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amaranthine-enihtnarama · 4 days ago

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Girl it’s everywhere !!!!

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.”

#CAME #remmick x reader #remmick smut #sinners 2025 #jack o'connell #remmick x fem!reader #pathetic remmick

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amaranthine-enihtnarama · 5 days ago

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giver (no woman like you)

PAIRING: roy goode x fem!reader

WC: 8.2k

WARNINGS: mentions of parental issues, male violence, misogyny, guns/weapons, sexual insinuation, hunting/killing animals (for food), reader is stubborn and unaware, death, violence (shooting), drinking, pining/yearning, use of ‘whore’ for prostitute, unprotected sex (p in v), fingering, bath/shower sex, dirty talk, praise kink, riding (girl on top), nipple play, creampie, cute cuddling

A/N: well…this is it, everybody. big thank you to @spikedfearn for a discussion on how roy’s praise kink, @amaranthine-enihtnarama, @iceemochaa, @remmicks-salvation for the motivation to write, @fuckoffbard for literally everything, @confetti-cakemix and my lovelyyyy wifey @eternalstrigoii for beta reading! this fic is based off of this request, so thank you anon 😌 roy goode is my no. 1 jack role so this is long overdue! please enjoy!

masterlist

You had a habit of finding yourself in places where you didn't belong. As a child, it was your father grabbing you by the back of your frock after he found wandering near the library. "Girls don't need to concern themselves with books," he'd said. Didn't stop you from reading almost every one of them.

It was back in Courthill when he caught you watching the deputy's target practice.

“You should be courting the boys, not shooting at ‘em.”

So, it was no surprise that you found yourself as another lonely wanderer through the vast Western frontier. You’d slipped out the back door of his farmhouse that had never been a home. And considering there hadn’t been a single sign of a search for you in the past five years, clearly, you weren’t missed. Maybe you’d been presumed dead.

It was no matter to you now. Courthill was long behind you, and living on your own as a young woman in the West had taught more than your father ever had.

You’d done bad things, but no worse than any man. You’d killed, but no more than a woman’s survival called for.

Now, as you found yourself wandering in some forsaken town during the hottest month of the summer, you couldn’t help but remember your father’s words. There was no telling if you were even in Texas anymore. Your only possessions consisted of a sack swung over your shoulder carrying spare clothes and a canteen.

Your boots crunched the scorched dirt underneath you. This town wasn’t yours and you weren’t about to stroll around it like it was, but no matter how low you held your head, you felt the glare of cautious, watchful eyes.

It wasn’t everyday someone would see an alluring woman like you dressed in her father’s trousers—a few sizes too big—boots that were stuffed at the toe to fit, and a gambler hat faded by the sun. The most noticeable accessory was the silver pistol on your belt. But it wasn’t the stolen clothes that gave it away.

It was your hair. Uncut and hanging just above your waist. And the fact you hadn’t made an attempt to hide it under your hat showed you weren’t trying to be someone you weren’t.

You were just another runaway.

There were whispers, none of which you could make out, but enough to know you weren’t exactly welcome in this place.

You had to leave. Soon. But the next civilization wasn’t for another eight miles—too far to go on foot in this heat.

“Who is that?” A young boy asked his mother; she shushed him, and turned him away.

Like the sight of you was a walking sin.

The rim of your hat hid your eyes as you walked past them. A sharp turn to your right led you to another street lined with wooden buildings bent from the Western wind. This road was quieter and emptier; you preferred it that way.

Then, like a miracle, you heard the sound of a deep, throaty snort. Your gaze shifted to an alley between a small house and the telegraph office where a hitching post stood in the dirt. Tied to it was a black mare, standing strong despite the sun beaming down on her.

Bullseye.

You were careful not to make any sudden sounds as you approached the post. She shifted her weight, head hung low just like yours as steam faintly curled from her nostrils.

“Easy, girl,” you hold your hand out gently.

On her back was a worn leather saddle and two sacks hung over her hips. Braided reins wrapped around her snout. This one belonged to someone, and as a stranger to this town, you had no place in taking her.

A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, you thought to yourself.

Once you were close enough, you set your hand on her cheek, gently rubbing the soft fur with your thumb. “Long day?” You half-cooed, scratching underneath her chin. The mare snorted in response.

Looking over your shoulder to see that no one had noticed you yet, you began to sort through the sacks. An empty canteen. A couple of golden, shotgun shells. A stale, half-eaten piece of bread wrapped in cloth. A handful of silver dollars. You took the money, but everything else was nothing of value to you. You threw the sacks to the ground so the dust floated in the air like a cloudy sky you hadn’t seen in days. A bead of sweat dripped down your cheek as you hurriedly tied your own bag to the saddle, moving to undo the knot around the hitching post.

If your heart hadn’t been beating so hard that you could feel it in your eardrums, you might’ve heard the quiet footsteps behind you.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” a low, gentle voice called out to you.

You almost gasped, your fingers still fumbling with the reins. Turning on the heel of your boot, you noticed the figure at the end of the alley.

A man dressed in black half-smiled at you.

“Afternoon, sir.”

“Is there, uh,” he began to slowly approach you, and you readied yourself to pull the gun from your side. “something I can help you with?”

Perhaps he was just a kind man looking to help a random woman in trouble. But you didn’t plan on finding out.

“Oh, not at all,” you smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

You finished untying the knot of the reins, quick to get out of this town as soon as possible.

But before you could secure it in your hand, the man behind you clicked his tongue against his teeth. In almost an instant, the mare rushed to him, the reins slipping from your hands with a burning sensation. You hissed at the feeling and immediately pulled the pistol from your hip.

The horse stopped by his side. The man looked over to see your gun aimed directly at his chest for his heart.

Roy Goode had met a lot of strange people in his life. He’d been to a lot of strange places, and never had he met such a woman like you—standing in your stolen boots and holding your pistol at him; you could take his life in an instant, and he doesn’t doubt it. He takes the reins in his hands and twists it around his palm.

“Thieves don’t do too well here,” he said, though it didn’t feel like a threat.

Dust swirls in the space between you. “I didn’t know it was yours,” there’s an edge of defensiveness and even shame to your voice. “I’ve stolen worse from worse men.”

There’s a ghost of a smirk on his face. The man studies you for a moment and nods once. “That why you’re out here alone?”

If you had thought of something clever enough to say, you would’ve, but your mind draws a blank. You’re fixated on the pair of blue eyes watching you. Without noticing, you’ve lowered your weapon to your hips already.

“What’s your name?”

You glared at him for a moment. “And why should I tell you?”

He smiles. “It’d be kind, at the very least. Wanna know who I’m talking to.”

“(y/n). (l/n).”

The man nods. “Well, Miss (l/n), horses aren’t just toys to be stolen,” he says, gently petting the mare’s chin and running his fingers through her mane. “You want something that runs, you earn it.”

“And how would I do that?” You tilt your head.

The man mounts the horse with an impressive ease. He settles into the saddle like he’d been doing it his entire life. Now, the tilted smirk on his face widens. “Don’t suppose you’re any good with a rifle?”

You glance off in the distance for only a second.

You could bolt off right there and then. It’d probably earn you a bullet in the leg, but you were quicker than you looked.

Most men in the West would have shot you on the spot for messing with what was theirs. Not this one. You clicked your teeth at the realization that your options were severely outweighed.

Any good with a rifle? “Good enough.”

Whoever this man was, he wasn’t completely with the law.

Yet, he didn’t seem to think himself above it. You nearly objected when he paid a rancher on the outskirts of town for a horse, saddle and all, but who were you to deny a gift? Besides, it had a lovely chestnut coat that you admired.

The town was far behind you as you slowed the horses’ galloping to a gentle stroll beside one another. To anyone who didn’t already know you, the two of you actually made quite a nice-looking pair.

Canyon walls surrounding you stood tall, practically glowing a golden rust in the late afternoon sun. Gravel and dirt crunched underneath the horse hooves; small songbirds gently chirped off in the distance; the dry air whistled a tune. The sweet music of the West.

Neither of you spoke much.

There was a polite “thank you” for the horse and a brief conversation about sunburn, but other than that, you were complete strangers. Perhaps it was a way of leaving the scenery undisturbed, or maybe it was that you didn’t have anything to say until one of you was sick of the silence.

Fortunately, he gave in first. “So what’s a young lady such as yourself doin’ in these parts?”

“I’m not a lady,” You had no qualms against this man, but a part of you scowled at him. It wasn’t the first time someone thought they’d figured you out because of what was between your legs. “And I’m from Courthill. Texas.”

He whistled. “You’re a long way from home.”

“How long?”

“About two weeks that way.” He pointed to the left.

For the past few days, you wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint your location on a map if it was laid out in front of you. It was odd to think that home—a place you never wanted to see again—was so close yet so far.

He spoke again. “I don’t suppose you made the whole journey by foot.”

You scowled, turning your head so he wouldn’t notice it. As of now, he’d only shown you kindness. You couldn’t shake the stubborn, defensive barrier that came with being a woman on her own.

“I had a horse,” you shifted the reins in your hands to avoid a large rock in the path. “Couldn’t keep it fed, so I sold it to a woman who could. A Miss Alice Fletcher.”

A brief silence settled between you before he broke it.

“Surely, there’re ways for a- uh, woman to, uh,” he cut himself off, gently stumbling on his words. You knew damn well what he was going to say. “You know…”

“Do I look like a prostitute to you?”

If your hair had been tied up, or you’d worn a thicker jacket to cover up the curve of your chest, Roy would’ve fairly assumed you were a thieving, conniving, worn-down man like him. But you weren’t. And he enjoyed seeing you in pants rather than a skirt. He didn’t even try to picture the latter.

There was dirt on your cheek. Mud smudged over the knees of your slacks. A small, red scar on your collar bone.

“No, ma’am.”

Good. That’s that. You thought. But he spoke again, just above a mumble like it was only meant for himself.

“You’d make good money as one.”

You sighed. A spiteful grin on your face. “So, would you.” It was meant to be offensive, something degrading and sarcastic. He hardly took it as one.

“Why, thank you.” He perked. You shook your head at your lame insult.

Then, he motioned to the hat on your head and the boots on your feet. “So I’m guessin’ those ain’t yours?”

Well, you’d hoped it wasn’t noticeable that they were a size too big. Your eyes trailed across the scenery, an embarrassingly obvious way of forming a quick lie. “A farmer from Oklahoma gave them to me.”

Of course, he saw right through it. “That don’t look like a farmer’s hat to me.”

“I didn’t realize I was being interrogated.”

“You did try to steal my horse.”

Touché, unfortunately. Without a moment to spare—because you really didn’t feel like opening yourself up to this man—you changed the subject. “Why’d you bring me along?”

He cocked his head. “Is it my turn now?”

You ignored the smirk on his face.

With a shrug, he continued, “There’s a man I’m lookin’ for, lives down in Tucson.” That nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. You pulled back on the reins and he turned at your sudden halt in the path. “Something wrong?”

“I don’t even know who the hell you are,” you sighed. It might’ve been better to speak a little quieter in a valley where anyone could be hidden, but you weren’t exactly aiming for security. “Look, I appreciate the horse, and I’m sure it’s a lovely ride to Tucson. This has been fun and all, but I’ve got other matters to deal with. You can’t even tell me the man’s name and I’m supposed to shoot him down for you?”

He didn’t necessarily smile at you; his lips only tilted slightly. It was his eyes that looked amused at your sudden burst.

The world you lived in wasn’t kind to women who used their mouths. You’d learned that the hard way from your father first. There were plenty of men down the line who’d shown you as well, mostly with their fist to your cheek. You weren’t wrong to feel angry or misled, but you hadn’t meant to raise your voice with a stranger.

Maybe he’d shoot you right there. Leave you for dead in the middle of nowhere.

But there was no firm slap across your face nor the ringing of a gun piercing a bullet in your side.

Just the surprisingly gentle tone of his voice.

“Now, that’s a mighty fine stallion, so you’re welcome for the horse. And yes, it is a lovely ride to Tucson. I think you’ll enjoy it. I wouldn’t say this has been fun—is this what you consider fun?” You scowled. “But I enjoy the company. And seein’ that you’ve made no attempt to outrun or rob me—again—I don’t think you do have other matters to attend to.

“The man’s name is Les Moore. He’s a banker-turned-bandit. We’ve got unfinished business I don’t plan on disclosin’, but I do plan on shooting him myself. I simply need someone to watch my back. And my name is Roy.”

He paused again, but this time, it left a noticeable weight in the air.

“Roy Goode.”

You knew that name. There wasn’t a soul throughout the West that didn’t know that name. You’d heard it in folktales and stories around campfires, seen it written in thick, blank ink on wanted posters across a hundred different towns.

Even further, you knew that the man it belonged to had a certain friend you didn’t want any association with.

“If you’d like to go your own way, be my guest.” He continued. “But you don’t seem to know these parts and a lot of men stronger than you have died here. It’s up to you…ma’am.”

A long silence followed.

Your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek because, deep down, you know he’s right. And you hate being wrong. The two of you stood still in the middle of the canyon. Even your horse sighed with impatience, but Roy kindly awaited your response.

“Fuck,” you said under your breath.

Then loud enough for Roy to hear, “Fine. But know this, Roy Goode,” You clicked your heels against the stallion’s belly. “Ain’t no man in the West who’s stronger than me.”

Not a single bone in Roy’s body doubted it.

“Careful, now.”

You clenched your jaw so visibly that Roy could see you were in no need of his advice. The rifle rested so comfortably in your hands, he had to wonder how many times you’d done this.

“I know how to shoot, Goode.”

“I believe you,” He dryly chuckled. “So take the shot.”

He had a point. It only pissed you off more. You shifted quietly enough that the small, dirt-colored rabbit off in the distance never noticed your presence. At this point, it would’ve been Roy’s voice that gave it away.

“Shut up,” you hissed.

With your left eye squeezed shut, you focused your sight on the rabbit. Not even your heart could beat hard enough to throw off your aim, but a gentle breeze blew a strand of hair into your face and ruined your line of vision.

“Let me do it,” Roy moved to take the pistol from his side before a shot rang from beside him.

The rabbit dropped to the ground with a gentle thud.

You grinned at your new partner in crime. “You were saying?”

An hour passed before the sun sat low in the sky, just above the line of the land, casting a golden hue across your surroundings. The rest of the sky was somehow an inky shade of black, illuminated with more stars than you’d ever seen in your life. Strange you thought to yourself. Embers from the small fire Roy had started with spare branches and weeds floated above you, glistening amongst the stars.

He watched you take the blade hidden in your belt, dragging it against the rabbit’s fur and pulling its skin from the meat. The women he knew would’ve gagged at the sight of blood or ran at the simple thought of killing an innocent animal.

But not you.

“Now, where’d you learn to do that?”

You chuckled, a faint smile coming to your face, at a memory. “I can’t go givin’ you all my secrets.”

There was something about you that knew survival. It was gritty and dark, and though he would never admit it, Roy ached to know more.

He hung the meat above the flames on a spit, gently twirling it so the skin had an even, roasted color all over. Your mouth watered at the sight of it. Once it was ready, the two of you ravaged it with desperate fingers like starving wolves. It was, in no way, a good meal. Dry and flavorless, and split between the two of you, one rabbit was hardly enough. But it was the first time in days that your stomach had been able to settle over anything.

“I lived off of lizards for a time,” Roy said once there were only bones left. The two of you wore soft, tired smiles that came with good food and good company. You’d licked your fingers clean and now used your leather sack as a make-shift pillow. “Can’t shoot the fuckers. I had to chase after them with a blade.”

You laughed softly. Roy enjoyed the way a smile—not a flashy, pretty one put on to appease the men around you, but a distant, reminiscent one—looked on you.

“I’ve been there. I was near Mexico when all I had were tree leaves and cactus meat. Boiled it with river water.” Roy hummed a chuckle. The horses, tied to a withered tree, shuffled nearby. You glanced over your shoulder at them. “I like to think they’re talking to each other.”

“They are,” he said, throwing the last of the bones into the dirt. “June’s got a lot of stories to tell him.”

For a brief moment, you thought it odd that be referred to the horses like they were the same as him—or that he was one of them.

You arched a brow, “You named her June?”

Roy could see that you were amused. “Thought it was pretty.” He almost shrugged.

You hummed in fairness. Glancing back at your horse, you realized it didn’t feel right to leave him nameless. And despite Roy having bought it, the stallion was yours. “Johnny.” You said plainly.

