thecontortionistsportal

[thecontortionistsportal]

[thecontortionistsportal]

[thecontortionistsportal]

Hey hey i plowed through all of your Remmick fics today and 😛😛😛 tewww good. May a request a smut/fluff(or both I aint complaining) of a stupid little pathetic Remmick and reader who has to clean him up after feeding one night? please and thankss

ʜᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴅᴏɢ

ᴡᴄ: 4.08k

ᴀ/ɴ: the floor is where remmick belongs. thank you lyn for giving me an excuse to continue to feed my unhinged pet!remmick kick bc that one fanart + the whimpering audio... i've been SO HORNY FOR THIS MAN!!!! and to think i originally wasn't into the idea at all???? who even am i anymore? this is just a small taste of the depravity you'll be getting in the pearl fic btw

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ MDNI (!!!!!!), the filthiest smut i've ever written, no plot all porn, feral!remmick, pathetic!remmick, pet!remmick, sub!remmick, dom!reader, actually unhinged!reader, matching each other's freak, graphic violence, murder, arousal from murder, dacryphilia, begging, masturbation, cunnilingus, face sitting, orgasm denial, p in v, ride em cowgirl, unprotected sex, praise/degradation kink, very light sadism/masochism, drool, spit kink, blood, bloodplay, monsterfucking, squirting contest lets see who can squirt the farthest, miscellaneous horniness, excessive use of pet names, excessive use of good boy but i'm kind of obsessed with it

It was past midnight when you heard him scratching at the door.

Soft at first—light little scrapes of claws against wood. Then heavier. More urgent. A faint thud, as though something heavy dropped against the porch boards, followed by a low, warbling growl that didn’t sound human at all.

You set down your embroidery and tilted your head, straining to listen through the walls of the old wooden house. Outside, the swamp hummed and hissed with frogs and night insects, the thick, humid heat pressing against the windows like breath.

Then came another sound. A long, slow dragging noise. Something being pulled over the porch planks, heavy and wet.

Your pulse quickened, not with fear—but with a heat that curled low in your belly.

Because you knew exactly who was on the other side of that door.

And exactly what he’d brought home this time.

When you opened it, the smell hit you first—coppery and rich, warm and wet as a fresh kill. It poured into the hallway, mingling with the tang of swamp water and sweat.

And there he was.

Remmick.

Hunched low on the porch, shirt ripped half-open, suspenders hanging loose off his shoulders, chest heaving like he’d run ten miles through the grass fields. His hair hung damp and wild over his forehead, streaked with darker patches where blood had soaked in. His lips were peeled back in a grin too wide for a man, fangs gleaming slick and red.

And clamped between those fangs—like a hound with a prize rabbit—was a man’s wrist, limp and pale, trailing a body behind it like a ragdoll.

Remmick gave the limb a hard tug, dragging the corpse another foot closer to the door, leaving a thick, glistening smear of blood across the porch boards. His eyes glittered an inhuman red as he gazed up at you, panting softly through his nose, chest rising and falling.

“Darlin’,” he crooned, voice rough and muffled around the corpse’s arm, “lookit what I brung ya.”

He let go of the man’s wrist, letting the body drop with a thud that rattled the boards.

A ripple of pleasure rolled through you at the sight.

Because God, he was beautiful like this.

Splattered with blood, hair stuck to his temples, eyes blown wide and starving. A monster. Your monster.

And you knew, without him saying a word, that he’d done it for you.

Not because you’d asked. But because some part of him—deep and primal—needed you to see what he could do. Needed your approval.

Blood dripped from his chin as he crawled forward on hands and knees, leaving dark streaks across the porch. He moved like an animal, shoulders bunched, hips swaying, his breath hitching in little, excited gasps.

“Y’said… y’said I been good lately,” he panted, eyes flicking hungrily over your face, down your neck, then back up. “Thought… maybe… ya’d like a present.”

He was trembling. Not from fear—but from the strain of holding himself back. His fingers dug into the porch boards, claws half-extended, as though every muscle in him wanted to leap at you.

You felt your lips curl into a slow smile.

“Well,” you said, stepping closer so your slippers brushed the blood soaking the threshold. “Ain’t you a good boy.”

He whimpered—a soft, pleading sound that no human should’ve been able to make.

A thick line of drool, tinged pink with blood, dripped from his lower lip to the porch. He licked it up messily, eyes fluttering closed, hips giving a tiny, unconscious roll as he rutted the air like a dog scenting a bitch in heat.

“Wanted… wanted t’ show you…” he gasped. “How good I can hunt. How… how strong I am for ya.”

Your gaze drifted to the corpse sprawled behind him. The man’s throat was torn out, ribs crushed inward like a paper bag. There was so much blood it had soaked through Remmick’s trousers, splattering his pale skin, matting the hair along his forearms.

And he was hard.

Even crouched low like that, you could see the thick bulge straining against his fly, a dark wet spot spreading where precum leaked through the fabric.

He crawled closer until he could press his bloody cheek against your thigh, smearing crimson over your nightgown. He nuzzled there, breathing you in, voice breaking as he whispered,

“D-did I do good, darlin’? Y’ain’t mad, are ya? Didn’t mean t’ mess up the porch… just… couldn’t wait no more. Had t’ bring ya somethin’…”

You carded your fingers through his blood-clotted hair, feeling the sharp little tremors rolling through his body.

Because the truth was—nothing made Remmick come apart faster than making you proud. Than serving you.

And as you glanced down at the ruin he’d dragged home, then back to his trembling, eager eyes—you felt more heat pool low and heavy between your thighs.

Because Lord help you… you’d have to clean him up.

And you were going to love every second of it.

“Bring it inside,” you said, voice calm and cool, though your pulse thundered behind your ribs.

Remmick blinked up at you, pupils huge and glassy, like he was half-drunk on blood and your praise. “Y… y’want me to…?”

“Now, Remmick.”

A shiver rippled through his body. “Yes, ma’am.”

He turned and seized the corpse by the ankle, hauling it over the threshold without a second’s hesitation. Blood smeared in long, glistening streaks across the floorboards, pooling thickly under the man’s slack jaw as Remmick dragged him further into the house and dropped him unceremoniously near the hearth.

You trailed behind him, lips pursed as you surveyed the crimson trails soaking into the grain of the wood, spotting where droplets had already flung across the walls, the furniture—even your favorite rug.

“Remmick.”

He froze mid-crawl, fingers splayed on the floor, shoulders bunching like you’d struck him. “Ma’am…?”

“Look at this mess,” You swept a hand toward the blood-slick path he’d left in his wake. “My house looks like a hog slaughterhouse. Again.”

His ears seemed to pin back like a dog’s, his voice breaking. “I… I’m sorry, darlin’—I ain’t mean t’—”

You stepped closer, tilting his chin up with your fingers. “You know what happens when you make a mess, don’t you?”

A trembling breath escaped his parted lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”

And you walked away from him, your hips swaying as you moved to the armchair nearest the hearth. You sat down with deliberate grace, crossing your legs slowly, the hem of your nightgown rising just enough to show a glisten of skin.

“Strip.”

He obeyed instantly, peeling away his shredded shirt and shoving down his trousers, leaving him naked, streaked with blood, his cock flushed an angry red and leaking a glossy trail down his thigh.

You let your eyes rake over him, tongue pressing to the back of your teeth. “Now stand there. And don’t touch yourself.”

His voice was hoarse. “Please… please, darlin’, I’m—”

“Shut up.”

He whimpered.

Then you spread your legs. Slowly. Luxuriously. Letting the nightgown fall open over your thighs as your fingers dipped between them, parting yourself to show him how wet you already were.

Remmick’s head jerked back like he’d been punched, a choked sob escaping him as he took in the glisten of slick on your folds.

“See this?” you murmured, dragging two fingers through the wetness, swirling them over your clit until your hips gave a faint little jerk. “This is what a good boy might get. But you ain’t been good, have you, Remmick?”

“N-no, ma’am,” he gasped, voice quivering as his hands curled into claws at his sides. “I’ll—I’ll clean it, I swear, I’ll clean everythin’, please just lemme—”

But you ignored him, leaning back against the chair as you circled your clit harder, letting out a soft, breathy moan.

“God, m’so wet. All from you, Remmick. You look so fuckin’ filthy right now…”

He was shaking, drool starting to slide from the corner of his lips, dripping down his chin as he stared, unblinking, between your thighs.

“Ma’am… please…”

“No.”

You moved your other hand down, spreading your folds wider as you slipped two fingers inside yourself, your mouth dropping open on a ragged moan.

“Ohhh, fuck… feels so good…” you panted, pumping your fingers slowly as you made sure to put on a show, letting your moans grow louder, wetter, obscene. “Wish you could feel how tight I am right now… how hot…”

Remmick let out a choked, keening wail, his cock jerking violently as more precum spattered the floor. He tried to reach for himself—and immediately snatched his hands back when you glared.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Please—please, I’m beggin’ you—I c-can’t—” His voice cracked, trembling as more spit leaked past his parted lips. “Lemme taste it, please, I’ll be so good, I’ll—”

You ignored his sobbing pleas, fucking yourself faster, letting your breath hitch and your thighs tremble as your orgasm crept closer.

“Oh, fuck… m’gonna come, Remmick… oh God…”

He let out a sobbing moan that sounded painful, his hips jerking like he was trying to fuck air. Drool dripped in fat strings onto his chest, streaking the dried blood still caked there.

“Please, darlin’, please—”

Your back arched off the chair as you came, your moans echoing through the blood-soaked parlor. You rocked your hips against your own hand, dragging out every pulse of pleasure until your vision swam.

When you finally came down, you pulled your soaked fingers from between your legs, your chest heaving as you stared him down.

Remmick was panting like he’d run five miles, eyes wide and starving, his entire body trembling.

“C’mere.”

He scurried forward on hands and knees, settling anxiously between your spread legs.

You held out your wet fingers. “Clean.”

He threw himself forward, latching onto your hand like a starving beast, tongue dragging over every knuckle, every crevice, sucking your slick off your skin with wet, greedy slurps.

“Good boy,” you murmured.

He moaned around your fingers, hips giving another helpless jerk, precum dribbling steadily from the flushed head of his cock.

When you finally pulled your hand away, you cupped his chin, tilting his face up.

“Keep your mouth open.”

He obeyed instantly, lips falling open, drool pooling as he stared up at you, wide-eyed and desperate.

You leaned forward and spat into his mouth.

A thick rope of saliva fell across his tongue, glistening with your taste.

He swallowed it without a second’s hesitation, a low, guttural moan vibrating in his chest.

“Good boy,” you purred. “Now lie down.”

An aching, panicked sound tore from his throat as he scrambled to the ground, eyes wide and focused on you, chest shuddering with every ragged breath. His arms were pinned tight to his sides as if he didn’t dare move without your command.

You straddled him slowly, letting the blood on your inner thighs smear across his ribs as you settled your weight over his hips. His eyes followed every inch of you, pupils blown black, jaw slack.

You dragged your nails lightly down his chest, just enough to leave faint red lines. “All this mess you made tonight… and for what?”

He tried to answer, but you slapped your hand over his mouth, leaning down until your lips brushed his ear.

“For this. For me to sit on your fuckin’ face. S’that all you’re good for, Remmick? Lappin’ up my cunt?”

A muffled, shattered whimper vibrated against your palm.

You lifted yourself, knees sliding further up his torso, your wet heat hovering just inches from his face. He tilted his head back, panting open-mouthed, eyes wild and pleading.

“C’mon, baby,” you murmured, grinding your hips forward just enough that a string of slick dripped onto his chin. “Make me come again. Only thing you ever do right.”

He lunged.

There was no hesitation, no delicacy—he surged up into you, mouth wide, tongue driving between your folds like he was trying to crawl inside you.

“Fuck—”

Your head snapped back as he buried his face against your cunt, tongue plunging deep, then dragging up hard and flat with obscene, wet sounds.

He was ravenous.

Slurping, sucking, growling low in his chest, nose mashed against you as he inhaled sharp, desperate breaths like he couldn’t get enough of your scent.

“Jesus fuck,” you snarled, clutching fistfuls of his hair as you ground down. “That what you wanted? Get blood all over my floor so you could eat my pussy like a fuckin’ animal?”

He moaned wildly in answer, tongue twisting deep inside you, then flicking out to lash your clit so fast and hard your thighs started to tremble.

“Goddamn, Remmick—shit—”

You rocked your hips forward, forcing more of your weight down onto his mouth. He whimpered but didn’t pull back, letting you smother him, his eyes fluttering half-shut as he focused on licking you raw.

Every breath he tried to take came out as a choked little gasp against your slit, his chest bucking as he struggled to keep up with your grinding hips.

“Fuckin’ filthy monster,” you snarled, tilting your hips so his tongue hit deeper. “This what you were made for? Lickin’ up my mess like some rabid mutt?”

A muffled yes vibrated against you as he tried to answer without pulling his tongue away. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling like claws, but he didn’t dare touch you or himself.

“Say it,” you ordered, grinding harder. “Say what you’re good for.”

He ripped his mouth away just long enough to sob, “F… fuckin’ made t’ eat your pussy, ma’am… th-that’s all I’m good for—”

“Damn right,” you spat, slamming yourself back down onto his mouth.

He yelped but instantly resumed his assault, tongue thrusting into you in desperate, messy plunges, slipping up to flick and circle your clit until sparks exploded behind your eyes.

Your thighs began to quake as your orgasm crept up fast and brutal, the heat inside you coiling tighter and tighter with each frantic suck.

Remmick was moaning loudly now, sloppy noises echoing off the blood-splattered walls, as if he was getting off on how you shook and sobbed above him.

“Fuck—fuck—gonna—oh God—”

You didn’t even finish the sentence.

Your second climax slammed into you like a freight train, your vision whiting out as your hips bucked uncontrollably. A gush of come spilled out of you, splattering his cheeks, his chin, soaking his hair and streaking down his throat.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.

He drank it.

Tongue darting to catch every drop, mouth sealed around you as he sucked hard enough to make you scream.

Your body convulsed on top of him, muscles locking as you let out a raw, broken wail. Slick kept pouring out of you, soaking him until his whole face glistened, until the taste of you and the scent of blood mingled into one thick, intoxicating perfume.

When the worst of it passed, you sagged forward, chest heaving as you fought to catch your breath.

Remmick was still licking gentle little stripes up your slit, tongue trembling, eyes half-lidded with adoration and feverish lust.

“Good fuckin’ boy,” you finally rasped, reaching down to slap his soaked cheek lightly. “Now clean up your mess, and do it right.”

He whined, tongue flicking out faster with something desperate to prove.

But suddenly, you lifted yourself up off his face.

Remmick let out a pitiful little wail, his head snapping upward, eyes wide and wet. His hands jerked against the floor as he tried to grab you, fingers clawing at the air, but your knees were still planted firm on his biceps, keeping him pinned and helpless.

“N-no—no, please—don’t go,” he sobbed, “please, darlin’, I—I wasn’t done, lemme finish—”

You cupped his flushed, slick-covered cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over the edge of one crimson-stained fang.

“Patience, Remmick,” you cooed, voice dripping sweet venom. “Now carry me to the sofa.”

He blinked at you, breath shuddering, then nodded so fast his hair flew around his face. “Y-yes, ma’am—”

He clambered upright, still trembling, chest heaving as he bent to slip an arm under your knees and another around your shoulders. Even soaked in blood and trembling like a leaf, he lifted you with ease, holding you cradled tight to his chest.

He stumbled a little, feet sliding on the blood-slick floorboards, but he managed to carry you across the room, eyes flicking to yours every few steps as though terrified you might vanish if he blinked.

When he reached the sofa, he eased you down, setting you delicately on the cushions like something fragile and precious. He hovered there above you, hair wild, blood streaking his chest, cock bobbing angrily between you both.

You didn’t give him a chance to speak.

Instead, you grabbed his shoulders, pushed him back into the sofa, and swung a leg over his thighs, straddling him.

Remmick gasped, head falling back, throat exposed and shining with blood and sweat. His hips bucked upward instinctively, trying to slot himself into your heat, but you lifted yourself just out of reach, hovering your soaked folds an inch above his flushed, leaking tip.

A low, desperate whimper crawled out of his throat.

“Darlin’, please—”

“Uh-uh,” you chided, pressing a palm to his chest to hold him still. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

His eyes snapped open, wild and hungry. His fingers clawed helplessly at the cushions beside his hips as he tried to thrust upward again, only for you to push him firmly back down.

“C’mon, Remmick,” you purred, leaning in closer, your lips brushing his ear. “Tell me how much you need my pussy.”

He broke.

“I—I need it, I need it so fuckin’ bad—God, darlin’, I’m hurtin’ for it, please—please, let me feel you, I’ll do anythin’—I’ll clean the whole house, I’ll sleep on the floor, wear that collar, let ya leash me up and drag me wherever y’want—“

Your grin curled wicked as you teased your wet slit against his throbbing tip, coating him in your slick without letting him push inside.

He choked on a sob, his hips trembling, cock twitching violently as more precum spilled out to mix with your juices.

“Say it,” you whispered. “Say exactly what you want.”

“I—I wanna be inside ya—wanna feel ya squeezin’ me—wanna come in ya, fill ya up so good y’don’t ever wanna leave me—please, baby, please, I’m beggin’—”

Halfway through the last plea, you slammed your hips down in one vicious drop.

Remmick screamed.

A ragged, animalistic sound tore from his chest as your walls clenched around him, swallowing every inch of his thick length in one slick, blazing-hot plunge. His eyes flew wide, rolling back almost immediately, fangs snapping down as he clutched at the back of the sofa like he was trying to hold on for dear life.

“SHIT—oh fuck—darlin’, I—I can’t—oh God—”

But you didn’t let up.

You set a ruthless pace, bouncing hard on his lap, hips smacking down with sharp, wet slaps that echoed off the walls. Slick spilled down your thighs in messy rivulets, drenching his lap as you fucked yourself on him, grinding deep enough with each thrust that your clit scraped the base of his cock.

He was gone.

Sobbing, eyes streaming tears, chest heaving as he babbled a flood of words that barely made sense:

“So fuckin’ tight—oh God, y’so warm—feels so good—can’t breathe, darlin’, y’gonna break me—fuck—fuck—thank ya—”

You licked a long, slow stripe up his cheek, catching the salty tang of his tears mixed with the faint iron of blood still streaking his face.

“Mmm,” you purred, breathless as you slammed down even harder. “You taste divine, sugar.”

And then you crushed your mouth to his, devouring him in a bruising kiss, moaning into his mouth as the tang of blood and your own slick flooded your senses, your tongue stroking over his fangs as you swallowed every broken whimper he offered up like worship.

You felt it—felt the way his whole body was trembling, the wild, frantic pulse of his cock deep inside you, the way his hips gave these tiny, desperate jerks that spoke of a man right on the edge of breaking.

You pulled back just enough to snarl against his lips.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare come without me.”

Remmick let out a shattered sob, forehead pressed to yours, eyes glassy and wild. “Y-yes, ma’am—yes, I—I won’t—”

“Say it.”

