Another wave of heat rolled through you, leaving you dizzy, breath catching in your throat. And you saw it—just for a second—the way Remmick drew back a fraction, turning his head and covering his mouth and nose with his hand, like he was trying not to breathe you in.

It made your pulse stutter, your thighs squeezing tighter beneath the sheets.

Your throat worked. You tried to answer, but it came out as a shaky sigh. One of your hands drifted down to your belly without you meaning to, resting there, pressing lightly against the dull, constant ache.

He followed the motion, eyes darting to your hand. He swallowed hard, jaw flexing like he was trying to keep himself in check.

“I can—” He stopped, cleared his throat, started again, softer. “I can get ya another blanket. Or—take some off, if y’too warm.”

You shook your head, breathing unsteady. You were already too warm. Every inch of your skin felt flushed, hypersensitive, the thin fabric brushing your nipples like a deliberate tease. You didn’t trust yourself to move too much. Didn’t trust yourself not to reach for him.

Remmick hovered, hands opening and closing at his sides. He’d been pacing between the bed and the doorway for the last hour, fetching little comforts—tea, cool cloths, the stack of pillows he’d so carefully arranged behind your shoulders. All of it done with the tender focus he reserved only for you.

But none of it helped.

Not really.

Because no matter how much tea he coaxed you into sipping, no matter how many times he pressed a damp cloth to your hairline, you were still left with the same low, pulsing need that had your thighs pressing together under the sheets. The same feverish ache that made your thoughts turn vulgar. Shameless.

You tried to look away, but his eyes caught yours—soft, uncertain, searching. You wondered if he could read all of it on your face. If he knew what you were imagining. His mouth between your thighs, his hands on your hips, his voice—that voice—telling you to be good for him, to open up, to let him see.

A little shiver wracked you, and you felt your cheeks go hot.

Remmick made a quiet sound, something between a sigh and a groan, and sat carefully on the edge of the mattress. He reached for your hand—just your hand—and cradled it in his calloused palm, thumb tracing over your knuckles.

“Don’t reckon I’ve ever seen ya like this.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Breaks my heart a little.”

He didn’t sound teasing. He sounded afraid. Like he wasn’t sure if this was something he was allowed to touch. Like he was worried he’d ruin you if he tried.

You swallowed again, mouth too dry to answer. Your gaze dropped to his throat, where you could see the way he swallowed, too, the muscle jumping as he tried—and failed—to stay composed.

“Just…tell me what y’need,” he murmured, a little hoarse. “I’ll do it, sweetheart. Anything ya ask.”

You knew he meant it. Knew he’d give you everything if you so much as whispered the word. But the thought of saying it out loud—admitting how badly you needed him—made your breath catch, made your body throb with another hot, rolling wave of want that made you clench around nothing.

Your eyes fluttered closed.

You thought you felt him lean closer, the mattress dipping under his weight, his breath stirring the wisps of hair at your temple.

But you didn’t open your eyes.

Because if you did—if you saw how he was looking at you—you knew you’d beg.

And you weren’t sure you’d ever stop.

Except you felt it—his hand easing onto your thigh. Not rough, not possessive, just the weight of his palm resting there, fingers spread, like he was testing the waters of his own resolve.

Your eyes flew open.

And your inhibitions shattered like glass.

Because the second you saw his face—those soft blue eyes gone dark and stormy, lips parted, fangs just barely peeking through—you let out a sound that was almost a sob and lunged for him.

Your mouth crashed against his, no patience, no hesitation. Your tongue swept past his lips before he could even gasp, tasting him, drinking him down, your fingers clutching at his shirt like you’d drown without something to hold.

You scrambled into his lap, knees pressing to either side of his hips, sheer nightgown falling open around you as you twisted your hands into his hair and kissed him deeper, wetter, like you couldn’t get close enough.

He let out a strangled noise, arms coming up automatically to steady you, fingers flexing against your ribs. For a second, he kissed you back just as fiercely—tongue tangling with yours, teeth grazing your lower lip, a shiver rolling through his whole body that you felt through your thighs.

But only for a second.

Because then he pulled back with a sharp breath, eyes squeezed shut, trembling like he was holding himself together by a thread.

“Darlin’, wait—”

You were already shaking your head, tears springing to your eyes as the ache inside you clawed deeper, harder, until it felt like it might swallow you alive.

“Remmick,” you gasped, voice splintering around his name. “Please. Please, I need—”

He held your face between his palms, thumbs brushing under your eyes as though trying to wipe away tears that hadn’t even fallen yet. His voice was so soft, so wrecked.

“I—sugar, listen to me. I’ll get ya anythin’ else. More tea. Somethin’ cold. A bath. Somethin’ to take the edge off—”

“No.” You shook your head harder, hips grinding down against his lap despite yourself. “No, no, Remmick, I don’t want tea, I don’t want a bath—I want you. I need you.”

His fingers twitched where they framed your face. His eyes darted everywhere—your lips, your heaving chest, the thin stretch of silk over your thighs—and then he squeezed them shut like he couldn’t bear to look.

“I don’t wanna take advantage of ya,” he murmured, voice rough. “You ain’t thinkin’ straight, sweetheart. I know y’ain’t.”

But you pressed closer, nose brushing his, your breath quick and shaky. “Then make me think straight.”

A tremor rolled through his arms.

“Darlin’…” His voice broke, low and desperate. “I c-can smell how wet ya are. Jesus, it’s makin’ me—”

“Then feel me,” you whispered. “Taste me. Fuck me. Remmick, please—I can’t—”

A sob hitched in your chest. The heat between your legs felt molten, throbbing like it was tied to your heartbeat, slick gathering so fast you swore you could feel it sliding down your thighs.

He opened his eyes at the sound of your sob. And the look in them gutted you—like he was seeing his whole world crumbling and still couldn’t make himself look away.

