inertiabug

[inertiabug]

*shaking*...putting a spider gag on remmick and tying him to the bed while you play with and then ride him...

spider-gag

word count : 5.2k

masterlist | taglist

a/n : y'all are really unleashing my inner freak with these requests... i like it. ALSO, i'm re-doing my taglist so if you want to be added let me know !

warnings (mdni 18+) : bondage (rope restraints, tied wrists), gag usage (spider gag), edging/orgasm denial, light blowjob, unprotected sex (p in v), cowgirl position, teasing, rough sex, overstimulation, power imbalance, dirty talk/light degradtion, spit/drool (mention & consumption), crying during sex, creampie

You’ve got him where you want him.

His wrists are bound above his head, rope tight against the bedpost, bare chest lifting in restless rhythm as he tugs uselessly against it. He’s already stripped down, skin flushed from the anticipation of your hands, your mouth—anything you might give him. 

Instead, you sit astride his hips in nothing more than your thin nightgown, fabric brushing over his thighs like a taunt, like a curtain you won’t yet draw back.

Remmick’s jaw tightens as his eyes flick over you, hunger sharp but restless, almost impatient.

“This how it’s gonna be?” he mutters, accent curling thick around the words, his lips quirking into something halfway between a grin and a snarl. “Tie me up, keep me waitin’ while you sit there pretty?”

Your silence makes him groan when your weight shifts, his cock twitching up beneath the gown. His hips buck, but your palm presses him flat. He laughs low, breathless.

You let the silence answer for you, your weight shifting just enough to make him groan, his cock twitching up against the barrier of your gown. His hips jerk, instinctive, and you press your palm flat against his stomach to keep him down.

He chuckles low, breathless. “You're cruel, darlin '. Keep this up and I'll—" he cuts himself off, grinding uselessly up against you, bound hands flexing against the wood above his head. “Hell, you know what I’ll do.”

His defiance only makes your control sweeter. The ropes creak as he tests them again, sharp teeth flashing when he lifts his chin to look at you. 

He's trying to act in charge even here, sprawled bare beneath you, but every twitch of his body gives him away—every tremor of need tightening through him.

Your fingers trail along the side of his face, until they ghost over his lips. “Maybe I should keep you quiet,” you murmur, the spider gag gleaming in your other hand.

His breath hitches, the grin faltering just for a moment before returning, wider, cockier, though his voice roughens when he answers.

“You can try, sweetheart. But you know I'll still find a way to make you hear me.”

His smirk deepens when you don’t answer right away. He licks at his lower lip and tilts his head against the pillow like he’s settling in for a show. “What's the matter? Scared you’ll miss the sound of me beggin’?”

Your hand is still poised at his mouth, and he nips at your fingertip—not hard, just enough for you to feel the scrape of his fang. A warning. A tease.

You pull back before he can catch more, and he laughs, low and breathless, the sound vibrating up from his chest. “Thought so. You like hearin’ me. Like me runnin’ my mouth while you pretend you’re the one in charge.”

You shift your weight forward just a little, pressing his hips deeper into the mattress, and watch the bravado falter in the clench of his jaw. 

Still, he keeps talking. 

“Must drive you mad, sittin’ there all covered up while I'm stripped bare. Feels like you’re just showin’ off at this point.” His voice drops, husky, daring. “Bet that nightgown’s soaked through already.”

The rope bites into his wrists again as he tries to move, but the bedpost holds. The frustration in his muscles only sharpens the edge of his grin. “Go on then,” he taunts, arching up as much as he can. “Prove me wrong.”

You trace your hand slowly down his chest, nails grazing over the hollow of his stomach until his breath hitches, betraying him. His eyes flash dark when you stop short, letting your palm rest just at his hip.

He groans through clenched teeth, straining up toward you. “Goddamn tease. S’what you are. Sittin’ there actin’ like you don’t wanna taste me same as I want you.”

Your fingers brush lightly along the gag still dangling from your other hand. His eyes track it instantly, and though his smirk doesn’t falter, his throat bobs with a swallow.

“Go on,” he says, voice dripping with challenge. “Shove it in. But don’t think for a second you’ll shut me up in here.”

Your thumb grazes his lower lip one last time before you bring the gag up properly, the cool glint of metal catching the low light. 

His smirk twitches—still cocky, but there’s a flicker of something else now, a shadow of nerves in the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Open,” you murmur.

He tilts his chin higher, like he’s daring you to force it. “Make me.”

The challenge cracks when you press the gag against his mouth. His lips part despite himself, the resistance little more than a bluff, and you take advantage—sliding the spider gag between his teeth. His jaw stretches around it, the metal prying him open obscenely. The smug sound he tries to make comes out broken, half a growl, half a groan.

You secure the straps tight at the back of his head, fingers tugging his hair just a little in the process. He huffs against it, glaring up at you, but the gag reduces it to a muffled, wet noise. 

His tongue works helplessly against the frame, trying to taste the edges, to control something—anything—but the drool already begins to gather at the corner of his mouth.

“Still think you’re in charge?” you ask softly, smoothing your hand over his cheek. His answer is a strangled sound, defiant in shape but ruined in delivery, his voice nothing but garbled heat behind the steel.

You sit back on his hips, nightgown sliding higher as you watch him strain against the ropes. His muscles pull taut, his eyes flashing at you with desperation he can’t disguise anymore.

A bead of saliva slips from the corner of his mouth, tracing down his chin. You catch it with your fingertip, smearing it slowly across his flushed lips before pressing that same finger against his tongue, pushing past the gag until he moans around it.

“Better,” you whisper, watching his eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat at the intrusion. “Much better.”

His cock lies hot and heavy against his belly, flushed dark and rigid, the tip slick with arousal that glistens in the dim light. Every twitch of it betrays him—pulsing, jerking faintly as though begging for your touch.

You let your fingertips trail down the ridges of his stomach until they reach him. He jerks when your hand finally wraps around him, thick and hard in your grip, the heat of him startling against your cool palm. His muffled cry rumbles up from his chest, desperate and raw.

You stroke him slowly, languidly, your fingers gliding over the velvety skin stretched tight. Each upward drag gathers more of his leaking slick, coating your palm until it glistens. The head swells darker under your touch, throbbing with every stroke of your hand, and you give it just the barest squeeze, enough to make his hips jerk off the mattress.

“Look at you,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the way he throbs in your hand, “so eager for it already.”

You lean forward, tongue flicking out to trace along the underside, from the thick base up to the swollen tip. His whole body jolts, ropes groaning with the strain, as the gag warps his groan into something guttural and broken. 

You kiss along the side of him, lips brushing his hardness, then finally take just the head into your mouth—sucking softly, swirling your tongue around the sensitive ridge.

Salty, slick arousal coats your tongue, and you savor it, pulling back slowly so a strand of wet clings from your lips to his tip.

Your hand resumes its work, stroking up his length with torturous slowness. You roll your thumb over the leaking slit, spreading the mess over him until he’s gleaming, impossibly hard, veins standing out beneath your grip. His thighs tremble, his chest heaving, as you take him into your mouth again, deeper this time, hollowing your cheeks around his girth until his muffled cry shakes the bedframe.

You pull off with a wet pop, leaving him slick, flushed, and straining against the air. He throbs helplessly in your hand, begging silently for release.

“You’re not going to get it yet,” you whisper, dragging your fist slow from base to tip, squeezing just enough to feel him pulse. “Not until I say.”

You release him with a final, deliberate squeeze at the base, and his groan fractures into something almost pitiful. Your hand rises, wet with his slick, and you trace it slowly up the line of his chest until you reach his face.

His lips are already stretched obscenely around the gag, but you tilt his chin higher, and slide two of your fingers past the metal frame. He moans the instant you breach his mouth, tongue straining to curl around you. The gag keeps him from closing his lips, forces him to drool around the intrusion, and you watch him shudder as he sucks you in as best he can.

“That’s it,” you murmur, voice low, watching his throat work as he tries to swallow around the spit pooling in his mouth. “Messy boy. You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you?”

His answer is a desperate, muffled noise, vibrating against your fingers. He sucks eagerly, hollowing his cheeks as much as the gag allows, eyes fluttering half-shut. The heat of his mouth, the slick slide of his tongue trying to please you, is obscene—his cock twitching violently each time you press your fingers deeper.

You curl them against his tongue, rubbing slow strokes along the slick muscle. His moan comes out broken, needy, spit dripping down your hand as you toy with him. The ropes strain with how hard he pulls.

When you finally withdraw your fingers, they’re shining with spit. You let him watch as you drag them down, trailing over his chest and lower—until they hover just above where he’s leaking. 

His eyes snap open wide, pleading and furious all at once.

You smile, letting a single drop of his own drool fall from your fingertips onto the flushed head of his cock, watching it spread. 

His muffled groans spill through the gag, garbled things that sound like curses and pleas all at once.

You shift your weight, rising just enough to swing your leg over and settle astride him fully. His body jolts at the new closeness. His eyes go wide, fixed desperately on the hem of your nightgown still bunched at your hips.

You let it ride higher as you adjust, baring yourself to him inch by inch. His muffled groan catches behind the gag, as though he’s trying to form words but can only choke out broken sounds. 

When you slide your hand down between your thighs, he thrashes, ropes creaking with the strength of his pull. You hook a finger under the edge of your panties, dragging the thin fabric aside with a slow motion. The air is cool against your heat, and you catch the way his eyes glaze over, pupils blown wide, as the scent of your arousal fills the air.

You press one finger inside yourself, slow, easing past the slick warmth. A sharp breath leaves you, soft and wanting, and his reaction is immediate—his entire body arches beneath you, a strangled cry ripping from his gagged mouth. His cock jerks violently against his belly, precum smearing hot across his skin.

Your lashes flutter as you curl your finger deep, hips rocking against your own hand. You let your gaze fall on him, on the way his bound muscles flex, his chest rising hard, the rope biting his wrists red. He’s losing himself just watching, gag-wrecked moans tumbling from his throat.

“Do you see what you’re missing?” you whisper, voice roughened with your own need. You slip another finger in beside the first, stretching yourself slow, savoring the pressure as your walls clench tight. His eyes follow every movement, wide and frantic, as though he could climb inside you with his stare alone.

Your thumb drags across your clit, lazy circles that make your thighs shiver. His cock twitches again, helpless as it aches for you. The ropes keep him bound, gag keeps him silenced, but the noise he makes then—low, shattered, desperate—is enough to shake the bed beneath you.

You withdraw your fingers slowly, savoring the slick heat clinging to them, then trail them down to his cock. 

He jerks the moment you touch him again, his entire body shuddering as though he’s on fire. 

You wrap your hand around his length, sticky with his own precum and your wetness mingled, and guide him up—pressing the swollen head to your folds.

The sound that tears from his chest is broken, muffled by steel and spit. His hips buck instinctively, trying to push deeper, but you hold yourself just above him, letting his cock slide slowly through your slick. Each drag coats him, his thick shaft glistening as you grind against him without letting him inside.

You move, rocking your hips so the ridge of his head nudges your clit, making you gasp softly above him. His response is immediate—another strangled cry, his wrists wrenching at the ropes until they bite deep into his skin. He’s trembling beneath you, eyes wide, furious and pleading all at once.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” you murmur, dragging him back down along your folds, smearing yourself over his flushed tip. 

The throbbing heat of him pulses with every heartbeat, slipping slick against you as though begging entry.

You press just enough to part yourself on the head of his cock, a shallow push that makes your breath hitch. His muffled moan answers you, head thrown back, throat taut as drool runs unchecked from the corners of his mouth. 

He’s frantic now, trembling and straining, every muscle screaming to bury himself inside you.

But you pull back again, grinding slow against him instead, coating his cock in your slick as your folds spread and cling to his length. The sensation has your thighs quivering, your hips rolling without thought, chasing your own friction as he writhes helplessly below you.

Your hand stays wrapped tight around the base of him as you finally steady yourself above. His eyes are wide, bloodshot with strain, chest heaving.

You tilt your hips and press down, letting the broad head nudge into you. The stretch makes your breath catch—thick and insistent, opening you slowly. His muffled cry rips out at the same moment, raw and broken behind the gag, his whole body arching helplessly beneath you.

“Shhh,” you murmur, though your own voice trembles with the shock of him pushing inside. “You’ll take it… every inch.”

You sink lower, just a little, the head sliding past your entrance. The pressure blooms deep, delicious and overwhelming, and you stop to breathe, savoring the way your walls grip tight around him. 

His cock throbs inside you, pulsing against the clutch of your body.

Another inch, and then another. You ease down at a torturous pace, dragging yourself over every vein, every ridge, until your thighs tremble around him. 

His muffled moans are frantic now, ruined syllables that don’t form words—just raw, desperate sounds.

By the time you’ve taken him halfway, the stretch has you shuddering, your nails digging into his chest for balance. He’s so thick it feels like you’ll never manage the rest, but you force yourself lower, inch by inch, until he’s buried nearly to the hilt.

The sensation steals your breath—your body clenched tight around his, walls fluttering with the effort to take him. He jerks against the ropes, a wild, helpless buck that only drives him deeper. The noise he makes then is almost inhuman.

You sink the final inch with a slow roll of your hips, settling fully onto him.

You lean down until your lips brush the corner of his mouth, your breath hot against his spit-slick skin. “There,” you whisper, shivering at the feel of him so deep inside.

The fullness alone has your thighs quivering, your walls fluttering around him with each ragged breath. His chest rises hard against yours, slick with sweat, his eyes locked on you with a wild, desperate fire.

Then he bucks.

It’s instinctive, a sudden, violent thrust upward that makes the ropes scream against the bedpost. The movement drives him deeper, and you gasp, nails digging into his chest. His muffled moan tears through the gag.

But you don’t let him have it.

Your hand shoots down, pressing firmly at his hip, pinning him flat to the mattress. “Ah—no,” you whisper sharply, voice still trembling from the shock of it. “You don’t get to take. Not from me.”

He growls behind the gag, garbled words lost in spit and metal, thrashing against the bonds. His cock twitches inside you, your walls clenching tighter in reflex.

You shift just slightly, rolling your hips enough for him to feel the promise of motion, then still again. 

His eyes squeeze shut, jaw straining against the gag, another strangled moan spilling from him.

“Doesn’t matter how much you buck,” you murmur, leaning close so your lips brush the shell of his ear.

“You’ll stay still until I decide to move. Understand?”

He nods furiously, chest heaving, the ropes biting his wrists raw as he struggles to obey. His hips twitch once more, a betraying pulse, and you clench down, making him groan raggedly.

“That’s it,” you coo, rocking just enough to make him shake beneath you. “Feel me holding you and know you’ll stay right here until I’m good and ready to let you have it.”

You hold him there, tight and unmoving, your body wrapped around his length. Every twitch of his cock throbs deep inside you, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of motion. 

His chest heaves beneath you, droplets of sweat rolling down his throat, and the only sound he can make is a choked, ruined moan.

Your nails graze across his chest, slow and teasing, just enough to make him shiver. “Feel that?” you whisper, your voice steady though your thighs tremble with the effort of keeping 

He bucks again—small this time, desperate but restrained—and you squeeze down around him in response, making him jerk violently against the ropes. 

His muffled cry is guttural, almost pitiful.

You wait, savoring it—his frantic trembling, your walls clenching tighter with each passing second. 

Then—

You move.

The first roll of your hips is excruciatingly slow, dragging your body up until only the head of him remains nestled inside. He moans raggedly, and his arms strain against the rope as if he’d claw his way free just to slam back into you.

You sink down again, inch by inch, the stretch hitting hard as you take him fully once more. Your breath stutters, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he fills you, thick and unrelenting. 

His cock pulses deep inside, every vein dragging against your walls, and your thighs tremble with the effort of control.

Another slow rise. 

Another devastating slide back down. 

Each motion wrings a broken sound from him—muffled pleas, garbled curses, his voice raw with the need you refuse to satisfy quickly.

You brace your hands against his chest and grind down at the bottom, circling your hips. The way he twitches inside you, helpless and fevered, nearly breaks you—but you hold, teasing him with just enough friction to drive him wild without letting him spill.

“Now,” you murmur, watching him writhe beneath you, “we’ll see how long you can last.”

You keep the rhythm maddeningly slow, rising until you’re nearly empty, then sinking back down with steady control. 

Every movement squeezes him, your walls clenching tight as if they want to milk him already—but you never speed up, never give him what his trembling body begs for.

His moans are constant now, muffled and ruined by the gag. They break out of him in jagged bursts, wet and pitiful, every sound dripping with frustration. His head thrashes weakly against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut as though he can’t bear how slow you’re taking him.

“Look at you,” you whisper, voice hushed but sharp, leaning down until your lips ghost across his cheek. “Bound, gagged, dripping. And still you can’t stop begging.”

His eyes snap open at that, glassy and wide, pleading up at you with raw desperation. 

He shakes his head, garbled noises spilling past the gag, something that sounds like “please” buried beneath drool and broken breath.

The ropes strain, his muscles taut, but he’s helpless. Each muffled sobbing moan rattles through his chest, spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth as he writhes beneath you. His face is red, veins standing out at his throat, body slick with sweat as you ride him with devastating slowness.

You start to change the rhythm—still slow at first, but sharper now, your hips lifting a little higher, dropping down with more weight. Each thrust drives him deeper, and the force makes his bound body jolt against the mattress. 

His moans pitch higher, spilling out in broken pieces of sound that drip with desperation.

You keep your hands press firm against his chest for balance as you begin to ride him in earnest. The steady pace you set drags along every inch of him, your walls fluttering with each downward push, slick clenching tighter until your own breaths fall ragged.

His eyes open wide, finding yours—glassy, wild, pupils blown to black. Tears gather at the corners, not from pain but from the sheer onslaught of pleasure he can’t hold back.  His chest heaves, ribs expanding hard under your palms as he writhes beneath you, gag-wrecked cries spilling faster with every thrust.

You grind down hard at the base, circling your hips just enough to make your clit throb against him. The sensation draws a soft cry from your throat, which only makes his own noises more frantic—pleasure and need thick in every muffled, garbled moan.

Each time you sink down fully, the stretch makes his eyes roll back, wetness spilling freely from the corners as if the sheer intensity is undoing him.

You lean forward, lips brushing the edge of his, and whisper between your own ragged breaths, “That’s it. Let it break you.”

Then you pick up the pace—rising and dropping faster, harder, your thighs slapping against his. 

The gag does nothing to muffle his cries now They tear out of him ragged and loud, echoing in the room, wet and desperate. His wrists strain raw against the ropes, his body arching to meet every thrust, though he has no control, no power—only the flood of pleasure you’re wringing out of him.

His eyes shine wet under you, lashes clumped with tears as he looks up, broken open, undone by the pace you force him through. 

And still you ride him, harder, tighter, until every sound he makes is a plea without words.

Your pace builds, each thrust smacking wet against his body. The sound fills the room, mingling with his gag-wrecked words that tumble out of him without control. 

You lean forward, bracing your palms on either side of his head as your hips continue to work faster. 

His eyes flutter shut, then open again, glazed with tears of sheer pleasure. Drool streams from the gag in thick strands, soaking his chin, dripping onto his chest, slicking his skin.

You lower your mouth, tongue flicking out to lick the corner of his lips. The taste is warm, salty—his spit mingled with sweat—and you hum softly against him as you lick it away. His entire body jerks at the intimacy, a strangled moan ripping free, muffled but desperate.

“Messy,” you whisper against his cheek, voice breaking into a gasp as you slam back down onto him. “So messy for me.”

Your tongue trails across the seam of his lips again, tasting the drool he can’t stop spilling. He groans raggedly into your mouth, his chest heaving under you. His hips twitch up, but your pace pins him, forces him to feel every deliberate slide of your slick body clenching around his cock.

The faster rhythm makes your own voice crack, soft moans spilling against his cheek as you bury your face close, licking up more of the spit he’s drowning in. The mingled taste drives you further, your hips working harder, faster.

He’s sobbing into the gag, eyes squeezed shut as wetness streaks down his temples, every nerve alight with the flood of sensation. His cock throbs, spilling precum deep, each twitch making you clench harder as your own pleasure builds.

Your rhythm falters—not from hesitation, but from need. The deeper you take him, the harder it gets to keep your composure. Your breath comes ragged, moans spilling freely from your lips as your pace quickens, losing its calculated edge.

And then it happens.

You start to lose control.

Your hips snap faster, harder, chasing the rising coil in your belly. The sharp drag of him deep inside sends shocks through you, makes your breath catch on broken moans. You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his, your hair damp with sweat as you ride him with a desperation you can’t restrain.

The moment your walls clamp down around him—tight, fluttering, relentless—he loses it. He bucks up into you with wild force, ropes biting deep into his wrists as he slams himself into your body. 

The bed groans with the impact, your gasp torn raw from your throat as he drives you even closer to the edge.

Your voice cracks around his name, and your nails drag down his chest as your hips meet his frantic thrusts. You’re clenching so hard around him now, your cunt milking him with every desperate grind, and he’s powerless to stop himself.

His moans spill out louder, urgent, the rhythm of his body breaking as he bucks wildly beneath you.

Your climax builds sharp and fast, heat flooding low in your belly, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. You ride him harder, chasing it, every slam of your hips a cry for release. 

His cock thrusts deep inside you, hitting places that make your vision spark white.

And when it crests, you collapse against him, shuddering violently, your body locking around him as waves of pleasure crash through you. 

Your walls seize, milking him mercilessly, wringing ragged moans from his throat as he bucks and thrashes beneath you.

He’s undone, sobbing into the gag, every thrust more desperate than the last as your orgasm wracks through you.

Your body quakes around him, walls clenching in relentless spasms as your orgasm drags you under. Every pulse milks him deeper, hotter, until his ragged cries pitch higher, torn to pieces. 

He bucks his hips wildly into you, frantic, driven by pure instinct—each desperate thrust jolting through your overstimulated body.