“I-I don’t deserve t’come without ya,” he gasped, voice rising to a shrill, breathless cry as your walls clenched tight around him again. “Don’t deserve it—wanna come with you, wanna feel you take it—please—please—”

You rocked your hips down harder to make a point.

“You wait for me,” you hissed, slamming your hips down with punishing force.

“Y-yes—fuck—yes ma’am—” His voice cracked, high and wrecked, tears streaming down his cheeks as he panted open-mouthed, spit glistening on his lips. “I’m—I’m holdin’ it, I swear—I swear—”

You could feel the coil winding tighter and tighter in your belly, heat flooding your veins, sparks dancing behind your eyes as you ground yourself down harder, chasing that final, devastating release.

“Remmick—” you gasped, fingers sliding down to clutch at his wrists where his claws twitched and curled uselessly in the air beside you. “Help me. Push me down—hard.”

He obeyed instantly, claws biting lightly into your hips as he slammed you down onto him with all the strength in his wrecked body.

Your world exploded into white.

You let out a strangled, guttural moan as your orgasm crashed through you, your vision whiting out as your walls seized around him, milking him in greedy, convulsive ripples.

And Remmick howled.

His hips snapped upward one last time, driving himself so deep inside you that the blunt head of his cock kissed your cervix, and then you felt it—thick, hot spurts flooding your cunt, pulsing into your deepest depths as he came with a sobbing wail.

“Fuck—fuck—oh God— m’comin’—darlin’, I’m comin’—”

Your name tore from his throat as he kept rutting into you in tiny, frantic thrusts, shoving his release as far into you as your body would take it. His eyes rolled back, fangs bared, drool spilling over his lips as his claws gripped you hard enough to bruise.

And through every wave of bliss, every aftershock that left you shaking and gasping, you felt him pouring into you, thick warmth seeping past your already stretched entrance, spilling over his thighs and yours.

He collapsed against the sofa, still pulsing inside you, chest heaving as he sobbed your name over and over, his voice wrecked and trembling.

“Fuck—fuck—God, thank ya—”

Smack.

Your palm landed lightly against his cheek, not hard enough to sting, but enough to snap his glazed eyes open, confusion swimming in the crimson depths.

“Remmick.” Your voice was soft, sing-song. “Who said you were done?”

He blinked rapidly, lips parting as he tried to gather his breath. “I—I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, ma’am—I’m sorry—”

You cocked an eyebrow, tilting your head. “Mmm. You better be.”

Without another word, still trembling and leaking inside you, Remmick slipped his arms under your back and thighs, lifting you effortlessly off his lap. Your slick spilled warm down his shaft and onto the sofa cushions as he rose, your bodies still pressed close, your breath brushing his neck.

He staggered slightly, knees buckling as aftershocks rippled through him, but he caught himself, gripping you tighter, holding you like something precious.

You let out a low laugh, locking your arms around his neck, your legs hooking around his waist so he couldn’t put you down even if he tried.

“Where are you takin’ me, baby?” you murmured, lips ghosting over his ear.

He panted, voice ragged. “Bath, ma’am… gonna… gonna get ya clean…”

“Mm. S’what I thought.”

He started toward the bathroom, feet leaving sticky prints of blood and other fluids across the wooden floors as he carried you. His hair hung in damp, tangled strands, sweat and blood drying in rusty streaks over his pale skin.

As he crossed the threshold, you glanced back over your shoulder at the carnage left behind—the smeared crimson trails, the cooling corpse near the hearth, the splatters reaching all the way to the walls.

It should have looked like hell.

But all it made you feel was a bone-deep, feral sort of satisfaction.

You turned back to Remmick, your chest pressing to his as you leaned in to place a soft, gentle kiss against the curve of his cheek, smiling wickedly when he turned to look at you.

“Good boy.”

[thecontortionistsportal]

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.”

[thecontortionistsportal]

Remmick is just a lil emberassed about spilling on his shirt..dont A him...,,, bonus:

[thecontortionistsportal]

if you take little prompts, could i propose a jealous remmick drabble with a breeding kink? 👀

"I’m gonna fill you up, make sure you carry somethin of me forever"

ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ

ᴡᴄ: 6.9k (i giggled too)

ᴀ/ɴ: the title choice... if you know you know. anyways, i needed to get my freak on and god damn did i do just that. i adore fluff but sometimes i just can't say no to my pussy. please don't talk to me about the mental state i was in while writing this. i simply have no excuses, take me to horny jail. though i will say i feel WAY more confident about writing smut now. i think i should do these more often because it's kind of an outstanding way for me to stretch my legs if you will. THAT SOUNDS SO CRAZY LAMFJDJHVHBJDV but i even got over my fear of em dashes just a tiny bit. also, this was a combination of like 3 asks in 1 and you'll definitely SEE which ones i'm talking about when you check the warnings. anons, you know who you are!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ MDNI (!!!), filthy disgusting shameless smut, minimal plot all porn, exes, stalking, very rough sex, p in v, cunnilingus, fingering, spit kink, degradation kink, breeding kink, dumbification, sadism, masochism, choking, spanking, biting, dacryphilia, overstimulation, eye contact, drooling, cuckolding, infidelity, bloodplay, threats of violence, fantasizing about violence, graphic violence, murder, dark!dom!remmick, sub!fem!reader, reader is just as freaky, vague setting, excessive use of pet names, excessive use of italicization, read at your own discretion

The night was quiet. Too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that came with peace. Not the softness of contentment or rest. This was the kind of silence that felt like it was waiting. Like something pressed against the windows, unseen, watching the curve of your back as you moved through the hallway in your robe, your bare feet barely whispering against the floor.

You should’ve been asleep. But the bed felt too big tonight.

Your husband was out, running one of his rare late-night errands. Something about a friend’s stalled car, a favor owed. He’d apologized for leaving, pressed a kiss to your forehead, a hand brushing the side of your face like he always did. “Won’t be long,” he promised. “I hate sleeping without you.”

And he meant it. He always did. He was that kind of man.

You loved him. You did. He was good. Honest. Steady. The kind of man who brought home your favorite pastries without being asked, who offered to do the dishes before you even touched your plate. You didn’t marry him expecting fireworks. You married him because you were tired of chasing smoke.

But some nights, like tonight, you still missed the fire.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping lukewarm tea you’d already forgotten to drink, robe slipping off one shoulder. The tile was cool beneath your feet. The hum of the refrigerator filled the space like static, soft and constant.

And then, like it always did when you let your mind wander too far, the memory of him crept in.

Remmick.

A name you hadn’t spoken in years. A man you hadn’t touched in longer.

You cut him off like you were supposed to. You did it for your own good. Your sanity. Your future. But Lord, if there wasn’t something in the way he ruined you that no one else had been able to match since.

He didn’t beg. He didn’t need to. Just looked at you in that way that made your stomach knot and your thighs press together. He touched you like he was claiming something. Deep, slow, maddeningly precise. He didn’t fuck fast. He fucked full. He filled you, stretched you, split you open in ways that made you forget your own name. And when he looked at you—

God, when he looked at you.

It was like you were his favorite meal. His last drink. His only prayer.

Your husband never looked at you like that. He looked at you with kindness, sure. But never hunger. Never need. Never like you were something to be devoured.

You closed your eyes, set your mug down. The ache between your legs pulsed, low and steady, like a bruise remembered. You shouldn’t miss him. You shouldn’t want him.

But you did.

You always had.

And it had been so long since someone made you come the way Remmick used to. Effortlessly, endlessly, like he knew every part of you before you even touched yourself for the first time.

You shivered.

Outside, thunder rumbled low in the distance.

Somewhere, not nearly far enough, Remmick was still out there.

Waiting.

And, of course, it had to be tonight when he came.

The knock was sharp. Not loud. But sure. Like whoever stood behind that door knew you were already halfway toward it, breath stuck somewhere between your ribs. You froze in the hallway, mug still warm in your palm, heart already catching on a beat you hadn’t felt in years.

Three more taps followed. Firm. Even. Familiar.

You didn’t need to check the window. Didn’t need to ask who it was.

Your feet moved on their own.

When you opened the door, there he stood.

Remmick.

Older, sharper, polished like glass but dangerous like a blade. He leaned against the frame like he owned it, like he’d been here before and would be again. That light blue shirt was pressed clean, top buttons undone just enough to show a sliver of white undershirt and the chain you remembered. Gold, delicate, glinting faint in the porch light. Black slacks. A belt with a gold buckle. Suspenders hanging easy off his shoulders.

His hair was slicked back, still dark, still wild in places where the waves refused to be tamed. But it was his eyes, those deep sea-blue eyes, the unmistakable red glow, that made you forget how to breathe. That looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel.

He didn’t just see you.

He devoured you.

“Well, hey there, darlin’,” he said, low and slow and unmistakably him. He didn’t bother hiding the curve of his grin. Fangs bared. Sharp. Bright. Gorgeous.

Your pulse tripped over itself.

“What…” You swallowed. “What are you doin’ here?”

That smile stretched wider, lazier. He stepped forward just enough for the porch light to catch the edges of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat.

“Y’know damn well why I’m here.”

There wasn’t an ounce of shame in his voice. Not one drop of hesitation. Just velvet certainty, dragging you backward into something you’d spent years clawing your way out of. Something you never stopped missing.

You blinked at him, trying to level your tone. “My husband—”

“Ain’t here,” Remmick said quick and flat, like it was obvious. He glanced down the street. “Car’s gone. Bedroom light’s off. Not a single trace of that man in this house ‘cept that little ring you’re tryin’ to hide behind your fingers.”

You dropped your hand before you could stop yourself.

He tilted his head. “Still nervous, huh?”

“Remmick—”

“You alone?”

Your lips parted, but the truth had already settled between you like smoke. You knew the question was redundant. That he was simply trying to drive home the point.

“…Yeah.”

His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not exactly. Something darker. Warmer. Hungrier.

“Knew it,” he murmured. “Knew he didn’t know what to do with ya.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned forward, just a few inches, but it knocked the air right out of your lungs. The air between you changed. Heavy. Hot. Close. The kind of air that pulled your thighs tight and made your stomach knot with something sharp and sweet and old.

“Ya look beautiful,” he said, his eyes raking over you. “But y’knew that already.”

You should’ve closed the door. Should’ve told him to leave.

But you didn’t.

Remmick’s voice lowered, slow and syrup-thick. “Let me in.”

It wasn’t a question.

The muscles in your arms tensed, fingers still on the knob like you weren’t sure who you were anymore. Every part of you said no. But your body, your breath, your blood? All of it whispered yes.

He waited.

And waited.

His eyes burned into you, red flickering hotter now. Not loud, not angry. Just patient. Starved.

“I ain’t gonna ask again,” he said, voice soft, almost sweet. “Don’t make me beg, baby.”

Your throat went dry.

You didn’t shut the door.

You didn’t step back.

You didn’t even breathe.

“…Come in,” you said. Quiet. But clear.

And he did.

The moment he stepped inside, the door shut with a thud behind him.

Remmick laughed.

Not a sound you’d heard from him before. It wasn’t warm or familiar. It wasn’t charming or even cruel. It was cold. Final. Like something had been waiting, watching, for the moment you said Come in, and now that you had, it didn’t have to pretend anymore.

“You’re just as desperate as I remember,” he said, still smiling as his boots landed slow and heavy on the floor. “Knew y’would be.”

Before you could even blink, he had you. A searing kiss, full and crushing and greedy. No warning. No space to breathe. His hands gripped your jaw, thumbs pressing your cheeks, mouth sealing over yours like he’d gone too long without it.

You should’ve pulled away.

You should’ve shoved him off, reminded yourself of the ring still sitting on your finger.

But your lips parted.

Your breath caught.

And when his body pressed against yours—hard chest, long arms, belt buckle cold against your stomach—you melted into it with a sound that betrayed every shred of shame you still had left.

You hated how much you missed this.

How much you’d been starving, too.

Remmick’s hand slid down the front of your robe. He didn’t waste time. Not even a little. Fingers traced the curve of your stomach, the ridge of your hip, and then dipped between your thighs like he already knew what he’d find there.

When he felt how wet you were, he growled.

Actually growled.

“Slut,” he muttered, dragging his mouth along your cheek, jaw, ear. “My married girl, touchin’ herself to the thought of me. Makin’ them soft sounds every time y’say my name.”

You trembled.

“I heard ya,” he whispered, voice all breath and bite. “Every damn night. Ya don’t know how many times I nearly came through that window just to shut ya up the way ya wanted.”

His fingers were still there, not moving much, just resting. A threat. A promise.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, in your fingertips, in your thighs. Your robe slipped further open, the air cool against your chest where the silk parted.

“I didn’t—” you tried, but the words caught somewhere deep. You couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not with your legs shaking and your lips kiss-bruised and your entire body leaning into him like it had never wanted anyone else.

He chuckled again, quieter this time. Darker.

“Ya did,” he said, kissing the side of your neck, lips soft now. Tender, even. “And I ain’t mad, darlin’. Y’think I don’t dream ‘bout this too?”

His other hand came up to cradle your face, thumb brushing beneath your eye like he hadn’t just dragged twenty years of buried longing to the surface in a single kiss.

“I just didn’t think,” he murmured, eyes glowing as they flicked to yours, “ya’d open the door so easy.”

And then his hand moved.

Two fingers, thick and slow, slipped inside you with a precision that made your knees lock and your breath shudder out in a gasp you didn’t mean to make. No warning. No teasing. Just in, to the knuckle, deep and deliberate, like he’d never forgotten the exact shape of you.

You jolted forward against his chest, hips stuttering, thighs pressing shut on instinct. But his arm wrapped firm around your waist, locking you there, helpless and pinned against him as he crooked his fingers just right and pulled another sound from your throat you didn’t recognize.

He groaned low. “Still so fuckin’ soft. Still open for me like I never left.”

Your hand slapped the doorframe for balance, fingers scrabbling, mouth half-open, trying to find air. But Remmick wasn’t giving you space. Not anymore.

His mouth brushed your ear. “He ever touch ya like this?”

You didn’t answer.

His fingers stopped.

Completely.

The stillness was brutal.

Your body rocked against him, desperate, aching, but he didn’t move. Not even a twitch.

“Answer me,” he said. Calm. Almost bored. “Your good man. Your sweet husband. He ever make ya feel like this?”

“…No,” you whispered, too soft.

Remmick clicked his tongue.

“I said speak up, baby. You know better.”

You swallowed hard, voice shaking. “No. He—he doesn’t.”

A satisfied hum rumbled from his chest. “Didn’t think so.”

He thrust his fingers deeper, slow and grinding, pressing against that spot that made your spine curve and your mouth fall open.

“Ever make you soak through your sheets just from thinkin’ ‘bout a look?” he asked. “Ever make your legs shake ‘cause you wanted it so bad you thought you’d die from it?”

You whined. Tried to shake your head. But again, he stopped.

Not a flex. Not a curl. Nothing.

“Remmick—please—”

“Answer me.”

Your voice broke. “No. Never. Not once.”

His mouth split into a grin so wicked it made your whole body clench around him. “Didn’t think so.”

He fucked you slow, fingers curling in a rhythm that felt like a secret being pulled from your bones. His hand on your waist held you still, anchored you to him as he worked you open with ease, with arrogance, with that goddamn patience that made him feel like punishment and prayer in equal measure.

“Y’ever beg for him?” Remmick murmured. “Cry for it? Lose your fuckin’ mind just ‘cause he looked at you the right way?”

You didn’t want to answer.

You didn’t want to admit any of this.

But the pause was longer this time. The stillness unbearable. Your body was screaming for it.

“No,” you gasped. “Only you.”

“That’s right.” His smile pressed into your neck. “My good little wife, moanin’ for the wrong man.”

His thumb found your clit and circled it once, just once, enough to make your legs buckle.

“Ya feel how wet you are?” he whispered, nose brushing your cheek. “This for him?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He paused.

You whimpered.

He pulled back just slightly. Not out. Just enough to make you feel the empty stretch behind it.

“For who?”

Your voice cracked. “You.”

“Say my name.”

“Remmick.”

He groaned against your throat, fingers thrusting again with filthy, exquisite control.

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s my girl.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He didn’t just touch you, he worked you. Drew out every forgotten ache, every unsaid word, every damn piece of yourself you’d buried under decency and dishes and folded laundry.

“Ya ever fake it?” he asked, lips at your jaw. “For him?”

You nodded.

He stilled again.

You whimpered, panicked. “Yes! Yes, I—God, I have, I did—”

Remmick chuckled darkly, fingers starting to move again, slick and obscene.

“Course ya did. Poor thing. Never stood a chance.”

You clenched around him, helpless against it. Your head dropped back, vision fogging.

“That’s it,” he cooed. “Y’remember how this ends, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He already knew.

And so did your body—traitorous, needy, too honest for its own good.

You were close.

You were so fucking close.

And just for a moment, you let yourself believe he’d let you finish.

Just as your stomach curled, breath catching, thighs beginning to tighten—he pulled out. Abrupt. Cruel.

Your whole body jerked like he’d ripped something vital out of you. A desperate, broken whimper escaped your throat before you could bite it back.

And Remmick laughed.

“Oh, baby,” he said, voice thick with mock-sympathy, “that little sound right there?”

He licked the tips of his fingers slow, eyes never leaving yours.

“That’s the sound of a girl who forgot who she was dealin’ with.”

You hated the way your body trembled. Hated that your pulse was still stuttering out of control. Hated that he was right. That your cunt was still clenching around nothing, already grieving the loss of him like he’d been inside you for years instead of seconds.

Before you could think to curse him, slap him, beg him, he moved.

Remmick grabbed you by the hips and lifted.

Effortless. Like you weighed nothing. Like this wasn’t the first time he’d thrown you around.

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. Old muscle memory. Dangerous muscle memory.

Your arms clung to his shoulders as he walked, carrying you like a man on a mission.

And you knew.

You knew where you were headed.

The moment you saw the edge of the dining table come into view—solid oak, the one your husband insisted was “too nice to actually use”—your breath hitched, legs squeezing tighter around his hips.

“Still remember, huh?” Remmick muttered against your jaw, setting you down with zero gentleness. Your back hit the wood hard enough to knock a gasp out of you, the cool polish biting into your skin through the robe’s thin silk. “Told ya once I’d take you on every fuckin’ surface of that house. Never broke that promise.”

You barely had time to adjust before he gripped the hem of your robe—what little of it still covered you—and ripped.

The bottom half tore clean off, jagged and loud, silk whining in protest before it fluttered to the floor.

You were bare beneath it.

You always had been.

Remmick groaned like he was seeing it for the first time. “Goddamn, darlin’.”

Then he dropped to his knees.

Didn’t say another word. Didn’t tease. Didn’t breathe.

His mouth found you like it belonged there.

Hot tongue, open mouth, greedy hunger.

No hesitation. No warm-up. He dove in like he was starved, like he’d been dreaming of this every goddamn night since the last time he tasted you. His hands gripped your thighs, spread them wide, fingers digging in like bruises he meant to leave.