“You can be gentle,” you said quickly, crowding closer until your foreheads touched. “You’re always so gentle. Just—please, Remmick, I need you.”

He looked like he might argue one more time. But then you tipped your face closer, brushing your mouth over his and whispering, “Please. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good for you.”

And that—God, that—was what did it.

You felt the way his hands fisted in the thin fabric at your waist. The way his breath stuttered out in a groan.

And then he was moving, gathering you up like you weighed nothing, gently shifting you back onto the bed until your spine pressed into the pile of pillows he’d so carefully arranged earlier.

You gasped as the cool sheets hit the backs of your thighs, and the nightgown fell open wider, baring the flush of your skin, your nipples tight and dark through the gauzy fabric.

Remmick settled between your knees, eyes flicking hungrily over your body as he propped himself up on one elbow. He brushed your hair back from your damp forehead with trembling fingers.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, voice low and ragged. “Promise me, darlin’. You’ll tell me.”

“Promise,” you whispered, already trembling.

He swallowed. And then his hand slid lower, fingers trailing feather-light down your ribs, over your belly, until he reached the soft heat between your thighs.

The second he touched you, you whimpered—a sound so raw and needy it made his fangs flash in the low lamplight.

“Oh, …” he breathed. “Look how wet ya are.”

You squirmed, thighs falling further apart, hips canting upward into his palm.

Slowly—so slowly you wanted to scream—he pushed two fingers inside.

You cried out, head falling back against the pillows as your walls clenched around him, sucking him in like you’d been starving for it. A sharp, trembling exhale left him, his eyes fluttering half-shut as he watched his fingers disappear into you, slick already coating his hand to the wrist.

“Shit…” he whispered, voice shaking. “I—I don’t… darlin’, ya feel…”

His breath hitched, and he had to shut his eyes for a moment, like he couldn’t even bear to look at you without falling apart.

“Are ya—are ya okay?” he stammered, brow furrowed as he tried to keep his fingers moving, gentle and slow. “Is that… is that too much?”

“Remmick, please…” you gasped, hips rolling as he stroked in and out, torturously slow. “Faster—please—I need—”

But he only shook his head faintly, jaw working as though he was biting back words, or maybe sounds he didn’t want you to hear.

“I… I don’t wanna hurt ya,” he murmured, voice breaking as he tried to swallow down a soft moan. “God, sweetheart, ya… ya squeezin’ me so tight. I… I dunno if…”

He leaned down and pressed a trembling kiss to your jaw, lips lingering there like he couldn’t help himself. When he pulled back, his breath was coming in shaky little bursts, his eyes wide and dazed as he blinked down at where his fingers disappeared into your body.

“Christ,” he whispered, cheeks flushed, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. “It’s so warm in there…”

A broken noise slipped out of him, half-whimper, half-moan, and he squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to rein himself in.

“Tell me… tell me if y’need me to stop,” he gasped, voice wobbling, his free hand clutching at the bedsheets beside your hip. “Or… or if y’want more. I’ll—I’ll give ya more, darlin’, I promise, just… please… tell me what t’do.”

He sounded like he was about to cry from how overwhelmed he was, shoulders shaking as he forced his fingers to keep thrusting slowly, gently, even while his own hips gave a helpless jerk against the mattress, as if he couldn’t help how your heat pulled at him.

But it wasn’t enough. Not when your whole body felt like it was splitting open with need. Not when the ache was gnawing at your bones, each drag of his fingers too slow, too shallow, nowhere near the frantic, pounding rhythm your body screamed for.

“Remmick—” You choked out his name on a trembling gasp, fingers clawing into the muscles of his shoulders. “Please—please go faster. It… it hurts when you’re so slow—”

His eyes flew open, stricken, lips parting in a wounded little sound. “Hurts—? Oh God, sugar, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s worse when you’re gentle,” you whispered, voice breaking like glass. “I need more. I need it faster. Harder. Please, Remmick—please.”

A tortured whimper slipped out of him, and you could feel his breath coming quicker against your cheek, his chest heaving under your palms.

“I… I dunno if I should—”

“More fingers,” you said, cutting him off, your voice trembling but urgent as your hips rocked up into his hand. “Put more fingers in me. Please, Remmick, I can take it—”

His eyes went impossibly wide, pupils swallowing up the pale blue, and he sputtered, shaking his head. “N-no, darlin’, I—I don’t wanna hurt ya, I can’t—”

But before he could finish, you seized his jaw, pulling him into a kiss so fierce it made his shoulders tense and his whole body jerk.

You kissed him hard, pressing your open mouth over his, swallowing the thick, sweet drool he’d been struggling to keep inside his mouth, drinking him down like you needed it to breathe. A broken moan shuddered out of him as you licked into him, tasting the coppery tang of blood that always lurked under his tongue, making his hips twitch desperately against the mattress.

“Please,” you whispered again, voice shaking as you pressed your forehead to his. “More, Remmick. I need it.”

He was trembling so hard you thought he might collapse, eyes glassy, lips parted and wet as he tried to gather enough air to speak.

“I… oh God…” He squeezed his eyes shut, a tear sliding free despite himself. “I can’t say no t’ya, sweetheart. I c-can’t…”

His hand shifted lower, and you felt the stretch as he eased another finger in, his breath catching on a ragged moan as your heat swallowed him deeper.

You cried out, hips arching off the bed, and his fingers flexed inside you instinctively, like he couldn’t help chasing the squeeze of your walls.

“Oh, fuck… fuck—” he gasped, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he tried to keep moving, his voice dissolving into shuddery little whimpers. “You’re so… ya squeezin’ me so damn tight… can’t… can’t hardly…”

“Faster,” you begged, voice raw, your fingers digging into his hair. “Remmick, please—don’t stop—”

He let out a strangled sob and finally gave in.