The ropes strain above him, bed creaking as he fights them, but his cock is buried too deep, too swollen, too desperate to stop. He’s chasing it—slamming up into you with broken sobs spilling as he loses all control. 

His eyes roll back, then snap open again, glassy and wet as they beg you for something he can’t say.

“Still holding back,” you gasp, voice trembling with the aftershocks still wracking you. Your hand grabs his jaw, forcing his gaze to lock with yours. “Poor thing—so close. All you need is my word, isn’t it?”

He moans frantically, nodding against your grip, his thrusts turning ragged, sloppy. The heat of him thick and pulsing against your fluttering walls. 

You tighten around him deliberately, grinding down hard, and his strangled cry nearly shatters the air. You lean in close, lips brushing the sweat and spit at the corner of his mouth.

“Do it,” you whisper, voice breaking with the command. 

The moment the words leave you, he breaks.

His whole body arches off the bed, ropes screaming against the posts as his climax rips through him. He spills deep inside you in violent, pulsing bursts, cock jerking so hard you can feel every throb against your walls. 

His moans are wrecked, muffled cries spilling helplessly as he comes undone, filling you until it seeps hot and thick around his length.

You keep riding him through it, slowing only slightly, grinding him deeper as he trembles beneath you. 

His thighs quake, his chest heaves, and his eyes roll back as tears streak down his face. Each pulse inside you makes your cunt clench tighter, dragging out every last drop of him until he collapses limp against the ropes.

He sobs softly into the gag as his body shudders, spent but still twitching inside you, completely undone beneath your control.

Your hips slow, the pace softening until you’re simply grinding down, wringing out the last trembling pulses of his climax. His body is wrecked beneath you. Drool still drips in messy strings from the corners of his mouth, soaking his skin, his eyes glassy and wet as they flicker up at you.

You lift one hand from his chest and reach back to the strap at his head. The gag creaks softly as you unclasp it, fingers working carefully until the spider frame loosens. His lips are red and swollen when you pull it free, spit webbing between the bars before it falls wetly against his chin.

He gasps the moment it’s gone, mouth working open and closed as though he’s forgotten how it feels without metal forcing him wide. A choked, broken moan spills out—raw and hoarse—and then his head tips back against the pillow, throat shuddering with every breath.

“F—fuck…” he rasps, voice shredded. His lips glisten, swollen from the strain, spit smeared across them. “Goddamn… you—” His words break off into another trembling groan, his cock still twitching weakly inside you, overstimulated but held by your body.

You brush your thumb gently along the wet line of his jaw, wiping away some of the mess, though most of it still clings to him. “There,” you murmur softly, leaning down to press your lips to the corner of his mouth. “Better?”

He nods faintly, eyes half-lidded, still trembling from the force of his release. His chest rises and falls beneath you, heart pounding fast enough for you to feel it where you straddle him.

You stay seated over him for a moment longer, your body still trembling from the echoes of release, his cock softening but still nestled inside you. 

His breath is hot against your throat, ragged and uneven. 

You lean down, brushing a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth—this time not to taste the spit or to tease, but to ground him.

Your fingers trail up to his bound wrists, where the ropes have bitten the skin raw. You work at the knots slowly, loosening them until his arms fall heavy at his sides. He groans faintly as the skin begins to heal, muscles twitching, but you soothe him with another kiss, this one pressed softly to his lips.

When the last rope slips free, you murmur against his mouth, “You know… you could’ve broken them if you wanted.”

A breathless chuckle leaves him, hoarse from endless moaning. 

He tilts his head just enough to capture your lips again, slow this time, no gag between you. His kiss is messy still, spit-slick and desperate, but the way he lingers there tells you everything—how much he enjoyed the restraint, the surrender.

“Didn’t want to,” he admits against your mouth, voice gravel and heat. His eyes meet yours, glassy but steady now. “Liked bein’ yours.”

[inertiabug]

idgaf if its not period accurate i have free will so i'm writing paddy mayne and transmasc reader. thank youuuu

content tags sub reader, forcemasc if you squint, stomach riding, bodily fluids, some spanking, grinding, finger sucking, usage of "cunt" "clit" and "dick" for readers genitalia, hints at an age difference, paddy is mean per usual. not proofread. short pwp bc i wrote this is a horny stupor </3

“God, get a move on, will ye?”

Paddy watches as you shuffle with your trousers, pulling them past your ankles and chucking them somewhere on the ground. He’s perched on his elbows below you, fully clothed, feigning disinterest. You almost trip over yourself as your briefs come next.

“I’m trying, Paddy,” You huff. “prick.”

You feel him tap your arm at that. Not harsh, but still a sign of warning. You can’t help the way it makes you clench, drool already drowning your tongue as you salivate with anticipation, positioning your thighs on either side of him so you can straddle his waist. Your finger hitches on his belt. You hear him tsk.

“No,” He shakes his head. “not like that.”

His fingers grasp onto the underside of his tank, pulling it up to expose his stomach; not flat, but well fed, vaguely toned from his time out here. That kind of natural, beefier muscle you’ve noticed with his arms, accompanied with a healthy layer of fat. You meet his gaze in question, and he simply nods.

“Go on.”

When you don’t get the hint, he grumbles. He grabs you by your ass, making sure his nails dig into the skin as he maneuvers you upwards so your heat splays over his stomach. Paddy’s fingers slide between your cunt, spreading your lips so your dick displays proudly, peeking excitedly through its hood. He pushes you down till you’re completely sat on him, flat enough that your cock is stuck between your body and his, pinched in-between his digits. You shudder at the sudden friction.

Paddy’s eyes meet yours. “Fuckin’ ride, boy. Wanna be a big boy so bloody bad, g’na have to prove to me you know what the fuck yer doin’.”

You brace yourself with a grip on his arm before you start. Your hips grind along his skin, clit twitching as he flexes his digits and his stomach every time your body moves upwards. His fingertips are close enough to tease your entrance, the nails scraping at your folds. The slight pain accompanied by his vice grip on your ass sends jolts straight to your dick, wetness leaking and slobbering on his stomach. He grunts in time with you, like he’s actually inside you; angling his leg upwards so his clothed cock can press against your bare ass. You can feel his hardness underneath his trousers as he attempts to subtly create friction, unwilling to let this unaffected appearance of his slip.

A smack lands on your ass and you yelp. Paddy grumbles, fingers digging in harder at the now sensitive flesh, “Too fuckin’ loud, you are. Need to know when to shut yer fuckin’ mouth.”

Paddy’s hand moves from your ass to your mouth. He prods two digits past your lips and you take them gladly. The slurping is almost as obscene as the squelching of your cunt, your tongue working his fingers as if they were his cock, letting them slide down to the back of your throat until you gag. Paddy growls, his own hips knocking into yours as they start to move. The motion just deepens your grind, your pace growing quicker and quicker.

He pushes your cheeks together as his pointer and middle fuck at the back of your throat, uncaring for the way you sputter and gag around them. You grab onto his tank for balance, feeling that hurdle coming up and barreling fast. The sounds he makes, the heat of him behind you, the taste of grimy, overworked fingers along your tastebuds combines into something dizzying, something begging for that throbbing cock behind you to fill you. Something that makes you clench around nothing, your cock swelling and swelling as it pulses, helpless whining muffled by his hand. He hasn’t looked away from your face once. Blue eyes trained on the way your lips are curled around his fingers, the drool falling from the side and your eyes practically rolled back. You wonder if he feels dizzy, too.

You moan something like I’m close, but Paddy can barely hear beyond the muffle. Not like he needs to with the way his fingers feel practically drowned in your arousal and your pace begins to stutter.

“Do ye fuckin’ deserve it?” He growls. “You deserve it, do ya?”

You nod helplessly. Paddy’s nostrils flare and his nose scrunches.

“Take it, boy, if you want it so damn bad, ye fuckin’ take it from me, then.”

Your walls contract around nothing as it hits you. You’d almost fall forward if Paddy didn’t keep you upwards. His legs move up to push your ass down and more flush onto his stomach. He growls, growls, growls with you, like he’s rising into that bliss with you, like he can feel it just by holding contact with your closed eyes. His fingers stop moving in your mouth just to hold your face in a tight grip.

As you come back down, Paddy lets his legs fall, but doesn’t let go of his grip. Your eyes flutter open to see his gaze broken, trained below.

When you look down, you watch as he pushes you up to collect his hand from underneath you. He cracks his wrist, mumbling something about almost spraining it with the weight of you, but he’s still trained on the wetness dripping from his fingers. He spreads his pointer and middle, watching as a thick line of arousal spreads between them. Something sparks behind his eyes for a moment, gathering up some that’s left on his stomach, rolling it around the tips of his fingers – before looking back up at you, and placing them right at your bottom lip. You open almost immediately.

You swallow the taste of your own juices, and Paddy smiles. Not toothy, but a small, almost proud smile.

“That’s a lad.”

[inertiabug]

𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℕ𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

Summary: Roy is captured by a local sheriff and thrown into a cell. The sheriff leaves for the night leaving Roy alone with his Deputy (You). Who decides to take advantage of the young outlaw for your own purpose. (This is a result of a request from an anon)

CW: non-con elements, slight bondage, rough, abuse of the law, 18+ content, sexual themes, minor violence, rape, brutality, abusive, bigger and stronger, power dynamic

Pairing: Male Reader x Roy Goode

WC: 3K+

Mature Audiences ONLY ahead (18+)

"A'right, in ya go." The sheriff said half-shoving his prisoner into the cell.

The chains from the iron handcuffs rattled against the prisoner’s wrist. The young man turned around once inside the small space, watching as the bars clattered shut with a deafening clunk. He put his hands through the bars, thinking that the lawman would relieve the handcuffs from his wrist. He was wrong.

The sheriff laughed. "Those are stayin’ on."

A sigh came from the man as he retreated into the cell, taking a seat on the worn-out cot, they called a bed.

The door to the sheriff’s office swung open. A man, little older than the prisoner, stepped inside.

"Evenin’ Sherrif." Your tone was gruff, dry, a little hoarse, as if you had been yelling all day. You sported dark, medium-colored hair, a rough, unkempt beard around your face, and a few scars to go with. You were tall with some muscle to back it up.

"Evenin’, where ya been?" the sheriff asked.

"Down at the saloon, talkin’ to the towns folk. You should try it sometime. People gon’ think you’re a hermit with how you never engage with 'em." You responded. Then your eyes shifted to the extra guest in the building. "Who ya got there?"

"Ah, ya. Meet our latest outlaw. Notorious Roy Goode." Sheriff proclaimed proudly, hands on his hips.

You raised your eyebrows, obviously not believing it.

"Don’ give me that look. It’s really him." The sheriff defended himself.

"And you just happen to catch him, did ya?"

"Well, yeah. I am a lawman. It’s what we do." The sheriff rubbed at his face.

"I kinda surrendered to him." Roy chimed in, gaining a side glance from both you and the sheriff.

You cocked your head back at the sheriff and chuckled.

"A’right. So, I didn’t actually catch him in that sense, but he’s here now. Anyway, you’re on-guard duty for the night. I’m goin’ home." The sheriff huffed, grabbing his coat and shuffled out the door. "I’ll be back in the mornin’. No visitors, a’right."

"Whate’er ya say, sir." You shook your head, watching the other man leave.

You waddled your way over towards the cell, leaning against the bars. "Ya really Roy Goode?"

"Yes, sir." Roy responded lazily, sitting down, legs slung across the cot.

You took in his appearance in the dim light of the lanterns layered around the jailhouse. Roy was a handsome young man, short, tousled hair, short beard, and brilliantly blue eyes that shone in the light.

You tilted your head side to side as you studied him. Roy averted his gaze, not appreciating being stared at like some sideshow attraction. You let out a hum. "You don’t look like the killin’ and robbin’ type. Just gonna say it. Your poster don’ do ya justice. Don’ look that evil."

Roy shrugged. He’d heard that before from others he had crossed paths with. He was becoming a changed man over the years once he woke up to all the hell he’d been raging with Frank and the others. He wanted out of that life. Surrendering was the only option he really had to be safe for a while.

You sucked your teeth, pushing yourself away by going back to your desk. Drumming your fingers on the wooden top, your mind thinking. "Say, I’ll be right back, 'mk."

Roy nodded, not looking in your direction. It wasn’t as if he was going anywhere.

A few minutes later, you returned. A tin plate in your hand with a small ration of food on it. Reaching the cell bars again, you held the plate out. "Here."

Roy shifted, pushing himself up. Gripping the plate, he was a little taken aback by the kindness of the law. He dipped his head, "Thank you," he muttered and slowly dug into the food. His blue eyes lingered on you as you shuffled back to your desk, plopping into the wooden seat. You looked more like an outlaw than Roy did from this angle. Rough-looking, years of work, stress, and sun aged you. In between bites, Roy called out, "What’s yer name?"

Your gaze turned back to the man speaking. "Ya ain’t your typical outlaw, are ya? Unless ya want my name to be put under a notch in yer belt."

"It ain’t like that." Roy semi-protested. He genuinely wanted to know your name.

"It’s John." You replied. You saw no harm in telling Roy. Though you were always wary of prisoners asking for names. In the past, it never led to a good outcome. Outlaws were notorious for killing the law without questions; they also had a dark look in their eyes, especially behind bars. But when you looked at Roy, you didn’t see that. You just saw a young man, sadness in the eyes, maybe a little lost at times.

It wasn’t long before Roy finished what he had been given. He cleared his throat to get your attention, as you had taken the time to sift through some papers on your desk. Getting up, you once again returned to the bars. Half-looking, you took the plate from Roy. Your hand grazed a little of Roy’s, and you both paused with a held breath, then it was gone. You set the empty plate down and out of the way for now before going back to your papers.

Roy wanted to ask you if he could get his handcuffs removed, but seeing how in-depth you were with your work, he’d wait for another opportunity. He took the time to lay down on the cot, chancing a little sleep when he could get it.

You fumbled with more of your papers as you got everything settled and filed properly. How the sheriff let the mess go, you’d never understand. Or perhaps the sheriff didn’t care too much about it. Either way, it was an inconvenience.

With a creak of the chair, you leaned back into it. Hands behind your head, you glanced towards the cell, since it had grown quiet. Roy was on his side, eyes closed, in a light sleep. Of the many outlaws that had the misfortune of taking a stay here, Roy was by far the best-looking one. You thought. Your mind bordered on the perverse. You weren’t particularly a lonely man. There were plenty of whores in town who could fill that need. But looking at this man, it stirred a deep desire. Those soft features, the lean body laced with slight muscle under the clothes. You groaned just thinking about it. What would it be like to have someone like that? You were sure if you tried, Roy would resist you. But how much resistance could he really put up being chained and locked in a cell?

You bit on your lip, a weak attempt at drowning out the lustful thoughts. You couldn’t help it. You couldn’t take your eyes off the other man. The more you stared, the more your thoughts delved into the obscene. Imagination running wild. Picturing you pinning the smaller man against a wall, tearing off his clothes, abusing his body. Helpless and unable to defend himself. You figured if Roy was going to hang, you’d never get another chance to let the images become reality. You could feel the tightening of your pants, your dick getting hard by sheer thoughts under your clothes.

You took the time to check outside; the town had grown still. The time of night where only the bugs and critters were awake. Only a few streetlamps produced light, and not a soul was there to rekindle the oil burning out. Closing the door quietly, you scooped up the key ring, quickly holding them so they don’t clank together causing noise. Your eyes darkened with a downright scary want. A predator eyeing its prey in the dark. Carefully, the key thunked over, turning the lock open. Moving as slow as you could, you slid the cell bars back. With a hard swallow, you hooked the keys onto your belt as you stalked over. Your shadow was cast over the sleeping frame of the outlaw.

Feeling a shift in the air, Roy stirred. His eyes went wide with you standing over him. A lump in his throat. He wasn’t afraid, not truly. The law had always been weird towards him. But this. The obscurity of your eyes. They screamed danger. Pushing himself up into a seated position, Roy kept his eyes locked onto you.

You moved swiftly, gripping the connecting chain of Roy’s handcuffs, jolting  the outlaw to his feet, his hands above his head. Without care, you dragged him next to his cot, crashing his legs against the edge causing some pain, before his back slammed against the wooden wall of the cell. "What…?" Roy began to present his complaint, but you hushed him.

"Don’ say a word." You had Roy’s arms above his head, pinned against the wall. Roy wriggled under the pressure. Just as you suspected, he would put up a fight. "Ya could make this easy on yerself," You growled, moving your face closer. "Don’ fight it."

Roy narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t going to die like this. That was his assumption of the situation, misreading your true intentions. Roy swallowed, tightening his jaw, as your hand wrapped around his throat. Raising his knee, he rammed it up into you.

You grunted, wobbling slightly, maintaining your grip. You squeezed your hand. Then crashed Roy’s head into the wall, dazing him. You cursed under your breath, your throbbing erection pulsed with pain from the sudden impact.

"Fucker, told ya not to fight." You hissed, pressing your body into Roy to still any movement.

Roy was losing some feeling in his arms from their position, getting that tingly feeling. He shifted his head, blinking back clearing the blurred vision. Launching a wad of spit into your face, angering you further.

"Yer gonna regret that." You growled. You squeezed down hard on Roy’s throat, cutting off his air. You watched the man’s face turn red before you let go. Roy choked and coughed sucking in the much-needed air. Forcing his face to turn to yours. You harshly landed a kiss onto Roy’s lips. You also pushed your body as far as it could go into Roy, flattening him into the wood behind. The outlaw’s eyes blew wider, a new fear sinking into him. He could feel the outline of your length through your pants. He tried his best to move his body; it refused to budge under your weight.

You smirked, rolling your hips ever so slightly, driving home what was in store. Pulling off the kiss, you watched Roy gasp and pant, his breath hitching in desperate, ragged attempts to draw air. Your gaze scorched him, a predatory glint in your eyes. There was no escape and there was going to be no reprieve. Roy was utterly at your mercy, every struggle, every desperate twitch of his body, only serving to fuel your grim satisfaction. You kept one hand firmly on the handcuffs, pressing Roy's wrists hard against the rough wood, while your other hand began its slow, deliberate descent.

Your hand skimmed over Roy's ribs, making the outlaw flinch and try to turn away, but the wall and your weight left him nowhere to go. The hand continued its journey, tracing the line of Roy's slender waist, fingers splaying wide, the touch a vile brand against Roy's skin as the slipped under his clothes. Roy's eyes were wide, darting, his muscles screaming in a desperate, futile attempt to twist away from the encroaching defilement, but he couldn't get far. Each small, frantic movement only served to rub him more intimately against your hardened frame, making your smirk widen. The hand then moved lower, boldly cupping Roy's crotch, feeling the soft denim against the hard curve of his desire. Roy let out a choked sound, a desperate whine, as he pressed himself further into the unyielding wood, trying to escape the invasive touch that now directly assaulted his most vulnerable point.

Your palm began to work, rubbing deliberate circles over the growing bulge beneath Roy's pants. Roy's breath hitched again, tears welling in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He squeezed his eyes shut, a pathetic whimper escaping his throat, a sound of pure, helpless defeat. The rough fabric of his trousers, combined with the relentless friction, was betraying him, and he could feel a shameful heat spreading through his own loins his legs parting slightly, a horrifying response to the very act he so desperately wanted to flee. Your smirk widened, sensing the shift, a dark triumph in your eyes as you leaned closer, your voice a low, gravelly whisper against Roy's ear, "See? Told ya not to fight. Makes it easier."

A surge of raw excitement pulsed through you as Roy's struggles weakened, replaced by those shameful whines and whimpers. With a groan, you released the handcuffs long enough to rip Roy's shirt. Buttons flew, fabric tearing with a harsh RIPP sound, exposing the soft skin of Roy's chest and belly. Your free hand immediately plunged, rough and possessive, grabbing at Roy's nipples, twisting them with cruel pleasure. Roy cried out, a muffled gasp of pain and humiliation, as your other hand, still having him pinned to the wall with the handcuffs, keeping him from collapsing.

Then, with a sudden, jarring move, your hand dove down, past the waistband of Roy's pants, a cold shock against heated skin. Your fingers wrapped around the already hardened cock beneath the denim, a punishing, crushing grip that made Roy buck against the wall, a strangled sob tearing from his throat. You leaned in, your breath hot against Roy's ear. "Ya like that, don' ya, outlaw?" you rasped, your voice thick with a dark satisfaction as you began to squeeze and knead, relentlessly claiming your prisoner.

Roy's mind screamed, a mix of embarrassment and degradation. Every instinct howled for escape, for defiance, but his body, traitorous and weak, was giving in to the relentless, brutal mistreatments. The coarse fabric of your uniform, the heaviness of your body, the invasive touch on his bare skin. All of it was a violation, yet a terrifying, unwanted pleasure was coiling deep within him. Tears finally streamed down his cheeks, hot and silent, a witness to the battle raging between his shamed mind and his betraying flesh. His hips began to roll in a rhythm that wasn't his own, driven by your rough expertise.

You watched, your eyes gleaming in the dim light, as Roy's face twisted between agony and a horrifying, dawning pleasure. You felt Roy's hips bucking into your hand, a primal response that fueled your own escalating desire. "That's it," you murmured, your voice a dark caress, tightening your grip, intensifying the friction. You pushed Roy harder against the wall, grinding against him, forcing Roy to feel every inch of your own burgeoning arousal.

The sensation became overwhelming, a desperate, frantic need that overshadowed the fear, the shame, everything. Roy's head lulled back against the wood, a strangled cry letting loose from his throat as his body betrayed him completely, convulsing against your hand. A wave of shameful climax wracked his frame, leaving him limp, trembling, and utterly, spent. Your hand withdrew slowly, leaving Roy feeling cold and empty, yet dirtied by the unwilling release. Your smirk was wider now, a silent, triumphant testament to what you had just inflicted.