And his mouth—

You screamed.

Low and sharp, head tossed back as he licked through your folds with the kind of practiced ruthlessness that made your vision blur.

He devoured you.

Sloppy. Loud. Wet.

His tongue flicked against your clit with obscene precision, slow and steady until your hips bucked. Then he sucked it between his lips and groaned like it was his favorite flavor.

You clutched the edge of the table with both hands, knuckles white, legs already shaking against his shoulders.

“Oh my God—Remmick—”

He didn’t slow.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t even look up.

You felt him groan into you, like your taste alone was something holy. One hand slipped down to grip your ass, yanking you closer to the edge, forcing you to take it, to feel every roll of his tongue like a punishment you’d begged for.

You wanted to run.

You wanted to cry.

You wanted to come.

You could feel it, spine curling, fingers digging into the table hard enough to leave crescents. Your breath came fast and ragged, hips rolling helplessly against his mouth as he sucked and licked and fucked you with his tongue like he meant to ruin you.

And he did.

Because he always did.

The orgasm hit you like nothing else ever had. No slow climb, no gentle crest. Just an eruption, pure and bright and violent, ripping through your entire body like lightning set to music. You screamed. You sobbed. You shook, thighs squeezing around his head as your back arched clean off the table.

You came so hard you forgot your name.

And still, Remmick didn’t stop.

His hands held you open, mouth insatiable, tongue dragging through the aftermath like he was trying to clean you out, like he couldn’t stand to waste a drop. You cried out again, voice cracking, body too raw and too sensitive, but he kept going, sucking and lapping and groaning like he’d never get enough.

You tasted yourself on the air. Felt the heat dripping down your thighs. Felt your soul start to float.

Until finally—

“Please,” you gasped, sobbing now, voice broken. “Please, Remmick—s-stop—‘s too much—please—”

You were crying.

Tears streaked your cheeks, your chest heaving as your hands tried and failed to push his head away.

And that’s when he looked up.

Face soaked.

Neck wet.

Shirt clinging to his chest, sheer with your slick.

But it wasn’t just you.

There was drool.

An obscene amount.

Slipping from the corners of his mouth, glistening down his chin in thick, silvery ropes. So much spit you couldn’t even understand how it kept coming, gluing him to you, shining like filth made holy.

He stared at you.

Eyes glowing—red, hungry, starved.

And then he smiled. Real slow. Real soft.

“Ya always look the prettiest when ya cry.”

That broke you.

Something in you cracked wide open. You whimpered, too weak to fight, too full of him to think.

And then he moved.

He stood in one smooth motion, grabbing you by the waist, and lifted you off the table like you weighed nothing. Again. And you went, limp and ruined, legs instinctively wrapping around him, arms slung over his shoulders.

This time, his tongue shoved its way into your mouth the second he caught your lips.

And you drowned.

In yourself. In him.

The taste was unbearable. Your come and his spit, mingled and messy, wet and wild. It filled your mouth, coated your tongue, slid down your throat as he kissed you with open-mouthed desperation, feeding it to you like it was a gift.

You choked on it.

You loved it.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, still damp with what you’d given him, and he kissed you harder, tongue claiming you like he needed it to live.

Then, he turned.

He walked.

Straight down the hall, not even breaking the kiss.

And you knew where he was taking you.

The bedroom.

Your bedroom.

Where you and your husband lay in false comfort night after night.

Where your hand slipped between your thighs in silence after the lights went out, tracing your own skin as you bit your tongue to keep from whispering the name of the man you really wanted.

Remmick didn’t speak as he pushed the door open with his shoulder.

Didn’t look around.

Didn’t hesitate.

He set you down hard on the edge of the bed, the marital bed, the sacred shrine of everything you pretended was enough, and looked down at you like he was ready to burn it to the ground.

You were on him the second your back hit the bed.

Fingers trembling but fast, grabbing for his belt buckle like it was the only thing tethering you to sanity. You needed him out of it. Needed him inside you, now, needed to feel every inch of him stretch you open until you forgot the name of the man who actually slept in this room.

The metal clinked once before you got it undone, hands sliding down to shove the leather free.

Remmick chuckled.

Not the amused kind.

The mean kind.

“Christ, slow the fuck down,” he snapped, voice a blade slicing through the haze. “Ya always were a needy little thing. Sloppy hands, pantin’ like a bitch in heat.”

The words should’ve shamed you.

They didn’t.

They burned.

Hot. Dirty. True.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. But you heard the rustle of his slacks hitting the floor, his boxers following quick after. He didn’t bother with his shirt. Didn’t even unroll his sleeves. He climbed on top of you half-dressed, his chain swinging low and his breath heavy as his body pressed yours into the mattress like he was settling back into something he’d missed.

He didn’t have to try. Didn’t need force.

His weight alone pinned you down.

One arm slid beneath your back, the other caught your wrists, locking them overhead with no more effort than it took to breathe. You couldn’t move. Could barely think.

And God, it was familiar.

The ache of it.

The sheer rightness.

The feeling of his body covering yours, his mouth close enough to taste your thoughts, his cock heavy against your thigh as he lined himself up with no warning, no softness, no pause.

This was love, wasn’t it?

Not the gentle, tepid kind your husband gave you—bedtime kisses and surprise bouquets.

This was Remmick love.

Cruel. Honest. Brutal.

“I shouldn’t let you fuckin’ have it,” he muttered, eyes burning into yours, “after the way ya ran. The way ya begged me to stay, then slammed the door like ya meant it.”

You squirmed beneath him, already gasping at the feel of his tip pressing just there, your cunt still soaked, still trembling, still too raw from what he did to you on the dining table.

“But y’want it so fuckin’ bad, don’t you?”

He didn’t wait for your answer.

He slammed into you.

One sharp, vicious thrust.

You cried out, body arching up as your walls struggled to take him, stretch for him, remember him. You weren’t ready. You couldn’t be. Not after what he’d already done to you. But that didn’t stop him. Didn’t even slow him.

“Fuck,” Remmick growled, hips pulling back only to rut forward again, deeper this time, harder. “Still tight. Still fuckin’ perfect. Like this pussy never forgot me.”

Your eyes rolled back.

Your hands clawed uselessly at the sheets, wrists still pinned tight in his grip. His other hand caught your jaw, forcing your face toward his, making sure you didn’t dare look away.

“Ya let him fuck you in here?” he hissed, voice venom. “In this bed? These sheets?”

You whimpered.

Remmick’s thrusts got rougher. Barbarous. He was fucking you like he owned you. Like he was carving himself back into the spaces time tried to seal shut.

“Answer me.”

Your voice came out a rasp. “Y-yes.”

He spat, not even trying to hide his disgust. “Bet he couldn’t even make ya come.”

You shook your head, biting back a sob.

“And now look at ya,” he snarled, dragging his hips slow this time, a deliberate grind that made your body sing. “Lettin’ me fuck the truth outta ya like always. Like nothin’s changed.”

Tears welled again.

Because nothing had.

Because it had always been like this with Remmick. Not gentle. Not sweet.

But real.

He fucked you like he was never going to stop.

Eyes locked on yours.

Not blinking. Not flinching.

Just watching as your mouth parted, as your body opened for him, as the ruin of you spilled across the sheets that had never seen this kind of worship.

And still, Remmick didn't slow.

Not even close.

Not when your eyes rolled back. Not when your body clenched tight around him like you’d never learned how to let go. Not when the air left your lungs in staggered, helpless sobs.

Remmick fucked you like he hated you.

Like he’d missed hating you.

And then—

His hand let go of your wrists.

Only to move to your throat.

Fingers curling slow around your neck, the pads of them warm, calloused, unforgiving.

Your body froze beneath him.

Not in fear. Not exactly.

Something darker. Deeper.

You looked up into his eyes.

And he looked back like he wasn’t really there anymore.

“Y’know,” he said, voice calm, like he was talking about the weather, “there were so many nights I thought about killin’ ya.”

Your breath caught.

His grip tightened.

“After ya left,” he murmured, hips still driving into you like punctuation, “after y’said all that pretty shit and slammed the door—when you thought ya’d won—I used to lay awake, hand on my dick, thinkin’ about wringin’ your pretty little neck.”

You whimpered, legs trembling around his hips.

He leaned closer, chest flush to yours, breath hot against your lips.

“Not just ya,” he added, almost like an afterthought. “That man of yours, too.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I thought about what his blood would look like on your white fuckin’ comforter. What your scream would sound like. If ya’d still cry my name with his body lyin’ cold at the end of the bed.”

His fingers pressed harder. Just enough to make your vision shimmer.

“Y’don’t believe me,” he whispered. “But I still think about it.”

Your heart stuttered.

“And right now?” he said, grinning. “Right now, I could do it. So easy. You’re lettin’ me fuck you raw in your husband’s bed, cryin’ beneath me, beggin’ for it. What’s one more sin, huh?”

His grip cinched tight.

Your breath stopped.

The room swam.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Just held you there, trembling beneath him, his cock still buried deep inside you as the world slipped sideways.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Your fingers spasmed.

And just before the edges went black—

Smack.

A vicious slap to your thigh, loud and hot, snapped the air back into your lungs. Then another, this time across your ass, hard enough to sting. Your throat opened on a strangled gasp, your back arching as your body reeled from the sudden shock.

“There she is,” Remmick said, laughing low. “Didn’t want ya driftin’ off just yet, darlin’. We’re just gettin’ to the good part.”

You choked on your own breath, eyes wet, chest heaving.

He let go of your throat, dragging both hands down your ribs like he hadn’t just threatened to kill you. Like the idea still wasn’t sitting there behind his eyes, twitching like a secret.

You were dizzy. Raw. Split open and trembling and soaked.

And Remmick looked like he'd never been more in love.

Which is exactly when the front door opened.

Just a quiet creak. A shift of hinges.

But it shattered the world.

You went still.

So did Remmick.

The sound of keys hitting the bowl by the entryway echoed like a gunshot through the hallway. A low thud as shoes hit the mat. A familiar voice, soft and unsuspecting, humming the tail end of some commercial jingle. Your husband.

Your husband was home.

And your heart plummeted.

The blood in your veins iced over. Your breath caught. Every nerve ending snapped taut, your body trembling beneath Remmick in frozen disbelief. You were still spread beneath him, raw and soaked and filthy, your thighs trembling and your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

Remmick blinked.

Once.

Then again.

Then he looked at the door.

Then at you.

Back to the door.

Then you again.

And then that grin split his face.

Wide. Sharp. Wrong.

It wasn’t the cocky, teasing smile he wore when he knew you’d already given in.

This was different.

This was a grin that made something ancient and terrified curl up inside you and scream.

“Y’ain’t tell me he was gonna be early,” he whispered, voice light, sing-song. “How rude.”

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

But Remmick moved with purpose now—sat up, still inside you, dragging your body with him. He flipped you like he owned you, like you were just a doll to be repositioned. Hands grabbed your hips, yanked them up beneath him, forced your knees into the sheets until your back arched and your cheek was pressed flat against the mattress.

Doggy style.

Exposed. Helpless.

His cock dragged out slow before slamming back in with a wet, brutal sound.

You gasped, eyes squeezing shut.

“No no no,” Remmick said, voice a low hum as he gripped your face, twisting it until your eyes were pointed toward the bedroom door. “Keep ‘em open. He deserves to see it.”

Your name echoed from down the hall.

“Honey?” your husband called, so painfully unaware. “You home?”

Another thrust.

Louder this time.

Obscene.

The slap of his hips hitting your ass echoed off the walls like thunder.

You whimpered. You couldn’t help it.

“Sweetheart?” the voice came again, closer now. Footsteps.

Remmick picked up his pace.

Flesh on flesh. Sharp. Wet. Merciless.

You heard a pause outside the door.

Then the knob turned.

Then the door opened.

Your husband stepped into the room.

And froze.

His eyes landed on yours first—your face, contorted in shock, shame, raw pleasure.

Then his gaze moved.

To where Remmick’s hands were fisted in your hips.

To the way your body shook with every loud, violent thrust.

To the way your mouth hung open in a sob you hadn’t let fall yet.

The look on his face could’ve killed you.

Confusion.

Betrayal.

Then—horror.

Like something inside him snapped.

And still, Remmick didn’t stop.

He slammed into you again, harder than before, dragging your face further toward the edge of the bed, forcing you to watch.

“Smile for him,” he said, voice thick with a darkness that made your stomach turn. “Show him how happy ya look when you’re finally bein’ fucked right.”

You looked into your husband’s eyes.

Wrecked.

That was the only word for it. Wrecked in a way you’d never seen before—like someone had cracked open his ribcage and yanked his heart out with their bare hands. He looked lost. Pale. Mouth parted. Staring at you like he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.

And for a second—for one brief, trembling second—you wanted to believe in him.

Wanted to believe he’d fight.

That he’d do something.

That he’d cross the room, fists swinging, screaming, snarling, crying, clawing Remmick off of you like the man he was supposed to be. Like the husband he was supposed to be. That he’d fight for his wife, no matter how futile, no matter how ugly, no matter how late.

You wanted to believe he’d choose you.

But instead—

He covered his face with both hands.

And sat.

In the chair at the corner of the room, opposite the bed.

Chest heaving.

Shoulders shaking.

Not saying a word.

Not making a move.

And just like that—

Every drop of love you had left for him died.

Turned to ash in your mouth.

It wasn’t just disappointment. It wasn’t just betrayal.

It was hatred.

Hot. Immediate. Unforgiving.

And Remmick saw it happen.

Felt it bloom in your body beneath him.

He laughed.

Not playfully.

Not even cruelly.

It was disgusted.

A laugh like spitting. Like rot.

“That’s the man ya chose over me?” he said, thrusts still pounding into your cunt, hands bruising your hips as he snapped his hips against you with brutal rhythm. “That little fuckin’ coward?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

The silence screamed.

“Jesus Christ,” Remmick muttered, breathless and gleeful, “he can’t even pretend to care. Ya ruined him, darlin’. Just like I knew y’would.”

He pulled out of you without warning, grabbing you by the waist and flipping you again, dragging you half off the bed until your head dangled over the edge, hair brushing the floor, throat exposed, everything upside-down.

And there he was.

Remmick, towering above you, cock flushed and leaking, sliding back into your wrecked cunt with a force that rattled your teeth. The angle sent lightning up your spine, your toes curling, vision swimming. He gripped your thighs and pushed them wide apart, spreading you open, fucking you down against the edge of the bed like you were just a hole to conquer.

But your eyes?

They were locked on him.

Your husband.

Still sitting there.

Hands still over his face.

Until they weren’t.

You saw the moment shame turned to something else.

Curiosity.

Then heat.

One hand dropped to his lap.

You didn’t want to believe it.

Didn’t want to see it.

But you couldn’t look away.

The outline of his cock, straining against his jeans. The way his chest rose and fell faster. The way his fingers hesitated—then unzipped.

Remmick saw it, too.

“Oh fuck me,” he laughed, cruel and delighted. “You’re hard, aren’t ya?”

Your husband flinched.

Remmick leaned over you, one hand grabbing your jaw, tilting your face so you couldn’t look away, even though he knew you weren’t.

“He’s hard, baby,” he sneered. “Your good little husband, sittin’ there watchin’ another man ruin his wife and he’s got his fuckin’ cock out.”

You whimpered.

Remmick thrust harder.

“Go on,” he said over your shoulder, loud enough to sting. “You’re already sittin’ there. Might as well enjoy the show, huh?”

And then, your stomach dropped.

Because your husband did it.

He pulled his cock free.

Hard. Strained. Already wet at the tip.

And he started stroking himself.

Right there.

Right fucking there, watching you be destroyed.

Something inside you shattered.

But Remmick’s grip only tightened.

“See?” he breathed, voice low in your ear, hips pistoning into you like he wanted to leave dents. “Told ya no one would ever love ya the way I do.”

And as your tears slipped backward into your hair, as your cunt pulsed around Remmick’s cock and your husband’s soft, broken moans filled the room—

You realized something sickening:

You believed him.

And the second you did, everything shifted.

Remmick’s voice fell away.

Replaced by sound.

Raw, filthy, feral sound.

The slap of skin against skin. The wet pulse of your cunt around him. His groans—deep, guttural, half-choked—as he rutted into you with a new kind of desperation. Like something had cracked inside him too. Like he was breaking right alongside you.

His hips lost rhythm.

Gained need.

The drag of his cock turned erratic, heavy, slick. His breath stuttered against your neck, hot and shallow, teeth grazing skin in the warning way. And you felt it—his weight pressing down, arms sliding beneath your back, legs shifting to cage you in, his entire body wrapping around you until there was no air between you, no space left untouched.

He was everywhere.

Crushing.

Consuming.

Yours.

“Gonna fill ya up,” he slurred, voice strained, drunk on you, on this, on everything he hadn’t let himself say until now. “Gonna—fuck—gonna put a baby in ya, darlin’.”

You gasped, eyes wide, your arms sliding up around his back without thinking.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t care.

“Make ya a momma,” he panted, forehead pressed hard against yours, sweat dripping from his brow to yours. “My fuckin’ housewife. Keep ya barefoot and full for the rest of your goddamn life.”

Your thighs clenched around him.

Your fingers dug into his back.

“Just how y’should be,” he growled, pace stuttering. “No more runnin’. No more pretendin’. Just me with ya and a whole house full’a kids with my fuckin’ eyes.”

You cried out, your body already tightening again, trembling.

And then, one last thrust.

Devastating. Bone-deep. Final.

He came with a groan that barely sounded human, hips locked in place, cock pulsing inside you, spilling heat deep into your cunt like it was a claim. Endless. Relentless. It spilled out around him, a mess between your thighs, and still he didn’t stop.

And with it—

His fangs sank deep into your neck.

No warning.

No care.

Just sharp, precise, possessive puncture.

You screamed—and came. Hard. Wrung-out, shattered, blinding.

The orgasm ripped through you like it had teeth. Your walls fluttered around him, milking every last drop. Your back arched, pinned and blood-warm, as his mouth sealed over your skin and drank. Long, greedy pulls. Like he needed it more than breath.

Your heart stuttered. Your eyes rolled back.

And in the haze of it, another sound.

A choked gasp. The sharp, wet rhythm of a fist meeting skin. Then a broken, pathetic groan as your husband came too. Facing you both, cock in his hand, shame on his face, guilt dripping down his knuckles.

Remmick pulled back from your neck, blood staining his lips, breath heaving.

Then he angled to look.

Smirked.

Spat.

“This the first time y’ever came with her, huh?”

He thrust once more into your ruined cunt, slow and deep, just to emphasize it.

“Had to watch me do it for ya. Pathetic.”

And you?

You didn’t even blink.

Didn’t even look at the man you once thought would love you right.

Because Remmick was right about that too.

This was where you belonged.

He stayed inside you for a moment longer, just long enough for you to pretend it would never end. Your walls still fluttered around him in soft aftershocks, your body unwilling to believe it was over even as your mind tried to catch up.

Then—

He pulled out.