He fucked his fingers into you not with roughness, but with a desperate, stumbling urgency, his whole arm trembling as slick poured over his palm, soaking the sheets beneath you.

“Jesus, darlin’… y’feel… y’feel so good,” he babbled, words spilling from him in breathless, high-pitched fragments as he tried to keep up with your rolling hips. “Oh God, oh God, I can’t—I can’t stop—”

Your cries spilled into the room, each thrust dragging across that tender, swollen spot inside you that sent sparks dancing up your spine. You could barely speak, babbling half-formed words as your vision blurred with tears, your thighs shaking violently around his waist.

“Remmick—!”

That was all it took.

A single, broken cry ripped out of him as his hips bucked into the bed, his free hand grabbing onto the sheets so hard the fabric nearly tore. He pressed his forehead hard into your shoulder, shaking all over, as his breath hitched into sobs.

“Oh fuck—I’m—I’m—shit—”

And he came in his pants. Hard. His entire body shuddering with it, a wet heat blooming against his zipper as a sob punched out of his chest, his shoulders curling forward like he was trying to fold himself around you.

He kept moving his fingers inside you even as he was spilling into his clothes, his voice catching on choked grunts, breath warm and fast against your neck.

“God—oh God, yer... yer so good, darlin’—s-so good for me—”

You clenched around him, crying out as your own climax crashed through you like a wave breaking over rocks, your body seizing up tight around his trembling fingers.

He worked you through it, breathless and half-crying himself, pressing frantic, damp kisses to your throat as your walls pulsed and fluttered around him.

Before you could even catch your breath—before you could ask for more—he was already lowering himself between your thighs, licking his lips, eyes blown wide as he inhaled deeply, his voice breaking apart as he murmured, half to himself.

“Need it… need t’taste ya… God, ya smell so fuckin’ good…”

He barely got the words out before his mouth was on you.

He dove in like a starving man, lips wrapping around your soaked, swollen clit as he moaned so loud it vibrated through your entire body. The wet heat of his tongue slithered over you, lapping broad, messy strokes through your folds, and then he was sucking you in tight between his lips like he was trying to drink you down.

Your head slammed back against the pillows, a ragged scream ripping from your throat as your hands flew into his hair, yanking him closer.

“Remmick—oh God— yes—there—right there—”

He whined at the praise, hips jerking into the mattress, his entire body trembling as he shoved his tongue deeper, licking so hard and fast your thighs started shaking around his ears. Slick noises filled the room, obscene and wet, each lap of his tongue punctuated by soft, high moans that shivered out of him like he couldn’t keep quiet to save his life.

And you didn’t want him quiet.

You pulled his face harder against you, rolling your hips up to grind against his mouth, chasing every flick of his tongue, every sloppy, desperate suck.

“More,” you gasped, voice breaking as heat coiled tighter and tighter inside you. “Remmick—more—don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop—”

He let out another whimper, pressing his face in even deeper, tongue plunging into you before circling up to flick rapid, trembling strokes over your clit until your vision blurred. His fangs scraped ever so lightly against the tender skin there, not quite biting, just teasing the edge of pain as pleasure roared through your veins.

And all the while he kept babbling, words slurred and wet against your flesh.

“Fuck… s’fuckin’ perfect… can’t… can’t stop… y’so sweet… taste like heaven…”

Drool poured from the corners of his mouth, mixing with your slick as it spilled over your thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you both until you could feel the heat and wet seeping into the mattress.

Your whole body was trembling, every muscle taut and straining as he sucked and slurped at you, licking you like he’d die if he didn’t taste every last give.

“Remmick—I’m—I’m gonna—”

But he didn’t slow down. If anything, he got wilder, moaning like he was the one about to come as his tongue flicked over your clit in fast, punishing circles.

Your orgasm hit you so hard you thought you might black out, your vision going white as your body convulsed around him. You screamed his name, sobbing through it as your thighs clamped around his head, trying to pull him even closer.

He growled into your cunt, shaking like a leaf as he kept his mouth sealed tight against you, sucking every gush of slick straight into his throat, refusing to let a single drop escape. His arms wrapped around your hips, anchoring you down, forcing you to ride his face through the aftershocks as your entire body spasmed helplessly.

“Fuck—Remmick—oh my God—can’t—can’t—”

But he didn’t even hear you.

He didn’t pull away, didn’t pause, didn’t so much as falter. He just kept lapping at you, like a man possessed. His moans vibrated through your entire body, soft, high-pitched, almost desperate, like he was drowning and your taste was the only thing keeping him alive.

You tried to squirm back, hips stuttering from pure overwhelm, but his arms locked tighter around your thighs, pinning you to the soaked sheets as he pushed his face in closer, nose pressing hard into the swollen, aching bundle of nerves at the top of your slit.

He was starving for you.

Each drag of his tongue sent sharp little bursts of pleasure slicing up your spine, your muscles clenching wildly around nothing as he slurped and sucked and swallowed everything you poured out for him.

“Rem—Remmick—please—too much—”

But he just groaned into your cunt, the sound muffled and wet, and sucked harder, tongue plunging inside you again and again until you were sobbing, your vision swimming with black spots.

You weren’t sure if it was seconds or minutes or lifetimes before you came again, a shattering, brutal wave that wrung a scream from your raw throat, your body clamping around his tongue so hard you felt him mewl deep in his chest.

Still, he didn’t stop.

Your fingers grasped at his hair, clutching so tight you thought you might tear strands free, but he only moaned louder, hips grinding desperately into the mattress as if he was trying to get relief.

And finally—finally—he pulled away, panting so hard his shoulders shook, his face dripping with you, lips swollen and shiny, pupils blown so wide the red had nearly swallowed the blue.

He blinked up at you like he was coming out of a trance, chest heaving, throat working as he tried to swallow back the thick saliva still pooling in his mouth.