“Come again?”

“I’ll name him Johnny.”

Now you were talking like you were one of them too.

Roy wondered then who Johnny was to you. Or maybe it was someone from a past life. He gazed at the remains of the fire before glancing over at you.

Maybe it was the gentle light in the vast darkness, but there was a newfound softness in your face. He could see the tiniest of imperfections—small scars won in battle, a minuscule bump on your chin—of which most women would cover with powder.

But not you.

He’d seen beautiful women before. Plenty of them. And here you were, resting near the flickering fire and under the iridescent moonlight, forcing him to question if he’d ever really understood beauty before he saw you.

“Johnny and June.” He said out loud in thought.

You met his eyes, unaware of how long he’d been looking at you. “It has a nice ring.”

Roy nodded. “That it does.”

Three days of riding had taken the two of you to a small town called Tombstone, just a day’s journey to Tucson. Roy’s name was known around here, but, thankfully, his face wasn’t.

With a pair of crinkled, ten-dollar bills, he reserved two separate rooms in a lodging above the general store. As he paid, the clerk didn’t miss her chance to shoot a half-confused, half-cautious glare your way. “Each room’s got a tub,” she noted, motioning to the smudged dirt on your cheek.

You gave her a tight smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Roy handed you a key and kept one for himself as the two of you scaled the stairs to the second floor. “Hungry at all?”

“You got the money for dinner?”

He shrugged, “Enough for more than rabbits and lizards.” You reached a long hallway. He pointed to the second to last door marked with a 6. “I think that’s your room there.”

“This says four,” you read the engraved number on the key. The correct door was only two away. Roy only hesitantly chuckled to himself. You glanced at his key, “And you’re three.”

“Right,” he said, awkwardly but gratefully nodding. He seemed to know numbers well enough when it came to money.

Without saying more, you started to fumble with the keyhole of your door. The lock clicked open before Roy spoke again. “There’s a saloon on the corner. Meet me there a little after the sun sets? Give you some time to rest up.”

You were surprised to instantly nod at his request. “Sure,” you smiled before you went your separate ways.

The room wasn’t much by anyone else’s standards, but it was more than you’d seen in weeks. A wire-framed bed with two quilts and an oil lamp sat to your right; a wardrobe for clothes you didn’t have stood tall in the corner. The windows were adorned with dusty lace curtains that filtered the sunlight into the room.

You locked the door behind you and tossed the sack on the ground, immediately collapsing onto the bed. The springs squeaked underneath your body, but the mattress was comfortable enough.

Better than rocks and dirt.

Before you let your eyes close, you watched the ceiling, noticing the slight cracks in it. They began to form a shape, soon morphing into a familiar face. Blue eyes that always seemed to gaze at you when you weren’t looking. A pair of soft lips that hardly ever smiled, but on the canvas of the ceiling, they did.

You laid on your side and forced your eyes shut.

But even in the darkness of your mind, a place of purgatory between dreams and wake, you saw him.

When you woke, you swore you could feel something grazing your arm. But you turned over to see that you were still alone in the room. The sweet, golden light of day was gone now, replaced by the ghostly, glowing moon. A gentle hue of purple sat over the horizon.

It hadn’t been dark for long. You thought this while mentally praying you hadn’t kept Roy waiting too long.

You hurried to grab your hat and leave the room, rushing down the stairs and out the door. Just as he’d said, a saloon stood tall on the corner of the street. A few men grouped together with smoke curling from their mouths watched as you approached the entrance.

“Evening…ma’am,” they said hesitantly at your appearance. You only nodded.

With one step into the bar, you seemed to catch the attention of nearly everyone inside. You noticed then that there didn’t appear to be a single woman. Even the man at the piano stopped playing his song, only missing a beat before starting again.

Silence. Your boots clicked against the wood floor.

You glanced around the room for your traveling companion before a man with a thick beard approached you. His broad frame seemed to block you from entering further.

“Ma’am.” He grinned, revealing yellow teeth and two silver caps. His eyes drifted up and down your figure. “I think you may be in the wrong place. Sally’s cafe down the street doesn’t close for another hour.”

You tightly smiled back. “I assure you, sir, I’m in the right spot.”

You began to move forward again before his firm hand pressed itself over your stomach. The contact, unexpected and unwelcome, made you suddenly feel trapped.

“Good men don’t go puttin’ their hands on young women,” a voice said from behind you.

The man slowly dropped both his hand and his grin. You turned to see Roy standing just as he had back in that alley. He offered you a small smile.

“You with him?” The man sneered, glancing back and forth between you and Roy trying to discern the dynamic. You shook your head.

“He’s with me.”

As the man backed away, retreating to his spot at the bar with his friends, Roy’s footsteps halted at your side. He pulled out a chair from a table nearby and held his hand out like a gentleman. You kindly took the seat.

Roy sat across from you, placing his hat on the table. “Two whiskeys,” he ordered once a server came by. “What’s your finest meal?”

“I’ve got a beef and bean stew.” The server offered.

“Two of those,” you smiled. He turned away, leaving just you and Roy alone again.

And despite the other men in the room cautiously eyeing you, not a single soul seemed to exist then. The server returned with two glasses of whiskey before the bar guests called him back over.

“That happen anytime you go somewhere?” Roy asked with the whiskey at his lips.

You twirled your glass, careful not to spill a single drop. “For the most part,” you shrugged, though you don’t appear to be at all fazed from the gentle smile you wore. There was a distant, amused gleam in your eyes where Roy could see a thousand thoughts running in your mind.

“I don’t need saving, you should know,” you added a little quieter.

Roy wasn’t offended. Not at the very least, but he thought it odd that you hadn’t fully appreciated his incursion. Now that he considered it more, he would’ve liked to see you handle yourself.

“Well, I respect that,” he said. You nodded in gratitude and he blinked.

“You’re a respectable woman, Miss (l/n).”

Your body froze as whiskey hit your throat like flames. “What makes you say that?”

He gave a small shrug. “There aren’t many women out in the West who carry themselves with…strength.” He held his hand up defensively and chuckled. “I mean no offense, I think all women are respectable. More than any man, that’s for sure. Hell, my mother died when I was young, but I knew she was formidable.”

You knew that kind of pain. Your heart clenched, but your expression didn’t change.

“I guess, you somewhat remind me of that about her.”

You’d been complimented before, much more in regards to your looks, but there were many who’d commended your skills with a pistol or aptitude for words. No one had gone so far as to say you were formidable.

And deep down, you’d always considered yourself so.

But it was different to finally hear it from someone else. Someone other than your mind who could see you for what you were.

You knew you were strong. And Roy Goode knew it too.

“My mother died when I was young, as well,” you added. “Don’t remember her much, and my father didn’t like to talk about it.”

He studied you for a good moment. Then, knowingly, “You ran away?”

“As soon as I was eighteen,” you hummed. “Should’ve done it sooner. Woulda saved me a lot of trouble.”

The subject of parents was a risky place to go with someone like Roy Goode, but there wasn’t a bone in your body that was afraid of it. “What about you,” you amused. “Mama died and you come across Frank Griffin?”

His eyes snapped up to yours like a threat, but you weren’t afraid of him. At all.

“Everyone knows who Frank Griffin is,” you downed the rest of your drink. A little more would go to your head soon. “I’m not stupid.”

Then, Roy’s eyes softened.

“You can read,” was all he said.

“What?” Did he even hear you?

Roy quickly caught himself and shook his head. “Nothin’.”

The server returned to the side of the table and refilled your glasses. Once he was out of earshot, Roy rested his elbows on the table. “I met Frank when I was younger. He and his brother saved my life.”

You arched a brow. “Frank Griffin saved your life?”

“Careful, ma’am,” he finished his second glass in one gulp. “Don’t go sayin’ his name too many times, or you’ll summon someone worse than the devil.”

“Guess he can’t be too bad if you’re with him.”

Although you expected Roy to chuckle, or at the very least smile, at your comment, he didn’t. He instead thickly swallowed as if he’d suddenly gone nervous. You could see his knuckles tense.

It was maybe a miracle when the server then arrived with two steaming bowls of stew. The smell that it emanated was that of bitter salt and old potatoes, but as you dragged your spoon in it, it looked fine enough to consume. The two of you hesitantly and simultaneously took one mouthful before furrowing your brows in thought.

After a moment, you set the spoon down and shook your head.

Roy’s lips curled in disgust. “I think I almost prefer the rabbits and lizards.”

You instantly broke out into a synchronous chuckle, one that almost made your smiles reach your eyes. He tried to take another bite before swearing it was poison. A few other guests at the bar sent some questionable glares your way—your laughter was nearly louder than the piano.

But the two of you could hardly notice anyone else when you had the other right across the table.

It was surely late enough to retire back to your rooms by the time you’d finished at the saloon, but the combination of your earlier rest and the whiskey running through your veins left you both awake.

The street lamps had been lit as the two of you strolled down the side, passing by the few townspeople who’d decided to enjoy the pleasant evening air.

For the first time in a while, it wasn’t blistering hot, even with the moon in the sky.

Your conversation from dinner hadn’t ended for a single moment during your walk. “You’re some kind of horse whisperer, then?” You asked after Roy had told you he ‘understood them’.

“Maybe I am,” he chuckled, hands lazily in his pockets. “Maybe we share the same kind of brain. I can hear them.”

You shook your head with a grin, the whiskey still hot in veins. “You’re something else,” you mumble. “You got June well-trained, I’ll say that.”

But Roy tutted. “It’s not ‘trained’—you first mistake.” You nodded for him to continue. “I respect her and she respects me. It’s a relationship.”

“She respects you?” You asked in amused disbelief.

He hummed. “It’s a balance, like an exchange.”

Though you can still sense the humor in your voice, you momentarily ponder that what Roy said was deeply beautiful. You’d never given it much thought, but riding a horse was much more than mounting it and yelling at it until it went.

Roy had a profound tenacity for kindness that you hadn’t encountered in very many, if not any, men. In a way, it puzzled you. He was a complicated, tangled string that became a fascinating image in all of its knots. You were vexed by it just like the constellations in the sky as the two of you gazed up at the end of the road.

“I do hope Heaven is real,” you say out loud. You didn’t actually mean to.

But Roy knew exactly what you meant.

“Me too,” he said softly, carefully shifting his gaze to you for only a moment—taking in how perfectly moonlight hit your skin, shadowing and highlighting all of the right parts.

You were the type of woman someone carried a picture of with them for the mere hope they’d see you again.

He looked down at his boots in the dirt. “Doubt I’d make it there.”

You turned to him. “You don’t think so?”

“Well, bad men seem to do well enough down here,” Roy smiled softly to himself. “I don’t think I know anyone who’d make it up there. Good, bad…I used to think there was a difference. It’s just two ends of the same spectrum.”

“And what about me?”

Roy looked at you then, almost puzzled. Bewildered. “What?”

“You said you don’t know anyone who’s good enough for heaven.” The slight tilt of your lips was more intoxicating than the whiskey. “What about me?”

Despite the burning in his pulse, Roy held himself back from saying what he wants: Wherever it is, I hope it’s with me.

Instead, he professed, “Well, you just might be an exception.”

And for the first time since you met Roy Goode, you let yourself feel the blood in your body rush to your heart. It moved to your cheeks, and you mentally thank God that it was too dark to see how red they’d turned.

But there were worse matters on hand than the flush on your face. It was the horrible ache between your legs that hadn’t been relieved in…too long.

“C’mon,” you mused. “We should get back before it’s too late.”

His bashful smirk matched your own.

Roy’s eyes don’t pull from your figure for a single second as he follows you up the stairs…the sway of your hips with each step, how you glance over your shoulder to see if he’s close behind.

And each time you look, he’s exactly where you expect him to be.

The sound of your boots comes to a halt as you stop at the door marked four, your fingers brushing over the handle. Roy’s presence lingered behind you like a ghost.

“Today was a hot one,” he says quietly, as if anything too loud would have you running away. “Left me feelin’ grimy.”

Like you’d said: You weren’t stupid. “Best to wash it off, then.”

He nods back slowly with a soft smirk you haven’t seen him wear yet. You wonder then what it’ll be like to undress it.

You push the door open with a sudden ease from Roy’s weight pressed against you. His hand graces over your hip as he closes the door witht the heel of his boot. Once his touch becomes firmer—but still respectful—you speak again.

“You’ve helped me an awful lot these past few days.” You didn’t expect yourself to speak so softly. His other hand sets his hat on the side of the bed. “Buying me that horse, this room…”

In the corner, a large metal basin sits empty. Waiting.

“You treat every girl who robs you like this?”

A quiet chuckle comes from the depths of his chest. “Just this one.”

Your eyes glance at his, before drifting downwards to where your hand ghosts over his belt. A shaky, almost inaudible breath falls from his lips. “I almost feel like I owe you.”

“Oh, no,” he drawls. “Darlin’, you don’t owe me nothin’.”

He tilts your chin upwards so your eyes meet his again. You don’t even notice you’ve taken your bottom lip in between your teeth, and he nearly moans just at the sight of that.

“I’m a giver,” he says softly, his thumb dragging over your lip. The metal in his belt clanks as you fumble with the buckle.

He leans in even closer. “And I could give you something more.”

So close. Close enough that he can undo each button of your blouse, so slowly you swear he’s trying to make your skin crawl. Close enough that he can feel your lips brushing over the corner of his mouth.

It’s not an invitation. It’s a seal of approval.

And so with it, Roy lets his body move before his mind can stop him—not that it ever would. You mold so perfectly against his lips like he was made to kiss you and no one else. It’s warm and wet when he drags his tongue, brushing over your teeth and finding your own.

You’ve been kissed before, but never like this. Never so sweetly yet vigorously. He pulls your top from your shoulders and lets it fall to the ground, your trousers soon after. You toe your boots off before unbuttoning his own shirt.

He pulls from the kiss to drag his lips across your jaw, grazing over your neck.

“Been wonderin’ what was underneath all this.”.

“You like what you see?” You giggle.

He stands back, and you’re left vulnerable and naked. The air is cold without his touch. You almost feel unsure of yourself.

Then you realize he’s looking at you with the hunger of a starved wolf.

“Darlin’, I ain’t sayin’ I’m gonna ruin you—would never ruin you,” his chest rises and falls with a heavy, steadying breath. “But you just might beg me to.”

Your knees almost buckle. He moves to switch on the faucet to the tub, and you take the moment to appreciate the parts of him you can see. His belt hangs slightly open, the zipper of his jeans pulled halfway down.

You run your hand through the water once it reaches a high level in the tub.

“‘S perfect,” you hum, a warm smile on your face that soon disappears when Roy lifts you from your feet.

He sets you inside the tub, leaning over the edge. Cupping the water with his hands, he runs it over every inch of your body, making sure there isn’t a single dry spot apart from your face. When his fingers graze your skin, you shudder.

“Aren’t you gonna join me, Goode?” You ask with a tempting smile.

“Lady’s first.” He takes a soft rag by the side of the tub and lathers it with a citrus soap, rubbing it smoothly over your figure.

You sigh contently. “No point in washin’ the sin off me now if we’ll be making more later.”

Your eyes meet his. Temptation mounted his face with an alluring darkness settling over his eyes.

A pressure began to build in the space between your legs before you realized it was no phantom feeling, but instead Roy’s two digits submerged under the water. He’d dropped the towel in the water with his mind focused on something else now. His fingertips brushed over your pearl before completely pressing against it.

He acted as if there was no time to waste, setting a consistent, circular motion over your clit. Your eyelids fluttered close blissfully.

“Fuck,” Your brows knitted together, a soft, restrained curse fell from your lips.

Then, he pulled his hand away.

Your eyes shot open again to meet his. “Don’t hold back from me now, baby.”

You nod as he pressed a little harder against you. You swear his hand is made of iron—hot, smooth metal that knows just how to perfectly work the most beautiful sounds from you.

As you writhe in the water, eyes squeezed shut with your mouth gaped open, Roy’s eyes remain on you.

“Someone’s gonna hear you, honey,” he presses his forehead against your temple. “They don’t deserve to.”

You instinctively lean against him, grinding your hips into his hand. The pads of his fingers drift down to your puckering hole, but no more than that.

“Please, Roy,” your hand reaches out of the water to curve around the back of his head, pushing his mouth closer to yours.

He chuckles. “I told you, you’d be begging for me.”

Then, like he was trying to make you cry, he pulled away and rose to his feet so he towered over you. His bottom lip, swollen from your kisses, hung heavy and glistened with your drool as Roy’s hands pulled his belt from the loops. It fell to the ground with a loud clatter, his jeans following soon after.