Slow. Measured. Intentional.

A sound escaped your throat—broken, needy, trembling. Not quite a sob, not quite a plea.

Your hands caught his hips weakly, as if you could keep him, tether him, keep that full warmth inside for just a moment longer. "Please…"

“Shhh,” Remmick cooed, brushing a thumb beneath your eye where your tears had dried and cracked. “It’s alright, baby. You’ll get it again.”

The emptiness hit harder than anything else had.

A cavernous ache. Raw. Desperate. A void nothing else could fill.

You didn’t realize you were crying again until your vision blurred.

You watched as he stood.

Watched as he moved across the room toward the man still sitting dumb and wide-eyed in the chair.

Your husband.

Your witness.

There was a single second.

A flash of recognition.

His eyes met Remmick’s.

And that was all.

The claws flashed.

Once.

Ripped.

There was no scream. No fight. No time for last words.

Just a sound, wet and ugly, as his throat was torn open. Gutted clean from beneath the jawline, near-severed, a geyser of arterial red splattering across the walls, the chair, the floor.

And still, for one sickening second, his body twitched.

You screamed.

You screamed with everything you had left, dragged yourself backward across the soaked sheets until your spine hit the bedframe, until your limbs locked up with exhaustion and fear and your own slick still coating your thighs.

Remmick turned to face you.

Blood painted his chest, his jaw, his hands, dripping from his fingers like it had always belonged there. His eyes were gleaming, that familiar, terrifying red turned brighter now, like it fed off what he’d just done.

And then he crawled.

Across the bed.

Staining the sheets with long streaks of crimson, smearing every part of the room you once thought of as yours. As his.

Now defiled.

Claimed.

Ruined.

His hands—slick, sticky—cupped your face with impossible tenderness.

And then he kissed you.

Slow.

Deep.

Unforgiving.

Spit. Blood. The coppery tang of death. And beneath it all, still the faint, almost-sweet taste of you on his tongue.

It coated your teeth. Filled your lungs.

You let him.

You kissed him back.

When he pulled away, his voice dropped low, affectionate, almost reverent.

“Guess it’s just us now, darlin’,” he whispered. “Us. And our little thing growin’ inside ya.”

Your mouth parted, but no sound came.

He leaned in again, brushing his blood-wet cheek against yours, dragging his tongue slow along the edge of your jaw.

“Gonna make sure y’never forget who you belong to.”

You didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

There were no words left.

Just slick cooling on your thighs.

Just sheets ruined for good.

Just the memory of your husband's eyes, wide and broken, moments before he died doing nothing.

And a part of you—that sick, lost, unredeemable part—knew:

That was exactly how you wanted it to be.

Forever.

[thecontortionistsportal]

Not Inside

| fem!reader x remmick

word count : 2.7k

happy juneteenth !! 🥹

a/n : i want to tag this blessed soul @remmicks-salvation for bringing the remmick degradation into the spotlight for me 🙇🏾‍♀️

this is in lowercase … i don’t feel like typing on my laptop after six p.m …

also, working on the salem witch trials au & a remmick & stack x reader one-shot

synopsis : reader told him no. so he fucked her thighs instead—desperate, messy, and still completely hers.

warnings !! (MDNI 18+) : oral (f receiving), denial of orgasm, degradation, pathetic remmick, dom!reader, reader is lowkey mean (he deserves it), unprotected rutting (no intercourse), drool/spit, period blood, remmick’s a slut for praise

tags : @pathetic-remmick @avidreader73

———

thigh-fucking.

it was the only thing you’d allow him to do while you were bleeding.

he looked heartbroken when you said it. not because he didn’t want it—no, he wanted anything you’d give him. but he craved more. craved the slick, pulsing heat of your cunt wrapped around him like a vice.

“please,” he’d whispered, voice rasped and aching. “just let me have it… let me feel you.”

but you said no.

now, his hands tremble as they knead into the softness of your thighs, spreading them wider over the edge of the bed. his knuckles press into the backs of your knees as he lowers himself between them, mouth watering—literally—as thick strings of spit dangle from his parted lips and drip onto your inner thighs.

“fuck,” he groans, forehead pressing to your knee for a moment as his cock jumps in his fist. he looks up at you like he’s starving—like you’re the only thing that could ever satisfy him.

he jerks himself slow at first, hand slick with spit and pre-cum, sliding over the flushed, leaking head. you can see how swollen he is—how red and angry the tip looks from neglect.

“baby, please,” he whimpers, voice cracking as his thumb rolls over the slit. “i just wan’ to be inside of you.”

you stare down at him, lips parted slightly, breath shallow. but still—you shake your head.

“no, remmick,” you murmur, voice barely a breath. “you know the rules.”

he lets out a strangled sound, somewhere between a growl and a cry, and buries his face against your thigh.

“then let me fuck them,” he breathes against your skin, hot and wet, kissing the curve of your flesh. “let me fuck your thighs like they’re your cunt.”

you hum, teasing, letting your knees fall open just a bit more.

���is that what you want?”

he nods frantically, stumbling to his feet with his cock still in his hand. one hand finds your thigh again as he steps closer, dragging you just a little more to the edge of the bed until your ass barely clings to the sheets.

his tip grazes your skin, smearing precum over the softness as he lines himself up between your thighs, jaw clenched tight.

“please—please,” he babbles, voice unsteady, almost breaking. his hands grip the tops of your thighs, squeezing tight as he pushes forward, slotting his cock between the blood-warmed press of your skin.

you tense around him slightly, thighs pressing together just enough to mimic the feeling of your cunt. he lets out a low, guttural moan, hips twitching.

you look up at him, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted.

“then fuck them, baby,” you whisper, voice like honey. “fuck them like you wish it was me.”

he lets out a ragged groan as he pulls back, then drives forward again, his cock sliding hot and heavy between your thighs. your skin slicks with sweat and blood, and the friction only makes him moan louder.

his hips slap against you with more force now, the sound obscene—wet and sharp, over and over. drool slips from the corner of his mouth, falling messily onto your abdomen, mixing with the sheen of sweat already there.

“fuck… you feel so good,” he slurs, voice choked with need, the words barely coherent through his panting.

his pace quickens—sloppier now, more frantic.

you tighten your thighs around him, pressing in, and he cries out like a wounded animal.

“shit—fuck—do that again,” he whines, already fucking into the vice of your thighs like he can’t hold himself back anymore.

his fingers dig into the plush flesh of your thighs, hard enough to bruise. his knuckles turn white from the pressure.

“smell so fuckin’ sweet,” he growls, inhaling the coppery scent of your blood like it’s perfume. he salivates.

“want to fuck you properly,” he pants. “want to split you open and stuff you full, feel this bloody little cunt pulse around me while i fuck you raw—”

you feel his cock throb between your thighs as he ruts harder, desperate, hips jerking like he’s already close.

his brows knit together, muscles straining as his thrusts grow faster, harder.

he moans, loud and wrecked, chest heaving as his body curls forward just slightly—like the pleasure’s too much to bear. his eyes squeeze shut and his rhythm starts to falter, every snap of his hips more desperate than the last.

you feel it—how close he is. how his thighs start to tremble.

and then you speak.

“stop.”

his eyes fly open, wide and glassy, a pained whine ripping through his throat as he slows to a trembling halt.

“n-no,” he stutters, voice breaking. “fuck—please.”

your name falls from his lips, guttural and raw, as his cock twitches between your slicked-up thighs.

then—your legs spread, slow and deliberate.

the bloody mess between them glistens, spilling onto your inner thighs and smeared across the crease of your cunt.

he stares like he’s hypnotized. drool spills from his mouth again, thick and slow as it drips down his chin.

“come on,” you whisper, breathless.

he lunges forward instantly, grabbing your thighs and yanking them up around his waist. his cock slides up against your folds, already seeking your heat.

but just before he can breach you—

“you can’t fuck me.”

he lets out a deep, broken groan, his body shaking with the need to come, to bury himself deep.

he snarls softly under his breath, grinding his cock against your cunt instead, letting the flushed head slide along the wet, bloody mess.

his tip nudges your clit with every pass and you jolt each time, breath catching as your moans start to echo his.

he fists the sheets behind you for leverage and ruts hard, faster, his cock coated in the sticky sheen of blood and slick.

he pants, watching the way his cock glides against your folds, dragging your swollen clit every time.

you clench around nothing, your walls fluttering from the pressure and the build.

his moans get louder, almost pained, as your blood paints his cock in messy streaks.

you watch him unravel.

his breath hitches every time your clit catches under the swollen head of his cock, slick and red smearing across both of you. his muscles shake as he ruts into you, chasing the high you’re dangling just out of reach.

you lean back slightly, propping yourself on your elbows, eyes heavy as you look down at the scene between your thighs.

“look at you,” you murmur, voice slow and syrupy. “so fuckin’ desperate. cock all messy and throbbing, and you’re not even inside me.”

his head drops forward, forehead brushing your shoulder, a strangled groan leaving his chest.

“please,” he gasps. “baby, please let me—”

“no,” you cut him off, rolling your hips slightly to meet his next thrust, just enough to tease him, to keep him shaking. “you come like this. not inside me. not tonight.”

he whimpers, actually fucking whimpers, grinding harder like he can force his way in if he tries.

“god, you’re mean,” he moans, voice thick with frustration. “so fuckin’ mean to me.”

you smile lazily, trailing one hand up his chest, nails dragging through the light sweat gathered there.

“then stop,” you offer softly. “pull back. get off me.”

he jerks his hips again in answer, a growl rumbling in his chest.

“can’t,” he chokes out. “you smell like blood and sex and you’re fuckin’ soaked—fuck—i can’t.”

you hum low, pleased, and shift your hips so that your folds part just a little more, letting his cock nestle perfectly between them. your clit throbs from the stimulation, but you bite down on the whine building in your throat.

“you keep going like this,” you whisper, voice dipped in threat and promise, “and you don’t get to come at all.”

his whole body stutters, cock twitching hard between your folds.

“n-no, don’t do that,” he gasps, fingers bruising your thighs now as he clings to them like a lifeline. “please, baby—i’ll be good. i’ll be good, i swear, just let me—fuck—just let me use your cunt.”

you tilt your head, pretending to think, enjoying the way he begs—how wild he looks with his face flushed, his jaw tight, his mouth wet, cock pulsing and soaked in blood.

“i said no,” you whisper against his ear. “you’re gonna come. outside.”

he lets out a sound that barely qualifies as human, hips snapping wildly, frenzied now.

and you—

you don’t stop him.

you just watch him fall apart.

you can feel it in the way his thrusts lose rhythm, in how his cock twitches violently between your folds, tip catching on your clit with every sloppy drag.

his hips stutter. he gasps your name like a prayer, like a curse.

“fuck—fuck, baby, i’m gonna—”

his hands grip your waist, desperate to hold himself steady, to not come before you give him the word.

but you see it—the way his jaw locks, the way his thighs shake, the way his moans grow ragged and high.

he’s right there.

and just as his body starts to curl forward, just as his cock pulses hot against your blood-slicked cunt—

“stop.”

one word. soft, but firm.

and it cuts through him like a blade.

he sobs. actually sobs, a sound torn from the back of his throat, thick with denial and disbelief.

his body convulses as he forces himself to still. his cock jumps against your clit, leaking, throbbing, aching.

his chest heaves, mouth open, spit stringing between his lips and your collarbone where he’d leaned in too close.

“please—please, i can’t,” he gasps, voice hoarse and broken. “baby, don’t—don’t do this to me.”

you lean forward, one hand stroking down his trembling stomach, stopping just before you touch his cock.

“you almost came without permission,” you murmur, lips brushing his cheek. “that’s not very good of you, remmick.”

he shudders, his cock twitching again like it’s trying to come anyway, leaking thick pre against your folds.

“but i—I tried,” he stammers, eyes glassy, tears threatening. “i stopped, i stopped, please, i’ll do anything—just let me finish, please.”

you hum softly, pressing your fingers into his jaw, forcing him to look at you.

“then prove it,” you whisper. “prove you deserve to come. get on your knees.”

he blinks, confused for half a second—then his legs fold beneath him like he’s been shot, collapsing to the floor at the edge of the bed.

his cock stands flushed and furious, twitching with every mimicked beat of his heart, streaked with blood and thick strings of slick.

he presses his cheek against your thigh, panting, shaking, whimpering softly into your skin.

you tilt your head.

“no touching,” you warn, one hand sliding gently through his hair. “not yet.”

his hands clench uselessly at his sides.

you smile.

he’s so close you can feel it vibrating off him.

he stays still.

kneeling between your legs, chest rising and falling like he’s run miles, face pressed to your thigh.

you feel the heat of his breath—fast, uneven, desperate—as it ghosts over the mess between your legs.

he whimpers again, soft and pathetic, like a dog trying not to whine, and it makes you smile.

“good boy,” you murmur, dragging your fingers through his damp curls, slow and teasing.

he makes a noise at that, a quiet broken little thing, like just the praise alone might undo him.

your thighs part a little more. the blood has started to dry in some places, but the warmth still lingers, slick and coppery and thick.

“clean me up,” you say.

his head jerks up immediately, eyes wide and blown black, like he didn’t believe you’d actually let him close.

but you nod, just once.

“with your mouth.”

he doesn’t hesitate.

his lips press to your inner thigh first, reverent, like he’s praying.

then—his tongue.

slow at first. testing. trembling.

he licks a stripe through the blood smeared across your skin, groaning at the taste.

and then it’s like something snaps.

his mouth drags lower, hotter, messier.

he moans into you, lapping at the blood pooled between your folds, drinking it like he’s parched.

“fuck,” he pants against you, tongue flicking your clit by accident—and you jerk, biting your lip.

he freezes, like he’s afraid that was too much.

“don’t stop,” you whisper, fingers in his hair again. “but slow. tease it. just like that.”

his breath shudders against your cunt as he licks again, slower this time, taking his time now, dragging his tongue through the mess he’d made earlier—your blood, his spit, your slick.

every now and then, he bumps your clit just right, and you twitch, thighs tensing around his head.

he moans again, like your reactions are the only thing keeping him alive.

his hands grip your thighs—not to guide you, not to pull you closer, but just to hold on.

his cock hangs between his legs, flushed and twitching, untouched and angry.

you look down at him, his face painted with blood and lust, mouth slick and red, eyes pleading even as he obeys.

“such a good mouth,” you murmur. “you want to come, don’t you?”

he nods into you, desperate, tongue slowing just to answer.

“then make me come first,” you say softly, “with that pretty, bloody mouth.”

he moans into your folds again, the sound vibrating against your clit just enough to make your legs twitch.

your fingers tighten in his hair.

you don’t guide him—he’s learned by now.

and fuck, does he want it bad.

his tongue laves through your mess, slow at first, then faster, more focused, circling your clit before flattening against it, dragging long, wet strokes over the sensitive bundle.

you gasp softly, hips rocking forward.

“just like that,” you whisper, breath breaking, “keep going.”

he hums in response, and the sound rumbles through you like lightning.

his mouth moves with more purpose now, more pressure. messy, but good—so good, so fucking good.

your thighs clamp around his head.

you start to pant, sharp, fast, your hand fisting in his hair as your body begins to tense, the pleasure burning up your spine like fire.

he sucks gently, then flicks his tongue in quick, tight strokes—again, again, again.

you cry out.

your whole body jerks as it hits—hard.

your orgasm rips through you like a storm, blood rushing in your ears, your thighs clenching, your back arching just slightly as you grind into his mouth.

and he doesn’t stop.

he moans like he’s the one coming, like tasting you unravel against his tongue is better than anything he’s ever known.

you breathe heavy through it, letting it take you, letting him have it.

and when you finally come down, you tug gently at his hair, easing him back.

his face is soaked—slick, blood, drool, all of it—and his cock is still flushed and twitching, drooling precum onto the floor beneath him.

he’s shaking.

“please,” he rasps. “please, can i—can i come now?”

you drag your fingers down his throat, watching him swallow hard beneath your touch.

“stand up.”

he stumbles to his feet, cock bobbing, angry and glistening red.

you look at it, slow and deliberate.

then up at him.

“you come,” you murmur, voice low, “but you don’t touch yourself.”

his jaw falls open.

“w-what?”

“grind against me. like before.”

he groans—loud, pained—as he steps forward, dragging the tip of his cock along your still-throbbing folds.

“fuck—fuck, baby—”

he ruts into you, wild and broken, his cock slipping against your blood-slick cunt, head catching on your clit again and again.

you moan softly, overstimulated, but you let him use you.

“gonna come,” he gasps, hips stuttering. “gonna come all over your pussy, please, let me—fuck, let me—”

“do it,” you whisper. “make a mess of me.”

that’s all it takes.

he lets out a strangled, half-sobbed cry as his cock jerks against you, hot ropes of cum spilling across your folds, painting you with thick, pulsing streaks of white.

his legs nearly give out as he collapses forward, forehead pressed to your shoulder, body trembling.

“thank you,” he pants, voice cracking. “fuck—thank you—”

your fingers stroke through his hair again, slow and soft.

“good boy,” you whisper. “such a good fucking boy.”

[thecontortionistsportal]

[thecontortionistsportal]

nah bc i cannot get the thought of tasting remmick out of my head <33

his sweat, his drool, his come..

lord have mercy on me i need to taste this man

warnings: oral (m! receiving), sloppy making out, mention of fem! recieving oral on her period, reader is obsessed with remmick’s come, sweat, and drool, licking, overstimulation

minors dni, 18+!!!!

his grip on your hair is tight, using the strands as a reign to push and pull your mouth up and down his cock. the other hand is gripping the armrest of the dinner chair in your house, legs spread apart so you can have access to him. the corner of the room is illuminated by a few candles melting on the windowsill, the flickering lights shining against his face.

“ah, shit, darlin’. you’re so damn good at this. suckin’ on me like that.”

you place your hands on his thighs, fingers pushing into his skin as you grip. his moans are guttural, you can hear the desire laced in each sound. he’s always been more than happy to please you; to have his head between your thighs for hours on end. but tonight you stopped him, saying it’s his turn.

you hummed as you sucked on his length, tongue lightly moving when you got the chance. he tasted divine, like heaven on your tongue. and you wouldn’t let a single bit of him go to waste. the hand gripping your hair let go, he’s now using it to run his fingers through his hair. you go back up his length, removing your mouth and replacing it with your hand. he whines at the feeling, how your mouth wasn’t taking all of him anymore.

you took a hand from his thigh and wrapped it around his length, stroking it up and down as you looked at the man above you. his head is tilted back, eyebrows furrowed, and the back of his hand is placed against his forehead.

“aww, come on, darlin’. don’t tease me like this, i-i need your pretty little mouth back on me.”

he opened his eyes, looking down at you, pleading.

you scooted closer, spreading his legs a little more. you lifted his cock and moved in to take one of his balls into your mouth, sucking as you stroked him. his hips twitched at the feeling, and you could see his leg muscles tighten. giving them a few kisses and then licking up and down the seam, you raised up to put his cock back into your mouth.

he ran his fingers through your hair as you sucked on him, giving it a light tug before taking it up your arm to grab your hand. his hips thrust involuntarily into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat.