“Darlin’—” His voice cracked, high and thin. “Darlin’, please—I need—”

He pushed up onto his knees, slick dripping down his chin onto his shirt, eyes darting frantically between your face and the wet heat still clenching and fluttering below.

“I gotta—I gotta be inside ya,” he choked out, hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you’d vanish. “Please—please, sugar—I’ll make it feel so good, I swear t’God, I’ll take care of ya—”

He bent closer, pressing messy, trembling kisses over your stomach, your ribs, his breath stuttering as he tried to get the words out through shaky sobs of need.

“Y’smell so good… fuck, I can’t—I can’t stand not bein’ in ya—lemme—lemme—”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, voice breaking entirely as he pleaded.

“Lemme fuck ya, darlin’. I wanna feel ya squeezin’ me, wanna fill ya up so deep—make y’feel good, make y’feel so good you’ll forget anythin’ else ever existed.”

Your chest heaved, breath catching on a soft laugh you couldn’t hold back—because God, you’d never seen him like this. So wrecked, so needy, so close to coming undone just from the thought of being inside you.

And you loved it.

You tilted your head, studying the way his eyes shone—wet and raw and hungry—and let your voice drop to a warm, lilting hush.

“Yes.”

He let out a noise—a ragged, half-choked cry that didn’t sound anything like the man who usually spoke with slow, easy drawls. It tore straight from his chest, raw and high, as though the single word had physically cracked him open.

“Yes…?” he echoed, blinking at you, dazed. “Y-ya mean it? Ya… ya want—”

“I want you,” you murmured, fingers sliding up into his hair, nails scraping lightly over his scalp. “Now. Remmick, please.”

He didn’t waste another breath.

In a blur of motion, he yanked at the buttons of his shirt, fumbling so badly with trembling fingers that you nearly laughed again, though the sound stuck somewhere in your chest because of how beautiful he looked like this. His chest heaved as he finally shoved the shirt off his shoulders, baring pale, lean muscle slick with sweat.

Then his belt came undone with a sharp metallic jingle, and he kicked off his now-sticky pants and underwear in one desperate shove, cock slapping up heavy and flushed against his stomach, already leaking strings of wetness that glistened in the lamplight.

But even in his frenzy, he reached for you like you were something precious.

His hands moved to your nightgown, sliding it carefully up and over your head, pressing reverent kisses to your shoulders, your collarbones, the curve of your breasts as he freed each inch of skin. His lips found every sensitive spot he’d memorized, leaving you shivering and gasping as he fawned over you with soft whispers.

“God, darlin’… look at you… s’beautiful… perfect… perfect… made for me…”

His voice shook as he shifted higher to press soft, lingering lips at your neck and jaw.

Then his mouth descended again, finding one nipple and suckling gently, tongue swirling around the pebbled peak until you gasped, your back arching toward him.

“Can’t believe… can’t believe I get to touch you… y’real, right? Mine?”

You were panting by the time he finally pulled back enough to meet your eyes, cheeks flushed, hair tousled, cock twitching where it rested heavy against your thigh.

He swallowed hard, shivering as he lined himself up at your entrance, pressing the leaking head just barely against your slick folds.

Then he forced his eyes up to yours, breath catching as he managed, in a voice barely above a whisper:

“D… d’ya want me t’go slow, darlin’? Or… or fast?”

Your grin was wicked, but your voice stayed soft as silk. “Start slow,” you murmured. “Then fast.”

He blinked.

“Y… y’sure?” he stammered, hips twitching forward half an inch before he forced himself still. “I… I dunno if I can—”

“Be a good boy for me, Remmick.” You dragged your nails down his chest, just lightly enough to make him shiver. “Slow first. Then fast. Can you do that for me?”

His breath hitched so violently you thought he might faint.

“Yes—yes, ma’am—” he gasped, voice breaking into a sob as he pressed forward, sinking into you with agonizing, careful slowness.

He choked on a moan as your heat wrapped around him, eyelids fluttering as he let out one shattered, keening sound.

“Christ— oh—oh God—”

You clenched around him as he bottomed out, just to see the way his mouth fell open, the way a strangled moan clawed up his throat.

“Good boy,” you crooned. “Such a good boy, goin’ slow for me. Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?”

“Uh—uh-huh—” he gasped, voice high and trembling, hips rolling forward in tiny, controlled thrusts that nevertheless made both of you shudder. “S-so good… God, y’feel so good, I can’t—”

He squeezed his eyes shut, hips stuttering.

“Please… please, can I—”

“Faster,” you said, smiling sweet and dark as you dragged your nails lightly over his shoulders. “Now.”

And Remmick broke.

He surged forward with a ragged cry, hips snapping into you as though his body had been waiting for nothing else. Each thrust punched a soft cry from your chest, his moans spilling freely as he babbled half-words, lost entirely in the feel of your walls clutching around him.

And through every thrust, every helpless sob of pleasure, he kept whimpering it over and over.

“Good boy… m’bein’ a good boy… wanna make you feel so good…”

But even as he said it, there was nothing good about the way Remmick fucked you.

He was snarling just above, hips slamming forward so hard the headboard cracked the wall with every thrust, the mattress creaking beneath the wild pace he set the instant you gave him permission. His cock dragged inside you, thick and hot, each stroke punching needy little gasps out of your lungs as your whole body rocked with the force of it.

And he wouldn’t shut up.

“Fuck… oh fuck—y’so tight, … squeezin’ me so good—can’t—fuck, I can’t believe—”

Drool spilled from his open mouth, dripping warm and wet across your collarbone as he shoved his face into the crook of your neck. He was panting like a beast, eyes wild and red, fangs nicking lightly at your skin as he gasped your name over and over.

“Am I—am I doin’ good, sugar?” he cried out, voice rising high as his hips pounded into you faster, relentless and desperate. “Tell me I’m doin’ good—please, I gotta know—”

But you couldn’t speak.