However, you were far from satisfied. Your own hardened length pulsed with an unmet demand. With a grumble, you hooked his free hand into the waistband of Roy's pants and, with a ruthless, single tug, ripped them down to his ankles, along with his underclothes. The cool air hitting Roy's exposed skin sent a fresh shiver of terror through him. Before Roy could even register the full extent of his nakedness, you forcibly spun him around, shoving his face against the rough wooden wall of the cell. The handcuffs, still secured digging into his writs, held his arms awkwardly, leaving his back and exposed ass fully vulnerable. You leaned in, pressing your body flush against Roy's, hips grinding, already beginning to prep Roy's ass with the hard, eager thrust of your own rigid length against the pale, exposed flesh.

You grunted, struggling for a moment as you tried to manage your trousers with only one free hand, the other still tightly gripped around Roy's cuffs. The movement was clumsy, a furious fumbling, but in short order, your pants were down, revealing the engorged, throbbing arousal of your thick veiny cock.

"Please... don't," Roy pleaded, a whimper caught in his throat. He thrashed his body weakly, a last, desperate effort to fight off you and your assault.

You groaned, pressing closer. "Shhh, now. Easy there," murmuring, your voice a grotesque parody of compassion. One hand, still pinning Roy's wrists, seemed to soften its grip, while the other moved to brace Roy's hips firmly against the wall. "Ain't no use fightin' it. You're gonna take all of me, deep inside." You pushed your hardened length, already slick with pre-cum, against Roy's trembling, exposed entrance. "It'll hurt, sure, but then... then you'll stretch. You'll give. And then it'll feel good. You'll be ruined. Just for me. And ain't a thing you can do about it." The words were laced with pure malice.

Without another word, without a hint of warning, you plunged inside. Roy's body arched violently against the wall scraping his skin against the wood, a strangled scream tearing from his throat as a searing, tearing pain ripped through him. He felt himself stretching, tearing, a vicious violation as your entire hardened length forced its way into him. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, streamed down his face, blurring his vision as he sobbed, a sound of pure agony and despair. You didn't falter, didn't hesitate. You began to thrust faster and harder, each impact stretching Roy's desperate hole further, grinding deeper, relentless in your assault.

Yet, amidst the searing pain, as the relentless thrusts continued and his violated body began to familiarize itself to the cruel invasion, a new, horrifying sensation bloomed within Roy. It was faint at first, a shameful flicker of something like pleasure, igniting in the very depths of his humiliation. He hated it, hated himself for it, even as his body arched, a silent, unwilling response.

You felt the shift, a visceral thrill surging. "That's it, yer taking me so well," you moaned, voice a low, possessive growl against Roy's ear. "Atta boy. You were made for this."

Driven by Roy's unwitting compliance and your own escalating desire, you finally relinquished your hold on the handcuffs, letting Roy's cuffed hands drop with a clatter against the wall. Both of your hands now clamped firmly onto Roy's hips, gripping them hard causing bruises, you pushed, deeper, faster, with a newfound, unrestrained ferocity.

You continued your relentless rhythm, pulling Roy closer with each powerful thrust, driving him further into his own ruin. Roy's whines became more frequent, a desperate mix of pain and unwanted pleasure that now consumed him. His head gently thudded against the wall with each impact, tears soaking his cheeks, but his hips, against his will, thrust back to meet your force. "Good boy," you rasped, your voice raw with triumph, "So…so close…can taste it." You felt Roy's muscles clench around you, and with a guttural rumble, you drove in deeper, a final, ruthless series of pumps. Roy cried out again, a broken, shameful sound as his body, utterly given over, climaxes once more, trembling violently against the wall.

A moment later, with a final, guttural groan, you shuddered, your own body tensing, and you poured yourself into Roy, a hot wave of release that marked the brutal culmination of your assault.

You, panting, pulled yourself free with a sickening pop. Roy's legs buckled, and he slid down the rough wooden wall, a heap of exhausted, overstimulated flesh. He lay there, trembling, every inch of him screaming. You, immensely pleased with yourself, took a moment to look down at the messy sight you'd made of Roy. The torn shirt, the twisted pants around his ankles, the glistening slickness on Roy's inner thighs, all spoke to your achievement.

With a final, satisfied glance, you tucked your own softening length back into your pants. You then used the back of your hand to wipe a few stray drops of cum from your inner thigh, a quick, almost dismissive clean-up. Then buttoning them up the rest of the way with a rough hand.

Meanwhile, Roy, still trembling, began to shakily pull what was left of his clothes back on. His torn shirt hung off him, buttons mostly gone, exposing his bruised raw skin. He tugged his pants up, the denim feeling rough against his flesh, and the broken waistband offered little comfort. Each movement was an effort, his muscles weak and aching from the ordeal, a tell to the overuse and stimulation he had just endured.

Roy's head lifted slowly, his reddened eyes, still wet from crying, shooting daggers at you. They blazed with anger, a furious hatred for what had just happened to him. You met his gaze, a wide, self-satisfied laugh rumbling in your chest. You turned from Roy, the keys jingling in your hand as you effortlessly slid the cell door shut. The metallic clunk of the lock engaging echoed through the quiet station, sealing Roy back in.

Roy slumped against the cold wall, his body a battlefield of aching muscles and violated skin. Every fiber of his being was screaming, not just from the physical pain that now radiated from his core, but from the misery and filth that settled over him like a suffocating shroud. He closed his eyes, wishing for nothingness, for oblivion, anything to escape the vivid, replaying memories of your violent touch and his own body's shameful betrayal. The cot felt too far, too much effort to reach. He just stayed there, a broken figure in the dimly lit cell, the sounds of his own ragged breathing echoing in the oppressive silence.

Across the room, you settled back into your creaking wooden chair. You picked up your papers again, but your gaze kept drifting towards the cell, a faint, lingering smile playing on your lips. The night's duties, the filing, the quiet solitude - it all felt infinitely more satisfying now. You leaned back, a deep sense of self-satisfaction warming you from the inside out, the memory of Roy's cries and eventual surrender a trophy in your mind. The jailhouse was quiet again, a quiet that spoke volumes of your victory and Roy's utter defeat.

[inertiabug]

renfield reader dracula remmick

[inertiabug]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Paddy Mayne has a dirty mouth…

cw: mdni, Cock sucking, Male!Reader insert, Cum eating, small mentions of violence, Blowjob, blood is in this but mentions of it, I had this sitting in the drafts already, it was only a matter of time. It is similar to another fic premise that I wrote, haha, wc- 2.6k

The S.A.S. had a long-standing tradition— one they followed with near religious devotion. 

No matter the hour, no matter how fresh the blood or smoke on their uniforms, there was always time for a drink. 

Coming back to normal life it was easier to find alcohol, a pub in every vicinity. 

Why would they not take advantage of that?

You stood at the bar, leaning against the counter while waiting for your next drink. Your mind was slowly growing fuzzy, the sounds of laughter, music, and shuffling behind you made you feel dizzy. The signs of a headache were growing but honestly, you didn’t care. 

This was your third? Wait— Fourth drink? Hard to tell at this point. 

It’s been a long day, a rough trip getting back home and you just wanted to get wasted at this point. 

It was close to working, you were starting to feel the effects of a short night ahead. 

“Hold the ice,” you muttered, sliding a crumpled bill toward the bartender. He gave a curt nod and turned away, no questions asked.

Suddenly someone knocked into you. 

A man in plain clothes— a civilian by the look of him— stumbled back. He looked like someone who had been drinking for the entire night, probably much more than you. You quickly caught him, pulling him upright by the shoulders— offering a small kind smile. 

“Shit, sorry about that, mate,” he said, then paused. He squinted at you, head tilted like he was trying to remember something important.

And then, he just stared.

“Hey... you’re not one of them S... SA...” he slurred, the sentence unraveling in his mouth.

��S.A.S.?” you asked, dry amusement in your voice.

“Yeah. Them fucks.” He chuckled and then tapped his hand against the counter. “Can I get another round! And one for the S…S.A.F fellow next to me.”

He was only drunk. 

You’ll let it slide. 

“Please, you don’t have to. I’ve already ordered,” you gestured toward your drink.

“Nah—hic—nonsense,” he slurred, giving you a lopsided grin. “You just saved my life, y’know that?”

“Sure.” You said, dryly. The night was already hell, this didn’t bother you at all. You chugged your drink down when the bartender brought it out, your head tilted back and your throat working the contents down. 

You burped, loudly. A laugh forming in your chest. 

The man looked you over then, not subtle in the slightest.

“Anyone ever tell you—hic—  that you’re… a pretty guy?” he asked, eyes trailing too slowly. “Like you have—hic— such pretty eyes.” 

“Never heard that one before,” you said flatly, but that was a lie. 

You know a certain someone who says it often enough, even when people are looking.

He just couldn’t help himself.

Sometimes it was affectionate— shared after dark, nothing but warm breaths and quiet sounds basked under the sheets. Always whispers in your ears as poetic stanzas and then he drops it at the last minute to curse low when he’s close. 

Other times it was used as a way to slight your confidence on the field, mock the way you did your job so it could boast your morality. He doesn’t mean it, you know because he always apologizes afterward in the form of his hands down your pants—

In the end, he always comes back looking for your attention. 

“Someone’s lookin’ for ya."

You turned your head towards the familiar voice and found Paddy leaning his back against the counter. You couldn’t help the way your eyes were glued to him, how pretty he looked under the bars’ lighting. His hair was ruffled, a cocky grin on his lips and he quickly brushed his hair back with two hands. 

“When did you get here?” You raised a brow. 

“Just now,” he replied, eyes on you. “Reggie’s been lookin’ for ya. Something about a drinking game he says he won, apparently, you owe him now.”

You placed the glass down on the counter and noticed another glass full in front of you. “Shit, really?” 

“Aye?” He replied with confused amusement. 

You replaced your empty glass with the one that was full, twirling it around with boredom. You’ll have to pay Reggie next time, you were all out of change. 

He’ll be mad but when is he never mad. 

Paddy’s eyes trailed across your face, unashamed— filled with desire that couldn’t be spoken into words… and then he brushed his shoulders against yours. 

Not very Subtly.

Everyone in the bar was too piss poor to notice. 

But you noticed. 

See? Always came looking for your attention. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Paddy leaned forward, taking the glass away from your hand and tilting it against his lips. 

You watched his throat bob and caught Paddy staring at you from the corner of his eye. 

You gulped. 

You could feel your pants growing tighter, cheeks flushed. 

“Yes—“ Before you could say more, that same slurred voice cut in beside you.

“This your boyfriend?” you heard him say. 

You had almost forgotten he was still there.

“What?! No!”  you replied quickly. glancing at him with eyes wide that looked like they were going to pop from your head. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” the man muttered, looking Paddy up and down before turning back to you. “How many rounds—hic— has he given you, huh? Does he share?”

Share?

“What the hell does that mean?” You turned towards him. 

“How much is he paying you to suck his cock—hic—“ 

Paddy’s expression darkened. “Who the fuck are you?” Paddy snapped,  His jaw clenched tight, brows drawn low. 

“Paddy,” you said sharply,  “He’s just drunk.”

“Aye, and I’m the president of the United States,” he muttered, tongue clicking against his teeth. “I don’t like the way he’s talkin’ to ya.”

“He’s just... trying to compliment me,” you said with nervous laughter. A terrible lie of course but You didn’t want to see Paddy in jail. 

Again. 

“It’s nothing.” You stated but Paddy shoots you a sideways glance. 

“Asking if ya suck cock doesn’t sound like a compliment.” Then he added, “coming from him, that is.”

“So, from you it sounds better?”

“Aye.” He states matter-of-factly. 

This night can’t get any worse. 

“How drunk are you?”

“Is eight pints too much?”

“Paddy.” You warned, “Are you fucking drunk—“

“Hello? I wasn’t —hic— done here. You two—hic— can make out later.” The man gave a sleazy grin, sipping his drink like he owned the whole damn bar. “C’mon, I'll pay a good price. Bet you’d make more money working at a whorehouse— actually I’ll pay for both of you.” 

Your jaw drops. 

Did he just say that?

You looked over at Paddy who looked…calm. 

Too fucking calm. 

“Paddy.“ you said, watching as he unbuttoned his top collar. “Don’t do it.”

“Do what?” He said with mock offense. “Just goin’ to indulge our friend here. He said he had the coins.” Paddy placed the glass down on the counter and walked around you. He stood in between you and the drunk man. 

“Sure how much ya payin’?” Paddy smiled, all teeth, and yet somehow it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Wait really?” The man raised his brows, a smile beginning to brew on his face. “I’ve got…three quids—“

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Paddy.” You tried to cut in but Paddy raised a hand. 

“The fucker said he’ll pay, I’m tryin’ to see something.“

“O-Okay, I got six—“ the man gulped, pulling out his pants pockets and change dropped out— rolling around the floors like scattered mice. 

“Fuck me, yer fuckin’ sad.” Paddy laughed, “Yer close to pissin’ yerself soiled.” 

“Can we just leave it?” You tried again. 

Paddy just ignored you. “How about I give ya this one for free?”

The man looked at him with glee, “Really?”

“Aye.”

Paddy punched him in the face. 

Hard.

The man stumbled back, holding his jaw. His head spinning and soon enough, he spat out a tooth. 

“You—hic—  fuck!” 

“That’s for thinkin’ you can buy us! This one is for my mate.” 

You saw a flash of Paddy jumping at him, shoving him down— beating the fuck out of him. He was plummeting him with hits after hits and then the man managed to roll them both over and got a few licks in himself. 

What the hell is going on? 

Everything was happening so fast, it snapped you halfway sober—your mind shifting into flight mode. 

You tried to help, tried to pull Paddy back— to get the drunk guy off him, or at least calm things down— but familiar hands yanked you away.

“Reggie, do something!” you shouted.

“Who started it this time?” he chuckled, like it was funny, like watching Paddy on top— throwing punches like thunder cracks was just routine.

“It doesn’t matter! Help him!”

Reggie stepped in and yanked Paddy back, the drunk guy cursing up a storm. 

Paddy stumbled, dazed, and his hands instinctively slipped inside his jacket. Your eyes went wide at the sharp click of a gun— and there was Paddy, grinning, blood pooling beneath his nose.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you shouted.

“A lot!” Paddy grinned, blood on his teeth.

“They're going to arrest you!”

“Not after I shoot him first!”

“You dumbass!”

You won’t give him the chance to make it worse, too scared of what prison would do to him this time. Without thinking, you grabbed his hand, laced your fingers with his, and ran—bolting out the back door.

Paddy’s manic laughter echoed through the alleyways behind you.

“You’re insane!” you hissed. “What about the others? You want the whole squad locked up?”

“Fuck them,” Paddy spat.

Then, just like that, he stopped— dead in his tracks. 

“Paddy—“ a loud gasp erupted past your throat when he pushed you up against the wall, his nose pressed between your shoulders— inhaling your scent. 

Paddy pressed a kiss against your skin, chaste and gentle and then he leans back to give you a look. 

A look you know all too well.

“Holy shit—“

“Aye, that would be correct.” 

He grabs the belt buckle of your uniform pants and just tugs. 

“Paddy, your hurt—“ you say but it’s cut off  when you see him drop down to his knees, his hand still hooked around your belt buckle and the sound of a crunch makes your ears perk. 

“What was that?” You questioned. 

“My ribs.” He says simply and continues to work your pants open. 

Paddy just casually stating he has a few broken ribs and refuses to do anything about it makes your head spin. Worry and the need to “take care” pulls at your nerves— he’s always so reckless, so inconsiderate of his well-being. 

“Paddy.” You huffed, “We have to take you to the hospital—“

“Don’t Fuckin’— hah! Buckles are pure shite ain’t it? “ He lets out a warm chuckle when he finally pulls the belt apart and unzips your pants, the evident strain in your briefs makes Paddy’s mouth water. 

“Paddy—“

“You want me to suck you off, aye?” He looks up, his eyebrow raised in waiting. 

“Well no—“ Paddy tilts his head, clearly sniffing you out. “…yes? I don’t know—“ 

“Then shut yer mouth and stay quiet.” 

You want to say something more, try and persuade him to get that broken rib checked but the way he pulls the waist band of your briefs down—  freeing your hard cock makes you jolt. The cool air hits like a train and Paddy doesn’t wait to lean forward,  pressing a kiss against the underside of your cock, his blue eyes staring into your own with want and desire. 

The brawl from earlier has left a slit on his bottom lip, small blood smeared against it but he doesn’t care about the pain. Both of you are filled with way too much energy and, possibly— completely, horny to be worried at this point. 

Paddy drags his lips against your cock, the blood leaving behind trails and he keeps going until the tip presses against the edges of his teeth, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Oh God— don’t.” you pleaded. “Please—“ 

“I’m not.” He pauses. Then he kisses the tip with a grin, “not tonight, anyways.” He wastes no time in sucking you in, burying you quickly at the back of his throat and then pulling back to lay his tongue flat on the underside of your warm cock. 

You moan so loudly, your voice bouncing off the walls. If anybody were to walk by they would hear lewd sounds of moans and someone sucking harshly— like a porno in real time.  

He shoves you back in his mouth again, your hips bucking instinctively against his face in a brash manner. 

Paddy just takes it. 

Lets you use his mouth like a personal hole. All while staring up at you like you moved the moon and stars, an almost crazed look but it was hot. 

He made everything hot. 

The only person who could look fucked up in the face and still pull off a slutty expressions that could get any man to buckle. 

“Almost—“ you groaned, “shit—“

Paddy moaned around you, his eyes looking up at you— pleading. 

“Fuck— you want me too?“ you gulp, curling your hands inside of his slick back hair and pulling harshly. Paddy was too intoxicated and too fucked in the head to do anything else. He just moaned around your cock, bobbing his head forwards— his hands resting against your thighs for support. 

“Your the most—oh shit,” you rank him forward so the head of your cock can hit the back of his throat. “—jealous person I know.” You grunt, “Pick fights for me and then get down like a whore in the same span of time.” 

Paddy holds your thigh tighter, fresh blood pooling down his nose already. He doesn’t wipe it away, just lets it mix in with his mouth wrapped around your cock. 

“Your fucked in the head.” 

“Mhmm—“ Paddy’s throat hums. 

You feel that searing heat in your stomach,  your mouth spilling out desperate moans,  

“Coming— Paddy, I’m fucking—“ 

Paddy did the unthinkable and pressed himself forward, holding you in— making sure the head of your need was touching the back of his throat. Actually suffocating himself because he couldn’t get enough— forcing himself to take you fully and you came right there, in a dirty fucking alleyway with Paddy Mayne on his knees. 

You can feel Paddy contracting around you, like he was making sure he got every last drop and still wanted more. 

“Okay— I fucking get it.” You gasped. You rested your head back against the wall, that burn in your stomach full sated. 

Paddy pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, “I wasn’t done—“

“Yes you were.” You rolled your eyes, “Trying to prove a point?” 

“Aye, and then some.” Paddy stood up on wobbly legs. 

“You were jealous.” 

“This place smells like shite.” He said, voice hoarse and used. Already moving to fix your pants— buckling them back up. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Now you say that? Can we get you checked now?”

“No.” He tugged you by the hand. ”I know another alleyway that’s better.” 

“You're insane.”

“So you’ve said this whole night.” 

You held yourself still, Paddy looking over at you with annoyance. 

“Alleyway and then you get checked— I fucking mean it.”

Paddy actually sits there and thinks. 

“Sure, after the alleyway.” 

“Paddy.” You said firmly, a warning on your tongue. 

“Fine alright. I’ll get checked, Happy now?”

“Yeah. Jolly even.”

“Lets fucking go.” And Paddy tugs you off somewhere.

secret admirer: @pearlstiare

[inertiabug]

BUBBLEGUM-FLAVORED

🍧 brett (eden lake) x reader 🍧 nsfw 18+ 🍧 synopsis: You're the sister of one of Brett's new friends, and that means you're as good as off limits, practically his sister too by association; but there's always something sweet and soft about you, something he wishes to chew up. One summer afternoon, you're left under Brett's watch, and against both of your better judgments, you place yourself between his teeth. 🍧 note: i love being sick in the head. im foaming at the mouth. actually, im screaming and crying and moaning and throwing up and twirling my hair kicking my feet and giggling. my head is in my hands. 🍧 wc: 7.3k+

The door opened and closed multiple times, the screen door flapping shut before the thud of wood followed. You were in your room when your brother poked his head in and let you know he was taking off with the rest of the lads—disregarding your parents’ instructions that the two of you stay together and in the house. Despite being old enough to take yourself to and from work and take care of yourself, a string of crimes in the neighborhood made it feel like you were a true teenager again, forcing you to obey the rules of your parents. Although you didn’t feel much different than one due to still living with your family past high school. “Mom and Dad wanted you to stay home,” you shot out over your shoulder. 

“Yeah, well, Brett’s gonna take care of you, keep an eye out. If anything happens or you need anything, just bug him, twerp.” 

“Dickhead,” you muttered back, listening to his footsteps follow the others out the front. 

You didn’t bother asking when he would be home, knowing he didn’t even know. He wouldn’t know what was good for him if it hit him in the head with a metal bat. Nonetheless, you didn’t care. The hairs on the back of your neck were standing on end, and you could feel his eyes—Brett’s gaze pointed, sharp. Trailing down your figure, lingering on your waist and hips, the backs of your legs were revealed under a skirt that was short enough, he pictured, too easily, you bending over, and the way the fabric would lift to show the color of your panties. Your face growing hot, your stomach turned. Brett was a class A creep with a capital ‘C,’ the language he used when referring to females vulgar and cruel, edged with a twinge of hatred that made you wince, like it stung, like he’d just slapped you across the face and pointed those words at you. 

But there was something else that happened when he spoke that way, when he grabbed the front of his jeans and squeezed his bulge and whistled at girls and women of all ages, when he threw insults and talked sex with a casual violence. You found yourself jealous, and a heat between your thighs that offended you more than anything he could have said. You don’t know why or how your brother could have trusted him to leave you alone with him, wondering if you were the only one who could see Brett for the animal he was, or if you’d only really noticed because he was the only one of your brother’s friends you paid attention to. You grabbed the book you were working on from your desk and twisted around to look at the young man, catching his eye sharply before he was able to avert it. 