“honey, i’m so close. fuck, i’m gonna come darlin,” remmick warned, his voice desperate for the release. you moaned at his words, thinking of how good it’s going to feel for his warm seed to run down your throat, the taste of his release as you continued to suck the life out of him (well, what was left of it).

“it’s all mine, baby. give it to me, let me taste you. wanna swallow it all,” you pulled away from him long enough to tell him, to send him over the edge.

he muttered a quick “goddamnit,” as you put your warm mouth on his length again, humming to send vibrations through him. you got a few more sucks in before you heard his loud moan of release, then felt the feeling of his salty cum filing your throat.

but you didn’t let up, continuing your job as his body shook, the release doing him in.

remmick started to squirm, the chair creaking. his claws shot out of his hand, almost piecing the both of you. overstimulation started to set in, his foot stomped down against the flooring as you kept going. you were to determined to suck him dry, the taste of his come being so insanely addicting.

“darlin’ please i.. i can’t go anymore, please. it’s too much.”

giving in, you hollowed your cheeks around his length one last time, as much as you could, and pulled away. you licked the slit of his cock, gathering just the tiniest bit more of his release.

you kissed up his clothed abdomen before running your hands across his arms as you stood up. staring down at him, a thought popped into your head. you sat on his lap, looking over his spent body. he still hasn’t looked at you.

drool fell from his mouth, running down his throat and chest. his head was still leaned back, eyes staring at the ceiling as he tried to control his heavy breathing. you kissed his exposed chest above the white tank top, savoring the taste of his sweat and vampiric drool. it was intoxicating. so invigorating.

you licked from the collar of the tank top and up his neck, sucking a hickey just below his ear. pulling back, you noticed remmick was still looking up at the ceiling, lost in the bliss from the head you’d given him.

you glanced at the chain sitting around his neck. your eyes flicked up to his face then back down. deciding enough was enough, you took two fingers and wrapped them around the chain, forcing him to look at you.

“are you just gonna ignore me the rest of the night, rem? i still haven’t got my fill of you yet.”

he shook his at you, mouth open as he stared at your face, a small bit of his come pooled at the corner. he brought a hand to your face, running his thumb across your lips to gather his release and push it into your mouth. you moaned around his thumb, sucking on it. his fingers rubbed your cheek lovingly as he watched, mesmerized by how entranced you were by his taste. all of his tastes, for that matter.

“darlin’, i’ll be here all night, you know that. you got the rest of the moonlight to take me for all i can give you.”

you leaned in to kiss him, immediately noting that you’re desperate to get your tongue deep into his mouth. he kissed you back with ferocity, wrapping his arms around your body as you take your hands and place them on his shoulders. the kiss was messy— probably unnecessarily so. but thankfully you didn’t give a fuck.

remmick got to ravish you damn near every night, absorbing every ounce of your slick that he could get his greedy tongue on, so why couldn’t you? there was nothing more he loved than to be trapped between your thighs, drinking your release like his life depended on it. especially the nearly week long treat he got each month, where your sweet blood and divine come mixed together. it drove him insane.

you’re using too much tongue but again, you didn’t give a fuck. saliva dripped down your chin, mixing with his vampiric drool. the squelching sounds made you dizzy with infatuation, only making you kiss him more aggressively. the noises were obscene, yet somehow that fired you up more. you hum into his mouth as his grip tightens around your body. he pulled away, mouth soaked. he knew what you were thinking.

“go on, darlin. i know you just can’t get enough.”

and that’s what you did. you kissed around his face, your tongue sliding out into kitten licks to take in the mess you’d purposefully made. you kissed his jaw, tongue swiping at the dribble of spit hanging on his chin. he laughed, finding your enthusiasm and desperation for every ounce of his flavor to be entertaining.

he could remember a couple weeks prior when he’d come to your home drenched in blood, and the both of you needed each other desperately. you’d moaned at the taste of the blood, a shock to him as humans didn’t tend to enjoy the flavor, hell, none he’d ever met had the stomach for seeing blood let along licking it off of someone.

it all makes sense now. it wasn’t so much the blood as it was him. something about the way his body tasted to you drove you insane, getting you drunk off of it.

he touched your cheek again, swiping the spit off your mouth and putting his still slightly wet thumb back into your mouth, letting you clean up the mess. when you finished, he kissed you, but this time it’s a more loving, sweet kiss. nothing like the others tonight.

“what’s gotten into you, girl? just a couple weeks ago you licked blood off me like a damn vampire, and tonight you’ve licked every ounce of liquid i gave out. you’re a messy woman, you know that?”

you smiled, thinking about just how insane you’d gone tonight. might’ve been overkill, might not have been. remmick shouldn’t look so handsome and taste so goddamn amazing if he didn’t want you doing something about it.

“well, rem, i just cannot help myself. sounds familiar, doesn’t it?,” you laughed, quoting what he’d told you one night when you asked him why he was so obsessed with eating you out.

he smiled at you, kissing your forehead as he breathed out.

“the damn sun’s coming up, darlin’. i hate to leave you like this but i gotta get goin’.”

you pouted, huffing as you crossed your arms across your chest. he tilted his head, raising an eyebrow at you, as if asking “really?”

sighing, you got off his lap and walked to the front door, grabbing his clothing. he hadn’t even made it two steps into the house before the desire overcame the two of you.

“we need to find a way to block it out. i can’t keep missing you all day, rem.”

he stopped buckling his belt, looking up at you. he scanned the room for ideas, then landed on a huge curio cabinet you had.

“well, we could always board up these windows. maybe even more some of these bigger pieces of your furniture ‘round to block ‘em out.”

a smile raised in your face. having remmick in your house at night time wasn’t enough. during the day you yearned for his presence, just him being nearby.

“i like that idea. a lot, actually.”

he walked over to you, noticing how soon that sunrise was coming.

“i really gotta get goin’, sweetheart. but i’ll see you tonight, alright? help ya move some of these around. unless you plan to make me do all the hard work,” he said as he placed his hand on your doorknob, bracing himself as his slid his boots on.

“and miss you working up a sweat? yeah, right,” you laughed, a devious smile flashing to him.

“lord, girl, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

[thecontortionistsportal]

Pretty pleeasssee do virgin female reader having her first time with Remmick 🙏

AHEM! So. I know y’all liked how I wrote Remmick last time and I wanna say THANK YOU!! But this one is a bit softer him? He still banters and everything but I think he’s a shit ton nicer LMAOO he’s for sure not cursing anyone here. Maybe ooc him butttt idk I don’t really think so, I think this is just less scary him. ALSO SLIGHTLY PROOFREAD!!

Warnins: smut. That’s basically it with just a tiny bit of plot but HARDLY. He sniffs readers' panties and keeps them. MUNCHING. He whines and begsssss. Uhhh.. she jerks him off. Softer sex, nothing fucking crazy this time around. Cursing/swearing not actual curses like last time. Idk what else.. mentions of smacking all over the body. He smacks her tits and thighs mostly NOT HARD OR ANYTHING TERRIBLE just like in general. Marking.. no mention of what it looks like necessarily cause marking can look different on every skin tone, so it’s just hinted towards it. That should be all!’

It’s half past midnight when you open the door. Robe tightly pulled across your body, hand tighter around the door knob.

You’d been rudely awoken by some loud knocking at your door, flinching so violently you practically shook the whole bed.

The loud raps.. not even. Pounds. It damn near made you consider if the police were at your door.

It was brutal. Your whole day was brutal, with loud customers and a rush that lasted five hours. Working in the restaurant wasn’t for the weak. That was for fucking sure. You were spent. Done for the night. wanted to be dead to the world, curled up nice and tight in your sheets.

Apparently not, since God had to come around and force you to deal with some more bullshit.

And now.. the beating of a lifetime was gonna happen to the white man that stood before you.

“Remmick-“

“Baby-“

“I don’t have time for this tonight-“

“I know baby.. but shit— I haven’t seen you for a few nights now.”

You raise a brow at him, “Right. And that gives you the right to come round’ and bang on shit like you own the place?”

He shakes his head, “no.. no but.. I really did miss you and- look.. just lemme on in. Please.”

You stare at him. Face unimpressed, annoyance bubbling under your skin. You’re pissed, of course. He ripped you out of your slumber and is now attempting to rip you out of your home.. well, trying to get inside but still. Same intentions.

Doesn’t help either that he looks good tonight, with his hair messy, beard more grown in and the collar of his shirt unbuttoned showing off that golden chain you often imagine hanging over your face while he— he’s a sight. A sight you want to pounce on.. but your fucking tired. And you already know that his presence equals persistence.

He’s been at this for about two whole months. Begging, pleading to be let inside. That he’ll be nice and slow, that he won’t hurt you. Been outside complimenting you, lusting after you and has even dropped to his knees several times just to get his point across.

It’s a little more tame now compared to when he first came to realize exactly why you wouldn’t allow him in, despite the slick he could smell pooling between your thighs. Fucking huffed and puffed like a dog in heat, whined like a dying animal. Practically collapsed on the fucking floor.

“Yer a fuckin virgin?” He muttered, face a bit shocked. You nodded, “problem with that?”

“Jesus fuckin Christ.. no. No. Never. Just—“ he sighed, loud. Shook his head and cleared his throat, “don’t know why you kept that in for so long.”

“Never asked.”

His brows shoot up, “I had to fuckin ask?”

Yours furrow, confused, “course’. Why the fuck would I tell you otherwise?” And that causes him to stutter, mouth opening and closing, a thousand emotions running across his face before he settles on looking mildly surprised, “Well.. figured I should somewhat know that, right sugar? Pretty fuckin important now, is it?”

Important. Right. With how he reacted, jerked his head back in shock and then moved himself so god damn close to the door, the barrier of the threshold had to physically ward him off by lightly burning him.. you should’ve kept it to yourself a little longer. For simple amusement.

You shrug, “sure.. don’t change much about your problem here, though. Still can’t come in.”

“Shit— well, that’s just fucked now. You can’t mess with a man’s emotions like that!” He argues, porch creaking as he steps away from the door, “It ain’t kind.”

“Kind? I’m being kind to myself. I mean-“ you give a soft chuckle, sniffling, “I can hardly fit in my own fingers.. let alone yours-“ you gesture a hand towards him. He still has blood dried underneath the fingernails, the curve of his wrist having a smudge of mud on it, and his hands rough with the years. Really.. aside from just wanting to fuck with him, you truly believe they would be a rough stretch.

He shakes his head, scratching at his cheek as he looks down, face tight and lips pulled into a thin line.

“It would be a stretch and I just can’t do that tonight.” You give a small frown, though he knows fully well it’s mocked.

He places a hand against his face, sliding across his mouth as he looks up. Pained. Like he’s silently asking God why he must suffer.

“I.. feel that being mauled by a bear is easier than this. This is just—“ he throws up his hands, smacking them back down against his sides.

“The God’s sent you to fuckin punish me that’s what this is.”

What a Greek tragedy. you’re certain that even now, he still believes this is his punishment for all his wrong doing.

Really.. He needs you.

Needs you like the blood that he craves, like the flesh he rips between his teeth. The need for community, for friendship and love.. it doesn’t shine a single fucking light to need that boils deep in his bones. That primal instinct to claim.

He thinks he’s actually losing it. Going insane, goes too far to claim all his brain power and energy, his blood, is drained right to his dick. Making him act up more than usual.

He’s going crazy.

All because he believes he’s the one who deserves to take your virginity.

That he needs to or he’ll die, that your rejection will burn him just as badly as the sun. He’s dramatic. Too dramatic, for his own good. Sometimes you wonder if he has a part time job at a theatre or something given how well he acts, how much he emphasizes each emotion.

Like now.

You blink, “no.”

He hangs his head, a loud sigh leaving him. You don’t close the door knowing he won’t leave.. he never does. Doesn’t know how to, and you would know given how often you close the door on him. He just bangs the door harder. Gets louder.

You give a long exhale, tired. Of him and of the day.

“What.. you're sad you can’t come on in and get this pussy?” you ask, lazily. Calm and neutral, as if you're speaking of the cloud and trees.

He nods but keeps his head low, still hanging down, “fuck else would I be sad for.”

“I’ll let you eventually.. just, not now. I’m tired.”

Remmick gives a breathy laugh, tongue running along his teeth, not sharp. Not yet. Still in his human form, with uneven teeth and a wicked smile. He clicks his tongue, “always fuckin tired-“

You shrug, “well I worked a long fuckin shift, you would know what that’s like if you were employed.”

He lifts his head, hands stuck on his hips as his face scrunches into something unpleased. Annoyed, just as much as you are.

“Don’t.. just— Jesus, just a taste. Nothing more.”

Another long exhale, but this one drags on into a groan, “it’s always something with you. Seriously. Can’t stick your tongue into my cooch, so now you have to harass me every night?” your lip curls, shaking your head as you rest your hip against the door.

“I ain’t harassing you-“ you interrupt, “yes you are,” but he ignores it, “I’m just trying to show you how determined I am. I know I can treat you right.. I know it. Can do more than any other mutherfuckn’ random out here can. Baby..”

He takes a step forward, hands moving to the frame, holding himself up just past the threshold that won’t let him linger close. Can’t, not without you giving the right to do so.

“.. when I say I’ll have you shaking.. begging me on back, humpin me silly till’ you can’t no more.. I mean that. not just outta my own ego, it ain’t about just that. But because you deserve a little lovin.”

He shrugs, “I want to be the one to give you that lovin.”

You take it in. Silently. Slowly. Let the words mingle through your brain, sink into your flesh and coat the back of your teeth. You can’t distinguish whether the rumbling feeling in your chest, that tight pull and yank is your nerves or butterflies. They feel so similar, it’s really hard to make of what you should feel.

Not what he wants you to feel. But he stands there all the same, not in the sense of being none the wiser to your own predicament, he knows what he’s doing. Knows how steadily he’s been pulling back the curtain. Whisking away that fear you hold in your chest, that anxiety.

The heaviness sex brings.. where you can speak big but do little. He knows it. Knows that when you speak nasty, with such vulgarity, teasing him— none of it was true. Not really. Surely you wanted it but.. doing it? Shit.

In all that silence and time, eventually you speak, but it’s not exactly what he suspected would come out your mouth.

“You’ll let me ride..” you trail off, eyeing him up and down.

He nods. You narrow your gaze, “and hold my hand?”

He nods again, “fuckin course. Can’t just let you on Willy nilly. Already too eager for yer’ own good.”

“Can’t blame me,” you mutter. He grins, “no one is blaming you,” he raises a hand, “no judgment from me. Yer’ good.”

He watches your lip twitch, pulling down slightly before you look away. Caught in your thoughts, he isn’t even sure if you really are hearing him.

You won’t buckle, not easily. But he teases anyway, grin sharp but eyes soft, “nervous? Don’t gotta’ be.”

Your eyes shoot towards his, brows furrowing, “no. Just thinkin is all. Can’t do that now?”

He just holds up his hands, mock surrender. As if to say, ‘no problem with me’.

You shift in place, socked feet cold despite how warm the rest of you is. The floor doesn’t give much answers, stays quiet despite your piercing gaze. It’s not going to give any advice, can’t, but you partially wish that something would help you deal with this.

To say whether you should push or grab. And Remmick ain’t gonna give an unbiased answer.

Quiet floor, hungry man creature.

There’s no winning.

“You’ll go slow?”

You don’t need to look at him to know that wolf smile of his is on full display, “real slow. Think I’m fuckin dead.”

“You are.” Don’t need to look either to know he shrugs, “Further proves my point.”

You won’t admit it. But how you look up, dead set on him, eyes narrowed and almost looking mean.

He thinks you're going to shoo him away.

Instead, you give a low hum, then a sharp inhale before saying, “Don’t fuck this up.”

He answers quick, “I won’t.”

Your brows go up, “I mean it.”

He matches you, face stern and honest. Open.

“Me too.”

—

His hands are just as rough as you thought they would be. Dried, cracked on the fingertips, feel and sounds like fucking sand paper when he glides it across your skin.

He needs lotion, you make note of telling him that later.

But you moan all the same when he runs his fingers across your clothed pussy. Even shudder a bit. It’s odd.. really. You’ve touched yourself before, that isn’t foreign but from someone else? Your nerves are on fire despite how cold he is, how his warmth is no match for yours. He’s almost freezing, but that only adds to it. Adds to how you shudder each time he smooths a hand over your stomach, fingertips dipping across the curve of your pelvis.

It’s slow. Soft even. It almost feels like he’s trying to memorize this, you. Mapping you out, running his hand in every crevice and curve, watches your face with his ears perked, tries to catch each of your emotions. Studying you.

It should be sweet, should comfort. But instead it makes you nervous, intentionally looking away so you can somewhat ease the anxiety rolling off you.

Unfortunately for you, Remmick isn’t too fond of that. Your attempts to hide while he’s trying so desperately to understand you. He doesn’t say anything, but rather places a hand on your cheek.

Makes you look at him. Stare at him.

“Gonna taste you, okay?”

You give a shaky breath, but nod.

The bed creaks under the weight shift, his breath warm and kisses wet as he makes his way down. You expect him to procrastinate some more, to run his flesh over your own just to feel you, feel the weight of this moment. You expect him to map the expansion of your thighs, soft skin that has yet to feel the roughness of another’s hand, has yet to be marked or awarded with hickies.

Instead, as he moves down, both his hands work to reveal you. One lifts your nightgown, robe long removed since he was allowed in, and yanks it over your stomach. His other starts urging your panties down, yanking them though he fails to actually get them past your hips.

Upon them being stuck, it momentarily stalls him. He gives a confused look, glancing down to check why you won’t let them off, hips down against the bed as you make no attempt at helping him.

His mouth opens slowly, the words willing themselves on his tongue as he goes to ask you to lift your hips. Help him out a little. But they’re never spoken, dead and buried as you hand grabs at his bicep, squeezing twice to get his attention.

“What?” His brows furrow, eyes flickering between your own. You don’t answer him, just grab at his sweaty button up, slowly pull him towards you.

He follows your hands, the pull of his shirt as you guide him away from between your legs and towards your stomach. Force his head down, bowed, curled over you. It takes him a second to understand what the hell you're asking for, but he eventually falls in rhythm. Start kissing against your stomach, light nips and the occasional lick over the small bruises he leaves behind.

You give a small sigh, but it’s not out of content. Not yet at least. With each kiss, he tries to go back down, but you don’t let him. Force him to stay with a firm hand on his head, which coaxes a few muttered groans and grumbles against you. Small annoyed, “Jesus just-“ before you plant him back up, followed by, “I’m trynna taste you-“

He doesn’t get to complain long, though, because you force his attention up. Force him to kiss just above your lower stomach and to above your belly button. Then, when he kisses a bit further up, you pull the fabric of your nightgown up with him. He notices, obviously, and gives a small chuckle against you.

Gives a few quick kisses against you before muttering, “coulda just told me what you wanted.”