Every time you tried, all that came out was a strangled moan, your nails clawing at his back as your thighs trembled around his waist. You were soaked, juices slicking his cock, pooling under you as he drove into you over and over with a fevered rhythm that made stars burst behind your eyes.

Your head fell back, a broken sob shuddering from your chest.

“Rem… Remmick—”

But that was all you managed before he slammed into you again, bottoming out so deep it stole the breath from your lungs.

“Shit— oh God, sugar, d’ya like that? D’ya like when I’m deep?” His voice was shredded, half-sobbing as he pulled back only to ram into you, sharp and brutal.

He was drooling everywhere now, thick strings of saliva falling onto your chest, slicking your skin as he babbled incoherently into your throat. His tongue darted out to lap at the mess he’d made, smearing it across your skin, leaving your chest shiny and wet as his hips kept driving forward.

He kept trying to slow down—little stuttering attempts to ease his pace—but each time your walls clenched around him, he let out a high, choked sob and lost control all over again.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m sorry—I’m tryin’ t’go slow—I swear I am—y’just feel—fuckin’ perfect—oh God—”

You managed a half-word, some slurred plea, and he groaned so loud it vibrated through your whole body.

“Oh God, ya sound so pretty… c’mon, darlin’, talk t’me… tell me m’good, please, please…”

His cock was driving into you so hard now you thought you might break apart, the obscene slap of skin on skin echoing off the walls as slick gushed out around him, dripping down your thighs onto the sheets.

“Remmick—” you gasped, voice trembling, eyes rolling back as he thrust even deeper. “S-so good—you’re so good—”

He let out a sound that was almost a growl, but cracked high at the end, breaking into something like a whimper as he drew back and slammed forward again.

“F-fuck—fuck—darlin’, look—look at me—”

He caught your jaw in one trembling hand, forcing your eyes down to where his cock disappeared inside you with each savage thrust.

“Look how m’stretchin’ you out… fuck… y’see how deep I’m gettin’…?”

He slammed in hard, and your vision sparked white as you felt the thick crown of him shove right up against your cervix, pressure so intense it made you sob.

“Oh God—”

“Can… can y’feel me there?” he babbled, voice cracking with every syllable as sweat poured down his temples. “Feel me right there, bumpin’ your little womb—fuck, sugar, y’so tight—I can see myself—”

He panted raggedly, eyes rolling as he stared down, watching the bulge his cock made in your belly every time he drove in deep. His fingertips drifted trembling over the swell, pressing lightly so he could feel himself sliding in and out under your skin.

“Holy… shit, darlin’, look… look how y’take me—s-so fuckin’ perfect—m’dick’s all the way in your fuckin’ guts—”

He slammed forward again, eyes wild, and you choked on a sob as the rounded shape in your belly shifted under his palm.

“Fuck—fuck, I wanna—wanna breed you so bad—” His voice rose into a panicked, high-pitched whine. “Darlin’, I can’t—I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it—fillin’ you up, makin’ you so fuckin’ full—gonna put a baby in you, swear t’God—gonna make you mine forever—”

“Remmick—” your voice wavered, another moan catching as he bottomed out again. “Please… keep going… don’t stop—”

He let out a sob, hips bucking so hard the bed rattled. “Y… y’mean it? Y’want me t’fuck a baby in ya, sugar? Oh fuck—fuck, I’d take care of ya—swear I would—”

He was rambling now, words tumbling out in frantic, broken gasps as he hammered into you with quick, shallow thrusts that battered your cunt with each snap of his hips.

“Keep ya safe—keep ya fed—ya’d never have t’lift a finger—just wanna see you round, so round with my kid—so fuckin’ pretty—wanna see y’belly swellin’ up again and again—”

He squeezed his eyes shut, voice breaking into high, helpless cries as he fucked you deeper, the shape of him shifting inside your belly with each ruthless stroke.

“Shit—shit—y’take me so good—fuck, I’ll make ya my wife a thousand times over—make sure nobody ever takes ya away—gonna breed you, darlin’, fuckin’ breed you—”

“Remmick,” you gasped, your hands flying to his cheeks as he pounded into you. “Yes—yes, I want it—want you to fill me up—want your baby, Remmick—”

“Oh God—oh fuck—thank ya, darlin’—thank ya—fuck, I’m—I’m gonna—”

He barely got the words out before his hips slammed forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his entire body went rigid above you.

You felt it—a hot, gushing flood as he spilled inside you, cock jerking and pulsing so hard it sent shuddering ripples through your walls. The heat of it bloomed deep in your belly, thick and heavy, and the pressure made you sob out a choked cry as your own orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave.

“Remmick—!”

But he was gone.

With a strangled groan, he lunged for your throat, fangs glinting in the lamplight, and sank them deep into the soft flesh where your neck met your shoulder.

Pain flashed white-hot for half a second—sharp, searing—but it melted almost instantly into a dizzy, swirling heat that spiraled straight down to your core.

You clenched around him so hard you felt him twitch inside you again, and his growl vibrated against your skin as he drank deep, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of your blood in greedy gulps.

He stayed completely bottomed out the whole time, hips grinding forward in tiny, helpless thrusts as his cock kept spurting warm ropes of come deep inside you, each pulse making your walls flutter and squeeze even tighter around him.

His moans were muffled against your throat, wet and broken, slick noises rising as blood and drool spilled from around his lips, sliding hot down your collarbones.

“Mine… mine… mine—” he babbled, voice muffled around the seal of your skin. “Fuck… fuck, sweetheart, I love ya—love ya so fuckin’ much—oh God, y’so good to me—so good—”

You could feel the drag of his tongue lapping at the wound between swallows, the sucking pull of his mouth matching every ripple of pleasure still tearing through your body.

And still he kept moving inside you, grinding deep, his cock so thick and swollen you could feel it pressing up against you with each tiny push, still leaking warmth into you.