You stood from the tub and reached for him, your hands drifting down to the last thing covering him from you. And once he was fully bare, the two of you stood still for a moment.

Shamelessly, you drifted your gaze down his body, taking in what it was like to see Roy Goode in all of his glory.

Glorious was the right way to put it, for sure.

He smiled as he watched you scan him before taking your lip in between your teeth again.

“C’m’here,” he says softly, taking your hand in his.

You stepped out of the tub, dripping water on the wood floor. It’d surely leak through to the ceiling above the poor woman downstairs,

Before you could say anything, Roy’s mouth landed on yours again, his fingers running through the dry roots of your hair.

“Can’t get enough of you.” His words came out muffled and broken through the kiss.

“It’s yours,” you say, placing your hands on his chest and breaking the kiss. A small, gentle push has him settling on the floor, and you’re quick to take your seat on top of him.

His eyes softly close when your folds envelope his cock with an insatiable warmth.

“I’m yours. From the moment you showed me,” you relax and feel his solid shaft right under that swollen pearl. “Kindness when I did you wrong.” Your fingers lace with his. “I’m all yours, Roy. So take it.”

His right hand lifts your hips the slightest bit, allowing him space to take his cock in his left hand. He strokes it gently with a tight fist. The tip of it bumps against your hole, and you can feel it leaking against you.

“You ain’t real,” he whispers, eyes focused on where you two touch. And in a moment, you become connected. “Are you?”

One swift move of his hips pushes his full length past your folds. Your jaw drops open, but it’s the overwhelming feeling of him splitting you open that leaves you surprisingly quiet.

Roy doesn’t seem happy at that. He juts his hips upwards at a different angle so a sweet yelp cuts through the air. “Fuck, that’s good,.” He pulls you so close that your flesh nearly melts around the bone. You’re putty in his hands. “Pretty cunt’s grippin’ me like a vice.”

Everytime Roy’s hips draw from you, only to vigorously push themselves into you again, you swear you see God.

The skin on your knees splits against the splinters of the floorboards. A pleasurable pain. You steady yourself with your hands on his chest.

“‘S my turn, now,” your words slur together, eyelids heavy from how sweetly the tip of him kisses your cervix. “Gotta give you something too.”

He doesn’t object. His hands settle like a loose weight over your hips as you start to move yourself. Your hips grind against him, letting his cock rub against every inch inside of you. The motion is too familiar. For a second, you swear you’re riding off into the sunset with heaven in your pocket.

Your eyelids flutter close when you begin to bounce. And though you can’t see it, Roy can. His chest under your hands lets out heavy breaths as he gazes at how you swallow his entire length like it’s nothing.

But he knows it’s not. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he feels his body go loose. He lets himself give in to you. “Ride it.”

Gravity pushes you down just for you to lift yourself back up again. Your tits bounce in the most mesmerizing way, and Roy’s hand reaches up to grab the flesh of them. His thumb rolls over your nipple.

“You’re beautiful,” he grunts out, bending his legs so you can rest your back against them. But your movements don’t stop.

And neither does the way Roy looks at you like you’re the only thing worth living for.

When you catch his eyes on you, you clench around his girth, pulling another sharp moan from him. Suddenly, his hips begin to meet yours in a pleasurable rhythm; the sounds of skin slapping, heavy breaths, and your delicate yet guttural moans make the most beautiful music.

“Don’t stop, sweetheart,” Roy pleads.

Your mouth curls, “Who’s begging now?”

He chuckles. A soft tension around his cock grows into a desperate need to finish off how good you feel around him.

“You got it, baby.” His drawl leaves your hips stuttering, and he can tell from how you’ve tightened around him, you’re feeling just the same as him. “Make yourself feel good on it, just like that. Wanna see you turn to pieces all over me.”

Suddenly, your head is too heavy to hold upright. It lulls back onto your shoulders, all of your energy going towards the way you ride him.

“You feel it? Gonna make a mess for me?”

You nod, rapidly and loosely.

“We’ll just have to clean you up all over again.” He mutters to himself, and you can hear the smirk on his face. It stays there even as his brows furrow together, a mixture of bliss and pressure.

You feel the pad of his thumb press against your clit again. You instantly break at the contact. He feels your orgasm wash over him, a lush shower of warmth that brings his own release.

It mixes together inside of you like the sunrise bleeding into the remainder of the night outside your window. It’d be illogical to sleep now, but you can’t find it within yourself to keep your eyes open as your cheek rests against Roy’s chest.

His hand lazily rubs over your spine. “S’pose Les Moore will have to wait to die another day,” he whispers.

You chuckle, “Don’t waste your bullets on that man. I’ll do it myself.”

Roy cocks his head. A few days ago, you would’ve protested at any mention of doing his bidding. And here you were, now, ready to make yourself a wanted woman.

There were many women he’d slept with. Many women who’d opened their doors, shared their beds, held him in their arms. Many women who’d sing him to sleep thinking it’d make him maybe even love them.

And sure, he’d been with whores. He’d paid good money to see fine women dance like there was no God above. Maybe even paid them off enough so they wouldn’t have to suffer under any more men with a heavy fist.

Many women who’d liked the color of his eyes. Who’d gasped and shuddered at the sound of his name. Who’d fawned over the sight of him.

But never a woman like you.

He tells himself to remember that forever as he carries you to the bed.

You’ll wash in the morning he thinks when he pulls the covers to your chin. And when Roy moves to draw his own bath, he hears your tired voice from behind.

“Don’t go,” you call out to him.

He hums. “I’m only right here, darlin’.”

Your eyes are closed shut, lost in a dimension between sleep and wake. “Here,” you say softly, motioning to the spot in the bed next to you.

He ignores the sheer layer of sweat clinging to his skin. He ignores that there’s still dirt in his hair from earlier in the day. He ignores the grimy feeling underneath his nails and the ache in his feet. Roy carries himself to the side of the bed.

The sheets are cool against his skin as he takes the spot beside you. Then, he feels the warmth of your arm draped over his chest. He stills.

“You never held a woman, Roy Goode?” you tease with a tired smile.

“Sure, I have,” he says. “First time it’s felt right, though.”

You move your head so he can tuck his arm underneath it. He feels your soft, mindless clouds of breath against his skin.

This is it he thinks. Heaven.

#my man my man my mannnnnn #roy goode smut #roy goode #jack o'connell #NEEEEEEED THATTTTT

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amaranthine-enihtnarama · 7 days ago

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Finals are done!!!

Skins fic chappie three coming soon.

#amaranthine_enihtnarama #my wriitng #fanfic authors #writing update #black y/n #black ocs #skins fanfic #skins uk

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amaranthine-enihtnarama · 7 days ago

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I CAN WRITE PORN!!!!!

I can write porn. I can write porn. I can write porn I can write porn I can write por n I ca n w ri tie p..

#writing update #remmick fics

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amaranthine-enihtnarama · 7 days ago

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ᴴⁱˢ ᴹᵘˢᵉ.

Summary: Charlotte, a talented harpist, attracts Remmick with her music. Against her better judgement, she explores the new frontiers of her desire.

Warnings -> Mentions of the Klan, p in v s3x, oral (f! receiving), oral (m! receiving), doggystyle, cum play, spit play, breath play, blood play, creampie, corruption kink, dom!Remmick, miss girl cannot handle a touch-starved freak like him pray for that cooch mama, not proofread because i'm perfect

A/N: I've become aware that another user has a Sinners OC named Lottie as well--this is a pure coincidence and this story has no association with their character (which I love, by the way!). Truly a sign I need to write faster, though.

Word Count: 10.8k

Lottie had been cooped up inside for weeks when Mama heard of what happened at the Juke Joint a couple towns over. She didn’t go anywhere without her brothers then—although it wasn’t like they didn’t hover before— they stuck to her sides like gnats in a flytrap. It didn’t make any sense to her, why her Mama kept such close watch over her, even though she’d always spin endless reasons why:

“You too pretty, them boys ain’t gon’ act right!”

“You sure as hell ain’t goin’ out with them little fast girls—ain’t bringing back no babies under my roof…”

“You ain’t gone waste your smarts talking to them good-for-nuthin’ boys. You got music to practice fa’ Sunday.”

And on, and on, and on.

It had been summer, too—usually Papa could get his wife to see sense, let the kids go into town under his watchful eye, but the summer after the Juke Joint was different.

Everything after that night was different.

People talked to each other—mothers and aunties, of course, but even the men—pondering their troubles about what they’d heard or what so-and-so might’ve seen under feverish, urgent whisper. Maybe it was from the Klansmen one of the Smokestack twins had killed. Vengeful white men put trouble in the air that reached across sky and land, choking everything in its path. But the white men never came.

Not any new ones, anyhow. Besides, white folks loved Lottie and her Mama—she worked in one of those white men’s houses, and the wife loved having Lottie and her harp traverse the dirt roads into town to sing through their halls. She grew a little famous, even, putting on mini-concerts of Fauré and Debussy for living rooms full of white women, while their patient husbands smoked cigars over brandy in the other room. They would watch her slight, dark hands nimbly dance over the strings with their flutes of champagne on holidays, eyes damn near full of tears—or that’s what her Mama told her, at least.

White folks loved Lottie and her Mama so much the wife hosted her for music lessons on her dime. From twelve to eighteen, she would hitch a ride in someone’s car to meet with Mrs. Desjardins, who was too severe to marvel at her, but too impressed to not impart a compliment.

“You could go somewhere with a gift like that, Charlotte,” she would tell her, “Not too many of you get such a chance.”

But Lottie didn’t think of chances that summer. She heard whispers under the adults’ breath, felt the tension in the air when she played for her church on Sundays, could practically taste the sweat and alcohol and hear the screams echoing out into the unyielding darkness in her dreams.

“I hear there ain’t even no bodies. Just blood and burnt dirt. I tell you, it’s the devil’s work.”

“I ain’t takin no chances with me or my children, Esther,” her mother said, voice hushed, “I mean, how a whole juke joint of folks just up and disappear like that? Just some ashes and some cars. How we know we ain’t next?”

It made Lottie wonder, especially at the worst times when she was the only one awake with the stillness of night to keep her company. She would listen to the crickets and cicadas and feel her heart pound in her chest as sweat trickled down her temples. How could all those people disappear? What was out there, in the darkness, waiting for them?

The thought would make her draw the blinds, trying the get the images of haunts out of her mind so she wouldn’t scare herself to death, but the silence made it worse, pressing down on her mind like the Delta heat.

So, she played.

Softly, so as not to wake anyone else up, especially her brothers, who were already sick of the sight of the thing, always grumbling about having to carry it in and out of the house. No, no, not too loud.

Just soft enough for her to hear. To soothe her nerves. Rêverie did the trick.

Something in the air changed when she played, something she could feel. The night wasn’t so mysterious and vast anymore, full of blood-hungry Klansmen or ghosts and haints. There was no more fear. She could close her eyes, imagine an audience, and play.

She didn’t know the power her playing had, to move people, to heal, to bring God down in the room with you. But she felt Him at night, Him and His angels answering her call, to watch over her and her family through the night.

She didn’t know that one day, the night would answer her call, too.

Years passed, and fear was forgotten for happier times. Lottie managed to pick up piano and become a music teacher. She grew into a woman, too tall and full of curves to be welcomed into a white man’s house by his wife, but received fifty dollars every two months from Mrs. Desjardins, who had her mind set on sending her East. There wasn’t much work for a colored music teacher, but the women she used to play for had begun to hire her for proper gigs. After putting her money together, she’d finally saved enough for a home of her own.

It was a rotting shack at first, but her father and brothers made it up into a proper place to live. Soon enough, talk made it through town of the colored woman music teacher living by the edge of the woods, just outside of town, and gifts poured in to decorate her home. Quilts, drapes, a tablecloth—all mended together by hand by church women. (A shotgun, from her father. A pistol from Freddie, her old schoolmate.)

“Now, all you need is a husband,” her mother told her, “And I won’t have to worry bout nothing no more.”

Lottie laughed at the remark. “Nothing ‘cept some grandbabies making your house a mess.”

Now, she was twenty-three. Too old to be scared of the dark, too busy with students to practice during the day. She practiced her harp late into the night now for work, sitting with God all the while, her fingertips callousing with hours spent perched at her instrument, squinting in the oil-lamp light.

That was when he found her.

It was summer. Too hot to keep the blinds drawn when she desperately needed to let fresh air in, so she’d put screens over the windows and cracked them open. She was working on Vers la source dans le bois, too absorbed in her practice to catch the glimmers of reflective pupils in the trees. Her playing sang into the shadows as her fingers danced over the strings. The music fell onto her ears like rain, drowning out the sweat rolling down her neck, the way her mouth dried with thirst, even the cicadas. Her brows knit in focus and effort as she gracefully traveled back and forth over the strings, her head cocked ever-so-slightly despite her rigid posture, her eyes darting briefly over to the sheet music to check her tempo.

“Ow!”

She winced as her finger slipped, nicking on the string. She stopped abruptly, sucking on her fingertip, then pressing it onto her thigh through her cotton nightgown. Slowly, with a groan, she stretched out her back, then rolled her neck and massaged her hands. She looked around her home as if for the first time, snapped out of her trance.

That was when she heard it: the silence.

It hadn’t just been her playing drowning out the cicadas; they had gone dead quiet in a way that made her stomach drop. She stood quickly, brows drawn again as she swallowed. Her eyes scanned the dimly lit room, then peered out of the windows. On the left, there was nothing, just vast expanse under the moonlight. But…on the right…

Lottie was too grown to be scared of the woods, she knew it, but they didn’t sit right with her the moment she saw them. Trouble was, this house was the only one she could afford while still saving money, so she put on her big girl boots and dealt with it. But now, as her skin crawled under the silence, she regretted her choice.

Quickly, she slammed her left window shut and drew the blinds, unwilling to look out the right. She turned out her oil lamp, finding a sense of shelter in the dark, and after grabbing her pistol from the floor right next to her, finally approached the right window.

Her hair stood on her arms.

She could feel it now.

The eyes watching her from the trees.

She couldn’t see a damn thing through that thicket, but she could feel it. It froze her in place. She didn’t want to move closer, not even to close the window.

Don’t stop, the air suddenly whispered. So lovely.

Lottie felt her heart drop down to her stomach as a soft voice carried over the still air. Her heart was beginning to pick up its pace. Surely she imagined it.

Play.

Lottie clicked the safety of her pistol. She most surely didn’t.

She inched carefully toward the window, pulse thrumming in her ears.

“Whoever out there better be ready to get shot,” she warned, the timbre of her voice surprising her.

She didn’t even think she could speak.

Then, they finally appeared: a pair of wolf’s eyes, but too high to be a wolf’s. Her eyes widened as her shoulders tightened. Ain’t no way it was a bear, either.

Something moved in the trees as the eyes came closer, and Lottie’s legs nearly gave as her eyes made out the silhouette of a man. No man’s eyes glowed like that. His voice gently lilted through the window.

“I don’t mean no harm,” he reassured, coming into view.

It was a white man, dark-haired in a button up shirt and suspenders. Despite what he said, the moonlight carved shadows out of his eye sockets that sent a shiver down her spine. She pointed the gun at the window, making him stop and lift his hands in surrender.

“Just appreciatin’ yer playin’s all.”

She squinted, but couldn’t make out his face.

“What the hell a white boy doin’ in the forest this time of night if he ain’t looking for trouble?”

“Ah,” he remarked, a chuckle making his shoulders shake for a moment, “I suppose it is strange on my part, but I happen to live around here.”

“I ain’t never seen you.”

“Nor I you, till tonight.”

He came closer to the window, and Lottie turned her oil lamp back on to see his face instead of the silhouette that made her blood run cold. His features were handsome, but it didn’t put her at ease. He smiled as if it did.

“I happen to play myself,” he continued, revealing a banjo strapped to his torso, “Though not half as pretty as you.”

His eyes fixed onto her in a way that set her teeth on edge.

“I don’t think I’ve heard a harp in ages,” he said, “How’d you come across such a fine piece?”

She frowned, unsure if she should shoot the strange white man or humor him. If he was a man—the glowing of his eyes was still fresh in her mind. He lowered his hands, resting them on his banjo and beginning to pick a melody.

“My name’s Remmick,” he said, “What’s yours, darlin’?”

“Don’t call me darlin’,” she quickly replied.