You give a small hum, shifting your hips a bit closer to his, “where’s the use in that? Wanted you to figure it out yourself.”

Remmick nods at that, lifting himself from you so he rests on his knees and gives him room to see you sprawled out underneath him, legs open as you try to subtly get closer.

The small whoosh of the fabric as he yanks it up over your breasts, revealing them to him and the night, sending a chill through you. Goosebumps rise across your flesh, breath shaky and the tips of your fingers tingle with how much your nerves take over.

He notices all that. Doesn’t deter him one bit as he goes back down, where he mutters against your chest, “Figured it out,” and sucks your nipple into his mouth.

It’s an odd sensation, to have something so wet and warm wrapped around you— sucking you at that. Sure, your fingers worked wonders. A form of foreplay that first started as mere curiosity, something stemmed from you hearing a friend talking about it.. how her man tended to suck at her tits before plowing her home.

“It emphasizes it.. ya know?” You had no clue.. but upon your own discovery later that night, it became part of your routine.

But this? Now you feel like kissing her and thanking her before kissing her again.

He tugs lightly, licks and pulls but never yanks, never scrapes his teeth. There’s a small voice in you that notes how easily he could bite you now, how willing you are to give him the opportunity to do so. But he doesn’t take it.

Don’t need to, not now. Just loves, like he said. Neither breasts are unnoticed, untouched. Both given equal attention as grabs at one tit while he’s busy sucking on the other, maneuvers between the two.

You aren’t even aware of your hips rocking, how you knock against his pelvis, soft rolling. Not aware until he removes his hand from where it was lightly squeezing against your breast to rest against your hip.

Not moving, or adjusting, just there.

You give a soft whimper after a particularly rougher suck, one that you’re certain will mark. That you’ll feel later, breasts sore and achy from the attention he brings.

He plants a kiss against it, gives a final lick to the space between your breasts before stopping all together.

He smirks at the whine that leaves you, “eager, huh?”

You don’t respond, don’t need to when he answers for you, “yeah.. yeah. It’s okay, ere’ to make it all better, that’s my job.”

Upon the last bit of his sentence you give him a funny look, “your job?”

He cocks his head, “yeah. Called ere’ for a reason.. say I ain’t employed but pleasurin you is a full time act.”

He doesn’t let you think too hard about it, meant to be a joke though it holds no humor— he partially means it.

Plants a few lazy kisses onto your lips, cheeks and chin before making his way to mutter into your ear, “Gonna taste ya now. Stop stallin,” and nips it before hauling himself back down.

Hauling isn’t really the correct term. Not with how quickly he moves, one would think you threw garlic water at him. You gasp as he's already tugging at your panties, putting a hand under your lower back to get you to gear your hips up.

You expect him to discard the flimsy fabric, off somewhere into the room or onto the bed. Forgotten. No.

That’s too normal for him.

Remmick stuffs his face with them, takes a deep sniff, one you can see with how sharp his inhale is and how his chest expands before dropping into a long exhale.

He doesn’t even move it from his face as he mutters,“Oh baby… They make candy after you.” It’s muffled behind your panties, not that he cares.

Not that you care much either, face slightly pulled into disgust but really the slick between your thighs worsens. You can feel a second heartbeat already, pounding louder than the one in your chest.

“You’re nasty.” You groan, hunger hidden behind disgust. He only smirks, removing it from his face before stuffing it into his pocket, for safekeeping.

You don’t expect to see those ever again.

That thought is long forgotten when he shoves both of your legs over his shoulder, feet hanging in the air as he props himself onto his stomach.

Groans low, deep rumble that you feel through your own skin, “Fuckin starvin..”

The first lick feels weird. Wet. Sticky. Flesh against flesh, texture so foreign it feels uncomfortable. Too much and too little at once, makes your toes curl but not in pleasure.

Not yet.

You’re shaking without realizing it. Nerves shot. It’s almost like your antsy, or cold, but he feels your legs keep twitching, unable to be still. You wiggle your toes, or keep fidgeting with the fabric of your bedsheets. He ignores it, at first, chooses to give another long lick.

But no sound. Not even a gasp. He feels you shake your foot then, a soft rhythm of tapping, wiggling you a bit. Like you're bored.

He looks up, sees you looking at the ceiling.

You hear the smack before you feel it, a small ‘wack’ that immediately makes you flinch, the skin of your thigh warm to the touch, blazed. You immediately look down, “The fuck is you doing?!”

You're met with his frown, features tugged down into a displeased look, “You ain’t focusing.”

You scoff, throwing up a hand, “I am focused!”

“Yer’ fuckin fidgeting.. acting like I’m some fuckin pussy doctor and not yer lover.”

You give a small ‘psh’, which Remmick doesn’t take too fondly too but before he can sass you on it, you cut him off, “I don’t know how to react! Don’t feel much either, just you..” you gesture down to where you're open for him. Wet and inviting, yet both of you ignore it, “.. screwing around.”

“You ain’t given me a chance to do much yet, hardly even got into a rhythm. Hell.. I ain’t even stick in my tongue yet.”

You blink at him, slow, “you did. I felt it.”

He cocks his head back, “not fully. Just— look at me. Okay? Focus.”

It's only when you nod that he drops his head back down, eyes remaining on you to ensure you actually stick to your word.

You keep your gaze down on him, watch as his eyes drop from your own back down to your flesh, which he gazes upon with hunger, eyes half lidded and mouth drooling. This time, instead of just feeling it, you watch him stick out his tongue and run in between your folds.

It feels weird, wet again. Not extremely gratifying but you wait silently, continue watching. He gives a few other kitten licks, swirling his tongue around, purposely avoiding your clit.. not that you are any wiser to what he’s doing.

Eventually, he does get into a rhythm, one that slowly starts to spark some pleasure.. just not enough. The hair on his beard is prickly, scratches against your flesh in a way you’re certain will give you some type of rug burn.

It ain’t a whole lot. Really.. you're starting to think nothing is gonna come of this. That he’s just poking around down there and hopefully will give up soon.

You’re not really fond of it.

Not until he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. Hard.

Your hips jolt, a sharp ‘hm’ leaving you. He gives another light smack to your thigh, playful, and continues sucking on the bundle of nerves. Swishes around between his lips, licks and lightly tugs— not enough to hurt but enough to make you yelp, hand gripping at the bedsheets. He flicks his tongue back and forth slowly, swirls it around again before collecting enough spit in his mouth to dribble it over your pussy.

You don’t find yourself to be the most vocal, despite living alone. Just heavy breathing and the occasional gasp, not that you cared about the amount of noise you made— but here? Now? He’s got you practically singing to the fucking choir, loud moans followed by gasps that he happily soaks in, basically jumping for joy as he continues his attack on you.

Remmick releases your clit from his warm mouth, tongue slathering down to lick at your entrance, skirting around the hole. He decides he needs more room, so brings two fingers up, spreading you further apart for his eyes to bask on before he shoves his tongue deep inside you. That pulls a loud moan from you.. and then a few more when he starts to fuck his tongue into you. Shoves it in deep and flicks his tongue up, as if he’s looking for something.

He doesn’t think he’ll reach far, but the taste of you— sweet, tangy. Coats his tongue and swirls its way down to his teeth. Leaves traces of your own essence across his taste buds. He doesn’t really care how far he reaches.

He’s a messy eater. Saliva drips down from his mouth, down your cunt and down your ass. He keeps spitting and swishing saliva around, coating both you and him in saliva, soaked in it. There’s so much, it only intensifies the sounds more— the slick of you as he runs his tongue up and down, mixing cum and spit together.

Your close to cumming, can feel that sharp pull. Usually it comes slow, a small linger of something bittersweet lying on your tongue, your fingers fast and hips jerky. With Remmick, however, it’s different. Instead of slow it comes in fast, and more violent. Tangles your guts together and brings a low hum between your legs, forces you to grip his hair and grab at his shoulder, nails indenting the skin that lies beneath his clothes.

He gives a low hum of approval, even goes as far to shuffle you closer with one hand, the other occupied with rubbing your clit.

“Please-“ you softly moan, voice soft and damn near broken. Remmick doesn’t say anything in return, but he hears you loud and clear.

Given an inch and he takes a whole mile— he decides to further the pleasure and stuffs a finger inside you, a noticeably tight fit.

Only then he pulls away, “you weren’t joking— shit.. I can hardly fit one in.”

Your eyes widened at that, panicked. He looks up, upon being met with your silence, only to see you stare back at him scared.

“Just gotta stretch it out, it’ll be fine.” He waves it off, finger still resting inside.

You narrow your gaze, “stretch it?”

He nods, “yeah, s’ normal. Relax.” And then he pulls it out just to place it right back in, a slow pace that begins to build. That shuts you up, but it doesn’t necessarily keep you any less panicked.

Despite your panic, he continues licking at you, other hand slowly trailing over your stomach and up to your breasts that are no longer exposed, the nightgown back over your stomach.

He slips his hand under it, grabbing at your chest. You give a soft whimper, your hand placed over his on top of the fabric, making him give a firm squeeze to your boob.

“Taste so fuckin good-“ he mutters, his breath warm against you. With the grip on his hair you force him closer to you, rocking your hips slightly to urge him on.

You can feel your orgasm bubbling over, gripping its way through your cooze and up your legs, over to your chest where it pounds like a drum. Your back arches more, hips pressing against him as you practically hump his face. Your moans are more whiny, more pitched. You’re close, and he knows it. Can tell how much you're dripping down his hand, not even two fingers in. But he tries.. works you through accepting another, which funnily enough glides right in.

He gives a surprised hum, “look at that, already a pro.” He looks up at you, a small smile in place.

however, you're too caught up in the bliss of it. Head rolled back, mouth dropped open chanting silent prayers— neither for God or any higher being, but for Remmick. His name comes out in soft whispers and whines, calls of the devil. So sweet.. so nice it makes him fuck his fingers into you faster.

You think you might sob, and can feel yourself close to it. That tightness of your throat, the wobble of your lip. But you hold it back, don’t really want to feed into his ego. You refuse to be completely ruined from his fingers alone.

But the way your orgasm comes crashing over, body shaking, hips jerky and uncoordinated. He doesn’t need you to cry to know he’s achieved exactly what he’s came to do.. and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

He takes his fingers out, replacing it with his mouth and tongue. Takes all you can give with a loud groan and a very light slap to the underside of your tit. He lets you ride it out, sucks on your clit until you start patting him on the head urging him to stop, that it’s too much.

He comes up, beard wet and hair messy, gripped and pulled making the ends stand every which way. Pulls his hands away from you completely, both resting on the bed as he crawls his way back up to you. He uses the back of his hand to wipe some of your cum off his face, but the tangy smell still sticks against his facial hair.

Comes in real close when he goes in to kiss you, “Taste real fuckin good, stay down there for hours.”

And he ain’t lying, cause you taste yourself then. Sweet with a slight bitter undertone, not too much just there. Mixed with his own saliva.

Lingering on him, part of you feels achieved that when he leaves after tonight, he’ll still taste you on his tongue. Still smell like you on his beard.

“I want it,” you mutter against his lips, “want you.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, “mhm. Please.”

He’s already stripping down his suspenders, taking off the buttons of his shirt at lightning speed, hardly taking a second to even relax. Doesn’t need to be told twice what to do, no with you begging like that. Hell, he doesn’t even leave the bed until his pants and shoes become a problem, forcing him onto the floor.

He strips down all the way to just his boxers, clothes thrown off to the side in random parts of the room, and eventual tripping hazards. You don’t even get time to strip your own nightgown off before he’s doing it for you, practically ripping it off of you before throwing it aside.

He whistles low upon seeing your naked frame, shakes his head slowly, “look at you. Girls would kill em selves just to have half of what you got.”

Your cheeks warm, a smile so sweet and shy it forces a smile of his own.

“Gonna just devour you. Show my love in ways no one else can. Mine from now on.” And how he says it.. cooed and promised, like worship. A prayer.

Sacred.

He grips your hips, forcing you onto the edge of the bed and your legs open, where he gives himself room to stand between.

His hand reaches for one of your own, which you happily give him, and let him guide it towards his lips. He gives a soft peck to your flesh, eyes stuck on your own as he does so. But he doesn’t let it go, instead rubbing the prickly hair of his beard against the back of your hand, as if he’s trying to get you to pet him.

“Scratchy.” You mutter, which pulls a soft snort from him.

“Tends to be..” he smooths a hand across the inside of your thigh, “didn’t rub too much here?”

You shake your head and he accepts it with a soft ‘kay’ before planting another kiss on your hand before he trails it down. Down across his chest, his stomach and right over to the extremely prominent bulge.

“See that? That’s what you be doing to me.. all those nights, all that beggin? That’s what you did.”

He plants your hand firm against him, makes you really feel him. The ache of him, how tight the fabric is against him. You take a shaky breath.

“Why don’t you go ahead, pull it out.” He cocks his head down towards your hand, gives a small nod when you peer up at him unsure.

“Go head’,” he nods again.

With a shaky hand you pull down his boxers, his cock immediately springing out. And it’s..

“That’s bigger than two fuckin fingers, Remmick.”

He looks down, “Well.. it ain’t supposed to be that small-“

“That’s a good seven inches. I ain't fitting that.” Actually, it looks slightly bigger.

It’s thick, and long. Bright pink tip that you know for certain aches, leaking small rolls of pearl white precum and some prominent veins that you’re certain you will feel. It’s gotta be four (of your fingers) thick.

“Don’t let it imitate you. You’ll take it fine, here,” he smacks it against your open palm, “feel it. Get familiar, introduce yerself.”

He wraps your hand around his dick, looks down and drops his head a bit low just to spit directly where your hand connects to him.

“Jerk me off a bit,” he instructs. You look back down, unsure of how to go about it but you smack his hand away when he tries to help. He places both hands up in surrender before they go back to your hips.

Both of your heads are dropped down, basking in the sight of your hand slowly stroking him, the mushroom head disappears and reappears between your spit slick palm.

Remmick continues watching, soft groans and the occasional whimper leaving him with each stroke, feet shifting against the floor as he moves closer.

“Shit..” he breathes out, mouth hanging open as you give a tiny squeeze, “do that again.”

You give another soft squeeze, coupled with a flick of your wrist down, and that pulls a low moan out of him. Your eyes shoot up to take in his expression, the way his face contorts to one of pleasure, how he softly bites his bottom lip showing off his fangs.

Now you get why he stares at you so often. You think this is what he feels, this curiosity and need to see more. Know more. With each moan coaxed out of him, you jot it down.. do whatever it was that made him sound so pretty the first time again a few more times until his hips are rolling against you, uneven jerks into your palm. He says your name so softly, so nice. It sounds so pleasant coming from him.. like your name was crafted by your mother merely for this moment, only for him to utter. Her way of granting you the experience of being wanted and kept simply from the soft call of your name from the tongue of a supposed devil.

You think you want him as your own too.

“You’re really somethin.. ya know that?” You whisper, cutting through the quiet groans and moans.

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks up into your gaze and sees it. The way you mean it, the way your eyes flicker between his red ones, checking to see if he heard. If he knows.

You speak up again, still whispered, as if you spoke any louder it would ruin the intimacy of the moment.

“Thank you for doing this to me. Being soft.”

That’s all it really takes for him to pull himself out of your palm and tap against your entrance. Neither of you look down to what he’s doing, eyes focused on each other, afraid to break your gaze for different reasons— that if you do, everything will fall apart.

He thinks you might leave. You think he might become mean.

Before he enters, your hand shoots out towards him, to the one resting against your hip still, “hold my hand.”

You don’t need to tell him twice.

He grips your hand hard, holding it tight when he first pushes the tip in. You give a small gasp, brows furrowing tight, confused. Unsure of what to make of the sensation. Nothing yet.

He waits a moment before further pushing in, stopping when you place a hand on his chest, “wait- just.. wait..”

You take a deep breath, needing a minute. It’s uncomfortable, and honestly hurts like a bitch. Even with you wet, you can still feel the stretch of him, the way he forces you apart on his dick. It pinches, and you silently curse your sisters for downplaying how rough it is at first.

He tilts his head, “you alright?”

You give a small nod, rushed. Giving a long exhale, “yeah just.. yeah. Go on.”

He continues all the way to the midway point before deciding himself that it’s good enough. Any more and it’ll be excessive, for now.

“Here. I’ll go slow. Tell me when yer ready.”

It’s silent for a bit, just the soft shaky inhales and exhales of your breathing, coupled by his own steady ones. He doesn’t groan, it’s much softer than that, but he does make small noises here and there. Waits for you to adjust despite the fact he wants to ram it fully in, has to cockwarm himself for a good minute and that doesn’t help much.

He practically whimpers when you finally nod, pulling out so the tip is only inside before sliding back in half way. Still, the discomfort is there, still feels like a lot to take in. You give more pained groans than anything, mixed with his own shallow breathing, but you wave him off every time he looks towards you. Silently asks you with furrowed brows if you want him to stop, but you push through it. shake your head no.

It’s until his pace grows more steady, a little faster that you feel that brush off pleasure, a small gasp leaving you. He doesn’t slow, but he raises his brows, asking again.

You shake your head, “faster,” and he does just that.

He drops your hand to wrap your legs around his hips, keeps you prompted up as his thrusts grow more frantic. That bitter tinge of stinging has finally left, overcome by the overwhelming pleasure of being filled again and again, each ridge of him slipping it perfectly.

He takes note of how he doesn’t even need to stop at the midway point anymore, feels how your walls flutter and clench around him, sucking him in further. He complies, bottoming out.

With doing so, a moan leaves you, hand again smacking at his to grab yours. Your fingers interlock, held tightly together as your body moves in time with his thrusts. The bed creaks and groans, the headboard moving against the wall giving a steady beat.

“Fucking hell.. knew this would be good, knew you would be good.” He moans out, “fit perfectly in this pussy..Like it knows me already.” He smacks your thigh again with his free hand, gives a lazy smile.

“Uh.. well given how-“ your cut off by a moan, head thrown back as you close your eyes as a means to concentrate, “- much I imagined this, yeah, probably does know you.”

That catches him off guard, momentarily falters his thrusts into slowing down, but after you give a sharp whine while gasping “don’t stop!” he gets right back to it. Goes harder, puts a leg up until the bed, hitting so deep it makes you claw at his chest.

“You imagined this?”

You don’t seem to register his words, nor the fact that he’s speaking to you, so he has to squeeze your hand a few times to get your attention.

“Hm?”

“You imagined this?” He doesn’t sound stunned, not really. Just curious, the shock washed away.

You give a lazy nod, “uh huh.. you not the- fuck- not the only one waitin-“ you moan again, jerking your hips up to meet his own.

Remmick doubles down, placing a hand against where he bulges in your stomach. A long string of curses leave you, nails digging into the skin of his hand and clawing down his chest.

The headboard is no longer quietly running its rhythm, instead banging against the wall so roughly you're certain it’ll leave indents on the wood. Not that you care when you can feel Remmick’s dick seven inches deep, hitting spots so sensitive it makes you see stars. The sound of skin slapping and moans followed by male groans is loud, takes up the whole room. Echoes across the half of your small home. You pray no one is takin a walk at night.