“Was I good?” he whimpered suddenly, pulling his fangs free just long enough to speak, lips slick and red with your blood. His voice cracked, high and terrified: “T-tell me I was good, darlin’… please… did I… did I make y’feel good…?”

Your vision was swimming, but you forced your trembling hands up to cradle his face, dragging him down for a bloody, open-mouthed kiss that tasted like iron and slick and saliva and something else uniquely him.

And Remmick whimpered into your mouth, still moving in tiny, desperate thrusts, his hips pressing close as though he couldn’t bear a single inch of space between you.

He stayed pinned there, trembling, burying his face against your neck as he breathed raggedly, each exhale hot and damp on your skin. His cock pulsed inside you one last time—and then, finally, he went soft, the relentless tension easing from his muscles as his weight slumped heavier onto yours.

“Fuck… fuck, darlin’, m’sorry,” he gasped, pressing frantic kisses along your jaw, your cheeks, your swollen lips. “I got carried away—shouldn't've been so rough—Christ, I couldn’t stop, ya were just—just so fuckin’ sweet—”

He tried to pull out carefully, but the moment he slipped free, a hot gush of his come spilled from you, and you let out a sharp, choked whimper.

“Oh, no—no—I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry—” His hands flew to your cheeks, eyes wide and panicked, blood still drying on his lips. “I didn’t mean t’hurt ya—God, I should’ve gone slower—I—I—”

You shushed him with a weak little smile, pressing your fingers to his lips before he could spiral further.

“Remmick,” you croaked, your voice hoarse from screaming his name, “just… go get the bath ready.”

He stared at you as though he couldn’t quite believe you weren’t upset with him.

“Y… y’sure?”

“Bath, Remmick.”

A flush climbed his throat, and he swallowed hard, pressing one last shaky kiss to your temple before scrambling off the bed on unsteady legs.

“Y-yes, ma’am—right away…”

You lay there for a moment, utterly wrecked, the sheets beneath you soaked through with sweat and slick and the lingering spill of his release. The ceiling spun a little as you exhaled, your pulse still thrumming gently in your ears, a tender fluttering between your thighs where he’d been buried so deep you could still feel the ghost of him inside you.

From the bathroom, you could hear water running, the sharp hiss of the faucet and Remmick’s quiet voice as he murmured to himself—probably panicking about water temperature and lavender oil and whether he’d scrubbed the tub well enough.

And for the first time all day, you let your mind drift, feeling the sweat cooling on your skin, your body limp and spent.

A laugh—small, incredulous—bubbled up in your chest, surprising even you.

Because the ache that had driven you half out of your mind, that clawing, endless heat that made you beg for his touch, was gone.

Utterly, blissfully gone.

And you couldn’t help but laugh again as you whispered into the empty room.

“Guess that did the trick.”

#remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick #remmick sinners #dom!reader #sub!remmick #sinners #sinners remmick #remmick smut #smut #jack o'connell #remmick x black!fem!reader #remmick x black!reader #black!fem!reader #black!reader #ryan coogler #no comment #i plead the fifth #something something i ripped a page out of the omegaverse

1K notes · View notes

miryum · 6 months ago

Text

You've Got Stars in Your Eyes so Let's Paint the Sky (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Azriel “mourns” his wife

Warnings: Az pretending to be angsty (but happy ending), recreational drug use (tho not from Az or reader), gambling, drinking/alcohol, mentions of hangovers, timeline is a bit loosey goosey, a bit of Elain-bashing, guilt. (title is from Hold On by Extreme Music. Fic is not based off of it, but I was listening to it while editing and thought it fit well)

Word Count: 2.9k

Azriel was hardly one to get intoxicated. Yet there he was, sitting around the expansive fireplace with the other members of the Inner Court, tossing back his fifth glass of alcohol.

It was not an uncommon occurrence for the Court to get drunk every once in a while and indulge in pleasure after their missions. Azriel had just returned from a two-week long commission and was slouched in an armchair big enough for his wings to fold comfortably behind him. It hadn’t been very taxing, but the trip had required secrecy. He couldn’t speak to anyone, just having to let his shadows zip in and out of places, returning to whisper in his ear. Admittedly, he had missed his family and couldn’t say no when Cassian asked him to join in some indulgences.

A cloud of weed surrounded Cass as he took another drag. Even Rhys had an ornate pipe between his lips, though he had yet to light it. Feyre sat on his lap, dragging a slow hand through his hair. Mor had convinced Nesta to play a round of cards and the pair had money laid out for the winner. Elain was sitting next to them, awkwardly watching. Amren was in Summer Court, visiting Varian.

The Shadowsinger didn’t like to drink. It usually brought back painful memories at night, though he was able to forget about them during the fact. He liked the sting of alcohol and its taste, but not the effects. The pleasure of it burning down his throat was always welcome, but the headache in the morning was uncomfortable. As he would lay in bed that next morning, memories swirled in his mind, either one’s from the night before or from his childhood. It was a gamble he was very rarely willing to take. And yet, as he watched Rhys finally light his pipe, Azriel couldn’t help but take another down of his drink. He swallowed thickly and the alcohol was like fire. The moment he compared it, he glanced down at his hands. Flexing his fingers, Azriel turned his stare to his whiskey. It was a lovely amber that seemed to glow in the firelight.

Azriel’s eyes wandered to his brothers and their mates. His finger slid around the rim of his cup, sometimes catching on the glass and disrupting his rhythm. His lips pressed together and his gaze turned to the fire. Shadows slowly curled around him, resting in his lap like a cat. They shifted and creeped lazily up to settle on his forearms. One wisped around his ear before brushing against his cheek, like a kiss. A deep sadness settled within Azriel. His heart weighed down as if by an anchor.

He reached up and brushed at the leathers right over his chest, like he was searching for something that wasn’t there. One shadow climbed up to nestle in his hair, before settling down with a wistful sigh only Azriel could hear.