Brett’s chin tucked, and he stared down at his feet with a smirk, leaning against the doorframe and refusing to move when you walked up to him. You turned your shoulder and slipped past him, your back to him as his nose trailed after your movements. He exhaled, deep, after holding the perfume of your scent in his lungs as long as he could. Then, he followed you into the living room, where you’d tucked yourself against the corner of the couch.

The sounds of gun shots pounded from the TV speakers, fake blood splattering and reddening the edges of the screen as Brett blasted his way through countless rounds of the same level, cursing and thrusting the controller forward from frustration when he got killed and had to restart. His teeth bared, curses littered the air. You could hear the buttons being pressed, thin fingers dashing forward and clicking rapidly while whitened knuckles squeezed around the curved handles. You hadn’t realized your gaze was lingering on the way his fingers were moving, tracing the veins back up his knuckles to his wrist and wrapping up the ropes of his forearm. Not until he flung the controller to the side with a final bout of frustration and lifted his palms to his face, wiping down the angles of his high cheekbones and groaning before falling back against the cushions. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and looked back to the same page you’d been on for the last hour, readjusting your seat and feeling your thighs stick from the sweat. It’d been a hot day, reducing your clothing to a short-sleeved t-shirt that fell above your hips and a skirt, your skin damp between your breasts and shoulder blades. 

Another glance over at Brett and you saw he was looking at you again, his palms resting on his splayed thighs. You slowly closed your book and slipped off the edge of the couch, kicking your legs free and letting him watch your hips sway and the shirt ride up the small of your back and more of the backs of your thighs show around your skirt when you bent down. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” You asked softly. Your fingers slid down the pile of DVDs, yet your eyes didn’t linger on a single title. 

“What ye wanna cuddle now? Play nice?” 

You slipped the last DVD out without looking at what it was. “You make me nervous when you get all worked up like that over a stupid game. And I don’t feel like having to explain why we need a new screen.” 

“Don’t take much to get me worked up.” His voice dipped before he cleared his throat, and he slung both his arms over the tops of the cushion, pushing back gently against it while readjusting his position.

You twisted your heels and looked him over, knowing the talk was just that: talk. It was hot, sweltering; the AC inside did little to relieve the stuffiness in the air, despite the blinds being closed too. And you were bored, fed up with the eyes, the leering stare, the loud thoughts you could see crossing his face. You wanted to hear them. 

Brett had little impulse control—you’d seen it first hand, the quickness with which he was to fling himself at anyone who said anything or even looked at him or anything he owned wrong, and that included you. The way he looked at all of his other possessions soon applied to you, the longer your brother hung around him and the more frequently he showed up at your house and other places. Soon, sometimes you’d even see him where your brother was not, checking up on you for no other reason than to make sure you were where you were supposed to be. Initially, you’d excused it under the guise of him being brotherly, although you’d quickly realized something different. And come to want different. Your frustration bloomed from this, the control he seemed to have, the distance he placed between the two of you. The lack of impulsivity he had when it came to you, specifically, like he was overthinking every interaction he had with you before it’d even started. Like he didn’t want you. 

You furrowed your brow down at him. “Have I not?” 

Brett tilted his head. “Not what?” 

“Been nice? to you?” 

“Oh, definitely not, you’ve been a real pain in the balls.” Brett’s arms fell back down, and he rubbed his palms down his jeans nervously. “It’s alright, though, I suppose ye lasses are all supposed to be. Jus' need to be put in your place by a proper fella. I mean, that’s why your bro left me here to deal with ya, cause non’a those other shitbags got what it takes to put up with ye.” He swallowed the lump in his throat, remembering how he’d barely been able to convince your brother to let him stay without him asking too many questions. He’d had to resort to lying that he’d already sloshed himself the night before and was still recovering—could use the night in—when everyone knew anything that resulted in a black out for Brett was met head first. 

Heat flashed through you. “So what? You’re here to…”  

Brett’s brows rose, and he scoffed. “What?” 

“I mean, is that what you do?” You blinked, diverting the question away from yourself and away from the insinuation he was making that you were one of them. “Put… girls in their… places?”

His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again when he couldn’t find anything else to say. His cheeks were now pinched pink. “You mean—do I fuck?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What’s it to ye? Got a crush on me or something?” Brett suddenly laughed, and you threw the DVD down on the couch with a scoff. “Found no other bloke to do it and now ye want me to break ye in? Just cause I’m the one who got stuck with babysitting duty?” His mouth pressed to a thin line, and he stopped himself from saying anything more, but you didn’t notice. 

“You’re disgusting.” 

His head fell back again, and his gaze trailed after you when you walked around the side of the couch. Once you disappeared behind him and into the kitchen, out of his sight, there was an instant relief in your posture, the tension in the air easing. Although you could still smell the disruptive buzz of his drugstore cologne lingering in the air, the musky sting of sweat, and the cedarwood dust of tobacco and amber mixed with the sweet rot of fruit left in a black garbage bag to ferment under the sun. He smelled of trash, cigarettes, and summer days at the overgrown lake, roadkill never too far away from the prodding of curious sticks and dirty fingers. 

Brett did not try and argue with you. 

You called back while moving toward the fridge, “Just trying to be fucking friendly and pass the time!” 

His hand closest to you flinched when you passed it, fingers flexing. If you’d been any slower or given him any more time to think about it, Brett would have reached out and snatched your wrist, but he merely continued staring at the TV, now even more frustrated than when the blood-splattered graphics of the YOU DIED screen first appeared with the scoreboard beside the jagged lettering. He cursed himself for what came out of his mouth.

You reached into the freezer and rummaged through the packed assortment of cardboard and plastic until you found something that stood a sliver of a chance against the heat. Pinching the corner of the wrapper, the plastic opened easily after you tugged the adhesive free. 

“Why don’t you go out and join the rest of the pups then? Save yourself the trouble of having to ‘put up with me?’” You then tossed the trash away and pressed the side of the candy-flavored popsicle to your mouth. Brett’s footsteps trailed after you, not far behind, and when you turned, your lips coming around the tip of the popsicle, you watched him lean his hip to the counter. “I release you from babysitting duty. Be free.” You flipped your hand toward him, but Brett didn’t move. 

“What about you?” He asked. 

A soft smack of your lips. “Huh?” 

“You got a boyfriend? Or, ye get around at all?” 

You eyed him, continuing to lick up the swirled colors that stained your tongue. “No,” you scrunched your brow, “you’d know if I did.” 

“But you’ve had one.” 

“You got a crush on me or something?” You shot his words back at him with a sharpness that was laced with a toying sweetness, and you realized Brett’s attention hadn’t left the hovering popsicle before your lips, or the way your tongue lapped at it. You glanced back and forth, then motioned it forward slightly. “It tastes like bubblegum. You can try, if you want.” 

Brett’s chin tilted, and he averted his eyes to the ceiling for a few seconds. “Your brother’ll—”

“Oh?” Heat flashed through you again from the belly up, but it was different, sharper, bitter. You were pissed, nearly recoiling. The first hint of this was in your tone, and Brett’s face turned back to you. “Didn’t think you were capable of doing as you’re told, but you’re actually proving yourself to be a good boy!” You laughed, “I’m sure he’ll give you a gold star.”

He surged toward you, but before his fingers could pinch the wooden stem and take it from you, you shoved the pink toward his lips and smeared the sticky-sweet flavor over them with a giggle, earning Brett’s hand around your wrist to snatch it back. Your whole body stiffened at the sudden movement, your breath ripping from your lungs in a yelp as soon as the small of your back hit the counter. Your bones ached under his grip, but with his narrowed eyes blazing into your widened ones, once you came back to yourself, you whispered in response to his previous question, “And, no—I haven’t, but you already knew that, too.” 

“Y’need to watch yer fuckin’ mouth. You don’t know the type of trouble you’re getting yer pretty self into.” He muttered. “Puttin’ yourself out like this f’me n’ actin’ all innocent about it.” His other arm wrapped tight around your waist, and he hoisted you back onto the ledge. “One second you’re tryna cozy up to me an’ the next you’re spitting in m’face. Insultin’ me.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your legs dangling at either side of him, you gently pushed the popsicle back toward his light sneer. Brett licked the popsicle once, then pulled it from your grip and licked it again. A light pop! sounded when he unlatched his lips from the popsicle one last time before lowering it between your legs. The tip stung the inside of your knee, and you gasped. He trailed it further up your thigh, the movement making you blush and shiver while he observed each of your tiny expressions with a pleased smirk. 

Once the top inch disappeared under the hem of your skirt, your hand lifted from the edge of the counter beside your hip and clutched the fabric of his shirt, your fist pushing at his shoulder. “Brett-“ 

“I don’t care what yer brother says or does to me. I can take him—I was gon’ say, he’d fuckin’ kill you if he saw ya actin’ like a slut ‘specially for one of his pals. An’ I don’t think ye could handle one of his punches—which means I’d be takin’ it for ya.” 

“Awe-“ you panted, “you’d protect me?”  

“Why de’ think no poor fella’s ever gotten close enough to try with ya? Hm? Sooner have his fucken’ hands cut off than let em’ touch ya.”

Your voice trembled, and where the popsicle’s coldness bit your skin, smearing its syrup to drip onto the counter beneath you, was left a heat that licked up the rest of you, too. “I didn’t realize you were so gallant, such a gentleman.”

The tip of the popsicle soaked into the cotton of your panties, nudging the front of your pussy and making you gasp again. This time, you pulled his shoulder closer, looking down and watching his hand. 

“Y’really been dumb enough to think it’s just cause nobody’s taken an interest in ya?” Brett’s free hand rose to pinch your chin. 

Your jaw having gone slack, when he forced it back up, you were shocked again to see anger darkening the pit of his eyes. His fingers fell to the front of your throat, then your chest arched, and you pushed your breast up into his palm once it curled around the softness. This, paired with your ragged exhale, distracted Brett for a moment, making him lean back to take the full view of you. You tugged him closer again, this time smashing your mouth to his in a sloppy kiss that he deepened, turning his head and opening his mouth. His scent overwhelmed your next breath, and a moan was torn from your chest, ragged and strained, when Brett peeled the side of your panties to the crook of your thigh and let the melting slush and ice-cold stickiness of the popsicle mold between your folds. As if it were his cock, he took your left leg over his arm to yank your pelvis from under you, pushing your head down with the force of his kiss, then shoved the length inside you. You could have screamed if he wasn’t still thrashing his tongue around yours like he intended to tie the two together, or if your body wasn’t convulsing and the air hadn’t been stolen from your lungs as if you’d just been dunked into frozen water. It burned inside you, your folds sticky in the juice, and it dripped out of you, the parts that weren’t solid enough to be pulled back out. 

Retracting the wooden stick, Brett tossed it aside alongside the remnants of the popsicle slush to pool on the counter before grabbing your other leg and slinging both over his shoulders. Pinning your hips down, he slunk down between them. His tongue was hot, your numbed skin tingling as if he’d just woken it up again, throbbing deep and twitching around his lips. When he plunged his tongue between your walls, he scooped the rest of the sugary liquid from the muscle and swallowed it down with the jolt of his sharp Adam’s apple and a muffled groan. Your fingers finding the chopped brunette strands of his hair, you tugged at his scalp and supported your torso on your opposite elbow, watching and feeling his shoulders push up beneath your thighs and his head move up and down as he cleaned you in a frenzy of lips, tongue, and teeth. 

His growls reverberating up your clit, your hips rolled into his mouth and your pelvis tilted down, then up, in attempts to capture the suctioning of his cheeks to that of where you needed it most desperately, but as soon as you grabbed for him or made any efforts to guide him where you needed, his mouth left you, leaving you sticky, slick, puffy and engorged from arousal, glistening up at him with a string of his drool still attached to his bottom lip before he let your legs fall and pushed himself back up. The back of his hand lifted, and his knuckles smeared over his open mouth. 

At the same time, you pushed yourself to your palms and straightened your spine, your core ablaze from the contractions up your center and from trying to keep yourself from falling back further. You were trembling, but weren’t given a moment’s consideration to your own state before Brett’s fingers wrapped around your throat—this time purposely—and he squeezed hard enough to yank you from the countertop. You clutched the sides of his waist and tugged at his shirt, your knees buckling as he didn’t step back to allow you room between him and the counter. Looking up at his sneer, his own eyes traveled back and forth from your widened stare and your open mouth, but he didn’t kiss you again. 

A hand at your hip, he yanked at the denim loop of your skirt and twisted you around, using his body to direct yours so you were then forced to bend at the hips over the counter and positioned so your arms were tucked under your chest with flat palms. You sipped on small breaths while Brett held you down there, at the hip with his other hand now at the top of your spine and his groin pressed flush to your ass in a mock mating press; so you could feel his hardened erection straining the front of his jeans. Your thighs spread instinctively, and the bottom arch of your spine deepened. 

You wriggled your hips and let out a slow exhale, your pussy now aching from the lack of stimulation, the depths still fluttering and clenching around, now, nothing. He watched this movement and pushed his hips forward gently, lids going heavy as your heels lifted from the floor, and he flipped up your skirt, bunching the denim around your waist. The center of your panties was soaked all the way down the back, a mix now of the popsicle juice, his spit, and your juices. 

“Take em off,” he whispered, repeating “take em off right fuckin’ now,” when you didn’t respond, agitation and impatience jumbling his accent. 

Pulling your hands out from under your chest, you reached back and mewled when the weight of your body tilted forward beneath his onto your ribs and compressed your breathing. Your fingers pushed the band of your underwear down before you shimmied them the rest of the way down your thighs. Locking your ankles together, your toes danced between his and you began shaking uncontrollably at the first sounds of him undoing his belt. 

Your forehead planted on the counter, you turned and pressed your cheek down, and winced when you felt the soft tip of Brett’s cock. The raw bundle of nerves swiping down between your cheeks before he bent his knees and angled himself at your entrance, Brett tugged down the silken folds of his foreskin and groaned at the way his balls tightened and a bead of precum already oozed from the pink slit. The heavy girth pulsing steadily, once he’d tugged at himself once, then twice, he only needed to pinch beneath the bulbous crown as it would have stood ready on its own, twitching toward his tensed belly. 

And despite the warmth leaking from you, the soreness of your walls from his writhing tongue, the ache of arousal weaving its up your spine, and the fact you were no stranger to sticking your fingers inside yourself or using the cheap silicone cock mold you’d bought from the sex shop to pretend it’d been Brett beneath your sheets with you before, as his nails dug into the meat of your ass and spread you around his head, then shoved himself to the hilt without pause, you cried out and tried to push yourself away. Seething through your teeth and whimpering, the wind had been knocked out of you, the flames of his intrusion licking up all the way to your face and making a string of drool smear your chin. 

You weren’t ready—and even though he stilled for a moment, folded over you with his eyes squeezed shut, Brett sooner than later pushed his palms down on the backs of your hips to keep you pinned to the counter and retracted his hips, snapping them halfway forward before continuing to thrust into you at a pace that rattled your ribs and teeth and ground up any words that caught in your throat and splashed bile up from your knotted stomach. He fucked you like a dog, always pushing in deeper than you thought he’d been before until you were totally melted around him, your whines coming out to the rhythm of his cock slipping in and out of your plush folds. At some point, he decided to muffle them, his hips knocking against your ass sloppily as he bent down, reached forward, and shoved two fingers between your teeth, hooking them on your cheek and pressing down on the back of your tongue to gag you. More saliva drooled down your jaw and coated his knuckles. 

“Yeah y’like being fucked like a bitch? I know y’fuckin’ do, squeezin’-round m’cock, crying like a fuckin’ slut, bet you’ve fantasized ‘bout this, that’s why you’ve been such a cunt to me today, all pent up an’ greedy ‘bout not bein’ able to fuck yerself on m’cock,” he sputtered, his mouth hanging open. You were sure you caught a lighter moan from him, a sigh, high-pitched, a sound that betrayed all of his strength like air being deflated from a balloon. But you couldn’t even tell where you stopped and he began, anymore. With his other hand at your side, you grabbed at his forearm and tried to stabilize yourself by pushing against the muscle, arching your back, and feeling your feet slip. Even when he continued his bullying, cutting off the sounds of your gasping and heaving. 

“Shoulda marked ye pussy long time ago, soaked ye in m’stench so everyone knows who you belong to—an’ I fully plan-to make use of this cunt, now, you’re mine-that means-fuck-that means whenever I feel like havin’ a nut, I’m gonna fill ye up like a fuckin’ frostin’ cake, battered and bruised and-leaking with m’cum. Don’t even care if yer on the pill or not, if that fuckin’ body a’yers knows what’s good for it it’ll get workin’ soon enough with the amount of seed I plan on fillin’ ya up with, an’ you should be fuckin’ grateful, sayin’ please and thank you to me for giving ya that, lettin’ ya have m’cock—that’s it, that’s it cry, cry for me, cry for this cock, yer pussy’s mine now, cry! Cry all you want, bitch, it feel that good? Yer fuckin’ pathetic, cryin’ over a dickin.’” 

When his fingers left your mouth, they cradled your jaw and tugged your head up so your back curved and shoulders met his chest. “Scream if ye want, let everyone know who’s fuckin’ ya so fuckin’ good ya gotta act like an animal ‘round ‘is cock.” But you didn’t scream, you clamped your jaw and puffed the air from your lungs through your nostrils and took his fucking like if you let out any more noises, you were going to lose whatever this was. 

Your fingers lifted to wrap around his forearm, Brett wrapped his other arm around your middle and buried his face in the crook of your neck, more shuddering exhales leaving him and his teeth grazing your pulse as he hoisted your hips up further and positioned you where he needed. Smaller curses escaping him, his pace faltered just slightly, while the muscles at the small of your back pinched and flared with pain from the position and the driving force of his thrusts. Your thighs quivering, you could feel the wet slap and trickle of more fluid down the insides, your core tensing as you pushed yourself down around him, your walls fighting his depth as he plowed thoughtlessly into their cushioning. Despite the pain, however, your mind was numb, your head empty. He was fucking you dumb. Chewing you up just to spit you out. 

Out of breath, Brett’s neck tensed and he cursed, “oh-fuck-“ before you felt both of you dropping to the tile. You hit your side, half-on top of him as he took the brunt of the impact before rolling back on top of you—this time turning you over to your back and taking your thighs under his palms to pull your hips back to him, re-align himself and keep you spread. Your shoulders lifting and your elbows coming beneath your shoulders, you gawked down at the sight of his re-entry, the flared, nearly bruised with agitation and stained hues of his agitation bleeding down to his swollen scrotum, the thickened veins running from his shaft and disappearing up his mons until the thick curls of untrimmed hair dissipated around the crook of his thighs and you saw the sliver of taut abdomen under the yanked fabric of his shirt. 

You wanted to reach out and see more of him—the redness of his face and the sweat beading along his hairline matching the adhesion of the shirt to his chest and hips. Catching the hemline with a swipe of your fingers, you moved without thinking of it, tugging his torso down so his face buried in your throat again and you could look down the broader length of him, your hands pressing to the working muscles of his back and pushing upward, bringing his shirt up to his ribs. He moaned at this, grinding his pelvis slower, deeper, and one hand leaving your thigh to prop himself on his forearm above you. 

At the first hint of a comforting touch, of you holding him, Brett yanked himself up just enough to grab your hands from him and pin your wrists with one hand to your chest. Leaving your knees to lift and your legs to hug his sides, from under the heavy panting and blanket of heavy exertion, neither one of you heard the front door open again. 

The back of your head thumped against the floor, and it was only after the first real sob left you, your ribcage collapsing and your bottom lip quivering while your eyes rolled up, that you heard the outburst of another voice explode through the kitchen. A second later, and many too soon, Brett was forcibly yanked from you and thrown back.

You scrambled away, immediately shoving your back against the cabinets and curling your legs beneath you, your panties still around your ankles while Brett’s hands fumbled with both his boxers and jeans from around the tops of his thighs to conceal his unrelenting erection. He didn’t have time to zip up or re-button himself before your brother and two of their other friends dragged him out by the shirt. 

“Stay the fuck there!” Your brother shouted at you before leaving after them. You blinked, tears filling your eyes as your chest seized, and you realized then that dusk had already painted the interior of the house shades of blue. You pushed yourself to your hands and knees, then feet, and yanked up your dampened panties before rushing outside to the front where they’d taken Brett. 

They were already on him, blood splattered against the asphalt, his wheezing only to be heard, and his crumpled form from between the feet of his now ex-friends. You were snatched as soon as your foot left the door. 

You tried to explain, to let Brett off the hook, but it was a blur—you couldn’t tell if your babbling was helping or not, especially after Brett tried to get himself up from the ground to pull your brother away you only to be held back and hit again, and not until your brother landed the final kick to his ribs and sent him speeding away on a rattling bike and one last glance toward you, full of anger, hatred, and fear. 

Your brother thought you’d come sniffling and crawling back inside, run into your room and lock the door, but eventually come to your senses and venture out to get something to eat. What he did not expect, though, when he left your shaking and weak form on the ground, hunched over like a wounded animal, was for you to stagger up and take off in the direction Brett went. 

You ran with every muscle fiber in you strained, your legs feeling like Jello, and the cold, wet air biting at your nose and cheeks, making more tears stream down your face. Pebbles and loose rock digging into the bare bottoms of your feet, nonetheless, you didn’t slow or stop to catch your breath until you reached Brett’s house. You took note that his dad’s van was still gone, probably parked outside the pub, which was better for both of you. You slammed your shoulder against the back door at the same time your hands twisted at the knob, and you nearly fell down again when the frame released. 

“Brett?” You gasped, calling out his name again. You couldn’t recall if you’d seen his bike on the lawn or against the side of the house. “Brett!” 