You keep staring at him, occasionally having to look away given how good it feels, your toes curled tight and back arching.. but the sight of him is heavenly. It helps that he’s very expressive, his face pulled into a pained look, brows furrowed and fangs fully out, biting so hard into his bottom lip traces of blood can be found in the indents. Coupled with his whole body shuddering, and his hair a complete mess. Just makes you more needy.

The chain dangles above you just how you imagined it would, the light reflecting on it, a beacon. You watch is swing back and forth, hypnotized by at.

At some point, when you roll your hips just right, and clench down hard enough his eyes roll back. You don’t really think he’s all there anymore, that if you were to ask what state you were in he would say some fucking random one. Hell.. you ask what his name is and he wouldn’t know it.

His eyes are glazed over, incoherent mumbles leaving him.. and drool. So much of it. It hangs off his chin and slowly drips down to your chest, breasts now wet from the over extensive amount of saliva coming from him.

Not that you're any better. You’re on cloud nine, head back against the bed, occasionally jerking your hips into his but really you don’t do anything. Just lay there and take it, eyes glazed over just like his and mouth unable to close given how many moans are ripped out your throat.

The slick between your legs is wet, leaving a wet spot on the bed that you will need to clean later. It also coats his cock, leaves a white ring of shared cum on the base that catches the light of the oil lamp.

He says it before you get to, “m’ gonna’ cum.. h-holy fuck I’m gonna-“ he shudders again. Like he’s cold.

You nod, “me too.. just..”

You trail off, unable to think for yourself let alone the both of you.

He looks down to where you two meet, moans when he sees how easily he’s slipping in. How well he fits.

“Want me to cum in or out?”

You don’t answer, head rolled back. He nods, “I’ll cum in.”

And he does. His whole body shakes, having to hang his head down as his hips jerk, the grip on your hand tightening so hard it hurts. Makes you wince, but he doesn’t notice. He has to let go of your hip and grip the bed sheets, gripping them just as violently.

You don’t get to watch him slip over the edge long because his own release triggers your, forces your mouth wide into a silent moan. Your thighs shake, and your unoccupied hand moves to his back where you grip his flesh hard, drawing blood. You feel like the gates of heaven have opened and graced you with the sight of life. Of air, of love.

Pleasure so intense you feel yourself give off a wrecked sob, something that rips through your throat and out into the room. You keep repeating Remmick’s name, unable to think of anything else or anyone else. No one else is there to thank. So you thank him as well.

Grab him by the jaw and force him to kiss you, whispering thank you’s against him, all of which he swallows down.

Neither of you say anything, too caught up in the moment. You stop kissing his lips and kiss everywhere else on his face; his cheeks, chin, nose, forehead. Anywhere.

And he lets you. Lets you softly coax him back down, to this moment. To you.

Lets you softly caress him and hold his hand, like it’s his first time too. Mind as well be, given how long it’s been since he’s had this. This intimacy.

This weird love neither of you can quite name, but lingers. Lingers like sweat, sex and hormones. Doesn’t suffocate but coddles you both, forces you two to take deep inhales of each other.

To run your fingers over flesh, dead and alive, and just lay with it.

Sink it in, and don’t spit it out. Like you did. Like he did.

You ain’t leavin, and he ain’t getting mean any time soon.

So, he stays the rest of the night.

[thecontortionistsportal]

“You a mean fuckin' woman” Remmick grunted through clenched teeth, spit stringing from the corner of his mouth in thick, needy globs that glistened under the dim light. His head lolled back against the wall, breath hitching, jaw slack with something that looked an awful lot like worship.

You just smiled. Slow. Cruel.

“Yeah?"

You were straddling him, perched pretty in his lap like sin, hips rolling in a torturously slow grind against the bulge straining through the open vee of his jeans. You hadn’t even pulled him out—hadn’t given him that much mercy. Just enough unzip to keep him trembling, leaking through the cotton, staining darker with each pass of your dripping heat.

He bucked his hips instinctively, chasing friction. You pulled back just enough to deny it.

“This what you wanted, huh?” you hissed, fingers curling in his sweat-slick shirt, dragging him forward so your lips ghosted against his, breath warm, biting. “You want me mean. Want me cruel. Want me to spit in your mouth and call it love?”

A flicker of pain twisted in his expression—but it folded into something hungry, fevered. He smiled, bloody-lipped, eyes all glazed over like a man who’d sell his soul again just to stay beneath you.

“Long as you keep playin’ with me just like this, darlin’,” he rasped.

You slammed your hips down suddenly—sharp, punishing. The noise he made was half-moan, half-wounded animal, like it hurt to feel that good. His hands flew to your hips, gripping tight, but not to take control—just to anchor himself. He didn’t dare lead.

A darker stain bloomed on his briefs where your slick met the wetness of his own undoing, the fabric clinging to the curve of his cock, soaked through. His thighs were trembling beneath you.

“God, you make such a mess of yourself.” you whispered sweetly, dragging your nails up the side of his throat.

Remmick just laughed—hoarse, broken. “Ain’t never begged for anything pretty as you.”

You tilt your head, slow and deliberate, like a lion studying prey that wandered too close to the den. Eyes sharp beneath the low glow of the bedside lamp, your smile stretches into something cruel—dangerous in its beauty, made all the more lethal by how calm you look.

Without breaking rhythm—hips rolling slow, punishing, and maddening—you reach lazily to the side. Fingers brush against the battered cardboard box of cigarettes like you’re selecting a weapon. You pluck one between your fingers, tuck it into the corner of your mouth, the paper bending against the curve of your plush lips.

"Light this f’me," you purr around it, voice silk and smoke, smile deepening until the cigarette tilts at a cocky angle. Remmick scrambles. One shaky hand grips the meat of your thigh, like holding onto you could save him from the torture you inflict on him. The other fumbles for the lighter, knuckles brushing your skin, reverent in his desperation.

The flame flares to life between trembling fingers.

He lights it for you like a man at confession, looking up through the smoke like he’s praying you’ll forgive him for whatever you’re about to do.

“Fuuuck me,” he groans, the syllables unraveling slow and thick, his voice dropping to something reverent—less a demand, more a prayer uttered at the altar of your body.

You inhale slow and deep, cigarette crackling softly as embers bloom at the tip. Your lips part just enough to exhale, a lazy plume of smoke curling upward as your head tilts back. Your throat glistens where sweat kisses skin, long and bare and inviting. Remmick leans in, like instinct pulls him, and drags a slow, reverent lick up the column of your neck. He groans into your skin as the smoke spills past your lips like sin, his fangs scraping alongside it but never fully latching onto your skin.

You laugh, low and wicked. Grind down with more purpose this time, making him twitch beneath you, whimper breathless against your skin.

“Keep beggin’, baby,” you murmur, flicking ash onto the floor without looking. “I’m just gettin’ started.”

And oh, the way he begs, like a man who knows he’s long past saving

[thecontortionistsportal]

𝐆𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

Pairing: Remmick/FEM!Reader Warnings: BRATTY!DOM!Remmick, Remmick get a bj/SMUT/MDNI/18+, Riding/dirty talking, Orgasm denial (once) Rough??/Face Fucking. TELL ME IF I MISSED ANYTHING a/n: I apologize if this sucks. I had to take breaks in between writing this cause I was about to crash tf out (in the best way possible)

You hadn’t even meant to piss him off that bad.

Okay. Maybe a little. Why? 'cause it was fun to poke the beast.

The way he stared at you from across the bar, jaw locked and knuckles white around a half-empty glass—it was thrilling. That subtle twitch in his cheek, the slow drag of his tongue over sharp teeth, and that look—like he was deciding whether to fuck you or wreck you first.

The second the door slammed behind you both, the air shifted. Heavy. Thick. Like the calm before a very dangerous storm.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, arms crossed, eyes glowing faintly red in the shadows of the room. Then:

“D'ya want me to lose my temper, darlin'?”

The lilt in his voice was soft, deceptively calm, the kind of accent that could charm a priest and slit his throat in the same breath.

You tilted your head, playing innocent. “Wasn’t doin’ anything wrong.”

He laughed, but it was dry, humorless. “Weren’t, huh? Starin’ up at that bloke like he had a fuckin’ halo, lettin’ him look at ya like he owned you.” He stepped forward. “You tryin’ to make me jealous, love? 'Cause you're doin’ a grand fuckin’ job of it.”

You held your ground—barely. Trying your hardest not to get wet, which was entirely impossible. Especially if Remmick was the one making you feel this way.

“Maybe I just wanted your attention,” you said with a smirk. “Didn’t think you cared that much.”

That got him.

He was on you in a flash, hand wrapped around your throat, not choking—just firm, grounding, like a claim. His breath ghosted across your lips, sharp and cold and close.

“Don’t play daft,” he growled, accent thickening, vowels hitting harder, rougher. “You know I care. You know damn well. But you keep runnin’ that mouth like you're beggin’ me to shut it for ya.”

Your breath hitched. “Maybe I am.” You teased. Fighting the way your knees immediately almost buckled at his words.

He pulled back just enough to sneer. “Then get on your fuckin’ knees, darlin’. Since yer so eager to act the brat—go on, earn yer fuckin’ place.”

You sank before him, blood buzzing in your ears, and watched as he unbuckled his belt with slow, deliberate movements—every metal clink sending heat straight to your core. He pulled himself free, half-hard already, heavy and flushed, and gave himself a few lazy strokes as he stared down at you.

“C’mon, then,” he muttered, voice low and rich, the accent curling around every syllable. “Let’s see if that pretty mouth does more than just spit attitude.”

You leaned in, placing your hands on his now bare thighs and dragged your tongue along the underside of his cock, slow and teasing. You heard his breath hitch, saw his jaw flex.

“Fuckin’ tease,” he muttered, fingers weaving into your hair. “You always gotta test me first.”

You smirked around him as you took him into your mouth, slowly at first, letting your lips stretch around his length. He groaned, the sound guttural and raw, head tipping back.

“Yeah, that’s it, darlin'.” he hissed. “That’s more like it.”

His grip in your hair tightened as he began to guide you, letting you take more—inch by inch—until your nose brushed the base and your throat fluttered around him.

You gagged slightly, eyes watering, but he didn’t stop. “There we go,” he breathed, voice dropping to a low, reverent growl. “Look at you, chokin’ on it like you were made for this.”

Your hands gripped his thighs, digging in slightly as you began to find a rhythm—slick and messy, your spit dribbling down your chin, his cock hitting the back of your throat over and over.

“You like this?” he rasped, hips twitching just a little. “Like bein’ used like a proper little cocksleeve, eh? Got nothin’ to say now, do ya?”

He chuckled darkly as you whimpered, mouth full, cheeks flushed.

“All that mouth before, and now? Nothin’ but drool and tears. Fuckin’ precious.”

His accent was thick now, filthy and beautiful, every word like a slap and a kiss.

He pulled you off with a wet pop, your lips swollen, chin shiny, chest heaving.

He smirked, thumb swiping the spit from your bottom lip before gripping your jaw.

“Y’look perfect like this, love,” he said. “If I could keep ya on your knees all night, I would. Might still.”

You licked your lips, eyes glossy, and sass gone as you look up at him. Basically begging him to let you suck him off till he cums. 'Cause oh, fuck. Did you need it. You love the heavy feeling of his cock down your thought. The sting on limited air in your lungs as you take him deep into your mouth. It made you moan just thinking about it. "Awe, pretty girl need, m'cock? Hmm?" He teased, voice low. His eyes glowing that lustful red. His crooked smile of rows of jagged, sharp teeth. You should be afraid of what he was. But you weren't, instead, it only made it hotter. "Please, Remmi.. I-" You whined. Pussy throbbing with arousal as you tensed your thighs together. He took a deep breath in, eyes rolling shut at the smell of your dripping cunt. "Shhh, sweet thin'." He said as he guided your mouth to his cock again, his sharp nails digging into your scalp. And you eagerly accept, opening your mouth. The taste on his fresh pre-cum hits your taste buds, making you keen. "There ye'go. Such a good girl." He huffed, head tilting back as his hips start to move. His tip hitting the back of your throat over and over again. His speed never faltering, but speeding up, chasing that feeling that sent him reeling. His breathy moans were like a prayer sent by the prettiest angel, and you were his servant. You relax your throat as he uses it, lifting his head and looking down at you. Your eyes were rolled back, eyebrows furrowed and completely blissed out. If he didn't know better he'd think you get off on sucking him off.

Little does he know, your were in heaven more than he was.

"F-fuuuck- darlin' y-takin' me so well." He spoke in a breathy wave of pleasure, the sounding hitting straight to your core. Soon, he'd get close, his balls tightening. You moan around him, sending vibrations up his length. His hand in your hair pulling you off him for a second time. You protest, whining. Spit and pre-cum all over your lips.

"Now, now Darlin' I wanna cum in the sweet cunt." He laughs darkly at your expression, his hands going under your arms and lifting you up to your feet. You didn't have time to process anything before he rips your clothing off you. "Sucha pretty sight, hmm?" He spoke, more to himself than to you. He grips your hips, pulling your closer to him to kiss you, he moans at the taste of himself on your tongue, not in a care in the world. He guides you to the bed, walking you backwards as the backs of your legs touch the frame.

Remmick shed the remainder of his clothing, then he leaned over you on the bed and kiss you. His sharp teeth being grazed by your tongue before his tongue touched yours. The kiss was desperate and lustful. Your fingers ran through his hair, tugging as his gripped you from under your thighs. He broke the kiss, slowly trailing more down your body. His tongue rolling over your peaked nipples, and being sure to give both the love they oh so desperately need. It has you clenching around nothing, rolling your hips against the air. "R-remmi! Please, 'need you." You moan out breathily, his eyes opening to look up at you as he trails kisses further down, kissing at your thighs. You can see the devilish smirk on his face as he leaves an open mouth kiss over your slit, making your bones shiver with need. "Patience" Is all he says before diving into your dripping pussy, tongue rolling over your clit, then sliding down over your hole. You arch your back, head rolling to the side as your hands fly up to his head, at first you didn't know where to put them. You roll your hips against his face as he expertly makes out with your cunt without nicking you with his fangs. You were so close to cumming, right on the edge of paradise before he pulls away. The pleasure rippling in your stomach before disappearing as quick as it came.

"no no no no, whyy?!" you whine as he crowls back up your body, his face drenched in your juices. His glowing red eyes half lidded as he looks down at you. "I need you on m'cock, baby." He says as he flips the two of you over, you now in his lap.

You straddled him, grinding yourself along the length of his cock until he was coated in slick and growling low in his throat.

“Christ above,” he muttered, accent sharp, eyes locked where you were grinding. “So fuckin’ wet for me. You that desperate to ride what you just choked on, love?” The sound of the wet noises coming from in between you would have made you embarrassed if you weren't so horny.

You lined him up and sank down slow, letting him stretch you inch by inch. He let out a deep, shuddering breath, one hand gripping your hip so tight you were sure it’d bruise.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he groaned. “Bleedin’ hell, look at you.” He rasps, mouth agape as he watches himself disappear inside you.

You began to move—slow at first, rolling your hips, savoring the drag, the burn, the way his cock filled every inch of you just right. His head fell back against the pillows, and for a moment, you were the one in control. His jaw clenched, hands twitching, struggling not to grab you and take over.

And then you clenched around him. And his whole body language switched from "Letting you have your fun" to "Oh, it's on"

“Fuckin’—fucking hell!” he snapped, surging forward, chest flush to yours, his mouth hot against your neck. “You tryin’ to make me lose it, aren’t ya?”

You rocked your hips harder, faster, hands braced on his chest as you fucked yourself on him, hair wild, breath ragged.

He let you have it—for now.

“That’s it,” he growled in your ear, his accent getting rougher, thicker. “Ride me like the filthy thing you are. All worked up just ‘cause I yelled a little? What, baby—you like when I get mean?”

You whined, and he laughed, dark and wicked.

“Course ya do,” he said, teeth grazing your throat. “You love when I make ya cry first… just so I can fuck the tears back in.”

You whimpered, bouncing now, loud and sloppy and raw, the sound of skin and slick echoing in the room.

He thrust up suddenly, once—hard—and you cried out, nails digging into his chest.

“That spot?” he whispered, biting your collarbone. “There it is. Go on, then—cum on me. Soak me, pretty girl. Make a fuckin’ mess.”

And when you did—shaking, gasping, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded—he followed, hands locked on your waist, hips snapping up as he spilled inside you with a growl that sounded more beast than man. That's cause he was far from man.

You collapsed against him, trembling, still full of him, still catching your breath.

He kissed your shoulder, slow and almost sweet.

“Next time ya piss me off like that,” he muttered, voice low, accent curling like smoke, “you’ll ride me tied up… and beg me to touch you.”

a/n: Dividers are not mine. Photos are from Pinterest

[thecontortionistsportal]

art req ….. Remmick…. In collar? :3 thank u and goodnight

too-messy doodle but I managed 🙏🏽 ty for the request anon and sosorry for the wait

[thecontortionistsportal]

thinking about housewife remmick, who spends his days in your house, doing all the little tasks that just slip through your fingers — not just because he has nothing better to do during the daylight hours, but because he can see how much working takes a toll on you, and he would do anything take a burden off of your shoulders.

housewife remmick, who finds bliss in small acts of service: dusting off the windowsills, baking fresh bread for you, making your bed — even if it ends with him face down against the pillows, limbs entangled in the soft sheets, half hard from just the scent of you on the linens.

housewife remmick, who is oh so eager to greet you when you get home, peppering kisses up your neck, helping you slide off your coat before you can even make it past the doorway. drowning out your “c’mon rem, at least let me make it inside first”, whispering sweet nothings of how much he missed you and oh, do you really have to leave him for so long?

housewife remmick, who doesn’t hesitate to show you how much he missed you with his head between your thighs, thrown onto the couch hastily, your work shoes not even kicked off yet. who eats you out like a starving man, coming up for air only once you pull him back by his hair, nearly incoherent from overstimulation.

housewife remmick who’s only purpose is to please you, that’s all.

© PRETTYLITTLEVIOLETS

[thecontortionistsportal]

Saw this and thought of him.

[sub!remmick][pathetic!remmick]

[thecontortionistsportal]

Sun Goes Down (And so does he)

Remmick x Reader [No y/n] 18+ Period Pussy Eatin'

Had someone ask me to post the full fic here rather than AO3, so here u are anon <3

Take a peek under the cut: NSFW awaits

“G'devening, lassie.”

You wake to an ache in your stomach and the purr of a man's voice. Every time you forget he no longer needs an invitation.

Your nighttime visitor is perched on the end of your bed like a vulture eyeing a kill. His eyes are red dots in the darkness where the moonlight doesn't reach. The long nails of one hand just brush the blankets below your feet. You must've kicked the thin sheet off in fitful sleep. Mississippi's balmy air is too warm and wet for your overheated body.

Remmick always had a way of knowing before you do.