“You alright, brother?” Rhys asked, noting the shift in mood. Feyre glanced towards Azriel, resting her head on Rhys’ shoulder. Elain quickly looked over her shoulder.

The Illyrian nodded, exhaling through his nose. “Simply thinking,” is what he only replied.

Cassian blew out a smoke ring before turning to the conversation. “And what is it that you’re thinking of?”

Azriel only shook his head when he noticed Nesta peering up at him suspiciously. She laid down a card and Mor’s brows furrowed just a touch. It was things like these that one noticed being the Spymaster of the Night Court.

Rhys studied Az’s face carefully. It wasn’t unusual for Azriel to be quiet, but something about this was unsettling. Something was on his mind and there was only one person that made Azriel this melancholy. Unfortunately, the weed was lowering his inhibitions, and he forgot the promise he had made to Azriel when the Archeron sisters had first arrived. “Thinking of Y/n again?” he asked in a whisper, though his voice was powerful enough to sweep the room.

Mor instantly tensed, a contemplative frown on her face. Cassian blew out a long column of smoke, using his full chest to exhale. Feyre stared at Azriel, confusion swirling on her features. She stayed in the crook of her mate’s side, ever perceptive. Nesta rubbed a card between her thumb and pointer, about to set it down. She was the first to speak. “Who’s Y/n?”

The night was silent and it took a long time for Azriel to answer. He pressed his finger into the rim of his glass and the shadow in his hair seemed to deflate slightly. Even the shadows in his lap stilled before curling tighter around their master, either asking for comfort or trying to give it.

“My wife.”

Elain’s eyes grew wide and a thick blush covered her cheeks. Her stare darted down to his fingers, as if looking for a ring. When she didn’t find one, she turned away, head ducking down. Feyre lifted her head off of Rhys’ shoulder and even Nesta looked shocked. The senior Inner Circle, however, didn’t react. They all knew who Y/n was and they loved her dearly.

“I miss her. I miss my wife,” Azriel muttered, staring down into his drink.

Azriel could barely see through his tears. He stood, in a new custom suit, in front of his brothers. He sniffed once and Rhys clapped him on the back so hard he let out a cough.

“Where is she?” Cass muttered from his place behind Rhys. Rhys then turned around and gave him a sharp glare. Amren rolled her eyes at their display and Mor gave Azriel an encouraging nod. The females were standing opposite them.

It was then that the door to the garden opened and Azriel turned to see his mate, you, walk out.

You were wearing the dress you had always gushed about and your hair was styled beautiful. A bouquet of flowers was grasped in your hands, though Azriel could hardly see any of that. All he could see was your eyes. They had quickly become his favourite colour and something he loved to stare into.

The tears finally began to fall. He could hardly remember the words the High Priestess said, too lost in the feeling of your hands in his and how utterly beautiful you looked. You had insisted on a wedding after learning of the human custom. Your mating bond had snapped over seven years ago, but Azriel was more than happy to keep indulging in your wishes.

Morrigan and Amren were your ladies and Rhysand and Cassian were Azriel’s gentlemen, something you insisted was vital in a wedding. You had also insisted on exchanging rings, slipping the band onto his fingers before he repeated the gesture to you.

Finally, Azriel had the chance to kiss you. He had kissed you plenty of times before, even before you were mated, but this felt… more complete. With one hand on your hip, he pulled you close. You let out a giggle as his other hand cradled the back of your neck. His lips curved up into a devilish grin before dipping you low. You let out a lovely squeal, arms looping around his neck, before he silenced you with a fierce kiss.

And so you were wed. And he would never let you go.

Mor let out a sigh, rising from her place on the floor. She stood for a moment, as if unsure of what to do. Eventually, she decided to refill her own glass before offering the pitcher to Azriel. He took it thankfully. “I miss her as well,” she said. “But it does not help to dwell on her, Azriel. It only makes you sad, and you know this.”

“What- what happened?” Elain asked, clearing her throat. Feyre shot her a stern look but Nesta hummed in agreement. As much as Feyre wanted to be considerate, her curiosity also burned.

In response to Azriel’s silence, Rhys provided quietly, “I sent her on a mission. Years ago.” The muscles in his jaw jumped and Feyre made a sympathetic noise, running a hand through his hair again. “I don’t believe Azriel has ever forgiven me since.”

Azriel let out a derisive scoff. He pressed his lips together and gave Rhys an eye roll. However, after a moment, he said, “it comes and goes.”

Elain shifted her position so she was sitting a little closer to Azriel and facing him. “How many years ago?” she asked, her voice calm and consoling. “Do you still have your ring?”

Cassian was the one to answer, brows pulling together like a drawstring. “Only two years,” he said. It sounded like he was scolding Elain, but Azriel didn’t notice, instead focusing on a shadow that was weaving around his fingers.

The shadow drifted up to rest on Az’s collarbone and it dipped down to touch his leathers. With a sad, nostalgic smile, he tugged out a chain that was hidden beneath his clothing. Hanging down from it was a gold ring. “Even before her mission, I thought it would be best to keep it out of sight,” he murmured. “In case I was ever caught. I wouldn’t want to risk her.”

Mor, who had been drifting around the room, gave Azriel’s shoulder a squeeze as she passed.

Meanwhile, Elain glanced towards Feyre, a pleading look in her eyes. Rhys turned towards his mate and let his hand glide up and down her side. Feyre finally asked, “did the bond ever snap for the two of you?”

Azriel’s entire expression softened and practically everyone could see his shoulders relax. He wasn’t sure if it was the memories or the fire that sent a warm feeling through his chest and throughout his body.

You stood on your balcony, doors wide open and arms crossed. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be at the Town House. You wanted to be at your shared apartment with Azriel, one that was located in the city center. But, seeing as Az was being a stubborn male, you had decided to spend the night away.