A clatter through the thin walls directed your attention to the narrow staircase leading upstairs. You took two at a time, gripping the railing and throwing yourself into the hall. Brett’s door was closed, but more noise came from inside, the clinking of metal followed by tattered snarls. When you opened the door, you pushed it open all the way, but didn’t take a step forward. 

Brett was in front of his mirror, bloodstained shirt now discarded, his jeans hanging low on his hips, face already swelling with blackening bruises where he’d been punched. Blood trickled from his forehead, nose, and lip. His brow was split, and when he bared his teeth, they were stained red. The veins spidering over his knuckles and up the tensed ropes of his forearms, between his fists, he clutched the rough metal of steel weights, pumping his biceps. On the wall in the corner was a fresh hole; the drywall was cracked, and the plaster had concaved inward where he'd slammed his fist into it. 

When he spotted you, you noticed his eyes swept downward from your head to your feet, checking for injury, but no words were said. He dropped the weights with a loud thud against the carpet at the same time you slammed the door behind you and rushed toward him. 

Brett took your face between his hands while backpedaling, whispering your name. Your hands pushed at his belly till the backs of his legs caught the edge of his bed, and he fell back. You climbed up to straddle him without another breath and yanked up your shirt while his fingers squeezed your spread thighs over his waist, and he sat up again to unlatch the back of your bra.

His blood smearing your chin, you sucked in a desperate inhale while pushing your mouth to his and murmuring, “I’m yours’m all yours-“ 

“Fuck yeah ye are,” Brett kissed you again, then hissed gently when your teeth nipped and your lips suckled at his earlobe.

Your mouth fell down his neck to his defined shoulder, he brought you down with him again so your hips lifted up off him and he could shove down his jeans again. You curved your spine and continued kissing down his chest until your teeth found the rosy nub of his nipple. You lapped over it with a lax tongue and felt his body coil up beneath him, his hands returning to your ass after he’d freed his tender length to bunch up the denim again. 

But that wasn’t good enough for this time. Every inch of you that was covered was too much. Your head lifted, and your arch pushed back against his touch. You huffed and helped him unbutton the waistband, then, with his arm hugged around your waist for support again, you leaned your weight into his hold and maneuvered your legs free of the skirt, discarding your panties with it. Scrambling back up to straddle him, you pushed Brett back down by the pecs and looked down at his face, suckling on your bottom lip as your heart squeezed.

“I’m sorry,” you then hushed, but Brett hardly heard you. If he had, he wouldn’t have registered the apology. 

He kneaded your breasts, pinched your nipples, and stroked you from the ribs over your back and cupped your side again, urging you back down with your hands propped at either side of his head so he could fit his mouth to the softness of your expanded nipple. You gasped with he did, the heat of his breath and saliva and the swirl of his tongue around the sensitive nerves making you push your chest into his face. Your walls tugged again, and if you rolled your hips down close enough, you could swipe your folds over the tip of his cock, at rigid attention again. As soon as you did, Brett’s hips flexed up to find your heat again, and he whimpered into your breast, nursing himself with a harsher suction. 

Still, he had the sense—the need—to bring both of your bodies further up the mattress so he could then drive his heels into the sheets and splay his knees out. His mouth left your tit just long enough to do so, he then traded one nipple for the other and moaned again, his hand swiping down the curve of your hips to pull at your ass. Lifting his hips at the same time he tugged you down, he slipped back inside easily, the wetness of both of your desires remaining and renewed. 

It no longer burned or pinched. Your walls swallowed him down greedily, the feeling of him filling you alleviating the ache in your core. Warmth buzzing through you at the feeling of his nursing, the trickling pleasure oozing down your chest and tugging at the bead of your clit, his head curving into and nudging the engorged muscle within your walls that wrapped around the sides of your pussy, everything in your reacted obediently to him—every graze of his knuckles, every squeeze of his hands, every slip of his cock between your thighs, every nudge of your clit to his groin, you flinched and quivered and sighed and pressed your weight down on him, letting him fuck himself up into you and take what he needed while you fingers found his hair and tugged gently while your face fell above it. You were sure you would have cum, if he’d been able to continue any longer. 

But with one last thrust upward into you, Brett’s toes curled into the sheets, and he yanked your hips down to bottom out, the sutured stitch up his scrotum yanking painfully as his balls squeezed and the knot at the base of his cock released. Thick semen gushing from his slit, his cock pulsed, and with each contraction, each twitch, more ropes were released. They dribbled around his girth and drooled from your puffy folds, leaking out and coating his balls and soaking the sheets beneath you. Brett groaned into your nipple, then unlatched with a pained moan. You nuzzled your face into the side of his, careful around his wounds, before kissing him, slow, his jaw slack and lips agape so you could taste the high-pitched whines that escaped him. And when he just held you down on him, you curved your spine and ground your hips down, earning another whimper as your depths milked the last bit from him. 

Overstimulation lifted his pelvis again, and he squeezed his jaw, flaring his nostrils with a strained inhale before he pinched the softness beneath your ribs and lifted you further up, slurring, “fuckin’-hell-okay, okay, okay.” But you only peppered his face, kissing his scabs gently and the surrounding bruises, the giddiness in you returning.

He couldn’t touch you enough, hold you enough, fuck you enough—now that you’d gotten a taste, made him cum, you were addicted to it, addicted to dissolving of his composure and frantic fucking, the hint of gentleness when he caressed you, the delicate balance of control and power he had over you. You wanted to give him everything—you wanted him to take everything. 

And in a way, today, he had. 

But just like bubblegum, he’d spit you out, only for you to get stuck under his boots and caught in the indentations, sticky on his lips and stringing between his teeth, latched between his molars. 

“I want more…” you mewled. 

Brett smirked. You felt the corner of his mouth lift and cheek harden beneath yours, still holding his now softened cock inside you, submerged in your heat and the viscous gumminess of his load. When he finally responded, his voice was scratchy and worn, slowed by his tiredness. His eyes were closed, and he hummed when you kissed beneath his jaw. “I always knew ye’were a slut.”

"Shut up... you're so mean."

"And you love it."

A little while later, you looked back at the door and swallowed the cotton of nervousness caught at the back of your throat. Brett’s grip on you had loosened, his legs fallen out, and his breathing deepened. You slipped off of him, slow, shuddering from the feeling of him slipping out from between your thighs, and swung your leg off of him, your hips twinging from the soreness of straddling his.

Brett tried to grab you in protest at the absence of your weight on top of him. However, you ignored his whining and growing frustration to grab one of his t-shirts from his dresser and head to the bathroom.

"The fuck you going?" He shouted, bewildered. "Get back here!" He stared up at the ceiling, then huffed and pushed himself up.  

When you came back, your thighs now dripping with cool water from the faucet and alleviated the remnant stinging, you held in your hand a fresh rag.

Brett, resting on his elbows, was watching for you. His jaw set and gaze narrowed, you’d come to recognize the difference between his anger and worry, but they often mixed when with you. You sat on the edge of the bed again, turning to him and lifting the rag to the first of his cuts. He flinched away and his lip twitched and body stiffened, abdomen flexing, eyes on the glistening remnant stickiness of your juices on his cock and the redness, the cum that crusted on his thighs. You would have to clean him up there, too. His attention slid over to you, and his cock throbbed heavier, hand reaching over to the side of your thigh. The sight of you in his t-shirt, the act of you caring for him, he was surprised to find was enough to expedite his readiness. You were like an aphrodiasic for him—and he was blissfully unaware of the time slipping by, nor the impending arrival of his father back home. 

Brett’s body curved over to his side, and he pushed his head into your lap, making your hand and the rag fall away. “Brett…” you whispered, your other hand stroking through his hair. “Those need to be cleaned.”

“Mmhm.” He muffled into your stomach, pushing his face up the length of your torso until his mouth found the peak of your breast, and through the fabric, his hot breath melted against your skin. 

Your fingers caught his jaw, and you tilted his eyes up to meet yours. “I’m serious.” 

“Yeah, I fucken’ am too.” He pushed, and you glanced down at his sex, the way it’d already grown again, slumped over his thigh, heavy. The crown was top-heavy, at least until the base stiffened from blood and his orgasm ballooned. Stained bubblegum pink along the shaft, beneath his foreskin, the shade deepened, the tip kissed like a strawberry. Your mouth watered. You lifted the rag again and pressed your mouth to a line, taking a deep breath and pressing gingerly into one of the deeper cuts, swiping the dampness around the impacted edges where the skin was puffy and lifting your hips up slightly, adjusting your seat as Brett guided his tapered, long fingers to find the slick of your heat again. "Y'wanna act like a slut, then y'get fucked like one too. Hate that y'went an' cleaned yerself without my permission. Coulda fuckin' done that for y'if you'd just waited."

"You're gross."

He teased around the erect tissue of your clit, knowing you were already so close and wanting to redirect you back to that edge. He usually didn’t care if he made girls cum—he couldn’t be bothered with it, only ever fucking to finish himself and relieve his own tension, but as you tried to continue to care for him, let him nuzzle against you and devoted yourself to him, he found himself yearning to watch you crash to your own completion, ached to hear his name on your tongue, to feel you spasm and quiver through the aftermath.  

“Christ, it really doesn’t take-much to get you worked up…” you gasped, your shoulders curving forward and your free hand coming back to the top of his shoulder. Your attention fell back to the flexed indentations and ridges of his lean hips. You were embarrassed by the fact that he could have probably felt the tensing of your pussy around just the sight of him hard again.

Brett’s head fell back, and he gave you a full, crooked, toothy grin. “Warned ya... can't say the same for yerself, either, though... go on now, y'know ye wanna taste it, basically droolin'. Bet it tastes like bubblegum now too after fuckin' yer sweet slut-cunt."

"Stop calling me that," you murmured, but you were already folding over his middle and licking your lips.

"Okay, slut."

Brett chuckled, high-pitched, and tucked his chin to his shoulder once he lay himself flat beneath you, amused by both of your greediness and impatience. He retracted his palm and gave your pussy one good smack to illustrate his point, causing you to choke on your next breath even before you'd gotten the chance to muffle your cries on his cock and moan around his balls as he continued flicking and rubbing steadily at your clit, biting back his grin as you humped his palm.

He was right--he tasted of the remnants of the bubblegum popsicle and your own cum. It was sticky sweet.

Brett was sticky sweet. But only with you.

[inertiabug]

compiled all of remmick's pathetic sounds and the result is a softcore audio porn

[inertiabug]

How Often Do You Feel Lonely? (Remmick x F!Reader)

summary: you live alone in the middle of the woods, just how you like it. at least that’s what you tell yourself. your peaceful night in is interrupted by a knock at the door. a man, pleading to be let inside just to catch his breath… but of course, that’s not all he’s after.

wc: 14.5k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit depictions of sexual acts! little plot mostly smut, vampire sex, p in v, oral (both giving and receiving), lots of drooling, spit drinking, face fucking, mutual masturbation, creampie(s), face down ass up, hair pulling, claws and teeth drawing blood/leaving marks, blood tasting (he’s a vampire… duh), fingering, multiple orgasms, threats of violence, manipulation, mentions of voyeurism, abandonment and death.

A/N: special thanks to @eternalstrigoii for beta reading, @spikedfearn for inspiring me to get back into writing smut, and of course everyone in the remmick discord for cheering me on and filling my head with wonderful filthy ideas <3 love u guys | translations for gaeilge provided at the end.

The sun had finally set, nestling itself amidst the spiraling, twisted trees. The sky shifted from a crisp orange to a comforting blanket of dark purple, the stars winking from a distance. Clouds hung lazily, dotting the starlit night with blots of grey. The moon, half-full, occupied the sun’s empty throne. 

Although the sun drifted to its nightly embrace, the air still hangs heavy with the humid summer heat. You kept the windows open, though it wasn’t much help. Even keeping the door open a crack didn’t aid in letting air into the stuffy house. 

The dark, empty house - lit only by the soft moonlight and a few candles scattered on the mantle and other various surfaces - creaked. Not unusual for the old place you call home. You live alone, but the creaks and groans didn’t bother you much. Not anymore, at least. You’ve grown used to it, the sounds kept you company, especially at night. A delightful symphony in comparison to the deafening silence that surrounded you most days. 

Sometimes that’s all you need. The familiar creaking of the house, the serene night sky, a good book, a myriad of flickering candles, and some refreshing tea - iced or hot, depending on the weather and your mood. Tonight it was iced, on account of the sticky summer heat. 

Despite having what you need for a peaceful night, you knew deep down in your heart that something was missing. It troubled you to ponder what exactly left you so empty inside, but you regularly stifle that feeling. 

No use thinking about that. No use at all.

You grab your freshly brewed tea, take a sip and set it down on the nearby coaster. You snatch the most recent book you’ve started digging into from the shelf and sit in your typical spot by the window. It was the perfect spot. You could see the moon and stars coalescing in the clouds, their soothing light shining just bright enough through the window for you to read peacefully. Your chair was wooden, but the throw pillow on the seat made it perfectly comfortable.

You curl open the book, a classic Bram Stoker novel, right where you left off. You slide the bookmark from its place and set it down on the table in front of you. Taking another hearty sip from your glass, you begin reading to yourself: 

“I pray to you, be seated and sup how you please. You will, I trust, excuse me that I do not join you; but I have dined already, and I do not sup.”

A shadow, swift and sudden, passes by the window. You barely spot it out of the corner of your eye. You twist your head to catch a better glimpse, but the presence went as fast as it came. 

It was probably just an animal. A wolf or a vulture, maybe even a bear. It’s hard to say. Plenty of animals congregate around your humble abode. Living in the middle of nowhere meant that any movement outside was normally a woodland creature just drifting through on their way back to their family or catching their prey… or running from a predator. Nothing more. Except for the occasional birds flocking to your outdoor feeder, they stick around longer than most animals - longer than any guest you’ve ever had, really. 

However you couldn’t shake the feeling that the passing shadow might have been something different. A stillness sets in, yet the candles continue to dance in the darkness, the blazing waltz reflecting in your eyes.

You inhale a sharp breath and try to perish the thought. The loneliness is really getting to you tonight. You shift your eyes back onto the page but a sound startles you before you can begin reading again. 

Your ajar front door creaked. A different creak than you’re used to. There was no wind, not tonight, yet something caused the door to sway and moan. Something was lurking out in the woods. Or worse, someone.

An unfamiliar chill runs down your spine. An animal… that’s all it is. A hungry animal. A scared animal. Reluctantly, you leave your perch once more to shut the door, setting the book page down in your chair. You were determined to not let these noises get under your skin. Not while you’re trying to enjoy a quiet night of reading. You could do without the willies tonight. 

You press one hand on the rustic wooden door frame, the other on the knob. Your eyes travel to the crack, peering out into the darkness. Nobody was there. Nothing was there. Just your overactive imagination getting the best of you. A wave of relief washes over you. 

The door shuts with a groan. Finally… back to peace. You take a step to the side, primed to dive into your reading and enjoy a relaxing night without distraction. Without issue. Peace and quiet, just how you like it.  

Right as you’re about to settle in your chair, you hear a loud knock.

KNOCK KNOCK

Your heart thuds in your chest - it was an unusual sound for you. Nobody comes to visit, not very often. Certainly not at this hour. Fear ripples in your throat as you take in a gulp of air. You just checked outside with no sight or feeling of a presence on your doorstep. How is that possible?

The moisture from the summer heat mingles with the nervous sweat on your forehead. Your heart thrums faster as the rapping on the door continues.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Hello? Hey, is-is anyone home?” The choked voice of a man breaks through the barrier of your door. A southern twang riddled the man’s gravelly inflection. It didn’t sound natural though, more like someone mimicking an accent they’d heard once before. “Hello? Please, I need some help.”

The begging stranger continues knocking at the door, his pleas growing louder. His pounding grows more urgent. You didn’t want to answer. Anxiety claws at your chest. A man? Here? At this hour? I didn’t see him when I peeked outside. I was sure there was no one there.  

“Please, p-please,” The man’s voice is desperate, calling to you like a siren. Your breath trembles as he cries out. “I know you’re in there. I can see your shadow movin’ around.”

You inhale a deep, staggered breath and inch closer to the door, the heavy wood shifting with the man’s incessant knocking. Your hands shake as you slowly open the door - just a hair, to get a look at the man at your doorstep. 

His eyes, a soft but wild blue, meet yours. He wasn’t as imposing as you imagined. Far from it, actually. 

Dark hair sits messy on his sweat-slicked head. He sports a sleeveless, collarless white shirt that clings to his broad shoulders - drenched in what looks like perspiration and god knows what else. A golden chain drapes around his thick neck. His dirty, torn work pants are accentuated by undone suspenders that hang loosely around his sides, as well as a worn out leather belt with a metal buckle - suspenders and a belt? Strange fashion sense, you think to yourself. 

A pungent odor wafted from him - you aren’t able to make out what the exact scent is. A mix of body odor, singed flesh, old blood and pure death. Unpleasant, to put it lightly. 

“Oh, miss. I am terribly sorry to bother you this time of night but I-I’ve been runnin’ for what feels like hours,” he speaks, his voice a low rumble, cracking between every word. Running for hours… that would explain the copious amount of sweat beading on his forehead… and the smell. “I didn’t mean to frighten ya. I-I saw your house in the distance and thought you might be able to help me out of a pinch.” 

“Why were you running?” You ask. A man running in the woods, in the dark, didn’t bode well. Something about this stranger strikes you as suspicious. His stammering and disheveled appearance didn’t help much. ”Mighty strange for a man to be running around the woods at night.”

“I was bein’ chased,” he huffs. “I-I was hopin’… well I was hopin’ I might be able to catch my breath at this quaint little house here.”

“Chased? By who?” Your curiosity piqued. 

“That don’t really matter,” his voice a hushed rasp. His eyes focus on yours, their blue sheen flickers with the dancing candlelight on your mantle. “M-may I come in? Only for a moment. I just. I need a second to breathe, maybe somethin’ to drink, and I’ll be on my way. I swear it.”

“It’s not very smart to let strangers in, you know,” your eyebrows furrow, concern scribbled on your face. Not just any stranger, but a man. Not only a bad decision but potentially a dangerous one. Surely he’d understand your hesitation. “Especially at night.”

“I know, miss,” he whimpers, his eyes glistening with despair. He seems desperate to get inside. Whoever, or whatever, he was running from must have really shaken him. “I-I know. I know, and I empathize. Letting a stranger in… never a good idea, no ma’am. I know. I don’t mean to be a burden, but I just… oh, I just need a quick respite. Please, I’m beggin’ ya.”

“Why should I?” You hiss, your hand faltering on the door knob. He notices the way your body is shaking, the door trembling with you. A pout forms on his plush, pink lips. He falls to his knees with a hopeless sigh. The shredded holes of his pants force his bare legs to scrape against the hard wood of your porch. You almost feel bad for him. Almost.

“Oh… I know you don’t got a reason to let a strange man like me in, but I will do anything,” he puts his veined, calloused hands together in a weak prayer. “Anything at all.”

You didn’t respond. You watch his lips quiver as he bows his head - you could see how soaked his unkempt hair was with sweat. Little strands of his dark locks spiked out towards the back of his neck. You feel a bizarre sense of power watching a man crumble like this at your doorstep. You were used to men making you crumble. 

“I-I can give you money,” he falters, scrambling his hand down into his front pocket. He pulls out two sparkling coins - from what you could tell, they didn’t look like any sort of money you were used to seeing. They looked like solid gold. Ancient. The coins shake in his palm, clinking together. ”It’s not much but it’s all I got. You can have it. I don’t want nothin’ from you other than a place to stay for just a moment… somethin’ to drink. Then I’ll get outta your hair. I swear to you that’s all I ask. Please.”

He shuffles near the crack in the door, his hand rattling the coins for you to get a closer look. They were definitely real and you weren’t the type to deny money. Not like you needed it that much beyond grocery trips and occasional house repairs. Still, you can’t help but find yourself enticed by the shining currency and the man’s choked pleas. He’s easy on the eyes too - an added bonus. 

“You sure that’s all you want?” You ask, still suspicious of the strange man kneeling before you. Out of everything you’ve learned in life - men only ever want is one thing - has rang true the most. 

“I promise,” he croaks. His body trembles on the floorboards of the porch, the old wood squeaking beneath his weight. He looks up at you, his gaze wet with distress and yearning. You’d never seen a man look so… pathetic. Weak. His promise feels sincere - he didn’t seem so dangerous to you anymore. 

You sigh and open the door all the way, pulling the ample wood inward and fully revealing yourself to the stranger. He looks you over, darting eyes studying you up and down. A pleasant expression washes over his angular features, almost like he was amazed that you accepted his offer… and all it took was a bribe and some begging for you to fold. His smile is as soft as his eyes, with imperfect teeth lining his gums. His canines glint in the candlelight as his grin widens at the sight of you. 

Something about him charms you. Maybe it was his blue-eyed gaze filled with wonder and a touch of sorrow or maybe that cute, crooked smile. The way his voice cracks desperately while he pleads. The way his body trembles and prays at your doorstep as if you were a goddess made flesh. The way the candlelight dances around his handsome face. Maybe it was the money… no, no… there was something else. Something more carnal. It’s not entirely clear to you, but whatever it is, he charmed his way inside your house. 

“Alright, you can come in,” you exhale, beckoning the stranger into your home. What am I thinking? What am I DOING? Oh god, oh GOD… Your mind races as you watch the man lift himself off the porch. His heavy boots carefully take a step forward through the entryway, hesitant to fully stride in. 

“Oh, oh thank you. Thank you, miss. Thank you,” he repeats his gratitude over and over again, nodding his head continuously like an overzealous puppy. His hands snap back into a prayer position to further emphasize his appreciation. He takes another step, broad shoulders pushing past the threshold of your home. His awestruck eyes never leave you. “Thank you.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” you smirk, shutting the door behind him. It’s too late to turn back now. “You have a name, stranger?“

“You can call me Remmick,” he murmurs, setting the two gold coins in your open palm as he continues his voyage into your personal space. His hand is drenched with sweat. You recoil as the moisture coating the coins kisses your skin. The coins are heavy, definitely real gold. You place them down on a nearby console table by the door and wipe your hand on your pants while his back is turned. 