He rose his eyebrows, smile still playing on his lips. Slowly, she clicked the safety back on and set her pistol down in the chair.

“Charlotte.”

He stopped playing, frowning. “Not Lottie?”

She groaned in discomfort, quickly running up the window and shutting it. His face fell as if in hurt. With a swallow, she drew the blinds and turned down her oil lamp, hugging her knees in her bed.

Remmick started playing again, lingering outside the window. His voice came through the glass.

“Was it something I said, darlin’?”

She bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut, willing the stranger away.

“Oh, come now, don’t be so scary,” he teased, “I promise I don’t mean ya any harm. Just heard talk of ya, that’s all. Wanted to hear ya play for myself.”

She stayed on the bed, her knees slipping against her sweaty arms. He played the melody a few more times, then suddenly fell silent. Then his voice sounded closer to the window.

“I know you’re not sleeping in there,” he said, “Not in this heat.”

Lottie stared at the curtains with her heart in her throat.

“Whatchu want with me? Get on outta here,” she said, her voice faltering, “I ain’t got no business with your kind—whatever it is.”

Another chuckle. “Just trying to be neighborly. But if you insist—“

“I do.”

“‘Til next time, darlin’.”

She listened to his playing fade away into the night, and let out a sigh of relief as the sound of cicadas returned.

Lottie barely made it through the day in one piece without a lick of sleep. She couldn’t have after the strange man from the woods. Even after an hour had passed, she half expected to hear him coming back to play his melody again and linger outside her window. She laid still in her bed, sweating through her nightgown, until the sun rose.

Under the protection of the sun, she felt less worried about running into him again, but a pit formed in her stomach as dusk came and went.

She locked up her doors and windows, and began to play. Same piece, same practice, but she couldn’t focus, not in this heat. With a sigh, she sat at the harp in silence, wiping her face and neck off with a cool towel.

Then, a tink.

She tensed at the sound coming from her right window, and sat alert.

Tink.

She frowned. Were those…pebbles?

Tink. Tink.

Slowly, Lottie rose from her seat and peeked through the blinds. The moon was bright tonight, so she could make him out easier. He was between the forest and her window, tossing pebbles at the glass. She squinted.

“Boy, what the hell…”

The light of her oil lamp peeked through her curtains, and he stopped tossing the little rocks, walking up to the window and gently tapping on the glass, puckering out his lower lip in mock sadness. She made a face, wiping her forehead again with her towel. Might as well see what the cracker wants this time.

She pulled one of the curtains open, peering at him cautiously. She unlocked the window and cracked it open. She welcomed the slightly cooler air on her skin.

“I ain’t playing tonight,” she said, “Too hot.”

“Oh, you’re breakin’ my heart, lass.”

“Mhm.”

“I s’pose it’s enough just to see your pretty face, though,” he said, devious smile evident in his voice.

She sucked her teeth, turning away from the window.

“You a fool, ain’t ya?”

“Hardly,” he replied, “I’m just too much a gentleman to say it the first time I met you. Playin’ that harp, you look just like an angel.”

The breeze blew the curtains apart gently, and Remmick leaned against the windowsill, grinning as he cocked his head, his gaze meandering her figure as she turned back around, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Doubt you know much about angels, whatever you is.”

“Enough to recognize one in front o’ me, sweetheart.”

She sighed, wiping her neck and chest as she collapsed in her chair.

“It’s too hot for all that nonsense, quit it. Whatchu doin’ back here, anyway? I told you I ain’t want nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mean that,” he said, placing a hand on his chest, “I just gave you a little scare, that’s all.”

She didn’t answer. She rose from her seat, taking her towel to the washbin and swishing it around. She wrung it out and wiped her brow, pressing it against the back of her neck for some cool.

“Don’t leave me lonely over here, Charlotte,” his voice called out into the house, daring to sound wounded, “I only mean to be your friend. Little ladies like you shouldn’t be all alone in the night, sitting in the dark, without any friends.”

“Some friend, leering through my window like you do,” she said as she eased herself back into her seat, eyes shut.

“Well, you could always let me inside,” he suggested, no, offered, “Keep ya company through the night.”

Her head snapped over to him, eyes sharp. He smiled at her. She swallowed, looking at his mouth—his…his teeth. They were sharp and glimmering white like a beast’s. She shivered slightly despite having to wipe sweat from her neck again.

“What kinda monster are you anyhow, can’t make his own way into a little lady’s house?”

His teeth glistened in the lamplight. “I told ya I was a gentleman, ain’t gonna force my way in.”

“Can’t get no way in is more like it,” she dismissed, taking a small music program and starting to fan herself with it. She regarded him cautiously.

“I reckon you’d eat me whole if you got in here.”

He laughed softly, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated all the way to her bones.

“All the way up, sugar.”

Suddenly Lottie felt a bit too naked in the thin little nightgown stuck to her skin. She perched slightly in her chair, holding his gaze as he leaned closer to the window, eyes catching a red glow.

“Ain’t seen nothing as sweet as you.”

She pressed her knees together awkwardly, looking away.

“That ain’t no way to talk to nobody. I hardly know you.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, gaze pressing through the fabric, “I’ll fix that soon enough.”

In an instant, he was gone. The vice grip around her heart loosened as she took a deep, gasping breath. With a trembling exhale, she closed the window and shut the curtains.

Another sleepless night passed.

“Where you from, anyway?”

Remmick watched her lithe hands strum through the strings of the harp with a pleased smile on his face. Her pulse was racing, he could hear it, but her hands remained steady. His gaze skimmed the slight curve of her back, the fine muscles working in her slender forearms as she plucked through scales. Then she stopped and looked at him.

“You ain’t from round here.”

“I’m from somewhere long lost, darlin’. Nothing you’d know.”

“Europe, I reckon.”

He grinned, but his focus was on her hands.

“Play something, won’t you? Came all this way just to hear you play.”

The heat had lifted a little tonight, prompting Lottie to cover up a bit with a shawl. She adjusted it over her shoulders with a small bow of her head, then went back to passively strumming the strings.

“Whatchu wanna hear?”

“Somethin’ sweet like you.”

He earned a modest smile from her lips as she shook her head.

“ ‘Spose I can do that.”

She took a deep breath, lifted her arms like a dancer’s, hovering them around the strings. She paused to think, then shut her eyes with a purse of her lips.

“I learned this one a while back,” she said softly. “This here’s Tournier.”

Remmick watched in fascination as her fingers began to work the strings in earnest. The melody started soft, but grew to a resonant level under her hands. The sound was cool and soft, lapping at his ears like the gentle caress of a flowing river. He shut his eyes. The Mississippi heat became a memory as visions of a time long passed flashed in fragments behind his eyes. He could see it, taste it even, the rolling green hills of his homeland, the salt of the crashing sea.

The song only lasted a few minutes. He stood still as she masterfully softened the sound again, gently pulling him from his dream as the music concluded. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Lottie cleared her throat, resting her hands on her knees.

“Well, what’d you think?”

His face had softened. He stared at her hands, then looked up at her face. Where her wide brown eyes watched him curiously.

“You’re a precious thing, Lottie,” he told her, voice soft as silk.

She fidgeted with her shawl again, looking down shyly.

“That’s a mighty fine compliment.”

He smiled slightly, still in a daze from what her playing had conjured.

“Might I listen again from the porch?”

She hesitated, but nodded. He disappeared from the window without a sound. Willing herself to stand, she went to the door, bringing the lamp with her. His weight creaked the floorboards, and she slowly wrapped her hand around the knob, almost too nervous to open the door.

“You promise you can’t come in?”

“Not unless you let me.”

For a moment, her body fought her. She rested her forehead against the wood, her breath trembling. He waited patiently on the other side. She could feel him there.

“I promise I don’t mean you no harm,” he assured her.

After a moment of stillness, the locks clicked and the door slowly creaked open. Lottie peeked out from the other side, eyes both curious and weary. She wasn’t sure what good a devil’s promise was, but his voice sounded different. Gentler. She opened the door wider, turning her lamp up so she could see him better.

Up close, he wasn’t half as scary. More beautiful if anything. The warm light kissed his pale skin lovingly, caressing the manly curve of his jaw, the soft blue of his eyes. He looked more like a man than she had imagined possible. She shifted onto one hip, looking down at her feet.

“My, you’re lovely,” he said to her, slowly leaning against the doorframe, “Swear I ain’t ever seen nothing as lovely as you.”

He’d been around too long for that to be true. She slowly met his gaze again through the screen door. He smirked.

“What’s the matter? Man ain’t never told you how lovely you are?”

No man ever came near Lottie. Everyone was too afraid of her Papa to even think of speaking to her in an inappropriate matter. All the boys in town knew he’d come with a shotgun if her Mama caught sight of them looking at her the wrong way. Her brothers grew up big, too, and kept watch like dogs guarding sheep. She used to long for one of them to come in the night, take a chance when the men were fast asleep and her harp sang out the window softly, but they never did. Maybe that’s why Remmick had appeared. Maybe she’d still been calling into the night without realizing it.

His eyes glinted. “Man ain’t never taken care of you?”

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and she stepped back.

“That ain’t a proper thing to ask.”

“I asked you nicely, didn’t I?”

“Whatchu asking for in the first place,” she hissed back.

His gaze dragged over her face as if he was learning every inch, and he languidly caressed the screen door with the back of his knuckles.

“I’m just tryna figure out what I’ll give you in return for your lovely music. I’m a real generous man, y’know.”

She rose her eyebrows, unamused. “Is that right?”

“Right it is.”

She rolled her eyes and fanned her neck with her shawl. Remmick leaned closer, inhaling her scent. He hummed, hiding his hand behind his back and clenching it into a fist. He could taste it, the sweat on her skin, that slight fruity scent that clung to it.

“You droolin’?”

He quickly wiped his mouth, chuckling a little.

“Look at that,” he remarked.

She eyed him suspiciously. “You tryin’ to eat me?”

He laughed, stepping back from the door. “No, no, I won’t eat ya. Might keep ya, but won’t eat ya.”

She swallowed, frowning at his words. “I think it’s time you went on, Remmick.”

His smile lingered on his lips as he rubbed his lower one with his thumb. He studied her a bit longer, a white silhouette in the doorframe, then descended the steps of her porch.

“You’ll see when I come in,” he said, “It’s not too bad, being kept.”

She turned off her lamp and locked the door. She listened to him play his melody into the night, shutting her eyes with a sigh.

Lottie didn’t know how to feel about it. Being kept. The word echoed in her mind as she watched unsure hands stumble over piano keys inside the chapel, and it made her feel guilty—she couldn’t pinpoint why. The dry air was like sandpaper against her throat as she smiled and gave an encouraging nod to the young boy who glanced up at her in question between measures.

“You’re doin’ just fine, Joe,” she told him.

The boy stopped abruptly and rubbed his hands, wincing. Lottie peered down at him curiously.

“I’ve been playin’ thirty minutes straight, Miss Lottie,” he complained, “Can we take a break?”

Lottie’s heart stopped. Had the time passed that quickly? Why hadn’t she noticed? All she’d been thinking about was…

She blinked rapidly and cleared her throat, cheeks burning in shame. Him, she realized. She’d been thinking of him. His strange sounding voice, his slender fingers grazing the screen door, the slight scent of sweat that clung to his skin, the way he’d looked at her.

She smoothed a hand over her hair. “Of course.”

The boy eyed her strangely. “You alright, Miss Lottie?”

Lottie laughed breathlessly. “What makes you say that, Lil’ Joe? ‘Course I’m alright.”

He shrugged, massaging his wrists. Lottie’s mind cleared, and she considered his hands again with newfound perception.

“Play that last part for me again, will you?”

He gave her a rueful look, but obliged. She quickly stopped him before the first note rang out and circled her fingers around his wrists, lifting them slightly then correcting the arch of his hands.

“You gotta hold them like this, okay? Like you’re holding a small baseball.”

“But that hurts worse!”

She tapped his elbows correctively so he’d lift them, then nodded for him to play.

“I can’t, Miss Lottie,” he complained.

With a smile, she lifted her hands to the keys to demonstrate the correct posture.

“Okay, then watch me. I’ll go slow.”

She was about to start playing when the wooden door creaked open, breaking her focus and making her stomach jump in shock. Joe’s father’s eyes widened in surprise, then crinkled as he smiled.

“Didn’t mean to give you a scare, Miss Lottie,” he apologized, taking off his hat as he stepped in, “Just came to get my boy.”

She frowned, checking her watch in confusion. They had about fifteen minutes left.

“We off to visit my mama today, she’s a town over,” he explained, lingering by the doors.

Joe jumped up from the piano bench as Lottie slowly rose, gently closing the piano and gathering up the music from the stand. She watched the young boy ran up to his father and embraced his legs with a smile, following behind him. His father grinned, gathering him up in his arms and resting the boy on his hip, putting his fedora on his son's head. He looked to Lottie warmly.

"Where you headed, Miss Lottie?"

Lottie clutched her music to her chest. "Oh, I don't know, Charlie. Maybe into town, get me something to drink."

She just knew she couldn't go home. Not when Remmick's presence had imprinted itself onto the doorway. She needed a clear head, even for a moment, even if it required corn liquor and muggy, dark rooms.

Charlie flashed a charming smile at her. "Well, we'll walk you there."

Lottie smiled and looked down as Charles offered her passage out of the chapel and closed the door behind them, careful of his son as he went through the doorway. It was high noon—the sun was beaming down with a vengeance today, hotter than usual, with no breeze to grant a reprieve. Charlie and Lottie's feet moved in sync as they walked down the dirt road, squinting under the sun and stealing glances at each other, offering one another polite, fleeting smiles.

"How's work treatin' you," Charlie asked, brown eyes blinking through the sunlight to look at her face. "You seem mighty tired."

Lottie nodded, rubbing her sweaty neck and wiping it off on her dress. She glanced over at Joe pulling Charlie's hat over his eyes to shield them from the sun, and smiled again.

"Work's treatin' me just fine. It's when I'm home the trouble starts."

Charlie's eyebrows rose from their low knit, and he stopped walking, letting Joe down. Joe scampered on ahead, hat bouncing. Charlie eyed Lottie with concern, stepping closer to her in one stride as they started to walk again.

"Ain't a man, givin' you trouble, is it?"

Lottie chuckled. "No, my brothers would've handled any man quite easily."

Charlie hummed, then hesitated. "A woman?"

Lottie gasped, slapping Charlie's arm with her music sheets. "Charlie!"

He let out a deep laugh smooth as molasses, dark forehead glistening in the sun. He stuck his hands in his pockets, cocking his head playfully with a shrug.

"Just askin'."

"Dog," she shot back, a smile playing on her lips. "Bet you'd like that just fine, wouldn't you?"

Charlie squinted at the sky, devilish smile playing on his lips. "Well..."

Lottie shook her head with a chuckle. "You a damn dog. God knows what you teachin' Lil' Joe."

"Aw, no, now, Miss Lottie," he said, "Joe's a good boy. Gonna go to Chicago one day, just like you."

He flashed another brilliant smile, and Lottie was helpless to do anything but be soaked in its radiance. She met his eyes with a small smile of her own, and their gazes lingered on each other for a moment before breaking and focusing on the road ahead. Joe was looking at them curiously, clearly waiting for the slow old people to hurry on up. They picked up their pace accordingly.

"But really, Miss Lottie," Charlie began, eyes focused on his son through the rippling air. "You alright?"

Lottie sighed. That seemed to be everyone's favorite question lately. Her mother, her brothers, Lil' Joe, and now his father. It was only this time, though, that she felt she could answer honestly.

"Somethin's been heavy on my mind," she admitted. "Something...strange."

Charlie nodded, eyes wandering in thought. "What kinda strange?"

Lottie fell quiet, unsure how to begin. How could she explain to Charlie the strange feelings swirling inside her about her dark visitor with the gleaming fangs and beautiful blue eyes? About how he purred, how he smiled, how he always kept coming back despite her attempts to push him off? How could she tell him how it made her feel, for the first time, alive in a way only her music could?

She swallowed, frowning, then abruptly asked--

"What does it mean for a man to keep a woman?"

Charlie paused, taken aback and thoroughly amused. "Thought you said it wasn't a man."

It wasn't, she thought to herself. More animal than man. More creature than human. She quietly fumbled with the worn edges of her music pages, pursing her lips.

"Will you tell me, or not?"