Of course, Azriel wasn’t going to let you. You saw his shadows before you saw him. They zipped to you, racing up your body. They twirled around you excitedly and you couldn’t help your smile. Even if you were mad at the Shadowsinger, you couldn't stay mad at his shadows. “You know I love you, yes?” came his smooth, quiet voice from behind you.

You let out a breath and nodded. Azriel came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder and in your peripheral vision, you could see his wings twitch next to you, as if wanting to embrace you too.

“That’s not an apology,” you noted.

It was Azriel’s turn to sigh and his breath tickled your skin. “I know,” he murmured. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Entering your relationship, you were aware that apologising was hard for Azriel. He wasn’t used to making mistakes and was usually so guarded and careful that he didn’t. But you were different. You made him feel things that no one else had and he didn’t know what to do with those feelings. He was bound to make some mistakes.

Finally, he turned his head into your neck and whispered out, “I am sorry, my love.”

That’s when the bond snapped.

Your soul was yanked towards Azriel’s and the centre of the universe seemed to change. Everything was now focused on him. Everything now made sense. And based on the hopeful, desperate expression on Azriel’s face, he felt it too.

“We didn’t see them until practically a month after their mating ceremony,” Mor snickered. Cass let out a loud laugh, the weed making everything seem much more funny than it actually was. Elain pressed her lips together.

Azriel shook his head fondly. His shadows suddenly darted away from him, but he was too inebriated to care. “Shut your mouth, Morrigan,” he muttered, though he was smiling. “What can I say? I love Y/n. It was a nice month.” He took a sip of his whiskey, trying to hide his grin.

Yet, before he could start reminiscing, a knock sounded against the wood of the doorframe. “Az, what are you telling these lovely people?” a new voice spoke up, a teasing lilt in the tone.

Azriel instantly stood. “By the Cauldron,” he murmured reverently. He didn’t notice the Archeron sisters peering curiously at the newcomer as he launched himself into your arms. You were obstructed from view to the sisters as Azriel’s wings curled around you protectively as he held you close. His grip was desperate and loving as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck. “My love,” he whispered out so that only you could hear. “I didn’t know you were visiting.”

You held your mate close, a hand brushing calmly in his curls and your other on his back. “I’m not visiting,” you replied softly. “Rhys said I could be done. With the mission, I mean.”

Azriel had half a mind to turn and shoot an accusing look at Rhys, but he wouldn’t take his eyes away from your beautiful face. “My wife,” he muttered. He took your hand in his and kissed the ring you wore proudly. “Forgive me.”

“What for?” you asked.

He shook his head and pressed his forehead to yours. “That promise I made to you years ago – I didn’t keep it. I let my emotions get the best of me as I missed you. Rhys didn’t deserve my anger for sending you away.”

You let out a laugh that was beauty incarnate to Azriel’s ears and Feyre shared an bemused look with Nesta. Since when did Azriel apologise? And for being rude to his brothers, of all things. To add to it, he had been smiling more with you in his arms than the entire time they had known him. Was it simply that the Shadowsinger had missed his mate? Was there another layer underneath that lay dormant until you were there to peel it back? What was Azriel truly like when the love of his life was home?

Cassian called you over and you exchanged hugs with the rest of the Inner Circle. Mor was ecstatic to have you back – her best friend had returned. You were disappointed that Amren wasn’t there to greet you, but you understood the needed time with her mate. After all, you were sure Azriel wouldn’t let you out of his sight after being reunited.

You were then introduced to the Archeron sisters. You gave Feyre a little teasing bow and greeted, “my High Lady.” Feyre scoffed and swept you into a welcoming hug.

Nesta was next to greet you and you congratulated her on being able to put up with Cassian. Azriel laughed at your joke, arm around your waist. Throughout greetings and introductions, he had never left your side. Every so often, he would place a kiss on your temple or give your hip a small squeeze. He truly was a different man around you.

Eventually, you stood in front of Elain. “Azriel made it sound like you were dead,” she said in hello. Her voice made it sound like she was passing blame onto your mate, but you tried to brush it off.

With a laugh, you said, “well, he gets rather grumpy whenever I’m away for too long. I’m sure you understand.” Some of Azriel’s shadows brushed lovingly along your arms and face.

“He wasn’t wearing his ring, you know?” She laughed along with you, albeit a bit awkwardly. “You have a lovely mate. You’re very lucky to have him.”

You raised your brow and exchanged a look with Mor. “Yes,” you agreed slowly, thinking that was an odd thing to comment on. “But Azriel can choose to wear his ring or not. And he talked to me about it beforehand. We both thought it best to keep our marriage under wraps as we went on missions.” You held up your left hand and Azriel took that as his cue to nuzzle his nose into your hair. “I put mine on only a couple hours ago, when I knew I’d be coming back.”

Elain’s cheeks filled with heat and she nodded. Muttering some things about how she was glad to meet you, she stepped back and towards Nesta.

Impatient as ever when it came to you, Azriel soon ushered you away with the complaint on his lips that your attention wasn’t only on him. He wanted to see you back in your home. After mating, he had chosen a wonderful house special just for the two of you. Over the months, it had gotten harder and harder to live there without your presence. Oh, how he had missed you.

When you were finally alone, you cradled his face in your hands, finally able to kiss your mate after two years. One hand slipped down to pull on the chain that hung around his neck. “I need you to wear this now,” you whispered.

Azriel chuckled and raised a brow. “Jealous, my love?” He pressed close to you, unable to take the feeling of you not cradled in his arms any longer.

“I think I’m entitled to some jealousy,” you replied. “After almost twenty-eight months without hearing your voice, seeing your face, or touching your skin, I get some leeway.”

“Hmm, that you do,” he muttered, slipping his ring back on proudly. “Now, will my beautiful wife accompany me to our home?”

“With pleasure.”

788 notes · View notes