Definitely an unusual currency for someone to be carrying along with them. The name Remmick… also unusual. You’ve never heard a name like that before. It was different, but you like the ring of it. Remmick. 

“Alright, uh. Remmick,” you nod. “Take a seat, I’ll get you somethin’ to drink. Water or iced tea?”

“Thank you, again, miss,” Remmick’s grin hadn’t faded. If anything, it grows wider as he continues to speak with you. “Water’s fine. I ain’t too picky.” 

“Comin’ right up,” you smile back at him. The stranger takes a seat in your reading spot after moving your book onto the table. He gives you a friendly nod. Great. He’s gonna stank up my favorite chair. You try to shake the thought of your peace being disrupted as you stride to the kitchen. It’s only for a moment, then he’ll be on his way. 

You reach into the cupboard and snatch the closest glass. Did I make the right decision letting this guy in? You can’t help but ponder the outcome of your choice as you let water fill the cup. What if he IS dangerous? What if he just tricked me by acting helpless and scared? Am I going to regret this? What am I thinking…? Why did I let him in?

Water overflowed onto your hand while you were musing. Maybe you’re just overthinking things. Not all men are bad, surely. Maybe he is just passing by. Maybe he was getting chased by something in the woods. What are the odds that a good man just randomly shows up on your doorstep…? Give him a chance. You dry your hand off and try to clear your head. A chance… Everyone deserves a chance. Even smelly weirdos carrying gold coins.

As you make your way back into the living room, you see Remmick holding your book, his eyes scanning the sentences. He hears the creak of your footsteps and turns his attention to you. He’s sitting lax in your chair, making himself right at home. His legs are crossed and propped up on the nearby table. The candlelight accentuates the veins in his hands and the furrow of his brow. A sly smirk creeps across his face.

“Dracula, huh?” He scoffs, flicking his wrist so that the cover of the book faces you. He lets out a little chuckle and cocks an eyebrow as he reads a passage out loud. “Listen to them - the children of the night. What music they make!”

“What’s the problem?” You bark, unamused by his seemingly mocking tone. He quickly reels back.

“Oh, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” he pauses. “I just hear it’s… a little scary, is all. You ain’t scared?”

“Hard to be scared of somethin’ that’s not real,” you sneer, inching closer to the strange man in your chair. You hand him the glass of water. Instead of taking a swig like you’d expect a parched man to do, he places it down next to your iced tea - the collected condensation dripping onto the wooden coaster. “Besides, I like a good monster story. I recently read through Frankenstein and it was a hoot!”

“Oh?” Remmick grins, tilting his head to the side. “What makes you think monsters ain’t real?”

“The only monster I know is men,” you snap back. “Vampires, werewolves, stitched together abominations - they’re just fairy tales. Fiction.”

Remmick contemplates for a moment, his fingers still curled around the book’s spine. He looks back at you, his eyes gleaming in the light. They almost looked like they were shining a different color - crimson. But it was nothing more than a trick of the light. 

“Hey now, fairy tales ain’t always fiction. Always a little truth to ‘em,” he teases. He sets the book down pages first on the table, making sure you didn’t lose your place. “‘sides, if you ever met a real monster… oh, I guarantee you wouldn’t be leavin’ your door open or your windows cracked. I wager the heat is safer than the possibility of somethin’ evil creepin’ down the hall.”

Something about the way Remmick spoke of monsters troubles you. His eyelids drooped halfway, hiding his intentions under their shadow. He stares at you, his gaze never wandering from your trembling body, burning into your core and twisting your stomach in knots. Your eyes drift to his left finger - the light of the candles drawing attention to a ring. A wedding ring?

“You married?” You change the subject as quickly as possible, the less talk about monsters the better. His eyelids perk back up. He looks directly at his ring, almost as if it’s the first time he’s noticed it’s there for quite some time.

“Once,” he murmurs quietly. A somber expression plastered on his face, his eyes shying away from you. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it further. “You?”

“Once,” you reply. You lied. You were never married. You were engaged once - but the man you once considered your life. Your soul. Your very home. He has long since abandoned you. All alone in this empty house. Remmick didn’t prod.

“Do you live alone, miss?” Remmick inquires. His tongue licks his front teeth before he shuts his mouth. He still hadn’t taken a sip from his glass of water. You weren’t sure what to say. You didn’t want this stranger to know that you did, in fact, live alone. Better make something up. 

“No, but… I am alone for the night,” you continue to lie. You weren’t always the best liar, and you were almost positive Remmick could tell, but you carry on. “My sister is out in town with her fiancé. They won’t be back for a few hours.”

Remmick nods, sinking into your chair with a hearty sigh. He looks over at you, studying you once again. His eyes pierced through your skin, as if he was looking directly at your soul. Even from a distance his gaze gives you goosebumps.

“But you ain’t alone right now, are ya darlin’?” his eyes soften as he speaks. The polite southern cadence sung through his charming smile. He swapped his gracious honorific for an informal term of endearment. You feel your gut clench when this stranger refers to you by a pet name, followed by a fluttering sensation in your chest. It’s been awhile since someone spoke to you like that. “How often do you feel lonely?”

What a strange question, but one you think about more than you’d care to admit. It’s like he was digging into your brain with a venom-encrusted shovel, asking just the right things to make you squirm.

“Not too often. I don’t mind being by my lonesome. I think I’m good company,” you laugh awkwardly. “Why do you ask?”

Remmick pauses for a moment. You couldn’t pinpoint the expression on his face, but you could see him turn to the window. He stared at it longingly, still silent, still thinking. You could slice the silence in the room with a knife. 

He begins to sift in the chair, uncrossing his legs and setting his boots down on the floor with a heavy thud. Remmick’s head swivels back towards you. 

“I ask because,” he starts, standing up. His shadow flickers on the floor with the dancing candlelight, enveloping you in shifting darkness. “Well… I sure don’t like bein’ lonely.”

Remmick’s voice falters, his words stricken with a hint of sorrow. Your brows knit together. Concern and fear pool in the pit of your stomach as he slowly approaches you.

“And I been lonely for a very, very long time,” his voice cracks slightly. A low growl rumbling deep in his throat. “It’s hard to find good company for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Your eyebrow cocks upward, concern simmering into curiosity. Be careful. Curiosity never fails to kill the cat. 

“A monster,” Remmick exhales. He marches forward, his head bowed down to the floor. The air grew heavier the closer he lurched. You wanted to back up, but something was stopping you. An invisible force holds you in place as this stranger continues his pace forward. This stranger, that you let in, stomps closer and closer. Your entire body tenses with every step he takes. “And I ain’t good enough company for myself. Never have been.”

By the time his feet meet yours, you could feel a yelp blossoming beneath your breath. You stifle it the best you can, gulping it down with a hard swallow. Your heart hammers in your chest and your hands grow clammy. He lifts his head, ever so slightly - a droplet of sweat dribbles from his glistening forehead. His eyes flicker maniacally in the candlelight. 

“I’ve seen so much death. War. Famine. Lost so many loved ones. My wife… killed right in front of me,” he rasps. “I can still hear her screams in the silence… echoin’ in my head.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. How COULD you respond to that? This stranger who went from imposing, to pathetic, to sincere, right back to imposing - unloading his trauma on you completely indiscriminately, completely out of nowhere. What was he expecting from you? What exactly does he want?

You remain silent. Silent enough that you could hear the candle wicks crackle. This seems to agitate Remmick, the corner of his upper lip twitching. 

He looks deep into your eyes, his pupils dilating like a wild animal. His eyes shift violently between blue and crimson. You weren’t so sure if it was a trick of the light anymore or if his eyes were literally changing. Either way, it was unnerving. 

He reels himself back a bit, a sharp inhale filling his nose as he lifts his head up to meet your eyes. Your body shudders with anticipation for whatever comes next. 

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. I’m bein’ a real wet blanket, ain’t I?” He chuckles a little, realizing his emotional outburst might have been a bit too intense. “Forgive me. I just uh. I get a little emotional when I take in the sight of a pretty thing like you. You… you remind me of her, is all.”

He gently reaches a hand out and cups your cheek. The sudden touch, chilling and coarse, makes a tingle twist down your spine. He caresses your face softly. The rough pad of his thumb traces circles on your lips. He stares deeply into your eyes again, honing in on the emptiness in your heart - something the two of you seem to share.

Your eyes twinkle in the candlelight as you gaze back at him. You could sense a deep pain buried underneath his rough and tumble exterior. You weren’t entirely sure how to feel in this moment… on one hand, you missed the touch of another human on your skin. On the other, your sneaking suspicion was starting to rear its ugly head. This guy might be dangerous, or worse - he might want something more than he let on. 

Something in your mind pleaded with you to let it happen, begging for the attention you’ve denied yourself. The need for connection. The need for embrace. 

You decide to welcome Remmick’s touch. You raise a hand and plant it firmly over his. A smile forms on his roguish face, those crooked teeth baring themselves. His hand was unnaturally cold, but the feel of it against your face brings you a sense of comfort you’ve long since missed. 

His intense eyes burned into your very being, hypnotically enticing you to stare back. That odor you whiffed before letting him in washed away with his touch, now all you could smell was the burning wicks of the candles and the night air rolling in from the open window.

“Her eyes sparkled exactly like yours in the right light,” he speaks tenderly, musing on his lost love while delicately stroking your face. “Her lips pursed in a way I’d never forget, either.”

He leans in close, his hand never leaving your face. You could feel his hot breath on your skin, his lips nearly brushing yours. 

“May I kiss you?” He whispers, polite as ever. He hovered close enough to your lips that he could lay one on you if he really wanted to. He at least had the courtesy to ask permission. You pull away briefly, contemplating whether or not allowing yourself the embrace would be worth it. But nothing was worse than the fear — what happens if I DON’T? 

You nod, but before you can open your mouth to say anything, his lips crash into yours. His warm mouth covers yours with a searing sweetness. You could feel the stubble on his chin rub against you.

A flurry of emotions caught in your chest. The cold caress of his palm on your face coupled with the warmth of his lips coalesced into a strange sensation, but you weren’t complaining. 

He lets out a soft purr as you purse your lips to return the same fervor, matching his passion. Your eyelids flutter closed as you lean deeper into the kiss. His other hand reaches behind you, splaying ever so gently on the curve of your back. His fingers languidly stroke your back. Without warning, you feel his tongue slither between your lips. You exclaim softly, feeling Remmick’s lips twist into a satisfied smirk as he delves his long, flat tongue deep into your mouth. 

It flicks at the back of your teeth, as if he were tasting your last meal. You let out a breathy, unprovoked moan as his tongue completely wraps around yours in a wet, slimy embrace. He chuckles, thrilled that you’re enjoying this, even a little bit. His hand that cupped your face shifts up into your hair. He takes hold of you gently, pulling you even deeper into the kiss. His fingers knot into your hair as he continues his relentless exploration of your mouth.

A tight, swelling warmth pools in your stomach. This man, this stranger - kissing you with a passion you hadn’t felt in so long, if ever. You were right about one thing. Men only want one thing, but maybe… just maybe, you did too. You allow your tongue to coil with his, melding together in a glorious harmony.

“Santaíonn mé thú…” Remmick whispers into your mouth in a language you’ve never heard before. His tongue hadn’t ceased moving along yours, saliva mixing together with a furious momentum. The hand caressing your back slides further down, nearly grazing your rear.

Your senses begin to come back to you, causing you to pull away - a strand of spit still connecting your lips. He looks at you, eyelids half shut, lips still pursed together.

“My sister and her husband will be home soon,” you say with a hush. He shoots you a look, his hands still gripping you. His lips curve into a devilish sneer.

“Thought you said your sister had a fiancé?” His grasp tightens in your hair. He gives a wicked chuckle that bellows deep from the confines of his throat. “‘sides, I ain’t worried. Your sister don’t live with ya. And she ain’t comin’, not tonight.”

A chill shivers down your spine. You were right again, Remmick could tell you were lying. 

He leans in close, his burning gaze paralyzing you.

“I’ve been watchin’ you for a while now, darlin’,” he growls. “You ain’t ever felt these eyes on you? Heard noises at night outside your window? That was me. Keepin’ ya company when no one else would.”

Panic swirls in your mind. You’d never felt his gaze before today. Not that you could recall. Was he just messing with you? Or was he actually watching you… waiting for the perfect moment to strike… when the loneliness of this empty house had finally caught up to you? 

“Don’t you worry, sweet thing,” he coos, his gaze and his grip softening. His hand trails back up and massages small circles on your back to put you at ease. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya. Don’t wanna hurt ya. I sensed how alone you were. Could sense the hurt in your soul. Thought maybe you needed someone. Needed me.”

His lips peck your cheek, planting a soft kiss. His lips travel further, kissing down to your slender neck. 

He remains there, perfectly still. You could feel him deeply inhale, breathing in your scent like a beast teasing its prey before the kill. Before you could react, his tongue juts out, licking your neck. You shudder as the slimy appendage leaves a trail of spit on your exposed neck. He sighs at the taste of your skin. 

“You know, I wanna thank you,” he mutters. His hot breath weighs heavy on your throat. “I want to thank you for letting me in. Thank you for indulgin’ me. Quenchin’ me.”

“Quenching you?” Your eyes dart to his full glass of water, the condensation nearly soaking the table it sat on. “B-but you didn’t even drink the water I gave you.”

He let out a dark, foreboding laugh. He met his eyes to yours, the blue color you recognized had been completely usurped by a reflective crimson. Your heart thuds ferociously beneath your breast as his grin grows wide, damn near ear to ear - but it was different this time. 

Instead of crooked, imperfect human teeth was a row of pointed, twisted canines. Fangs. 

His fangs glint in the candlelight, sharp and horrific. Saliva began forming from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down to his scruffy chin. Thick and viscous like a snake’s venom. 

“Aw, you sweet girl,” he takes a breath in, the clamp of his fingers in your hair and on your back growing tighter again. Constricting you and forcing you close against his body. So close you could feel something thick and warm twitching against your groin. Close enough to feel the faint, slow beat of his heart. “I don’t got a need for water, as kind as it was for you to bring it to me. My tastes are more refined. I can lie too darlin’, I am picky and I wasn’t runnin’ from anythin’… I was runnin’ to you.”

His lips meet your throat, fangs grazing delicately along your sensitive skin. You could feel his tongue slither down your neck like a mindless slug. You couldn’t move, paralyzed by fear. 

“I wanna taste you. Just a taste. I ain’t gonna bite too hard… not yet,” he mumbles into your flesh. A sharp prick digs into you before you even have a chance to protest or process what was happening. It doesn’t hurt, but it definitely stings. A warm drop of blood drizzles down your neck. Remmick’s tongue is quick to lap up your essence as it trickles out of your fresh puncture wound. He moans into your throat, hands still gripping onto you as if you’d vanish the second he lets go. “Mmm, like heaven.”

His face journeys upward, his nose sniffing you deeply as he kisses you. Tiny little pecks peppered up your neck, to your cheek, and all the way back home. His lips meet yours once again, the coppery taste of your own blood bitter on his tongue. 

Your mind races. Afraid, aroused - all at once.

He lied to you, he lied to get inside, betrayed your already fragile trust… and yet, the thrill is utterly insatiable. You were petrified but you didn’t want him to stop. The conflicting emotions subdue you, giving into the sweet surrender this monster, this man, was lulling you into. You couldn’t speak, could barely think straight. 

“God… you taste… exquisite,” Remmick licks his lips after leaving yours. He sniffs at the air, his nose working overtime as if tracking the scent of something stronger. Something even more delicious. His hand slides from your back and slides its way to your stomach leaving goosebumps in their wake. It splays wide, the length of his fingers enveloping your womb. “Mm. I wanna taste all of ya.”

With a sudden movement, Remmick scoops you up into his arms, cradling you tight against his chest. He picked you up as if you were weightless. His chin nuzzles your head as you sink into his arms. You don’t try to fight it. It’s not like you had much choice. 

This man that you let into your home was dangerous, you were right to be suspicious. Your intuition rarely fails you. You let your guard down and now you’re being whisked away, carried like a sack of potatoes in your own home. 

The worst part is… you didn’t hate it. In fact, you like it. 

“Which way to the bedroom, darlin’?” His voice a low, husky rasp. You knew exactly what he wanted, and if you didn’t give in, it’s likely something horrible was going to happen to you. A part of you wanted it too… desperately. 

You bite your lip, your body shuddering in his strong arms as you point in the direction of your bedroom. Right down the hall. The loneliest, darkest room in the house.

He strides towards it, not skipping a beat as he kicks the door open, no longer in need of an invitation. The musty smell of old furniture fills your nostrils as he places you gently on the bed. His red eyes shine faintly in the dark. Still hungry. Starved, even. 

“Stay put,” he says, exiting the room for a moment. Remmick’s brief moment of absence, this little moment of peace, left you feeling that empty pit in your stomach again. Perhaps you really were more lonely than you thought. More empty, more longing. It was a feeling you shoved deep down, in hopes that keeping to yourself and enjoying your own company was enough for you. 

But in reality, it wasn’t. 

You see two orbs of orange light bob down the hallway. Remmick, carrying two of the candles from the living room, makes his way back through the door. He sets one candle down on the left night stand, the other on the right. 

“I want you to see me,” he croons, kneeling down onto the bed. His lean, muscular frame canvases you as you decline further into the bed. His broad shoulders cast a mountainous shadow. The light of the candles prance around his features - his soft, wicked smile a ballet across his face. The light bounces off of the gold chain dangling helplessly from his neck. “I want you to see all of me. Every emotion on my face. Every drop of ya on my lips.” 

Your heart fluttered at the last sentence. He lowers his face down to you, mapping kisses along your cheeks, down to your neck where the puncture wound was still fresh. He kisses your wound delicately. 

His cold hand creeps underneath your blouse, navigating up to your sensitive breastd. You let out a surprised breath as his hand caresses the supple mound. His other hand lifts your shirt upward and over your head, revealing your naked torso. He inhales sharply as he soaks you in. 

“Faith and begorrah…” he mutters under his breath, his southern cadence cracking into something more foreign. Brogueish, if you had to guess. His hand is still clutching desperately at your breast, fingers kneading it gently. Drool trickles from his open mouth, his hand picking up the pace. He catches your rigid nipple between his fingers, pulling it forward. 

You let out a whimper, a pleasurable little sound, as he continues to play with your breast. The heat of the summer and the heat of your pleasure started to swelter, sweat causing your hair to stick to your forehead and your breath to develop into a pant. 

Remmick shoves his lips onto yours, his hand rhythmically circling the sensitive skin around your nipple. His other hand raises to your neck, gently wrapping around it to deepen the kiss. His tongue matches the beat of his hand, swirling around yours in a duet of pure bliss.

He inhales deeply again, his nose twitching. He smelled something on you. Something sweet. Something intoxicating. Something delicious. His lips leave yours, his hand not far behind. The strand of spit connecting your coupling breaks apart as he opens his mouth to speak. 

“You smell that?” he asks, his nose huffing the air like a hungry dog. His face travels down your body before finally reaching the apex of your thighs. He takes a mighty whiff again before letting out a sharp whine. “Ohhh, darlin’ you smell divine. You smell like nectar. Warm, exquisite nectar. A sweet honey the bees could only dream of producin’.”

Remmick’s fingers curl around the hem of your pants, pulling them down in one swift succession. His hand finds your panties - a pool of warmth already seeping through the thin layer of cotton. You feel a sense of shame thinking about how much you were enjoying this. His eyes widen as he traces a finger along the lines of your folds through the sopping fabric. 

“Mm. I knew I smelled somethin’ sweet,” he giggles, bringing his dampened finger to his mouth. His tongue wraps around the length of his digit, swirling around the coat of fluids. He moans, the taste of you washing a current of ecstasy over his face. “Ohhh. Wow. Even better than blood, baby. Heavens above, I need more. May I? May I taste you?”

You nod, your body quaking underneath him. Was this really happening? You could feel your cheeks burn hot with anticipation. 

His veined hand tears your panties away in one hurried motion. You let out a wince of surprise as he exposes your sex to the open air. He quickly lowers himself, his face eye-level with your lower half, eager to plunge himself into you. 

“I want you to look at me,” he demands. His hands possessively grip the outside of your thighs. His eyes blazing wildly in the light as he stares up at you. “Watch me, like I’ve watched you, sweet thing.”

When your eyes draw to him, his grin widens as he licks his lips. With no more hesitation, his mouth encloses around your cunt. A jolt of electricity hits your body as the warmth of his mouth encases you. His nose sat comfortably on your clit while his tongue playfully twists at your folds. You could hear him moan into you, tasting every inch of your tender entrance. His tongue pushes forward through the threshold, lapping up all of the juices that flowed from you. 

You shudder. No man has ever done this for you. No man has ever tried to make you feel this way before. It wasn’t a feeling you were used to but, by god, could you get used to it. You let out a moan of your own as he pushes onward, letting yourself fully succumb to the pleasure. 

Remmick’s grip on your thighs tighten, his nails digging red crescent shapes into your skin. His tongue dove as deep as possible into you, circling your walls with an intense dedication. His fangs tease the curve of your cunt, not enough to hurt but you could feel the sharpness graze you. 

You look at him, as he wished. His eyes were shut, mouth working over time solely to please you. You take the reins, reaching down to grab onto his messy dark hair. The greasy strands tangle around your fingers as you pull his face deeper into your heat, anchoring yourself to him. The two of you moan in tandem as you hold on for dear life. He shifts beneath you, digging his hips into the bed as he ground his sopping face against you, licking with all of the power he could muster. 

One hand slips from your thigh and onto your sensitive clit, rubbing delicate circles as he continues his feast. His tongue snaking faster into your walls, keeping up the pace of his thumb on your little bundle of nerves.