Charlie laughed, then sucked in a deep breath, broad chest puffing up under his overalls and dirtied button-up. He reached for his hat to rub the brim, then remembered it was gone. Awkwardly, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

"Well, Miss Lottie...it means a man's found something real special. Something he can't share with nobody. Something that's...that's got to be all his or he'll go mad."

He stared at Lottie's profile thoughtfully, then cleared his throat and looked away when her eyes slid over to his in question.

"At least, that's what I'd say it means."

Lottie frowned at her shoes in thought, turning the information over in her head. Charlie stole a couple glances at her, then finally spoke again.

"Man want to keep you, Miss Lottie?"

Remmick's soft gaze flashed in her mind, making her breath catch in her throat. Charlie noticed this and tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

"Lottie," he said gently, "If a man's botherin' you, all you need to do is say the word and I'm there."

She blinked away the image of Remmick's face, gripping her music pages tightly. Lottie let out an exhale, then gave Charlie a small smile.

"Nothing's wrong, Charlie," she assured him, "I promise. I'd tell you if there was."

She knew not to, but she let him look at her.

She’d play for him, then she’d leave the door open like she ain’t had no sense, and let him linger there, eyes glowing red in the dark as she smoked a cigarette in her bed, knees drawn, her nightgown pooling at her hips. Her chest and thighs sparkled with sweat in the faint lamplight, and she could feel his eyes grazing her bare skin.

She didn’t know why, but something was being drawn out of her by him. Something that liked to be watched. Seen.

She’d look at those glowing embers in the dark and feel some kind of charge build under her skin, a new kind of heat that made the muggy air unbearable. She’d stretch and wriggle slightly in her bed, staring back at them, exhaling smoke as he watched her from the doorway.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to tempt me,” he said to her.

She chuckled to herself, sitting up and grabbing her carton of cigarettes.

“Can devils be tempted, Remmick?”

She took a lighter between her fingers and went over to the door.

“They just as helpless as any ol’ man?”

She opened the screen door slightly, and he pressed himself through the crack, opening it fully. She leaned slightly against the door, blowing cigarette smoke into his face.

“You know what you’re doing, little lady,” he questioned.

She pulled a cigarette from the carton, twirling it between her fingers. She lifted it to his lips, smiling wryly.

“Want one?”

“I take it you don’t.”

“What am I doing, then?”

“You’re playing a game you’re set to lose.”

“I thought you’d love a game,” she said softly.

She gestured for him to come closer, and he did. She placed the cigarette in his lips, then leaned forward to light it with hers, her head peeking out of the doorframe. He inhaled, his cigarette sparking. The corner of her mouth curved slightly, threatening to send him over the edge. He could see her breasts down her nightgown, and swallowed. She quickly ducked back inside, letting out a heavy breath.

“You still scared of me,” he said, smiling, the cigarette hanging from his lips, “I can smell it.”

She just held his stare, finishing her cigarette.

“What ya scared of?” He put the cigarette out on the doorframe. “Scared I’ll fuck you too good?”

He hadn’t said it yet before that moment. He just teased it with his eyes, the rasp of his voice, the way he caged the doorframe like a hungry animal. She licked her lips, taking a shaky breath.

“Oh, don’t get nervous now, darlin’,” he reprimanded gently, “Not after you got me so excited to give you what you want.”

“I ain’t scared of you.”

He tutted at her, shaking his head. “No one likes a liar, baby.”

She honestly hadn’t thought of it before he said it. Now she could see it clearly in her mind. She stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest as she threatened to cross her own threshold. She was looking at him proper now, imagining what it could be like to feel a man’s touch, or a not-so-man’s touch, and her fingers crept across the doorframe.

“I’m happy to give you what you need, Lottie,” he said, “Just gotta be a big girl and say it.”

She drew her eyebrows, finally meeting his gaze.

“C’mon,” he whispered, “You know I’ll take good care o’ ya.”

Before she could regret it, she grabbed him by the collar and sealed her lips against his, pushing up on her toes to stay behind the doorframe. Then, she quickly jumped back, a line of drool stretching and breaking between them. He looked shocked. Shocked she actually did it, kissed him like that. He didn’t take her to be that bold. Just a little neglected, wanting to toy with him.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. It was like watching a foal learn to walk. She stepped carefully near him again, her hands trembling.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she admitted, “But I ain’t never wanted a man much as I want you.”

“I ain’t no man, darlin’,” he said with a grin.

She saw the drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. She leaned forward on her toes again, licking it off. His breath shuddered. She stepped across the doorway, kissing him again, putting his hands on her waist. She nuzzled his neck, taking off his thin suspenders.

“Maybe that’s what I like.”

“Say it,” he told her, “If you’re so big and bad.”

She leaned in to kiss him again but he pulled back, making her weak legs nearly buckle as his glowing eyes peered down at her.

“Come in.”

He smiled.

“Come in and do what?”

His hands palmed the fullness of her ass and squeezed greedily through her nightgown. He could feel her pulse thrumming eagerly as she pressed herself against him, her hips pushing against his.

“Come in an’ fuck me good like you say you can.”

She hooked her fingers into his collar and dragged him in as he kicked the door shut, grabbing the back of her neck and hotly pressing his lips against hers.

“Mm, if you so big and bad,” she breathed into his mouth.

He chuckled and shook his head, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back. She whined softly and grabbed at his shirt, trying to pull him closer. His drool smeared against her neck as he bared his fangs against her skin, pressing them against her pulse, feeling how helplessly she melted against him. He gathered up the skirt of her nightgown and dabbed his chin with his fingers, slid his hands between her legs and groaned, pressing her against the wall.

“You’re a sweet little thing, ain’t ya,” he whispered, fingers rubbing firm circles against her clit. “Tried to show off for me, but you’re just a good girl.”

Her breath fanned against his face as he pressed his forehead against hers, making her hold his stare as he pressed two of his fingers inside her and curled them just right enough to make her eyes fall shut in anguish.

He fell to his knees and pushed her thighs apart, inhaling the smell of her sweat and slick with a growl. He buried his face between her legs without thinking, lapping up her taste greedily before he could remember himself, flicking his tongue against her clit and sucking it until her legs shook too bad for her to stand as she moaned like a sick man. She gripped his hair as her thighs quaked against the sides of his face and clenched as her pussy clamped down on nothing and her body flooded with white hot heat. He groaned into her, only spurred further instead of cooling down.

“Oh god, I can’t—I can’t—“

He held her up by her hips and continued, sealing his mouth over her pussy and circling her clit with his tongue before pushing it inside her. Lottie cried out and grabbed onto nothing desperately, trying not to fall onto his face but gradually sliding lower and lower down the wall as her body melted. Her head was fuzzy and the room was spinning and Remmick only kept going like he was attached to her. Her breath stopped and started as she tugged at her own nightgown and stretched the neck until she came into his mouth with a tortured sob.

She had collapsed on the floor, staring in a daze up at the ceiling as he finally came up from between her legs. His chin and mouth were dripping with sweat and juices. He grinned at her, wiping his face clean and unbuttoning his shirt as she breathed heavily, gently writhing beneath him.

“You’re in for it now, lassie,” he warned, tugging his shirt off, “Sun’s coming up soon, I ain’t goin nowhere, and neither are you, are ya?”

She shook her head slowly, struggling to move. He laughed softly.

“Don’t tell me you’re all tuckered out now, I haven’t even started.”

“No man…ever licked me like that before,” she said under her breath.

“That’s a real shame,” he lamented, shaking his head, lowering himself between her legs again. “Want me to do it again?”

“Yes, please.”

He kissed down her thighs, inhaling deeply, eyes shut as he brushed his nose against her soft skin. He moved slower this time, each kiss getting a slight twitch out of her as it connected, listening to her breath hitch in her chest every time his tickled her pussy. His head dipped low, and Lottie took a deep, heavy breath as he pressed his full tongue against her clit and dragged it up slowly as if he’d already forgotten her taste. The sensation was unbearable, her sensitive nerve endings enveloped by his mouth, velvet tongue sliding up and down and side to side as she pushed into him, her legs pried open by the strength of his hands, her back arching off of the floor.

“Like that?”

“Mmm,” she groaned, sliding her fingers into his dark hair.

His teeth gently scraped against her clit, making her hips buck up in response.

"Attagirl," he whispered.

His tongue danced nimbly against her clit as if he’d already been doing it a lifetime. For all Lottie knew, he had--he was devouring her like a man starved, rough fingertips digging into bruising, soft flesh. She suddenly lurched forward and cried out, nearly sitting up straight before collapsing onto her right elbow and keening against his tongue. The feeling was impossible enough, but the noises...the sounds of slurping and sucking and his feverish, guttural groans against her core sent her over the edge. She could see white out of the corners of her eyes before they rolled back, and her mouth fell open. No sound came from her lips as heat consumed her body like a possession--this must be what it felt like to have some kind of demon take control of your limbs, rip your soul from its throne within your heart. Choked, stuttering breaths broke free from her throat, and she slowly crumbled onto the ground, a tremor rolling down her spine and colliding with Remmick's greedy mouth.

Sweet Jesus.

Her mind was fuzzy for a moment, but he didn't give her one. Before she knew it, he had scooped her up in his arms and threw her over his shoulder, one hand securing her by her ass. Her thighs trembled as she blinked away tears in her eyes that she didn't realize were there. She had barely sucked in any air into her lungs before he tossed her onto the bed, knocking it all out of her chest as she bounced.

Her glassy eyes made out Remmick’s silhouette as he closed the windows and tugged the curtains shut, leaving her in complete darkness. Lottie held her breath again as she waited, listening to him rustle around, kicking off his boots and taking off his pants. She sat up and fumbled around in the dark blindly until she clutched the oil lamp, jumping back at the residual heat, then turned it on with trembling, clammy hands and set it on the chair.

She only saw a flash of pale skin and he was on her. Lottie gasped weakly as his fingers curled painfully into her hair, tugging roughly to keep her eyes on his. Her heart pounded wildly as those small suns pierced into her soul. Her ragged breathing made him smile.

"Now, darlin'," he said, leading them both to her bed with every step, "I'm gonna need you to listen to me. Can you do that?"

She fell into sitting on the bed and found herself met with his cock. It bobbed gently between his thighs, risen to attention, already leaking with precum. It was thick, small veins protruding on the sides, and the sight tortured her—she needed it. He yanked her head upwards to make her eyes focus on his. He tilted his head, smiling.

“Baby, I asked ya a question.”

It was too much to ask of her to speak anymore. Instead, Lottie reached up her back to start to undo the buttons of her nightgown to answer, fingers trembling as they struggled to grab hold of the tiny buttons, spent arm muscles strained in the awkward angle. Remmick watched as the cotton fabric went limp around her chest, exposing her fine clavicle bones, the gentle swell of her breasts, the dainty points of her dark brown nipples. Her breath trembled as she nervously peeled it off, looking up at him for approval, for direction.

His hold in her hair loosened as he stepped closer, grabbing her chin and slowly circling her lips with his thumb. She parted them, and, balling up her nightgown into fists on her thighs, closed her lips around it, letting him ease the pad of his thumb further down her velvet tongue. Her eyes fluttered shut as she took a stuttering breath, knees falling open on their own—much to Remmick’s pleasure. He nudged her chin, making her eyes open. They stared up at him with that same look that drew him in the first night he’d seen her: soft, sweet, lost.

“Don’t take your eyes off mine,” he said, dragging her mouth open with the force of his hand, “Don’t even think of it.”

She shook her head slightly to show her agreement, and he tilted her head further upward, releasing her tongue from his hold.

“I’ll take good care of you, okay? Real good.”

He leaned over her, staring achingly at her open her mouth. She was perfect, already so obedient, waiting on him to do as he pleased. So good.

It was a shame he had to ruin her.

“Gimme yer tongue,” he instructed softly.

Shyly, she obeyed, pink tongue glistening in the lamplight as she stuck it out. Without missing a beat, Remmick’s thumb caressed her jaw as he leaned further down and slowly spit into her mouth. She made a soft, timid sound of surprise, her eyes widening as it trickled to the back of her throat, slimy and alien. She never thought it’d be so easy, but she could feel the spark of desire squeezing her thighs together again.

Straightening up, he hooked his thumb against her teeth and opened her mouth wide, relishing in the confusion that glistened in those brown pools as they remained fixed onto his gaze. He placed his other hand on the crown of her head, positioning her before using it to take hold of his length. His breath shuddered as he teased his tip against her wet, soft lips and watched her gaze soften with desire, begging him to go further. So he did.

He was going to be gentle with her, he’d promised himself. Nothing too harsh, lest he scare her away. But when he felt the way her mouth sucked him in, saw her pretty little lips wrapped around his cock, he couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed the base of her head again and pushed, easing his hips further into her mouth in greedy lust. He sucked in air sharply, brows furrowing as he moved her head—her mouth—slowly along his shaft to ease her into what he was about to do to her despite himself. She moved in sync, a soft moan rumbling at the back of her throat, the vibration barely reaching his head as his breath shattered out of him. His eyes flashed down at her in surprise.

“Careful, lass,” he warned, but she didn’t listen. She flattered her tongue against him instinctively, one of her beautiful, sacred hands reaching up to close around the base of his cock, squeezing him just enough to make his hips jerk forward. “F-Fuck…”

His fingers lifted slightly off of her skin as she eased off of the bed, her nightgown falling and pooling around her knees as they met the wooden floor. Remmick lifted his head slightly, staring down at her in disbelief as she dragged her mouth back along his length, took a small breath that teased his cock with cool air, and then enveloped him in that soft warmth again, pushing up on her knees. His hand moved from the base of her head to her hair, tugging her forward, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. She allowed it, moved into it, pressing her breasts against his thighs as she moved her hand away and let him sink deeper into her mouth. He hissed quietly, hips snapping a bit as the tip of his cock pressed hotly against the back of her throat. He held still, pulling her further, daring to slip past into her throat. A violent gag erupted from her body, making her lurch and cling onto his legs as if it would help.

“Don’t move,” he breathed out, firm hold returning to the base of her head, “Stay fuckin’ still.”

Her nails dug into his skin as another gag built up inside her that she fought to keep down. Remmick’s hips keened forward, testing as she tried to breathe, to get any sort of relief, but failed. Everything, every sense she had—her taste, her smell—it was all him. His eyes shut as his head tilted back. He reared his hips back slowly, only to for Lottie to lean forward, determined to take all of him like her body begged for, but he grabbed his cock and pulled it out of her mouth roughly, tutting his tongue.

“What did I just tell you?”

She caught her breath, hands falling to her lap. Remmick sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“ ‘M sorry,” she managed to say, head spinning as her eyes blurred, “I just…need you.”

And she did. Painfully. Her lips trembled as she watched his part thoughtfully, his knuckles caressing her cheekbone tenderly. Her eyes were teary, but Remmick could see the quiet determination in them, the hunger, the need. It was only the gentlemanly thing to do to oblige her.

He gathered up her hair in his hand and her mouth fell open naturally, tongue finding his head like it was the only place it belonged. Remmick allowed it, fascinated by the woman he was now watching worship his cock who had trained a pistol on him barely a week ago. She curved her tongue underneath his shaft and licked up its length, tilting her head to keep her eyes on his like he’d told her to. She let spit bubble from her mouth and, with quivering breaths, spread it slick over him with her lips, watching him melt into her touch as a heavier, deeper sigh escaped his lips.

“That’s a girl,” he said, voice barely a rasp escaping his throat.

She took him into his mouth, eyes flitting up expectantly. He grinned, fingers curling roughly against her scalp.

“You want me to fuck every little part o’ ya,” he muttered, forcing his cock down her throat, “Is that it?”

The sensation was so intense that Lottie felt each thrust echo through her whole body. He didn’t give her time to gag on him, just take his force, his heat, and all of it pooled between her legs as weak moans vibrated out of her. She placed one hand on the floor between her thighs to steady herself, pressing her arm against her swollen clit and squeezing around it to find some release—Remmick was too distracted by the sensations of her mouth to stop her.

She pressed against her wrist, grinding slowly until Remmick abruptly stopped, pulling out of her mouth with a pop. She made a soft whine, trying to catch him. He raised a brow, tugging her head back.

“Think yer slick, rubbing your pussy like that?”

She swallowed against her sore throat, eyes trailing away shyly. Remmick grinned, but dropped it as soon as she managed to meet his eyes again. She really was too perfect. He leaned down, grabbing her by the throat and standing her up on her weak legs. She gasped, hands fluttering around his on her neck, nearly stumbling over her feet. His eyes meandered her lovely, ruined face.