The vampire's mouth opens and his tongue licks across his fangs as he tastes you on the air. You've watched him do this ten times over in the almost year you've known him. Every time it sends a shudder down your sweat-slick spine.

“Didyae miss me?” Remmick's body is catlike as he crawls over the footboard and settles on the mattress near your feet. Careful claws cradle your foot when he lifts your leg into the air. His lips find your ankle, moaning into the skin when he presses his nose to the artery there.

The kisses trace a warm line up to the inside of your knee. Remmick follows it with his body, slotting himself between your legs as he hooks one on his shoulder. Ruby eyes find yours, watching you from their corners as he inhales the scent of your skin.

Something hot coils in your stomach, chasing the cramps that pull at your muscles.

“How I longed for ye. The very wind called me ‘ere.” His long tongue presses to your skin and he sucks at the tender spot just above the knee joint. “Yer bleedin' again.”

Remmick's hands have calmed to that of a mortal man when he touches you. Calloused palms smooth up your thigh to push away your nightdress and squeeze at the softness just below your core. The touch to your inner thigh makes you gasp when his fingers graze below where you want them. The wet heat of arousal has started to soak you, coupled with the red damp you know already stains your smallclothes.

“Lookatcha,” the beast you’ve welcomed to your bed growls. “Cannae see you, mo ghrá?”

Remmick has pressed closer still, face resting against your thigh as he brushes his fingertips over you. The touch to your core is light, muted by your smallclothes. It still makes your body pulse with want and your heartbeat pounds in your ears when he pulls back his fingers to lick them clean of blood.

His whole body shudders while his head falls back in bliss at the taste. A debauched moan rolls from his lips and you think that if this is what the devil looked like, you know why Eve ate the apple.

Your devil falls forward to run feverish kisses up over the tops of your legs before he pushes them apart. He's begging, needy, whining pleas that are swallowed by your skin when he mouths at it. His jagged fangs catch but never cut. He values you too much for that.

“Please,” you whisper into the darkness.

Those little red dots of light snap up to find your eyes where they wait invisible in the dark. The monster you look to with desire and fear snarls at the single word from your lips. Fangs catch in the moonlight and you can feel the saliva that drips from his hungry maw. Remmick can wait no longer for his meal.

His teeth tear away the fabric, and you're greeted with the sinful sound he makes as he sucks the blood from it. The red smears at his lip and jaw as he wastes no drop before turning on you again. Remmick's eager tongue dips past your folds and desires shoots clear down to your clit. You know you're already slick with blood and swollen with want. It serves to make the slide of his fingers all the easier.

When he draws the digits away they glisten ruby red. He watches you as he sucks his fingers into his mouth and cleans them. The way he laps at his hand, the debauched moans muffled against them must be sacrilegious. Nothing else would look both so divine and wicked all at once. The fingers pull from his mouth with a pop and a grin curls his lips.

“Fuckin’ delicious.” Remmick releases a dreamy sigh as his hips press forward into the bed. With some of your life coursing through him, his ancient blood can finally stir. His hips don't stop when his mouth disappears between your legs again.

The vampire groans against your skin like he's tasting heaven on his lips. His mouth seals to you so that he can trace your slit with the flat of his tongue and lap at it like a dog drinking water. It's messy, dirty. The sounds of his pleasure rumble low in his chest, vibrating through your nerves. It makes your back arch and hips buck. He has to cling to your waist to stop you from jumping right out of his mouth.

When he leans back, his tongue is dripping with blood and slick. It coats his teeth and he licks over them as he meets your eyes. The moonlight makes his irises look blue for just a moment, an illusory picture of innocence before he ducks back down between your legs.

There's danger in the way his canines run over your skin. Every time he tempts you with the fear he'll change his mind and make you like him, and yet, he never does. The beast appears to slink into your bed and draw forth every drop of your monthly blood before vanishing again into the night when it ends. He is an appetite, nothing more.

Firm hands run up and over your hip bones, pushing up your nightdress and hooking under your ass to pull you closer.

The long tongue of your devil reaches as far into you as he can. He curls it against your body, sucks and slurps and moans when he feels your muscles clench around it. Sometimes he is so enthralled with your cunt that he neglects your clit. He's kept you like this, wet and needy, for hours before. He'll drink his fill until the sheets beneath you are soaked with spit and slick and pink stains that you can never wash out.

This is not one of those days.

Tonight, Remmick watches you when he rises from between your legs. The stain of red coats his chin and paints his lips, leaving prints of scarlet when he kisses and mouths at the tender skin of your belly. His claws are back and dimple your flesh where he holds you.

“More?” He asks both to you and himself. Do you want more, can he have more, will it ever be enough? You nod wordlessly when language fails you. Your monster grins again. Those pretty lips pull back over sharp teeth and the vampire licks away the blood with his pink tongue. Animalistic, a canine licking his chops.

This time, Remmick shifts so that he can press two fingers inside you. When he finds the slide is easy, he adds a third. His tongue alternates between curling circles around your clit and slurping the blood his fingers draw from you.

The friction is too much.

The heat pooling between your legs is unbearable. It tightens like a coiled spring and every muscle you have goes taut as you try to prolong the sensation. This effort is pointless, the explosion overtakes you a second later and you fist your hand in his hair to ride it out. The rip of your nails at his scalp makes him growl against you and shocks your nerves a second time. Your eyes snap open, finding his in the dark before you let yourself melt back into the mattress.

Boneless, bodiless, a mess of desire.

Remmick hums as he laps at you now. Every touch is delicate but it still makes your legs shake from the sensation. Between kisses to your clit, he cleans his fingers off in his mouth. Never sated, never satisfied. The hand not bathed in a mess of blood or slick soothes at your hip bone, his thumb circling the overstimulated skin to call you back to reality.

“Álainn, luachmhar, blasta.” Each word he says is punctuated with a kiss that makes you whine. He chuckles as he crawls higher up in the bed. His lips kiss at your chest, your throat, each one sticky with drying blood. “Is that all you wanted, my darling?”

It isn't. It never is.

You shake your head, hair a mess from your writhing. Remmick pets it with his hand, stroking your cheek. There's fondness in his expression, as there always is when he is safe and well-fed. You always wonder if that fondness would extend past the door of your bedroom—if you are anything but a meal.

“Come back now,” Remmick draws you back with his voice. His hand pulls at the buckle of his belt, rattling metal-on-metal as he works to free himself from his pants. You nod, finding the strength in your arms to pull his face to yours.

There's blood still on his lips, and you taste it when you kiss him. Coppery and cooling on your lover's skin it melts into your mouth when he presses his tongue past your lips. This should be disgusting. It should feel dirty and wrong. Instead it makes you want more.

“I need you,” you whisper. The time you have is short. Your blood coursing through long-dead veins is all that facilitates this coupling and it never seems to be enough.

“Aye lass, I know.” Remmick’s got his cock in hand, stroking slowly over the flushed tip of it where it's weeping for you. His face is pink from his effort and the artery in his neck jumps with a pulse. You have rendered him breathless in the half-life your blood allows him. He wants this too.

How rare is it, you wonder, that he can both feast and finish in the arms of his meal? How many women are treated as a delicacy instead of prey?

The thought is pressed from your mind when he slides the head of his cock over your cunt. You yelp but the sound is silenced by his mouth. One of his hands finds your hips to pull them up while the other eases his cock into you. There's no resistance, not after how wet you are with spit and slick and blood. Your lover throws back his head at the contact, sinking into you with one slow thrust.

You whimper, whine, press your pelvis down to earn more friction where your hips meet. It's the hand of your devil that stops you, holding you still. Your vampire is open-mouthed and frozen in sensation. Jagged teeth peek out from where his mouth has fallen open, and drool slides down his chin to pool around your belly button. It should disgust you, but instead you feel your muscles clench with desire.

Catching you eyes, he wipes his chin with his sleeve and manages a chuckle.

“C'mere.” Remmick sits up on his knees and once more draws your legs over his shoulders. He kisses at your ankle, licks over your calf. The new angle presses him inside you in a way that makes sparks of pleasure dance down your spine. He grabs at the small of your waist, letting his head fall against your leg. “Fuck.”

The thrusts are shallow, just the bump of your hips against his. It isn't for lack of desire, you know that because of how hard the grip on your body is. He's focused. It's a game of self-restraint for the monster you've taken as a lover. You know it by the bedsheets he's destroyed with his claws in fits of pleasure. He must take this time if he wants you alive.

“I can take it,” you whisper cloyingly sweet.

Remmick’s red eyes roll down from beneath his eyelids to look at you. To test you, he snaps his hips one, two, three times. Each one presses your shoulders back into the mattress. He is fueled by otherworldly strength, and you know you'll have bruises. You always do.

Your lover leans forward to further hook his arm around you, kissing at your neck and chest. It all but bends you in half as he continues to roll his hips against you. Every time he mouths at your skin, he breathes you in with a growl. His mouth opens around your collarbones, sharp teeth skirt the line of danger. His eyes almost glow, the claws at your waist hurt.

Remmick has to turn his head, hissing in the language you don't understand. He sounds frustrated, allowing your body to drop back to the bed so that he can instead pin you to it. This position makes your hips ache but feels so good you can't deny him of it. His breath is hard in your ear, a punch of air with every smack of your hips together.

Your hand finds his bicep, fingernails cutting little crescent moons into his flesh. The sensation is too much for Remmick. His face buries into the space beside your neck, forearm pressed to his mouth as he fucks you. You can hear his skin give way to his teeth, every thrust digs them deeper.

The arm he isn't mangling slides between your bodies to find your clit. The first brush is too rough, the pads of his fingers catch and you cry out. He remedies this with soft, gentle circles that feel so good you have to press your eyes shut.

“Almost,” Remmick groans. His breath is hot on your neck, desperate in its frequency. The hand he has on your clit picks up its pace. The light circles draw you closer and closer, and the razing heat of an impending orgasm floods every nerve in your body. It's like lightning when it hits. Your vision blinks out and his name wrenches itself from your throat.

The twisted moan of his name is the final straw for your lover. Remmick’s hips stutter and in a few more greedy thrusts you feel him pulse inside you. The feeling imbues a moment of panic before you remember the monster in your arms isn't of the living. There will be no macabre children born of your coupling. There is only the silence that follows the act as the vampire's breath slows to nothing.

Remmick's skin grows cold to the touch as he nuzzles his face into your neck. You tilt your head to allow him access and to deny yourself a glance at the arm he tore up to save your throat the trouble. The cramping in your stomach is gone, replaced by a floating feeling.

“Gods above,” he murmurs into your skin. There's a heavy inhale as he presses his nose to your jugular. “Lemme clean you up.”

Bloody kisses stain their way down your nightdress as he pulls away from your body and settles back between your legs. This time, the way he eats you out isn’t the vision of a man starved. He's slow, gentle. Licking away the blood that stains your thighs and drinking in anything your body offers him. It's like this that he mouths you through a third orgasm, soft and sweet as all get out.

When he's satisfied with his handiwork, Remmick climbs from your bed and fixes his pants. There's red that peeks out around the crotch, but you've never seen him wear the same pair of clothes twice. He'll likely toss these the moment he leaves.

“A pleasure,” the vampire says as he licks over his lips. “I’ll be seein’ ye tomorrow eve, then.”

Without further comment or compliment, he's gone. The curtains flutter in the stagnant air, and the night is empty once again.

[thecontortionistsportal]

more on remmick missing those big leaps, i feel like newer vampires have to adjust to being able to do that -- but Remmick never does and every so often some poor person just hears him thunk into the roof or something. like its all quiet and then just THUNK followed by '...sHIT-'

ꜱʜɪᴛ!

ᴡᴄ: 1.5k

ᴀ/ɴ: i could not stop thinking about this idea when you sent in the first ask and with this follow up the inspiration hit me like a truck. i really do need to write short drabbles more often. enjoy! i don't do taglists personally, so just follow me if you want to be updated when i post c:

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: established relationship, amateur knowledge of wound care, silly pathetic!remmick fluff

The crash woke you before the curse did.

THUD.

Then,

“Shit!”

The sound cracked through the stillness like a hammer to glass. You shot upright in bed, breath catching for a moment as your eyes struggled to adjust to the dark. The house held its breath right alongside you, everything gone perfectly still except for the quiet whispers of wind against the house and the dull hum of cicadas outside, sawing their endless song like nothing had happened at all.

But you knew better.

Of course you did.

You pressed a palm to your face, dragging it down slow, already sighing before your feet hit the floor. “Lord have mercy.”

This man.

It was always the same with him. Always.

“I’ll be out runnin’ a few errands,” he’d say, voice warm and sweet. Every time.

And every time you’d nod, pretending like you didn’t know exactly what that meant. You never asked. Didn’t need to. He made sure you didn’t have to.

He never brought it home.

Whatever mess he made out there in the dark stayed out there. Always returned just before dawn with nothing but a smudge of dirt at his collar and something soft in his hand for you. A little gift, a peace offering. Sometimes a trinket that caught the morning light just right, sometimes a necklace you swore was far too fine for anyone around here to afford, sometimes a bouquet of flowers he claimed he found by chance. Always accompanied by that same crooked smile that made you forgive him before he even asked.

But tonight?

Tonight, it seemed, grace failed him.

You pulled your robe around your shoulders, padding barefoot through the house, careful not to catch your toes on the edge of the carpet as you crossed to the front door. The boards creaked beneath you. Soft, old, familiar. The kind of house that remembered every step.

Another grunt floated in through the open window. Closer this time. Lower. A shuffle of limbs, a low, winded groan that had you squinting into the dark beyond the porch light.

Then came the creak of the porch swing.

You stopped beneath the doorway for a breath, listening, waiting, watching.

And finally, there he was, dragging himself around the corner into view. Like a man who didn’t quite know how to admit he needed help but couldn’t help crawling toward you anyway.

Remmick was flat on his back in the dirt.

The porch light glimmered faintly above, flickering once before settling again, casting him in thin, uneven stripes of amber. His shirt was ripped at the shoulder, collar pulled wide, fabric soaked through with sweat, or maybe water, you couldn’t quite tell from here. His hair was a wild mess, tangled and sticking to his temple like he’d been caught in a storm, though the air was clear.

One shoe had slid halfway down his foot, heel caught in the dirt. The other leg lay bent at an awkward angle, as if his body couldn’t quite agree where to land after the fall. He looked more thrown than dropped, like the world had spat him out.

And there he was, blinking up at you.

His gaze met yours like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Wide, sheepish, and entirely too aware of how foolish he looked. The flush in his face wasn't from embarrassment though. No, you knew that look, it was the adrenaline still burning off him in waves.

And yet, even sprawled out in the dirt like that, there was something about him. The faint pulse of red still flickering behind the familiar blue of his eyes, just enough to catch the light when he shifted. The hint of fang still peeking past the corner of his lip when his mouth parted, like it always did when he was too tired to fully pull himself together.

The gold chain at his throat. Your favorite one, the one that always seemed to gleam like it belonged to a man far cleaner than he ever was, glinted faintly. A soft flash beneath the ruined collar of his shirt. You caught yourself staring at it before you realized.

“…Hey, sugar,” he wheezed, voice thin but trying its best to sound casual.

You stared at him for a long, unimpressed beat. Your arms crossed without you meaning them to, feet planted firm on the cool wooden porch. The breeze tugged at your nightgown, making the thin cotton ripple gently at your calves. Fireflies drifted lazily at the edge of the treeline. Their glow blinked soft in the dark, careless, like this was just another quiet night.

“You good?” you asked, flat.

He gave a single, shallow nod. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Landed wrong.”

“You landed on the roof.”

He winced a little, shifting his weight as he tried to sit up straighter, one hand gripping at his ribs. “Little miscalculation.”

“You’ve been doin’ those jumps for how long now?”

“Don’t-” He held up one bloodied hand like a white flag, wincing as he flexed his wrist. His voice thinned into something sharp and frayed. “Don’t rub it in.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling the scolding sit heavy behind your teeth, but kept it balanced. No use piling on while he still looked like the ground might swallow him if he moved too fast. Your eyes swept him again, quick and clinical. Shoulder likely dislocated, ribs bruised at best, knee scraped up, knuckles torn raw. His chest rose and fell too shallow for your liking. But he was breathing. Awake. Speaking.

And, miraculously, grinning.

You exhaled long. “Lord, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

His grin wobbled but stayed. “Not if I can help it.”

Another sigh pulled itself from your chest. You turned on your heel and stepped back inside, the screen door creaking as it swung open behind you. “Come on. Before you bleed out in my yard.”

Behind you, the porch groaned under his weight as he hauled himself upright, muttering curses beneath his breath while he staggered after you like a man determined to pretend everything was fine. The sound of his shoes scraping along the floorboards made you wince. Dirt and dead leaves trailed behind him across your clean kitchen floor, earning a disappointed huff.

You reached under the kitchen counter and pulled out the first aid kit. The one that now had a permanent home there ever since Remmick came barreling into your life. Needle. Thread. Antiseptic. Cloths. The glass jar of salve he swore didn’t sting as bad, even though it did.

Everything laid out like ritual. Like routine.

He eased himself onto the wooden stool near the window with a hiss, one hand braced against the edge of the table, the other still clutching at his side. You could see how tight his jaw was, how carefully he was trying to hide the pain behind that lopsided grin. Stubborn as could be.

“You are a fool,” you muttered under your breath as you uncapped the antiseptic.

“But I’m your fool.”

You shot him a sideways glance at that, unable to help the small twitch that pulled at the corner of your mouth. “That you are.”

The house was quiet as you worked. The kind of quiet only broken by the scrape of glass bottles against the table and his quiet, occasional sharp inhales when the alcohol hit an open wound. Outside, the cicadas droned steady, the night thick with heat and the pulsing rhythm of distant frogs.

You pressed the cloth to his shoulder, dabbing gently, and he hissed between his teeth again, his fingers flexing where they gripped the edge of your skirt under the table. Just to hold you. Just to remind himself you were there.

“Next time,” you said softly, threading the needle, “use the damn door.”

He let out a low, breathy laugh. “I was tryin’ to surprise ya.”

“You surprised me plenty.”

“Ain’t mean the roof part.”

“No,” you said, lips twitching again, “I figured that much.”

You stitched him up slow, careful. The needle moved steady through his skin, your hands familiar with the task in a way that made your chest ache sometimes if you thought too hard about it. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when his thumb rubbed gentle circles into your knee as you worked, his eyes never once leaving your face.

It was always like this.

He’d leave, and you’d stay. He’d come back, and you’d fix him.

Again and again.

And somehow, some part of you loved him for it.

When the last stitch was tied and the bandage wrapped clean, you smoothed your hand along his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth where a smear of dried blood still clung. His eyes softened under your touch, the red dimming almost completely beneath the blue. It made him look gentler. Almost tender.

He caught your wrist and pressed a kiss to your palm, voice barely above a whisper now. “Told ya I’d always make it home.”

And even after all this, after everything, your chest still clenched at that.

Because he did. Every time.

Even if sometimes, he fell out of the sky to do it.