You could feel an intense, broiling heat swell deep in your groin. The pace of his thumb and his tongue rapidly increase along with the grind of his hips. The old bed creaks beneath the two of you. You could feel the warmth of his breath as he pants heavily against your entrance. 

“That’s it, baby,” he groans inside you, the tips of his fangs poking at your flesh as he speaks, his voice a low growl. He could feel your release coming, the way your walls fluttered against his tongue. “Sing for me.”

As if spurred on by his words, you feel the tension of your climax overwhelm you. An explosion of pleasure unleashes from you, your body spasming from the intensity. You scream as your walls clamp and contract around Remmick’s tongue. 

He lets out a triumphant grumble as his tongue wiggles furiously inside you, lapping up every drop of your essence as if it was his sustenance. The fuel for his undying fire. 

As your climax ebbs out, Remmick lifts his head, fixating his sights on you. His mouth, wet with your slick, hangs open. Your juices and his saliva dribble down his chin, licking his lips to savor the flavor. He slides two of his long fingers into your dripping, sensitive cunt. He brings his face up close to yours. 

“I want you to taste yourself,” he says, his fingers sliding in and out of you with a similar pace to his tongue. Your body ripples with delight, still recovering from your overwhelming climax. “Taste this delicacy.” 

He crashes his slathered face into yours, his tongue finding itself back home inside the pillowy warmth of your mouth. You have trouble describing the taste, but it was uniquely yours. You’ve never felt anything quite like that, not from any of your partners. No one else has made you feel like that. Remmick was different, really different. Eager to please.

Your heart pounds in your chest - but not from fear anymore. From pure, unmitigated pleasure.

The pace of his fingers falters before he fully removes them, the sloppy sound echoing in the room. You felt something heavier grinding at your groin. Remmick, still fully clothed but baked in sweat, grinds his hips against your quivering cunt. You could feel his pants grow tight against his body, constricting his throbbing girth. His pants are swiftly soaked with you as he continues to rub on you, slowly and meticulously. 

“Mm… feel that?” he moans into your mouth. “Do ya feel what you’re doing to me?”

He snatches your hand and cups it on his clothed length. You could feel it writhe in your grasp. It was big, bigger than you’re used to. You squeeze it, causing Remmick to let out a breathy groan. 

“Oh… le do thoil… let me free,” he rasps, his southern drawl once again breached by a melodic lilt, the heavy brogueish accent riddling his growling voice. You like how it rang in your ears, how desperate he sounded. You oblige him, his needy and wistful eyes piercing into yours as he watches you undo his belt with a metal CLICK.

In a rush to release his throbbing arousal from its clothed prison, he unzips himself. He pulls his pants down past his ankles and onto the floor, slipping his boots off in the process. He wasn’t wearing any undergarments. 

You could see it amidst the dark and unruly public hair - his weeping, twitching cock springing free, bobbing up and down. Thick, blue veins bulged on his thick shaft. The slit on his crown leaks, excited to meet you. Your mouth starts to salivate as you gawk at the massive girth before you.

He swiftly removes his shirt, only opting to keep the chain around his collarbone. His chest was bare, not a single hair or scar to be found other than a large cross tattoo etched into his left side. Ironic, you think to yourself. A sinning saint. 

He leans into you, his body looming on top of yours. His crimson eyes, glowing with desire, lock onto you. His mouth dangles open, sharp teeth peeking out. A thick strand of pearlescent drool trickles from the corner of his mouth. The sweat on his skin glistens in the candlelight. 

He maneuvers the head of his cock to your entrance. It twitches and leaks as it sits gently between your folds. He teases it against you, using your combined slick to rub it up and down, kissing your sensitive clit with every stroke. He bends his head down, his slimy drool dribbling carelessly onto your lips. 

In the heat of the moment, you stick your tongue out and lick the viscous slobber pooling onto your lips. Remmick lets out a surprised gasp. 

“God damn,” he mutters, a dumbstruck smile worming across his face. “Shit darlin’, you want some more?” 

With your eyelids half-lidded, gazing at him seductively, you open your mouth wide. He’s taken aback by this, but more than happy to fulfill your twisted desire. He puckers his lips and allows a controlled stream of saliva to cascade from his maw. The slow, painfully slow, drip of his thick spittle eventually finds its way onto your tongue. 

You swirl it around as it flows into your mouth. The taste is oddly sweet, combined with the taste of your own juices and a slight hint of coppery blood still lingering. It was warm, syrupy, and you hate to admit it, but you fucking loved it. 

He lets the last drops of his drool hang from his chin before wiping it off, only for you to grab his hand and lick the excess smear from his palm. You utter a soft moan, making sure you swallow every last morsel. He smiles a wide, sinful grin. His cock twitching even more violently against you.

“Christ,” he laughs, elated by your lewd gesture. “Fuck, you’re perfect. Ohhh I knew I liked you.”

He leans in for another open-mouthed kiss, mixing more of his saliva deep down your throat. His cock still nipping at your entrance, but not pushing forward. As if an invisible barrier stopped him from penetrating you.  

“Tell me I’m allowed in,” he whimpers into the kiss, sweat sprinkling onto you as the sticking heat of his forehead touches yours. “Invite me into you, baby. I need to hear you say it. You gotta let me in.”

This plea gives you the same sense of power you felt the first time he begged at your door. He wasn’t allowed to fuck you until you gave him the power to do so. He had permission to walk inside your house, permission to kiss and devour you, but fucking you was an entirely different boundary he needed access to. 

You let him linger there, staring up at him with doe-like eyes as he shudders and shakes. He breathes a heavy pant as he sits there idly, cock leaking on your folds. You feel it throb and writhe. He wanted this more than anything.

You remain silent. The silence was agonizing for him. Desperation painted on his face. Just waiting for you to give the word. He balls his fists and grips onto the sheets, anchoring himself to the bed. 

“Please baby, please don’t leave me hangin’ like this,” he whines, the despondent cry of his voice choked from his lips. His eyes began to water, starved by desire and longing. “You want me to beg again? You want me on my knees, prayin’ to the heavens? Prayin’ to you?  ’Cause I’ll do anything, sugar. Anything you want.”

He bites himself with his fangs, a trickle of his blood beginning to flow from his lower lip. He lets out tiny whimpers as he trembles above you, his cock impatiently yearning to claim you. His brows knit and his lips shape into a pout.

“Please, please, please,” he begs, his cock driving onto your clit, nowhere else for it to go. He rocks back and forth. His engorged head smooches your little bundle of nerves over and over as he incessantly repeats his begging, sounding more desperate by the syllable. He glides on your slick folds errantly. “Please, ohhh please. Please, please please. Please. Please. Pleeeeaaaase.”

His pathetic, needy whines awakened something in you. The thought of bringing a man to this state of desperation spurred on your own desire. His whines and whimpers, pleading just for you. The thrum of his cock against your sensitive nub marching onward. His damp crimson eyes flutter open and closed, tears starting to form on his eyelashes. You could feel both of your fluids mingling together as he leaks helplessly against your folds. You love every second of it.

Finally, you say it.

“Come on in.” 

Those three little words were all Remmick needed. He wipes away the desperate tears and looks down at you, smile growing wide enough that you could see the gleam of his mouthful of fangs in the warm candlelight. A fiery, emboldened glint flickers in his crimson eyes.  

He got exactly what he wanted, and now? He could enter you as many times as he pleased. There was no going back. And you were more than okay with that. 

With no further delay, he guides the head of his cock into your entrance. A quiet, staggered breath escapes your lips as the crown stretches you open. The gripping, wet heat welcomes him inside.

“Fuuuck,” Remmick moans, his voice a low grumble. His eyes roll back into his head as he slowly begins to drag his girth deeper. He stops for a moment once his cock is shallow in you - halfway inserted and yet the stretch of him was beyond your usual capacity. It twitches eagerly between the tight cushiony enclosure. Every vein and ripple caressing your insides. “You feel like home.”

He sheaths the rest of his arousal into your warmth with a single, powerful thrust. A hoarse cry escapes his throat once he completely buried himself to the hilt. Your soft, slick walls squeeze and flutter around him as you let out a squeal of your own. His girth fills you completely. Fills that emptiness in your core. It feels good. Real good. 

He remains still, taking in the heat of you around him. Taking in every inch of your body. The curve of your hips, the shape of your breasts. The way your eyes flirt with the candlelight. The sounds of pleasure squeaking from your lips. He commits it all to memory. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers. One hand taut around your thigh, the other reaching out to touch your face. His head lolls to the side, eyes closed and lips pursed. He pulls back ever so slightly only to smother his cock in you again. He splays his hand across your womb so you could see the bump of his cock buried deep inside you. “Ya see that? See how deep I am?”

The obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes in the room when he begins to pick up his pace. His thrusts slamming waves of pleasure into you, the friction driving you further into a blissful abyss. 

Remmick drags his cock out to get a look at the fruits of his labor, his tip still hitched in your entrance. The shine of your juices coat his shaft. He grunts, almost inhuman, before snapping his hips back into you. 

A guttural noise escapes your throat. With every roll of his hips, brutal thrust after brutal thrust, you could feel the tension begin to spin deep within your body. Your steady moans in sync with his ceaseless rhythm. 

He pants heavily, tongue drooping from his mouth like a ravenous mutt. Drool continues to cascade from him. He lets it fall onto his pistoning cock, lubricating it even more as it continues plowing into you. You could see the immense pleasure plastered on his face - eyelids fluttering, jaw hung open, lips curved into an expression of pure, unbridled ecstasy. 

He lifts up your leg to push himself as deep as he could possibly go, this new position allowing him to plunge into that perfect hidden place inside you. The swollen head of his cock kisses your sweet spot with every swing of his hips, bringing you closer and closer to your peak.

Your chest tightens, heart rabbiting in your ribs. Your insides stretched and pulled. A burning, boiling heat brewing deep in your chest, rippling throughout your entire body. It coils in your groin, every nerve ending set alight and ready to burst. 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. Remmick hears you and slams into you harder. Faster. The intensity of him hitting your sweet spot, more and more, over and over, was unbearable. Your fingers clench onto the bedsheets. The headboard of the bed rocking into the wall with each roll of his hips. 

“Don’t fight it, sweet thing,” he coos, the relentless drag of his cock pushing you further and further over the edge. He circles his hips, making sure he hits every nook and cranny within you. “I wanna feel you squeezin’ ‘round me. I wanna feel you close in. Your body seizin’. Ohhh, I can feel it comin’. Come on, baby. Come on and come for me.”

In an instant, a rush of ecstasy flows through you. You let out a loud, gasping sob as your climax crashes into you like a tsunami. Your hips buck and wince. Your walls clamp around Remmick’s cock. He sits idle, his eyes watching your body seize around him, convulsing like a live wire. A devilish, satisfied sneer spreads across his face. He was loving this, but he wasn’t done with you yet. Not even a little bit. 

As your climax starts to dwindle, your body still involuntarily jerking, Remmick continues to drive his hips forward. The sounds were messy. Filthy. The wet, sloppy sounds of his skin slapping against yours, indulging in the mess you made, filled the air. 

His breath grows ragged, his chest heaving. He was close. You could feel it. 

“So warm… so wet… tá tú chomh tais… fuck,” he moans through gritted teeth, brogue accent and foreign words slipping out of his lips. His eyes roll back into his head again, his pace otherworldly fast, growing erratic and uncontrolled. Hitting your perfect spot hard enough to spur on another mini-climax of your own. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

With a final, brutal thrust - he buries himself entirely, howling louder than a wolf, as he forces himself deep enough to reach your cervix. You feel an overwhelming heat flooding deep inside you. His cock pulsates and his hips buck, filling you to the brim with the molten flood of his passion. 

His body tremors, folding over you like origami. His head rests between your breasts. You could feel the wetness of his mouth as he moaned on your skin. Cock still sheathed, still pumping its thick essence into you. It leaks down your ass crack onto the sheets. It seemed endless. His cock continues pushing, instinctually prodding his seed even deeper. 

A sharp pain in your thighs causes you to wince. You peer down to see Remmick’s fingernails - once human and crescent-shaped, were now sharp. Ferocious. Monstrous. Digging deep enough to make you bleed. He gripped you tight, holding you in place to make sure not a single drop of him was wasted. 

“God… damn,” he murmurs, his face still planted in your chest, his breath heavy on your skin. “Holy shit, that was… god damn.”

He kisses your chest before lifting himself off of you. He noticed how deep his claws were digging into you. A look of surprise washes over his sweat-bleached face. He removes his claws - his fingers had grown long and gnarled, dripping with fresh blood. He sticks his bloody fingers in his mouth, tasting your divine essence, quietly moaning as he licks himself clean.

“I’m so sorry darlin’, didn’t realize what I was doin’ to ya. Got carried away. You’re just so… mm. Intoxicatin’,” he sighs, mouth still red with blood and moist with saliva. 

You hear the wet sound of his still-erect girth slithering out of you with a squelching snap. You could feel the excess releases seep out of you, warm against your skin. 

He climbs his way closer to you on all fours until he straddles your chest with his chiseled thighs. His aching, dripping cock twitching over your naked body, leaving a trail of your combined fluids in its wake. 

”Open wide for me, sweet thing.” He nudges the drenched tip of his cock to your lips. The salty mess smears a thin, slimy layer on your mouth. His slender claws tangle in your hair. “Go on and clean me up now.”

Delirious, you follow his directions and open your mouth, your tongue laying flat on the tip. He bares a toothy grin, slowly pushing himself into the warmth of your mouth. He lets out a soft moan as he feels the wet embrace of your tongue wrap around him.

“I’d say watch the teeth, but… well, that’d make me a hypocrite wouldn’t it?” he chuckles, shoving himself deeper until you could feel him teasing the back end of your tongue, a drawn out rasp ripping through his throat. He holds you in place, sharp tendons clawing at your scalp. 

You taste the bitter, savory flavor of your combined excretions as he ruts his cock back and forth on your tongue, slathering it deeper. His cock continues to twitch and throb with each thrust. You could feel every ripple, vein and texture of his skin on your tongue as it glided itself in and out of you effortlessly. 

“Mm. Fuck. I wanna feel my cock in your throat,” he growls, his pace increasing and the grip on your hair tightening, animalistic urges overtaking him. His voice became harsh and cruel, like gravel underneath a steel-toed boot. You look up at him with watering eyes, streams of saliva dribbling down your chin. His red eyes sear back into you with a needy and insatiable glow. “I wanna feel your pretty little throat constrictin‘ me.”

With a sudden movement, he thrust himself deep down your throat. You gag the moment the crown of his cock hammers into the back of your esophagus. A surplus of spit leaks out of the corners of your stretched mouth, coating his balls with a frothy sheen. All you could do is breathe out of your nose and wait for it to end.

He stalls there briefly. Completely still besides his quivering cock. It trembles wildly against your tongue. His claws tighten in your hair, keeping you trapped close to him - your nose squashed against his pelvis. His girth damn near choking you to death.

“Ohhh, fuck, you fit me like a glove. My sweet, filthy girl,” Remmick croaks. He begins to rock his hips slowly at first, each thrust touching the very depths of your throat.  “It’s like you were made for me.”

Your mind starts to blur, the intensity of his strokes making you dizzy with lust and lack of proper oxygen. The corners of your vision grow dark as you swallow him whole.

“Just like that,” he snarls, losing himself with every deep stroke of his cock. Your throat expands and massages him as he smothers himself in you. Your mouth wrapped taut around his length, breath coming in hot, quick puffs against his skin. “Juuust like that, sweetheart.”

His hips continue to rock, a little bit faster with every roll, your moans and muffled sounds reverberating along his shaft. Puddles of your saliva pool onto your skin and down to your breasts. His sounds of pure euphoria were all you could hear amidst the wet sounds of his cock slamming into you and his balls smacking your chin with every stroke.

“We taste good together, don’t we?” He moans. You feel his cock twitch and squirm on your tongue, the swollen crown leaking salty precum down your throat, ready to explode at any moment. His claws tighten their grip in your hair, keeping you steady against his gyrating groin. 

With a thunderous, beastial roar, he heaves himself deep into your mouth one final time - the pulsing head of his cock spewing thick, hot waves of his desire down your throat. His body shudders as he holds you close against his hips. You feel the never-ending eruption pulsating and painting your throat a shade of white. 

As if nature itself told you to, you swallow down his release, swirling your tongue around him as he continues pumping his essence into you. He lets out a squealing moan as you work your magic, cupping and massaging his balls with your hand, coaxing every last drop out of him. Frothy saliva oozing out of your mouth - snot bubbling from your nose as you struggle to breathe through it. You feel the thrashing of his cock slow down, his own breath steadying.

His grip on you finally loosens. He slowly pulls himself out of you, inch by excruciating inch, until the swollen head of his cock escapes your lips with a loud pop. You cough and gasp for air before one last weak spurt of his pearly white passion pumps onto your face. The warm, salty taste of it coats your lips. 

“Oops,” he chuckles, clawed fingers pressed to his mouth, a playful smile hiding behind it. He bends down until his face is eye level with yours, one hand still clutching your hair - much more softly now. 

His tongue presses flat on your lips, lapping up the light layer of his own release, moaning as it glides between them. He weasels his way back into the warmth of your mouth, pushing and swirling his remaining spillage onto your tongue and down your raw throat. 

You could feel the twisted fingers of his free hand reach back down to your dripping heat, cupping it gently. One finger presses onto the swollen nub of your clit, rubbing small circles until a familiar jolt of electricity surges through your body. The claws retract so they wouldn’t scrape you too harshly. 

“Mmm, darlin’,” he mumbles into your mouth, his finger still tracing sensual rings on your devil’s doorbell. He pulls his face away from you, a strand of spit still connected on your bottom lip.

His hand frees your hair from its grasp before slowly and intimately grabbing hold of your hand. He keeps it there for a moment, interlocking your fingers together. His hand is large, even larger with the gangly claws. He sighs longingly. A sweet, soothing sound after the chaos he just put you through. 

“Darlin’… oh, you sweet, sweet girl,” he coos, his eyes meeting yours. The harsh red tint glowing in the candlelight, searing deep into your soul. He looked like he wanted to kiss you again. Instead, he places your hand on his still-throbbing length. It’s still hard, still aching for your touch. “I know how bad you been wantin’ this. Almost as bad as me.”

One hand wraps around yours, guiding you up and down his length. It dribbles more precum, allowing your entangled hands to slide smoothly around the throbbing shaft. The other hand continuously presses your button, two fingers slipping in and out of your slick entrance. Your body tingles from the dual sensations.

“I know how you been hurt," he whispers, his grip around your hand tightening as he jerks himself with your palm. “I know how many sleepless, lonely nights you been dreamin’ of someone there with ya. Nights where you pleasure yourself, all by your lonesome. But you weren’t alone - not really. I was there, outside, waitin’. Waitin’ for the perfect night.”

Your hips buck in tandem, waves of pleasure uniting the two of you. His cock twitches in your grip, the friction from your movements causing his breath to catch in his throat. The rubbing on your clit and fingers in your depths picking up speed. His words are a blur as your focus narrows onto the way you’re feeling in the moment. The feeling of pure, unmatched ecstasy - the heights of which you’ve never climbed before.

“Waitin’ for the perfect night where your loneliness was at its worst,” he groans, feeling his climax building with every stroke of your hand on him. “Ohhh, I been waitin’ ever so patiently for you. I’ve dreamt of ya. I could sense your achin’ heart, sweet thing. Your achin’ cunt. I know you were dreamin’ of me too.”

Drool drips from the corner of his lips as he speaks. Your mind in a haze of lust, the unbearable intensity of pleasure consuming your every thought. Maybe you have dreamt this stranger before. His glowing, red eyes lurking in the shadows of your brain. His sharp, hungry smile just itching to sink into your memories. Haunting you from the inside-out. Deadly desire that woke you up, soaking and aching. Aching for him. 

Maybe he was always there in the back of your mind, and now? He’s here with you. In your bed, by your side. His cock in your hand. You always knew, deep down, that you wanted something like this, but never allowed yourself to let it in. Until now. 

“Achin’ for someone like me,” Remmick continues, his breath faltering. He releases his hand from yours, allowing you to tug on him at your own pace. His tongue lolls from his mouth, the coupled pleasure at the mercy of each other’s hands bringing you both to the brink of another release. “I’m here now, darlin’. I’m here to give you the lovin’ you deserve. Make ya feel whole. Make ya feel complete. Loved.”

With one last buck of his hips, another round of hot release spills onto you. It pumps into your hand. Warm, sticky seed drenching your fingers and your breasts, splattering on them like paint on a blank canvas. He plunges his fingers deep into you, adding a third and hitting that sweet spot hard enough to make you surge upward. Your own climax sweeps over you. You writhe and convulse on his spindly digits, feeling the gush of your fluids careening onto the sheets. Both of your mouths gape open, synchronized moans flooding the room. His fingers slip out of you as both of your orgasms fizzle out. 

The room reeked like sweat, sex, and the faint earthy scent of the burning candles. His hand cups your cheek, lightly petting you with his thumb. He twists your head to the side, showing him your slender neck - open, tantalizing, irresistible. Blood pumping through your veins with the thud of your heart. 

“Grá mo chroí… love of my heart,” he purrs, voice low and sultry. “You ain’t my long lost love, no, but… oh, you make me feel the same way. Make me feel things I ain’t felt since I was human.”

“What… are you, exactly?” you weakly pant, your glazed-over eyes gazing desperately into his. Your body trembles a bit. You already know the answer but you want to hear him say it.

“I told ya, sweet thing,” he laughs, baring his fangs at you. The candlelight only serves to make them look sharper, even more dangerous. And yet? You weren’t scared of him. Not entirely. “I’m a fuckin’ monster, baby. A creature of the night. A creature of desire, a cold-blooded killer. Blood-hungry beast. That book you were readin’? Well, consider it research.”