“Such a sweet girl,” he whispered, grinned creeping back in again, “Can’t help yourself, can ya?”

She shook her head feebly against his strength, pussy throbbing. She needed him, and she needed him now.

“Please,” she begged quietly.

He leaned his head toward her, moving her closer by his hold on her throat, making her gasp as she was lifted to her toes. She could feel herself getting lightheaded, she hadn’t gotten enough breath after his cock had smothered her before.

“What was that, darlin’?”

“Please,” she choked out, “Please…fuck me.”

He smiled, looking down at her quivering lips, her trembling hands holding onto his securely around her neck. He squeezed gently, toying with the flesh, then pulled her closer to place a soft, slow kiss on her lips. She gasped for air as their lips parted, their mouths slick with saliva and laced with each other's taste, grabbing onto his shoulder and rubbing her thighs together desperately.

"I could snap your neck," he said softly, brushing dark coils off her forehead gently, "I could kill ya without even trying."

He lifted her up a bit more, eyes studying her face as if he was thinking it over, and Lottie couldn't believe how good it felt to be weak, at his mercy. Remmick chuckled.

"I could kill ya, and all knowing that does is make ya even wetter?"

He tossed her back onto the bed, listening as she yelped and gasped for air, rubbing her throat and crawling further onto the bed. Remmick climbed on top of her, admiring the handprint he'd left on her neck, caressing it gently with his fingertips and watching her shiver. He smiled, shaking his head.

"No one knows, do they?"

"Know wha--mmm..."

She eagerly closed her mouth around his fingers, sucking on them as he slid them out of her parted lips. Remmick couldn't help but chuckle again as he parted her weak legs, slowly pressing his two digits inside her slick pussy. He pursed his lips and hissed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Ooh, no one 'cept me knows."

He slowly dragged his fingers across her spongy walls, curling and pushing them out and in, admiring her slickness as she moaned, grabbing onto his arm as her knees bent to open up more for him.

"Please," she begged, " 's not enough..."

Her head fell back into the bed as he pushed his fingers inside roughly, that wicked grin permanently plastered on his face. His thumb pressed against her clit and rubbed as he picked up his pace with his fingers, watching her hips rock in sync, her pussy desperately closing around his digits and squeezing tightly as she whimpered and came.

"Oh," he murmured in mock surprise, "That easy, baby?"

Lottie felt close to weeping. Her body was on fire--each release only made the feeling worse, the ache for his length to be pounding inside her until his seed quenched the flame raging between her feverish thighs. He slid his fingers out, sliding them into her mouth and smiling as she sucked off her own juices, too hungry for his skin to be put off by the taste. She whined as he slipped his fingers out of her mouth again, grabbing his hand and cupping it against his cheek so he could feel what he was doing to her; the heat...it was unbearable.

"I know," he muttered affectionately, "I know."

His hand slid back to her neck and gripped it tightly as he pressed himself on top of her and kissed her forcefully. Her fractured breath burst out of her nose as she kissed him back, her mouth opening wider for their tongues to meet. The heat on her skin grew stronger each time their jaws moved together, and she began to lose herself in the feeling, the agonizing blaze becoming a little easier to bear, so long as he never stopped kissing her, so long as he never stopped grinding his shaft against her puffy folds and groaned into her mouth. He broke his mouth away from hers, peppering kisses on her cheeks and grunting into her ear.

"You need it, darlin'?"

Her words slurred out, mind numbing out as she struggled to find them. "Fuck, please--"

"You sound so good when you beg," he whispered against her cheek, lining his hips up with hers. "Keep doin' it."

She groaned heavily as he dragged his tip against her cunt, teasing her entrance. "I need you to fuck me so badly, please don't make me wait anymore."

Another whine escaped her lips as he pulled her upright, holding her against his chest as he lined himself up with her cunt then slowly, excruciatingly, eased her onto his cock. Her weight leaned onto him as an overwhelming wave of relief weighed down her limbs, tears pricking at her eyes. It was good, it was so good, it felt impossible to bear. Slowly, with shuddering breaths, she pressed herself deeper so she could fill herself up to the brim with his length, whimpering at the feeling of his engorged head kissing her cervix. Her nails dug into his shoulders as his hands slid up her back and fastened onto the base of her neck, holding her down firmly as her hips slowly rocked against him.

"So good," she slurred, lips smushed against his neck as she gasped, " 's so good, Remmick..."

Lottie's mind swirled into nothingness as her body moved on its own, picking up the pace. She had never felt so full, so complete, and the friction of him against her sweet spot made her keen onto him, shuddering breaths slowly evolving into moans as Remmick's breath grew heavy against her breasts.

"Fuck, baby," he uttered softly, inhaling that fruity scent, pressing his lips into a firm line. "You gon' give it all to me, huh?"

She nodded, eyebrows creasing as she bit down on her lip. The bed began to squeak as they rocked against each other, shaky moans and heavy grunts filling the room. Lottie could feel something sharp digging into her skin, dragging down her back, but the pain only made her squeeze around him as she cried out, grinding against him harder, a surge of energy striking through her like a second wind.

"That's it," Remmick encouraged, voice quaking as his forehead wrinkled, "Oh, that's a girl."

Her hips began to rock and down as she clung to him, desperately trying to create more friction inside her, her folds dragging against ever little ridge of his cock, her pussy clenching and sucking him in as her ass began to bounce off of his thighs, Remmick's hands quickly shifted to her hips, claws digging into her sweaty stomach and lower back as he moved with her, his gravelly moans filling her ears.

"All those boys lookin' at ya," he breathed into her ear, "Thinkin' you're so pure and innocent, scared to touch ya..."

The thought made Lottie groan in frustration as her teeth broke her skin. Remmick moved her hips, his strength lifting her up and down on his cock, claws scratching her thighs and ass as the slivers on her back and stomach began to weep out droplets of blood. His nose flared, fangs peeking out of his gums at the sweet aroma of arousal that poured from the ruby red substance.

"I ain't scared to touch ya," he said, "Am I?"

Lottie shook her head, straightening up and tilting her head backward, tears spilling out of her cheeks. Remmick stopped moving her to grab her chin and kiss her, tongue swiping over her bloodied lips as he let out a soft growl. She whimpered, afraid to open her eyes and see the monster she could feel against her nude, slick body, hanging onto the back of his neck as their tongues met and another painful wave of heat burned through her muscles.

"You taste so sweet, darlin'. So sweet."

Remmick lifted her up to her knees--much to her weak noises of disapproval-- and turned her around, pushing her face into the patchwork quilt and pressing his hand into her back to ease it into a curve. He bent over, tongue greedily skimming the blood on her back, and gently nipped at her neck with his fangs.

"Please--please--"

He caged her body underneath his, leveraging his weight above her, spitting in his blood-smeared hand and stroking his length. "I'm putting it back in, baby."

He did it in one rough thrust, taking all the air out of her lungs. Her breath rasped as he eased his hips against hers, the tip of his cock pressing firmly into the deepest crevices she didn't even know she had. He hooked one hand around one of her hips, leaning on his other, which he placed lovingly on her head, and shifted his hips back and forth slowly to ease her into the new angle he was piercing her with. A string of breathy moans broke through her lips as she gripped onto the quilt, swallowing as heat and slick filled her pussy and gushed around Remmick's cock. He let out a breathy chuckle, then a whimper as his hips moved faster until they drove against hers, making the headboard crash against the wall.

"Oh--my--oh my god," Lottie squeaked, leaning desperately into him, "Oh my god!"

He dug his claws into her punishingly. "Bad word, dove; dirty word."

She cried out, hand flying back to squeeze his wrist and try to tug his claws off of her. He loosened his fingers to ease the pain, watching the muscles in her back shudder and relax. The headboard hit the wall loudly, overpowering the sounds of skin against skin, whimpering, and Remmick's low muttering into Lottie's ear.

"You make the perfect whore, ya know that? You're my perfect little whore," he said hotly into her skin, "I'm not sharing ya with anybody--you're mine. All mine."

Lottie could feel it building at the base of her spine. She tried to lift a weak arm to touch herself, but couldn't manage the strength. With a pained grunt, she backed into his thrusts, making the bed rock fully. It felt like the walls were shrinking, closing in, stealing air from her lungs as the ball of fire inside her built and built until she shrieked.

Her vision went white, and she shuddered violently underneath Remmick's body, trying to bear the force of release that was overtaking her. She thought her brain would melt inside her feverish head and leak out of her ears. Remmick gave two more stilted, harsh thrusts, but the way she squeezed around him was too much. He dug his claws into the quilt, tearing the fabric, fangs baring as hips stuttered and locked against her, cum spilling inside her, hot and fast as her blood.

"Remmick," she gasped, "Remmick, it's inside--"

She moaned as he covered her mouth, grunting, relishing the feeling of emptying into her as she softened beneath him, hips keening into him. Remmick caught his breath, slowly straightening up, fingers gently grazing her back. Lottie's hands trembled as she lay still, eyes shut, the fever mercifully broken.

"Shit," she whispered, inhaling deeply through her nose.

Remmick smiled at the remark. "You liked that, didya?"

Still inside her, he laid them down onto their side delicately, mindful of her cuts. She let out a deep sigh, reaching for his hand and pulling his arm over her waist to hold her closer, intertwining his fingers with his.

"You a real generous man, Remmick," she said, weak smile forming on her lips. "Real generous."

Remmick chuckled, pressing a soft kiss onto her neck. He eyed the baby blue light of the morning against the white drapery, then looked back down at Lottie’s peaceful face. He brushed the hair off her forehead and kissed it, listening to the crows calling outside.

#amaranthine_enihtnarama #remmick x reader #my wriitng #divider credit: @/luvuxa #divider credit: @/anitalenia #divider credit: @/pommecita #black!reader #black!fem!reader #black y/n #remmick smut #mdni please #remmick x oc

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amaranthine-enihtnarama · 8 days ago

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Is This Desire? (Feyd Rautha x Reader)

honeymoon Feyd laying down that husband pipe 😩 all media besides the story does not belong to me. there IS d1cking down, there IS political intrigue, there ARE in-law tensions, “rehabilitated” Feyd, warnings for s3x

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen and Sanura Sur-Kar have been lifelong friends since the day they were betrothed as children—-a mutual coldness in the eyes inspired respect and appreciation between the two kindred spirits. On the day of the na-Baron’s coming of age, however, simmering tensions between the pair rise to an all-consuming firestorm as the young Baron attempts to finally act on the desires he has harbored for her, but there is significant challenge: how he can manage to break past her impenetrable composure; the dispassionate mask of his treasured Bene Gesserit master?

part one is here!

the high priestess.

***

Here, in his wife’s arms, the newly titled—and wedded—Duke understood the legends of this planet all at once.

The wealth of which so many spoke—-it was beyond precious metals, jewels, esteemed stations; it was the restful quality of the golden suns, the alien sense of community that sprawled around him in astonishing splendor. There was so much, such promise seemingly teeming at every corner of this planet; that the thought of stealing or cheating, clawing at anything seemed a useless and bizarre farce.

Still, as he still took in this new home of his, the most important of his newfound wealth was fast asleep in his protective embrace. Her breaths were soft and slow. He had never seen her beautiful face so peaceful.

Their hearts beat towards each other through their naked chests, aching to embrace in a way that could prove somehow closer than their intertwined bodies. He inhaled her scent and he let his eyes fall shut.

Roses.

***

Feyd was still waiting to wake up from this dream. Her bright cheeks and smile enthralled and confounded him all the same. Now, her eyes were closed—before, she had never once dared to turn her back on him, and now she was sleeping in his arms. Years of longing still burned within him, blistering his insides as he inhaled her scent, but her gift would be enough to stave him off for the moment. Her breathing suddenly sharpened into an inhale and her eyes opened, meeting his. He was still getting used to her blissful expression but he quite liked it. When her features softened, her beauty bloomed in his eyes, like a flower that only opened its petals under the moonlight. She smiled as if she could hear the poetry she conjured in him.

No one else will do, she’d told him. I want you to be my husband.

“What do I call you,” he rasped softly, admiring her radiant face, “Your name.”

She seemed to blush. It hadn’t crossed his mind how she must’ve felt succumbing to his affections, but something told him it hadn’t crossed hers, either—nether of them were the kind to put themselves in others’ shoes without a useful purpose.

“Ah,” she began, hesitating slightly before a bashful smile, “Nitetis is my secret name.”

“Nitetis,” he whispered. A sacred hymn.

Her name lazily flowed from his lips like honey onto hers as he pulled her in for a kiss. That seemed to be easier for them both, no need for thought when flesh met flesh. He felt goosebumps rising on her nape.

“Nitetis,” he muttered, pulling her against him.

She chuckled. “Feyd, stop it.”

A black smile bloomed on his face. His hands confidently roamed along her back, feeling the muscle underneath the soft skin. She laughed in amusement at his passions as if she was not being engulfed with the same spark, and his eyes swept down hungrily to her mouth, stealing her lips for another kiss.

Feyd did not like being separated from his bride. The acceptable few hours they initially had apart being measured by seamstresses upon arriving in Daquan cruelly stretched into days with no sign of her, only tutoring on the wedding rites that awaited him, and the rules he had to follow before the ceremony—he nearly slit the minister’s throat upon being told he would be separated from his bride until they were to be wed. He didn’t care for this planet very much already.

Of course, if his brain went beyond his cock, he was able to appreciate his new court. Feyd knew better than to embarrass his betrothed with his violent impulses, but he was certainly having his patience tested in a way he didn’t anticipate; the purpose of his bride’s confounding behavior over the years was becoming clearer every moment he held onto the reward he had gotten while on the ship to keep his slim thread of patience intact. They had intentionally isolated the na-Baron, disposing of any illusion of diplomacy the moment they’d crossed the belt (after all, a few deaths under his watch didn’t cause anyone to bat an eye). As frustrated as he was, it rested on his shoulders to not jeopardize his fiancée’s hard work. And work she did.

He could see it on the faces of the ministers that spoke to him, the servant men that bathed him in sweet, perfumed water in the vaulted-ceilinged hammam, and the servants that tended to him that the Daquant weren’t pleased at the prospect of keeping a Harkonnen so close. Something told him in the way the soldiers who stood post at every corner of this sprawling palace watched him that his current conditions weren’t part of their plan. He found himself feeling gratitude towards his clever wife-to-be, a strange feeling, but it was nothing compared to the multitude of bizarre experiences he was regularly struggling to navigate. For instance, the living father of his betrothed was…kind. He seemed pleased to welcome the man who his daughter grew so willing to marry; the Duke expressed he was relieved by how well they got along, he looked forward to having more than one grandchild. (Daquani noblewomen were famously inclined towards disposing of unpleasant marriages after an heir had been consummated.)

Weeks passed without word from or even a glimpse of Tii Sanura. Not even a dream. He was starting to feel just a little stir crazy; he was under house arrest after all, they would escort him to the hammam and to dinner with the Duke and Duchess, but she was never to be found, almost as if her presence had only been a dream. It only occurred to him, when the Duchess visited his guest quarters, to simply ask. She was a quiet woman, but amicable enough from what he’d gathered of her.

“Ah, yes, I imagine you’d like to know,” she remarked with the same serene smile as her daughter, “Custom prevents me from telling you our sacred rites for brides here, but I assure you she is quite busy. Here, union is a very sacred thing—we try not to do it frivolously out of respect for our ancestors’ traditions—it is quite a serious matter for any woman here to commit herself to a man as a wife, especially for us noblewomen.”

His eyes wandered the vast corridor they strolled through heavily accompanied by soldiers. He knew the woman before him was Bene Gesserit, so he didn’t understand the purpose of such muscle supervising him with her. Perhaps just keeping an eye on the Harkonnen savage.

“I must say, although I’m not complaining,” she started slowly, her shrewd golden eyes studying him, “You seem rather eager to marry her.”

Feyd met her gaze with a hint of a smile. “Should I not be?”

“I never said it was a problem, just interesting. You didn’t strike me as a husband type.”

“I believe we’ve only met when I was a child, My Lady.”

“I could see forming in your eyes then what has taken shape now.”

Feyd looked out of the window to the sprawling palace courtyard, making a small sound of acknowledgment.

“And what is it you see in your daughter’s eyes?”

She laughed quietly. “Oh dear, certainly boredom. Sometimes annoyance.”

Feyd smiled slightly, looking at her pensive face and catlike features. She was a delicate-looking woman with dark hair and slightly pouted lips. Her eyebrows were slender, resting above a pair of fascinating golden eyes. Feyd was still baffled how his wife—wife-to-be— didn’t inherit them.

“My daughter is quite cool-headed, masterfully instructed by the best tutors in the empire to be a great leader. I see in her eyes the product of a job well done. But she is also a woman capable of great love. Or she may have been, a long while ago. Her heart grows colder.”

“Do you think I am the root of this?”

Her eyebrows rose at the bluntness of his inquiry, but her eyes’ peaceful quality never changed. She smiled at him, it was a vaguely familiar sight: the knowing, sage like smile of a mother.

“You are merely a symptom, young Harkonnen,” she replied kindly, “But make no mistake.”

Her eyes caught the rich sun through the window, and he felt as if he was being scathed by the furious gaze of a divine being. Her eyes were pointed, sharp, protective. In a series of instants, the Duchess suddenly awakened—it was the only way he could describe it. The expression she held was placid, but the Harkonnen knew better. He knew that look, that face. The one that made goosebumps rise on his pale peach skin; the face he had been met with so long ago when he was being presented to his future wife as a young boy. A face that gave no indication of intentions or passive analysis, eyes that held a gaze you couldn’t escape once it had fixed itself onto you—no running away or hiding, no matter how powerful the instinct was to do so. Feyd held it in cloaked defiance.

“Your journey continues on borrowed grace. My daughter is wise, but is still a young woman. I know some of her motivations are not purely out of political savvy or duty. She favors you, certainly against my counsel. She speaks of you very well, in her own way. It sickens me.”

His dark stare matched the woman’s aware gaze. He felt, very quietly, that he was staring at the sun, doing the unthinkable by standing his ground against this woman. It gave him some satisfaction to finally hear plainly what servants said quietly amongst themselves as they bathed him with barely hidden displeasure, assuming he could not understand them.

“You speak boldly. It is unlike a Bene Gesserit to do so,” he retorted.

“My daughter wishes to see you redeemed. So you will either prove your worthiness of my daughter’s hand, or we will deal with your defections in our own way.”

Feyd could only imagine the zombie they would make him into with all of their Bene Gesserit mind games. He wouldn’t allow it.

“I am honored to have the opportunity.”

He could see Tii Sanura’s irate wrinkle between the older woman’s slim eyebrows. Her golden jewelry sung sweetly as she slowly turned away, walking ahead of him without word.

It disgusted him to humble himself to strangers, regardless of their affiliation to his beloved, but the satisfaction of infuriating his soon-to-be Mother in Law with every breath he took and every night he would take her daughter was more than compensation.

“How am I to prove my worth, My Lady?”

She was quiet, only walking with sudden intent. No Sur Kar ever seemed to rush—not even servants—even when moving quickly, their steps were gracefully measured. The Duchess was moving with the force of a lioness. The guards closed in behind him, forcing him to catch up. Once they were in matching stride she finally answered.

“You will undergo thorough training. I will see to it that your mind and discipline is elevated beyond what you think you’ve been taught. I will see to it that you properly train—it would be unseemly for my daughter’s husband to be a pathetic fighter. You will think beyond mere perversions and treachery if you intend to take my husband’s title one day. Simply put, I will make you a leader. It will be difficult enough for the people here to stomach the look of you. That is enough chaos in this court to deal with.”

They had returned to his quarters without him noticing. Her words, while sounding gentle from her restful voice, were beyond insult. But they could not be denied. Tii Sanura constantly outwitted and outfought him. Tii Sanura could choose anyone in a room, even the ones she despised the most, and make them believe they were an invaluable friend to her, that she saw them for their pure soul and loved it in her own modest, tender way. He knew it because she’d done it before, charming and enrapturing a peer of theirs from the Imperial Court, an heir of a formerly rogue house trying to regain the Emperor’s graces.

He was an idiot, it was plain, and Feyd almost appreciated the amusement he provided. Sadly, after he had insulted the prestige of the Great House of Sur Kar, even making the occasional pass at her while in the company of both of the betrothed, Tii Sanura despised him. She never seemed angry. In fact, the curses she spoke of him sounded calm, meditative even. He never saw rage from her, pure, hot rage. It was because, he realized, she didn’t really get angry, she had developed too much control.

She got revenge. She punished. And she reveled in it.

His mind wandered to that boy from so long ago. He knew something was wrong the moment she suddenly let out a soft laugh at another one of his insults to their arranged marriage; he could suddenly see Death’s shadow looming over him, Its bloody mouth grinning at the young Duke’s brazen teenage zeal. His death was slow and cruel, the kind where it stole the light of the entire family, where he slowly deteriorated in front of the young na-Baron’s eyes until one day he spit up blood and was kept in bed. Tii Sanura was asked to keep him company—he had kept calling for her—and she glibly obliged. When she returned and relayed her trip to Feyd she was buzzing with subdued joy, and he took her in, fascinated and amused all the same. Perhaps those were the days he began to see her as a woman he could see himself standing by, fighting for, perhaps even love. He had never known such a beautiful monster.

“Young man?”

Feyd blinked, looking up a little to meet the Duchess’s curious gaze. He forgot himself for a moment.

“Where is she really,” he asked, silently cursing himself afterward, “Tii Sanura. I haven’t seen her for weeks.”

Her shoulders were square as she stood up straight, peering down at him.

“You will see her when it is time.”

***

A whisper.

Feyd.

He turned over in his bed, brow furrowing as visions danced behind his restful eyelids.

Feyd.

The blur began to stabilize until he saw a glimpse of her face, her smile on the ship, her rich brown eyes.

“Feyd…”

His eyes opened at the sound of her voice growing clearer. He was met with a harsh, pale sun. The smooth ground beneath him scaled his skin with uncompromising heat. His senses were fuzzy; but he knew he was lying on sand. The light was too much—he shut his eyes again. Darkness eclipsed the visions of sand dunes and the hoof prints of horses; a horse racing through the desert, his beloved perched masterfully over the saddle as the scarf wrapped around her face and head billowed under the force of her speed against the current of the wind. He knew it was her, he could feel her pulse racing, the heat that made her tongue dry and head spin. He could feel the pulsing rhythm of her heartbeat in tandem with the horse’s gallop.

She was in a cave now. Water dripped, and his vision of her rippled.

“Feyd.”

There were women all around her, chanting or praying, heads cloaked under blood red scarves. They swung golden incense burners from chains, diligent in their prayer. She was in danger. She was dying. She was too far away, he couldn’t save her.

A scream tore its way from her parched, trembling lips. Blood.

With a grunt, he shot upright in his bed, waking with a horrified start. His fists bunched up the golden silk bedsheets as he fought to calm his nervous system. A dream, he told himself, it was only a dream. But it wasn’t—he could sense it, and it made him feel almost sick. Spice Agony is what she’d called it, and it had been haunting his dreams for the past three nights in a row.

He swallowed, rubbing his eyes with his hand and letting out a sigh. The dreams had never been so vivid when they were teenagers, and it seemed they were only getting more difficult to parse from when he was awake. That’s how he realized that he was being given Spice.

So much for barren lands.

He knew better than to protest, but it was troubling to be drugged by in-laws he wasn’t sure wanted him alive or not in a methodical fashion—he frequently recalled the poisoning of that long-forgotten Duke’s son with some trepidation. It had been nearly three months since landing on Daquan and he had still not wed Tii Sanura. Clearly, the Duke and Duchess felt he still had a ways to go before he was worthy of their daughter.

He hadn’t seen her either, but the longer he was in their court, the more he felt her. He knew that Spice caused hallucinations, aside from the health benefits he’d learned about, but there were times when his mind reached into something he couldn’t comprehend—not dreams, not hallucinations. Something more.

With an exhausted sigh, he rose from his bed and went to the window, taking in the splendrous courtyard that sprawled across the sand. beneath the glittering marble floors the soldiers and servants weaved between each other on as they all prepared to wake the Honorable family and their guest. Dawn was creeping close, but the moon was still bright and visible in the indigo sky. He stretched, feeling a satisfying extension of his muscles as he turned the door handles and stepped out onto the balcony. The air was balmy and already warm as he took a deep inhale, picking up the floral aroma that sweetened the air in the Sur-Kar palace.

He went to the door afterward, picking up a piece of paper off of the floor with a small smile. He’d never thought Tii Sanura to be the rule-bending type, at least not before their tryst on the trip to Daquan, but she was very willing to press the boundaries of the wedding customs she had insisted were never to be even questioned. They were not supposed to speak or see each other, but she began having letters sent to his room before anyone besides them were awake. Feyd would gladly lose himself in fantasies of all the pleasures they would share in the early hours once they were wed—he would smell her perfume, hear remnants of her laugh within the corridor he was being chaperoned down, or even just flat out envision the beauty of her nude body, with gold on her deep, dark brown skin, the velvet feel of ever inch of it, how she grabbed onto his hips to anchor him against her and pressed herself against his painfully hard length, whispering his name with feverish agony.

He suspected they were both suffering under the lack of release; the sensual quality of the richly embroidered silk couches, the steam against your brow when you bathed, the taste of the Daquani’s traditional sweet wine and how it created hot pools of desire in your body—he had never hungered for a companion as deeply as he did in this lavish cage. The trainings—especially the combat—was brutal in its rigor, but Feyd sensed that he might’ve been getting a bit less upsetting than before. He didn’t even know there was a balcony initially because it had been covered by a velvet curtain and blocked away by soldiers. Perhaps he was seeming a bit more civilized, although he certainly didn’t feel any different—then again, though, he wasn’t thinking straight with the constant surges of need that made him retreat to his quarters as soon as possible and fuck his cock through his oiled fist in the perfumed bath, inhaling the myrhh incense as he took sharp breaths through his nose and mouth, jaw clenching like iron. He was going slightly mad without having her close.

He opened the note and paused, rereading it.

Open the doors, it read.

He glanced at the large, loud, and heavy double doors with some skepticism until he abruptly turned and went back to the balcony. He could feel her; she was near. He opened the doors and stepped out again, squinting under the bright golden sunlight beaconing over the horizon. He looked around, scoured the courtyard but she was nowhere to be found. He huffed slightly through his nose, she was toying with him again. Scoffing quietly at her cruel joke, he closed the balcony doors again and went inside—the moment he had passed the doors, a heavy weight landed on his shoulders, nearly making him lose his balance as that rosy perfume filled his senses.

“Ah, look at that, you can still stand,” she teasingly remarked, smiling down at him as she sat atop his shoulders, “You are learning.”

“Is that not why you brought me here, Nitetis,” he questioned, holding onto her knees as a greeting, “To learn?”

“That doesn’t mean I thought you wouldn’t die,” she admitted, “But the Great Mother smiles upon you.”

She hopped from his shoulders onto the ground gracefully, her face still slightly hidden by the intense shadows casted by the bright sun’s rise. She looked up at him, and he smiled down at her, taking her by the waist and kissing her without question or hesitation. He felt her soft smile against his lips, the modest one, but he would quickly coax her out of her inhibition the moment he got the opportunity. She pulled back, then cocked her head.

“Ah, what happened to your teeth?”

He chuckled. “Your mother was disgusted by them.”

“So?”

“Your mother can still kill me, you know.”

“Over teeth,” she questioned, then cut him off. “No, no, that actually sounds like her.”

She held his face, seeming to study him even closer. “They have not hurt you badly, have they?”

“Would I miss you so much if they didn’t?”

She sucked her teeth, rolling her eyes. “Ah, still disgusting.”

He smiled at her annoyance as she playfully returned to the balcony, embracing her tightly from behind. “Don’t even think of leaving so soon.”

Tii Sanura blushed, but rested her hands on his arms, tentatively resting against his chest. She smiled softly at his reflection in the glass.

“I will not.”

Feud took in her smile curiously, thinking to himself. What was she doing here? It was beyond forbidden for a bride and groom to see each other before they were bonded under the eyes of the Great Mother, the supreme goddess of the Daquani people. Even Tii Sanura, in all her cynicism and cleverness, was obedient to religious duties. She seemed to watch the gears turn in his mind, waiting for him to get to the conclusion.

“Is it today, my love,” he asked, voice heavy with residual sleep.

“Yes,” she told him, “Today is the day.”

He took her up in his arms and swept her up over into the bed, making her laugh softly as they crashed onto the silk sheets. He kissed her hungrily all over her face, making the volume of her laughter grow. It was taking so much of his might to restrain himself, but he knew the reward would be sweet. He held her tightly as sunlight showered into the room and illuminated both of their faces. Feyd closed his eyes, pressing his face into her neck, but she pushed him up.

She placed a hand on his chest to push him back as he tried to kiss her neck, and he begrudgingly relented, making her smile.

“It should be something you’ll like,” she assured, pinching his cheek sweetly, “But let’s see first.”

She propped herself up on her elbows, eyes mysterious.

“How would you like being the sole ruler of Geidi Prime,” she asked, “How would you like to become the Baron Harkonnen you’ve always wanted to be?”

His blood got hot like fire, but he kept his head, caressing her arm with his finger. He felt new scars there, he realized.

“I like being called Prince better,” he teased.

She smiled, but did not seem amused.

“Geidi Prime must be conquered,” she said, “We both know the only way we can take his kingdom is through blood.”

Blood. Feyd almost licked his lips. He loved this woman, he knew it.

“It starts with Arrakis,” she continued, “There is a Fremen leader taking over.”

“Muad’dib,” he quickly recalled.

“He is no everyday Feydakin,” she said, “It’s him, I’ve seen it. It’s Paul.”

He frowned. “Paul?”

“Right, I forget you never met him,” she corrected, “Duke Atreides’s son. He lives.”

Feyd blinked, feeling a slight pit in his stomach—something he wasn’t fond of but had grown used to.

“And you call him Paul?”

She rolled her eyes, amused by the sliver of jealousy.

“I am marrying you, am I not? Focus.”

His eyes narrowed. She leaned toward him with a smile.

“Don’t get too jealous. He could’ve been your wife.”

Disgust quickly washed over his features.

“He is to become the Emperor,” she told him, “I’ve seen it.”

He studied her closely, wondering if she would lie to him for the sake of her Paul. Her gaze lowered under his.

“I refuse to let you die,” she muttered, “Please, just this once. Do not be foolish.”

He felt as if the sun was warming all of his insides, that perhaps this Great Mother truly was smiling on him. He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, taking in his love’s face.

“I will not leave you, Nitetis.”

She shied away from his frankness. “I didn’t say that.”

He only smiled in response. Tii Sanura felt her heart beat a bit harder in her chest; he had taken to her homeland’s sun quite nicely and it kissed his cheeks in a way that felt almost stupefying. She cleared her throat, rubbing her neck and sitting up.

“When you marry me today, you will be pledging loyalty to my house, my people. You must relinquish your loyalty to your family.”

His smile only broadened. “Is it not the other way around?”

“I’m not marrying up, na-Baron,” she reminded him slyly, “You will need to give something in return.”

“Are my heirs not enough?”

“Are you going to pledge loyalty or not?”

“Have I ever given you a reason to doubt I would?”

“Many, yes.”

He sat up, pulling her closer by her arm and admiring her face.

“My loyalty lies with you. Only you.”

She was quick to refine his declaration. “And our family.”

He shrugged. “If that’s what you wish of me, I will do it for you.”

She laughed heartily. “They are coming around to you, you know.”

“I’m sure that’s what they’re telling you.”

“They’ll warm up to you. We are very wary people; outsiders, especially enemies of our sister home, are a bit more difficult to get used to. Besides, they know I wouldn’t allow it. Don’t let it trouble you. You only need to prove your worth and loyalty; my father will be pleased enough with that.”

“And your mother?”

“Only she knows such things,” she admitted, “Just keep learning.”

He nodded again, then pulled her in for a kiss, which she welcomed and returned. She whispered against his lips.

“I must go, my friend. I will see you soon.”

“Ah-ah,” he corrected, holding her arm firmly, “Not so soon.”

“You know how long preparations already take,” she reprimanded, “I must be prepared for the wedding. There is a schedule, you know—oh!”

He pulled her onto the bed and flipped them over, silencing her with a kiss as he pressed himself onto her. She softened into him, just as he thought, but she broke the kiss.

“They will be here any minute,” she warned, “It was fine once—“

Another hungry kiss, and she hummed softly in his mouth.

“Feyd, I have to—“

Another kiss and she laughed, pulling back as well as she could.

“Feyd, my mother will kill us both if today’s schedule is delayed.”

That gave him enough pause. With annoyance, he pushed himself off of her with a grumble. She kissed him as she got up from the bed.

“We will have more than enough time tonight, husband.”

He stared up at her, ready to risk the Duchess’s wrath to take her in that very instant. She quickly slipped away before he could change his mind, climbing out of sight. The lock on the double doors turned almost immediately after—that was close.

The menservants bowed as priests shuffled in with various holy tools. Feyd cleared his throat.

“I must bathe alone first.”

***

Tii Sanura was perched gracefully on an ornate silk ottoman as the Duchess was guided into her daughter’s quarters by other ladies in waiting. Her feline features were stony, a look the young woman knew well. The servants were brushing through her long, freshly washed coils with their fingers, nourishing the strands with sweet oils. Tii Sanura held her composure as her mother entered the room. She offered a small smile through the mirror.

“Mother,” she greeted.

“You disobeyed holy tradition.”

There was never time for niceties when the Duchess of Daquan brought a matter to you. Tii Sanura sighed, her shoulders faltering slightly.

“I know. I apologize.”

“Apologies are nothing in the face of our ancestors,” she insisted, “Do I need to worry about this marriage between you and that Harkonnen boy? I have held my tongue in faith of your expertise, but you are starting to concern me.”

Her shadowy figure crept up behind Tii Sanura in the crystal vanity.

“You’ve been distracted. Growing slower by the day. The Harkonnens have no worth to this family; I have allowed this purely out of faith in your judgement.”

“Do you question it now, mother?”

Her reddened lips drew into a firm line. “I fear, my girl, that you have made this choice not out of reason, but affection.”

Tii Sanura faltered, her chin dipping as the servant women fastened her thickly braided hair against her head, wrapping it up with a shimmering golden cloth before the Duchess stepped forward, causing them to bow and retreat. Her eyes peered into her daughter’s reflection as she placed a gentle hand on her soft shoulder.

“I fear that my child has had many scars before that we were able to mend, but that we cannot mend what she chooses to let break her.”

“He cannot hurt me.”

“He is a Harkonnen boy,” she nearly hissed, “It is danger enough. We have taught him what we could, but it couldn’t change what he is.”

Tii Sanura’s eyelids glittered as she shut them. “And what would that be? A monster, killer, or animal? Cold-blooded, untrustworthy?”

“Among many others.’

Tii Sanura was quiet for a long while before her mother let go of her shoulder, allowing the servants to return to their diligent work.

“Mother, I have seen what this union brings me. In dreams that were visions, ever since I was fifteen, he has haunted my future like an unstoppable prophecy. We are bound. Our fates are intertwined, and he knows it too, because what is in his heart for me troubles him to the core. He is…”

She hesitated, then finished. “He is ready to be my husband as I am to be his wife. This is the path forward.”

The Duchess slowly turned away, unwilling to trouble her daughter with her obvious fear. Her voice remained cool.

“You vowed it. House Harkonnen will fall. There will be no mercies.”

Tii Sanura smiled to herself. “Put yourself at rest, mother. He will be more than ready to answer our call. He knows the duty asked of him to the Empire.”

“I shall carry his child, and House Harkonnen will fall. We will rule as Sur-Kar.”

The silence from her mother did not satisfy her.

“Mother, it is a cause for celebration. Our power is expanding. This is a blessing.”

“That is what your father would say.”

“And you doubt him?”

The Duchess lingered, then left.

The sun scorched down on the bride and groom as they stood stiffly next to each other, the fanfare outside the great double doors planting their feet onto the ground like led. Feyd tried to steel his nerves but when the priest stepped before him and held his gaze as he smeared a golden power that reeked of rust between his eyebrows and up his forehead, the way it stung distracted his ability to focus. The priest proceeded to flick sweet floral water onto his face, then onto Tii Sanura's veil. The marriage customs were different on Daquan. There were no vows or ceremony to watch; they would be presented as wedded Prince and Princess (or Duke and Duchess) of the Kingdom of Sur-Kar, if the Great Mother willed it so. Festivities were already underway as two white-clad priestesses removed the ornate, heavy veil from Tii Sanura's head, revealing her beautifully decorated face which Feyd tried his best not to stare at, lest he be scorned by the holy men and women.

The priest lifted his golden scepter, and Feyd followed Tii Sanura in kneeling before him. He brandished a large jeweled ceremony knife that made Feyd tense on instinct, feeling the Duchess's shadow looming over him even in this sacred ceremony. Two small earthen pots were placed before them, and the priest sliced a modest incison on each of their palms. They squeezed their blood into the pots, hands trembling. Feyd had never felt a blade so sharp in his life.

Their hands were then bound together with a soft, prickly ivory cloth, probably one of those precious fabrics with gold or silver woven in, and a scale was brought in. Feyd watched as one pot was filled with more sweet water, and a small amount of water and blood was poured into a tiny container. It reminded him of the Gom Jabbar--horrible timing to think of such a thing--and he swallowed slightly when Tii Sanura's grip on his hand briefly squeezed tighter. A feather was placed on one scale, the white glimmering container on the other. The priest lifted the scale into the sunbeam that burned the pair's forehead, casting a shadow over their faces.

To Feyd's astonishment, it balanced.

Tii Sanura let out a small sigh, and the veil was placed back over her head. They were guided to rise by their hands, and the doors slowly rumbled open. Searing light poured into the temple, blinding Feyd for a moment as they stepped together through the doorway and into the sun. Sonorus cheering filled his ears as his hand throbbed painfully against his wife's. The priest's booming voice silenced the crowd, then, after his next words, the cheering came back with even more force. Horns screamed into the air in celebration, and white petals rained from the sky as Tii Sanura led them both down the shimmering quartz stairs. Her eyes were level through her copper colored veil, which had been lined with kohl for the procession. At the foot of the stairs was a grand palaquin, and the newlyweds took their seats atop the shimmering red cushion as Feyd gratefully found refuge under the shade and within the sheer fabric seperating them from the harsh, sandy wind. Four large men took their stations on each corner of the palaquin and smoothly lifted them, taking them on a procession for the throngs of people that had come to the Holy City to see them. Feyd stole a look at his bride.

"Where are going," he asked her.

She smiled under her veil. "Home."

The procession seemed to last for hours. Throngs of citizens were cheering, jumping, even weeping as the palaquin passed them by. Feyd was taken aback by the devotion of these people. He had known subservience, subjects that knew no more nor better than Harkonnen rule, but reverence…

Tii Sanura’s eyes rested on him as he soaked in the fanfare, smile rested loftily on her face. This was her plan, she thought her herself, the vision of a boy turned prince, the man who would father her children, the only man she could ever dare to trust. Sometimes she wondered what her mother and father saw when they looked at her. A Bene Gesserit, a half-breed, a pawn of the Empire…she knew they cared nothing for games of politics, only to keep the kingdom stable and safe. It was honorable, but not enough. She felt the weight of the kingdom on her shoulders very early—now, she hoped, her betrothed would be capable of carrying it with her, dark as his heart was.

He felt her stare on his neck and turned to look at her. He reached over to touch her face through the veil, tracing the curve of her jaw, the swell of her lips, before placing his own over hers. Her body was alight with so many anticipations as he pulled away and went back to watching the silhouettes. This man was her husband now, she thought to herself, feeling the many ways she truly didn’t know him yet, despite the years they’d shared. She wanted to say his name so he would meet her gaze and she could see into his eyes. She wanted to know his secrets; what did he feel when killing his mother? What happened to him when she wasn’t there? Did he love her? Could they love each other? What even was the use for such a thing?

She let out a sigh, deciding to watch the silhouettes dance too.

The palace was sleekly built compared to the ancient tombs Feyd had grown accustomed to in his imprisonment. Their new home had much more technology, more walls and shadows, dramatic skylights and cool colored silks. It felt like home. The servants immediately tended to their hands, cleaning the wounds and dressing them with a strange glittering paste Feyd suspected was imbued with Spice. The only sounds were the gentle trickling of water and birdsongs—a welcome respite from the roaring masses. Feyd watched as Tii Sanura’s great headdress was lifted and placed on a cushion, revealing her radiant face. His features softened in admiration, and he stepped towards her, took her face in his hands and kissed her again. She could hardly breathe, it was so gentle. He touched her like a precious thing.

“I must get this makeup off,” she said after a thick swallow, “Then I’ll…meet you.”

He smiled. “So shy, my wife? I imagined much more confidence.”

“I’m sure you imagined many things, Feyd.”

He didn’t answer, only drunk her face in with his cool eyes. She felt girlishly bashful under his pressing, cryptic stare, looking away. They were surrounded by servants, yet he acts so uninhibited; it was strangely humbling to be reduced to a lover, a woman.

“Feyd, I must take these things off,” she pleaded softly.

Hesitantly, he released her face from his hands, eyes fixed on her lips that still tasted of fig she must’ve eaten earlier. He wanted to see what else of his wife tasted so sweet, he wanted it now.

“Don’t take long.”

She nodded, turning away with her procession of ladies in waiting, gracefully floating over the floor in her white gown. Feyd eyed the men carrying the train of metallic fabric behind her with suspicion, but resigned himself, it was a foolish suspicion to have of his wife. His wife. His wife.

He could recite those words to himself for hours.

“I must bathe,” he announced, and he was led to a steam-filled, pristine bathhouse.

A wave of heat made sweat form under his richly embroidered fabrics, and his menservants undressed him as he inhaled the aromas of fresh roses and frankincense.

“Leave me,” he commanded.

The men filed out, save for a few, who lowered their heads and gestured to the water. Feyd was annoyed.

“We must bathe His Highness,” one slender man explained, “For His wife’s arrival.”

Frustrated, he accepted the insolence of the remaining men and entered the pool of water. It was silken and warm against his body, somehow a reprieve from the dry, muggy heat of the desert. They poured buckets or perfumed water over his head and scrubbed mindfully while Feyd tolerated the entire process with a deep frown. Surely the Prince of Daquan would have some right to privacy, he reasoned.

The men worked quicker after another man opened the doors and spoke to them, as if time was of the essence. Feyd didn’t enjoy these strangers scrubbing at his naked body, he would’ve much preferred his wife to do such a thing—he tried to not think of it while they worked. They manicured his nails and scrubbed his feet before nearly rubbing him down with a mysterious balm when Feyd insisted they stop, eyes warning of firm retribution. The men shared a look, then bowed, talking amongst themselves as they left the bathhouse. He sighed frustratedly as the doors closed behind them.

His muscles relaxed as he reentered the water, reclining his head and closing his eyes, inhaling the steam. His wife…

Another set of doors opened but Feyd ignored them. He heard the sound of fabric dragging over the tiles and lazily opened his eyes when they stopped, regarding Tii Sanura with a soothed expression. She seemed timid, he noticed.

“Your servants are far too familiar,” he said, wanting to ply her with his own humiliation.

“Yes,” she merely agreed.

He eyed her as she stood wrapped in a long, purple, silk robe. He dared to smile.

“Are you hiding from me, Tii-Tii?”

She seemed to blush as she sighed heavily and averted her gaze.

“I have never…shown myself to a man before.”

“I am not a man, I am your husband.”

“Do try to sound less eager,” she reprimanded, slowly sitting down and dipping her feet into the water.

Feyd watched her with amusement, sitting up in the water, watching how she averted her gaze from his chiseled torso as he moved towards her.

“Is Her Highness waiting for permission,” he teased, mindful not to come too close.

Tii Sanura hesitated. She knew of his exploits, how insatiable he was despite the restraint he had exercised while in her mother and father’s court. But now there was nothing between them, no saving grace.

“Promise you’ll be gentle,” she said, finally meeting his dark gaze.

Feyd was taken aback by such a request. She slowly lowered the robe, eyes darting away again. He wanted to make her look at him like the proud woman he knew, not the timid girl before him.

“I have never been with a man before. You are my first.”

She quickly slipped into the water, wrapping her arms around herself. He couldn’t deny the desire he felt seeing the water droplets already forming on her tattooed, shimmering skin.

“After the ship, I find that hard to believe,” he said with a hint of a smile.

“A trick I learned from a servant,” she admitted, “I have not laid with a man. I haven’t desired it.”

He finally came close enough to caress her arms, wanting to soothe her into his lead. She met his eyes uncertainly.

“Do you desire it now, Sanura,” he rasped lowly, adding, “I will be gentle.”

She didn’t speak, but leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the salt on his lips as he carefully embraced her, holding her flush against him as their kiss deepened, and her velvet tongue welcomed his. He held the base of her head as she gradually softened, her arms resting against his body, her breasts slowly pressing against his firm chest. He inhaled deeply, parting their lips to take a breath. The steam was choking him. A soft gasp came from her lips as she remembered to take a inhale. She looked up at him as her arms fell open, and her lids grew heavy as he kissed her again. This time they didn’t stop. There was no one around to stop them anymore.

Tii Sanura’s chest caved with every trembling breath that passed through her nose as Feyd’s fingers pressed into her skin, one hand snaking up her back and curling his fingers into her braids, pulling her head back slowly as her hands timidly glided over his shoulders and she pressed herself closer against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their bodies swayed, making ripples throughout the water, but they didn’t make a splash or a sound, the only noise was their lips meeting and barely daring to part before their tongues slid together and another kiss was sealed. Feyd’s grip on the back of her head tightened before it loosened, and he suddenly swept her up by her thighs, bringing her to the edge of the pool.

“Push yourself up,” he muttered, and she followed his guide, “Lie back.”

She reclined onto the warm stone floor, her lips stinging and swollen from his hungry kisses as his hands firmly took hold of the tops of her thighs and parted them. He gave her no time to prepare for his hunger to devour the soft, sensitive skin that led down between her legs and crescendo into his tongue pressing and gliding against her core, making her tense and shiver.

“Relax,” he whispered against her.

His tongue slid and rolled, pressing her body against the floor then arching her back and grabbing a moan from her throat. He pushed her legs back, making her face flush from the sheer indecency, and began to use his entire mouth, holding her still as she held her fingers between her teeth and fought to keep hold over her breath.

“Feyd,” she breathed, desperate, but he didn’t answer.

She tasted so, very, sweet.

A soft cry came from lips, and Feyd eagerly lapped up his reward for his hard work; it wet his lips and his chin and he sought more and she cried out louder, her thighs clenching against his fingers as he sealed his mouth and pressed his tongue inside, tasting more of what made his mouth water every time he bathed alone, watched her walk, felt her pulse against his fingertips. Her head threw about listlessly as he insisted further, his hands moving up to grip the sides of her quivering stomach firmly, and she weakly placed one of her hands over his.

His wife. His wife.

She came again, agonized from the effort, gripping his hand tightly, and he finally released her, pushing himself out of the water and climbing on top of her, pressing himself against her slick pussy and groaning. He pressed his weeping forehead against hers, his gaze scathing.

“Tell me,” he whispered, feeling her quiver with each roll of his hips, “How much you want it.”

Her eyebrows had creased in surrender as she leaned up against him, pressing a hand against his chest.

“Do it,” she demanded, then, weakly, “Please.”

He smiled. “I think I like you this way, wife…”

He swooped down and kissed across her throat, feeling her swallow, and skinned his teeth against her pulse, feeling her hang onto him as if there were anywhere to fall, as if the ground beneath her would disappear.

“Put your legs over my shoulders,” he instructed, looking down at how his thick manhood rubbed against her cunt, his breath shuddering, “I’ll give it to you easy this time; you’ve been so good so long…”

He lined himself up, then slowly pressed himself into her pulsing core, his hands clenching into fists at the way she squeezed, swallowing thickly as her breath and her moan feebly reached his ears.

“My pretty little wife,” he breathed against the shell of her ear as their hips connected.

“Feyd,” was all she could manage, “Don’t…”

“I won’t stop,” he assured her.

He pulled his hips back then firmly thrust into her, then again, then she began to hold onto his shoulders as he kept the thrusts close and hard, he forgot to be gentle, she couldn’t help but need more. Her nails dug into his skin as his hips rocked against hers. Their breaths grew heavy, desperate, their bodies intertwined and pressed against each other and melded. There were no thoughts, no separation between them. They were one breath, one moment. And that moment burned red hot, scalded them to the point that once they’d finished, they couldn’t move. He was still inside her, her stomach was still quaking and sweating. She caressed his scalp, wiping streams of salt off of her face and lips.

He looked up at her, resting his face on her breast. She wiped the sweat from his brow. She has many clever things to say, but no energy to say them. Her head fell back on the floor, and her eyes shut.

His wife, she thought to herself.

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