In a single, swift movement, he flips you onto your hands and knees. He shoves your head down into the pillow, arching your back and presenting your ass like a freshly cooked meal. The surprise of the sudden shift startles you, causing you to stumble - but he catches you. His hands wrap around your stomach, holding you close to him. 

You could feel his hips pressing up against you. His still-hard, still-weeping cock twitching against the meat of your flushed backside. The ridges of his girth rolled against you, smearing his leaking head all over your ass. 

“The things you do to me, darlin’,” he whispers, sweet words pouring into your ears like honey. “Never felt a cunt so perfect in my life.”

He maneuvers the head of his cock towards your glistening folds. It nudged insistently - prodding you, begging to be welcomed back and embraced into your gripping heat. His other hand sits firmly on your ass, the claws digging into your flesh as he teases you - gliding his engorged crown across your glistening folds with ease and precision. 

“I don’t need an invite anymore,” he rumbles, his voice low and coarse. You feel him pumping his cock with his hand - it brushes against your entrance with every movement of his fist. The slick head helplessly sobbing. “I can come in… anytime I want. Your home, your mind, your mouth, your perfect cunt. You’re mine now, sugar. All of ya. And I don’t think you mind one bit, do ya?”

His hips buck, plunging the head of his cock into you. You let out a gasp as he slides the rest of him as deep as possible, sheathing himself to the hilt. Your body adapted so easily to his size. It molded itself to him, gripping him like a vice that didn’t want to let go. Holding onto him like he was always meant to be there.

“Aw, look at ya,” he jeers, pulling himself all the way out of you. “Look at her. I leave her for one second and she’s already quiverin’ for more.” 

Was he… talking about your pussy? Your hazy mind thought for a moment, only to be overtaken by a searing pleasure when he slams himself back into you with a wicked snap of his hips. A guttural noise escapes your throat as he continues this teasing motion.

All the way out. All the way in.

Out.

In.

The rhythmic rolling of his hips punctuated by obscene smacking sounds. His claws grip onto your ass, pulling you into him with every deep thrust. You didn’t mind the pain anymore - the pleasure was all-consuming, encompassing your entire being with electric energy.

You were under his spell. 

“Mm, that's a good girl,” he coos. Drool continues to drip from his mouth, falling carelessly onto your bare cheeks. He wipes it off and smears it onto his cock for additional lubricant, not like he needed it. His praise and his drool only amplifies the pleasure he was already pumping you with. You couldn’t remember the last time someone praised you. “Takin’ me so good. Takin’ me so deep.”

One hand detaches from your reddened ass and tangles itself in your hair. He pulls your head from the pillows, arching your back even further. A choked groan escapes from your lips as his thrusts only grow more rapid, slamming deeper into you. You could feel the head of his cock kissing your cervix, nearly deep enough to break through the sensitive barrier and into your womb. 

The tension in your loins begins building again. Sweat pouring from both of your pores as he relentlessly fucks into you, the smack of his balls on your clit only ramping up the heat broiling in your core. Moans and filthy sounds of coupling flesh flooded the room. 

“Say my name, baby,” he leans into you, his voice a gentle whisper. He flicks his tongue out, licking the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Scream it to the heavens when you come undone. I know it’ll sound real pretty comin’ outta yer lips.” 

“R-Remmick,” you whimper. He thrusts into you - HARD. The sudden, powerful motion makes you hiss out of clenched teeth.

“Pretty, but you can do better,”  he demands, the grip on your hair and ass tightening. “Louder.” 

“Remmick,” you moan, almost teasingly. Another brutal thrust. 

“I said louder,” his voice shifting to a hoarse growl. He puts his mouth to your neck, his fangs making contact with your skin. If you don’t scream his name, he was going to rip your fucking throat out. “Louder or I’m gonna shred this pretty little neck of yours to pieces. Gonna drink my fill of you. Drain ya dry. Make ya scream my name one way or another.”

The pressure rose to unparalleled heights. He continues  relentlessly pounding into you as hard as he could without completely splitting you apart. His fangs poke at your neck, raking against you as he moves. His hot, broken breath puffing onto your skin. Tongue pressing flat against you. 

You could feel his mouth start to close in, sharp teeth ready to rip you open. Shivers spark down your spine. There was a chance he was bluffing, teasing you into submission, but you weren’t willing to take that risk. 

Your body tenses, tingling with that familiar sensation. You feel your walls close in, squeezing his cock as it rams into you with no sign of stopping. He unclaws his hand from your ass and slides it down to your clit. His gnarled finger twirling rigorously around your swollen nub.

The pain of his claws poking at your sensitive nerves and his fangs fixed at your throat paired deliciously with the pleasure of the drawn out circles being drawn on your clit and his cock furiously driving deeper and deeper into your sweet spot. It’s unbearable. It’s searing. It’s fucking bliss.

In the heat of the moment, when the tension swells to its highest possible peak, your floodgate bursts open.

“REMMICK!” 

A mischievous smile stretches across his face against your throat at the cry of his name out of your lips. Bursts of color and light flash in your eyes as your entire body convulses on him. A powerful gush of arousal rushes out of you, coating Remmick and the already soaked sheets below in a glossy, sopping wave of relief.

“Ohhhh, fuck yes, sweet thing,” he rasps, leaning back from your neck, holding himself steady inside you. He watches as your release completely unravels you, taking in the beauty of the rapture he unleashed. He absolutely loved watching you wriggle and writhe underneath him. He slowly pulls his cock out just enough to see how drenched you left him. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Like music to my ears, baby.”

He hilts himself back into your spasming warmth, the sloppy squelch as he reimmersed himself tears a breathless moan from his heaving chest. Both of his hands mindlessly slide back to your hips, pulling you tight against his pelvis. The swollen head of his cock twitches against your battered cervix, as if begging to push past it. 

“You’re mine, now, sugar,” he rumbles, punctuating his words with every deep, passionate roll of his hips. “I ain’t ever lettin’ you go. Gonna visit you every time you’re feelin’ lonely. Every time you’re scared. Gonna keep you close to me, darlin’. Ain’t—ever—gonna—let—you—go.”

The movement of his hips grows erratic, uncontrollably plunging into your still-fluttering depths with animalistic abandon. The sound of his rasping moans mingle with the wet, obscene sounds of his thrusts. 

You’re still dizzy from the throes of your multiple climaxes. Your face flops back into the pillows, eyes glazed-over and drool all over your face. Usually, the only person who could do that to you was yourself. Your own hands, your own tools. Rarely ever has a man been gracious enough to send you into such a euphoric state of bliss - let alone more than once in a single night. 

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, ya know that?” He says through ragged breaths, his own climax gearing up. His voice shifts back and forth between that southern drawl and melodic lilt. “Perfect. Perfect body. Perfect face. Perfect… so perfect. Tá tú ar foirfe. Perfect.”

He pulls out of you almost entirely before hilting his entire length into you one last time. He lets out a deep, bellowing roar of pleasure as his cock throbs violently within your core. His entire body shakes and shudders above you. His claws hook deep into your skin. 

You were enraptured, captivated by the way his body tremors against you. The way his moans fill your ears like a symphony, a song meant to serenade only you. The way the scalding splatter of his release floods every ridge, every crook of your depths. His cock pumps endlessly, stirring his seed as deep as he could with every weak jerk of his hips. You feel as if your belly is swelling with how much of his thick essence spills into you. 

When the aftershocks of his climax finally begin to fade, he collapses onto you. He releases his grip on your flushed ass and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you down onto the sheets with him, laying you down on your side. His softening cock still buried in you, plugging you up so none of his pearly white proof of passion would dare to escape.

He nuzzles into the nape of your neck. His sweat-soaked forehead rubbing gently on the back of your head. Soft purrs of satisfaction slip through his closed, smiling mouth. 

He starts leaving gentle trails of kisses along your neck, stopping at the knicks he left with his fangs. He kisses them even softer, apologizing for the damage he inflicted on you. 

“I could get used to this,” he sighs. His arms caressing your naked body as the two of you lie side by side, still conjoined at the groin. His hot breath brushes against your shoulders.

“Me too,” you hum. You turn your neck to face him, gazing longingly into his crimson eyes. This sets his undead heart aflutter. You feel it beat gently beneath his chest. Your own heart thuds wildly against your rib cage.

The quiet was palpable for a moment. The chaos of your coupling had finally settled. The candles continue their dance around the room, illuminating the curves of your entwined bodies.  

“You mean it?” He murmurs. A soft smile melts onto his face, eyes twinkling with awe. He sounds stunned by your words. Surprised that you’d reciprocate. “You really mean it, darlin’?”

“Remmick,” you start, fully twisting your body to face him, careful not to let his softened cock slip out of you. His arms are still wrapped around you in a warm embrace, eagerly waiting to hear what you were going to say. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun. I’ll be honest… you terrified me at first. You terrified me every time you had your fangs in my throat. But I don’t know... it… it thrilled me. I liked the danger. I’ve spent so long cooped up alone to protect my peace that I started to miss spending time with another person... thank you.”

He looks at you, a shimmer of what you could only describe as longing glistening in his eyes. His wide, crooked smile radiates a sense of comfort. Despite the danger, the fear he caused you, you feel safe in his arms.

“Oh, sugar,” he whispers, one hand freeing itself from your waist to cup your cheek. His thumb lovingly brushes over your lips as he stares deep into your eyes. “How sweet of ya. I do apologize for frightenin’ ya. It’s in my nature, y’know. But… oh, it warms my cold dead heart to hear that comin’ from you. Thank you.” 

He captures your lips in a searing, passionate kiss before reluctantly sliding himself out of you. You feel his absence instantly, already missing the way his rigid girth perfectly squeezes into your walls. The remains of his essence drip down onto the drenched sheets. 

“I should get goin’, the sun’ll be up in a few ticks,” Remmick sighs with a hint of uncertainty. He didn’t seem to want to leave your side, but he starts to unhook himself from your waist in an effort to get up. You grab his retreating arm before he can completely let go.

“Stay. Please,” you beg. You caress his arm, soft hands kneading small circles across his skin. He studies your face with wistful, misty eyes. He didn’t want to leave, even if he felt like some kind of invisible force was pressuring him to. As if nature itself called for him to scurry off into the night and hide from the dawning sun. “I have a cellar you can stay in. No windows, so light won’t touch you. There’s even a little cot in there for you to sleep on… big enough for two.” 

Silence permeates the room between you. That emptiness you felt, the lonely feeling you tried so hard to shove deep down, vanishes with his touch. It disappears with him by your side. 

You didn’t care that he was a monster. You saw past that. He brought you back from the depths of isolation, and you knew, in your heart, you did the same for him. 

“Ohh, darlin’, I’d love to, I really would, b-but,” he stammers, desperately trying to fight against nature pulling him away from you. “I still gotta feed before the sun comes up, can’t go to bed on an empty stomach. I’ll be back tomorrow night, I promise. I promise you I will. Cross my heart and hope to die. No more lyin’.”

You gaze at Remmick as he slowly lifts himself from the bed. He picks his clothes up from the floor and starts to dress himself, his eyes refusing to leave you, as if he wanted to commit every ridge of your face to memory in case he’d never see you again. As if your body was a beautiful, one-of-a-kind painting that he wanted to soak in for hours.

He ties up his boots and zips his pants back up, fully prepared to head back out into the fray of the night. Before he finishes fixing his suspenders, you climb to the foot of the bed and reach for his hand.

You interlock your fingers with his. The gentle thrum of your heartbeat pulsing underneath your ribs. You slowly tilt your head, presenting your neck to him. His eyes widen with surprise and his mouth starts to salivate. He quietly descends, kneeling down to face you. He presses his lips against your supple flesh. Instead of sinking his fangs into you, he simply peppers your throat with delicate little kisses.

“No,” Remmick whispers into the crook of your neck. “Not tonight, sweet thing. When I drink from you, I wanna make it special. I don’t wanna turn ya on our first meetin’ like this, as much as I’d love to. It just don’t feel right.”

Despite saying he wouldn’t bite you, he takes your finger to his mouth and pricks it on his fangs ever so slightly. He puts your finger between his lips, suckling on the tiny droplets of blood that trickle from the small puncture. He lets out a broken moan from the flavor of your sweet scarlet nectar before releasing your finger, wet with his saliva. His eyes glow a blazing red, the fires of his feral hunger stoked from the mere taste of you. 

“Exquisite, simply exquisite,” he gently strokes your face with his calloused hand. “I swear to you, darlin’, I’ll be back tomorrow. And even though I don’t need it anymore, I’ll still beg for ya to let me in. I’ll beg like it’s the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on a beauty like you.”

With that, Remmick plants one long, tender kiss on your lips. He holds your head in both of his hands, pushing his mouth closer into the intimate embrace. He pulls away slowly, his eyes burning into yours. A touch of sorrow gleams in his crimson gaze. His hand takes yours to guide you out of the room with him.

The two of you make your way down the dark hallway. The darkness starts to embrace you, knowing that once he walks out that door, its over-encompassing reach will consume you as it always does. Your heart sinks to your stomach at the thought. 

Remmick stands at the door, his free hand twisting the knob. You take a good look around your living room. Your private little space, your personal sanctuary. Your tea and his untouched glass of water completely soaked your coasters with their condensation. Your book sitting idle in the same position Remmick left it. The candles had burnt nearly down to the holster, the dying flames petering out, their dance coming to an end. 

The night air is still humid, but a crisp breeze wafts through the opening door. Remmick stands still for a moment. His clammy hand is still firmly, possessively gripping onto yours, afraid to let go. 

He turns to you, hungry eyes gazing into yours. His hand slowly starts to release from your grasp, pulling your heart along with it. The stars twinkle dimly in the sky behind him. The crickets chirp, the nocturnal animals chitter and howl, and your old house… your old, soon-to-be-empty house creaks and groans as it always has. As it always will. 

“Until tomorrow?” 

“Until tomorrow.”

Remmick walks back out into the night, his body fully enveloped by the darkness. He leaves you, for now. But he left with a promise, something no man has ever followed through with. You were confident that this time, this man - this vampire - would come back. Tomorrow. 

Tomorrow. You’ll see him again tomorrow. 

translations provided by both google and @fuckoffbard ------------------------------- Santaíonn mé thú - I want you Faith and begorrah - by god / expression of surprise le do thoil - please / "with your will" tá tú chomh tais - you're so wet for me Grá mo chroí - love of my heart Tá tú ar foirfe - you are perfect

[inertiabug]

neeeeed a good remmick x vampire reader.... im so tired of being an innocent little victim i need to be a manipulative evil bitch too 🙏🙏

[inertiabug]

the shudder when he puts it in.... okay.

[inertiabug]

"Mmm. Keep cryin' darlin', makes you tighter." He grits out through his teeth. "You- hah, you like it, yeah?" He shakes his head at himself loosing his own composure. "Told you I'd fuck the god out of you. We ain't done yet."

Remmick huffs above you, claws digging into your throat, hips pistoning into yours. The half-smirk he wears has been dipping all night, sweat dampening his brow. He's been switching between babbling incoherently and mouthing off the whole night.

He watched you like he was starved. And maybe he was- but not for food. Not for blood. For the one thing your daddy always said was sacred. Private.

Daddy told you men like him were the devil. All they wanted- the sweet little preachers daughter. Remmick's fingers hook around the lace on your church dress. Cock pumping deliciously inside you. Your daddy was right. The devil was awfully pretty.

The devil was also awfully persistent. He'd want to consume you- not just your soul, but something deeper. From the root inside you. Not just your womanhood. Your love.

"Shit," He murmurs, pleased, struggling between breaths. "This what you wear to your...ah-...Sunday service? Thought good little girls covered up. You wore this for m-me, yeah?" He toys with the straps, before diving down to your neck. Licking. Sucking. Before biting gently.

When you squeal, he chuckles breathlessly, before groaning when you clench around him. He makes a noise that's borderline animalistic- and you briefly wonder if your daddy ever taught you if even the devil could lose his composure.

Effectively, he can. Because even as he presses you against the wall, caged, trapped like a flightless bird- all you have to do is reach up and tug on his hair. And he hisses in raw pleasure, body tensing up, fangs protruding so far he has to bare them so it doesn't hurt him.

"Fu-fuck-, lo-love you-" He stutters out, claws clenching tighter around the base of your throat.

But daddy never told you the devil would whisper those three little words. Daddy never told you he'd kiss you so gently you'd cry. Daddy never told you the devil would knock on your window every night, beggin' to be let in, just to recite Irish poems and prayers while you sleep in his arms.

"Say it- please darlin', say it back," He tries to demand, but it sounds more desperate than anything. He's close. He's so close, holding on tight. He's pleading with you. You feel the heat building up inside you. The way his fangs struggle against your pulse point, drool slipping down, holding back. Forcing his mouth to pucker into kisses instead of biting.

"I love you." You whisper. If this is how the devil loves, you think you'd rather burn forever then ever let him go.

And when you cum, it’s violent. Blinding. You scream his name- not God’s. And Remmick whispers yours all the same, pawing at you, eyebrows scrunched together as he finishes deep inside. He doesn't let go. He never let's go.

His voice his hoarse when he just barely pulls away to look you in the eye. His chest rises and falls with each heavy breath.

"Let me- let me stay like this- inside you, lovin’ you, bein’ yours- please. Just a little longer. Just a little longer, okay?” He strings together, giving you those eyes. His clawed finger lifting to your lip, tracing the contours, gaze flitting down to watch your mouth part as you speak.

When you give him the go ahead, nodding, body exasperated, he inhales with a shaky smile. He presses a light, chaste kiss to your temple, breathing you in.

You close your eyes, feel him throb sweetly inside you, and think maybe Heaven isn’t up above. Maybe it’s bloody, needy, and whispering your name in the dark.

[inertiabug]

true faggot shit i watch a movie where megan fox is half naked the entire time and im like ok. wheres the twink....

[inertiabug]

Sis! I just came across your blog today and I'm in love. It's super fun and gorgeous and I'm so glad to see yet another black woman in the slasher community 😩🔪

I saw that you're taking requests so I was wondering if you happen to have any Thomas Hewitt headcanons of him breeding his female partner who's chubby?

T.H. — SOUTHERN STYLE CREAMPIE !! 🍰

╰┈➤ 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 : thomas hewitt &&. chubby female reader

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚(𝘀) : MINORS AND BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT , breeding kink , mentions of pregnancy , rough sex , grabbin' some ass , tommy is a dommy soon-to-be dilf

𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 : aw thanks a bunchhh ! <3  i've been contemplating making a slasher blog for so long and finally came through ! and AAAA this request is fucking juicyyy !! thomas is my most favorite big boy EVER out of all the tall , dark and handsomes , so thank you for making him my very first request on here ! 🥰

• thomas is a total ass man. most southern, country men just have a natural taste for big hips and an even bigger butt to charm it, overall preferring their women to appear as if she never missed a plate of homemade cornbread and biscuits during an early morning's glitters. large hips are also a sign that a woman has reproductive potential and capable of a smoother childbirth. there's no doubt thomas would absolutely worship every crumb of your delicious shape, and he's a big guy himself, so he's got to have someone who can withstand him between the sheets without the possibility of breaking them as effortlessly as a toothpick whenever he desired to get as rough as he pleased. and best believe, he gets rough. ( more cushion for the pushin'! )

• thomas would definitely have a thing for breeding you senseless. given his family's current antiquity, they weren't going to be around forever, and he wanted the hewitt legacy to continue to live on as he was raised to be quite family oriented. luda mae would always gift a slight smile and tease you about the desire for grandkids whenever thomas was in earshot, earning a roll from his eyes and the timid turn of his head. thomas always was shy, but when it came to the bedroom—boy, that was a different tale, much to your surprise. he had grown to be far more comfortable around you when alone.

• he will most likely favor to be in missionary/mating press if he plans to breed, although open to exploring various positions. it allows him to go as deep as he wishes, in addition to the breathtaking pleasure when his balls press up against the puffy lips of your pussy, causing each to lift from one another in a tightening bliss as they begin to empty inside of you. he also gets to look into your eyes, and his favorite : place his hands underneath your round asscheeks and grope a nice palm full. ( you can reach over and grab his ass as well. he's a total sucker for it, and it makes him fuck you even harder. )

• it was no surprise considering his size and stamina that you could feel him filling you up with a massive quantity, and you clench even tighter around him at the mere sensation of each thick string loading upon your cervix. you become overwhelmed with a luscious sensitivity for he doesn’t stop his hips from fucking relentlessly into your own until he’s certain that your belly will soon bear his child, until your creamy tits are swollen and ripe of milk.

• as soon as he begins to empty himself inside of you, he will roughly grope at and hold places on your body. his hands will find their way to your breasts and squeeze, the sides of your fupa, or your hips to sink his fingers into the plump flesh as he plunges deep into you one final time, his ass violently shuddering and his lips discovering yours. make sure to give him praise. let him know that you can feel it filling you up, that it feels so, so good, as your fingers softly comb his hair.

• god, he loves when you have no other option but to be filled. he’s aware that you have a specific adoration for his size and strength being able to dominate yours so easily. he’ll press you hard into the mattress, face down and ass up, when he’s about to burst, making sure you know you can’t escape.

• he’s a silent person for the most part, but when it comes to having sex with you, no ma’am. he’s heavily verbal, his growls and grunts the only sounds within the room besides your own and the clapping of skin against skin. he has a habit of growling directly next to your ear whenever he releases, especially during the descend of his high, and it absolutely drives you crazy.

• he’ll slightly lean his body atop yours as you catch your breath, feeling that his thick cock continued to spurt smaller amounts of what is left even when what has felt like half a minute has passed. his balls become slightly covered with his own essence as they kiss your overflowing womb, giving a quick jerk of his hips as an emphasis that it was still stuffing you to the brim. he could hardly wait to witness how full your stomach would be in the future, knowing that he was the one to make that happen. your precious cunt was made for him—made to be filled with his seed.

• don’t be surprised when you aren’t able to walk adequately the next day, and don’t be surprised when you find him eyeing you, brow raised and a rather amused, smug smirk a secret beneath his mask. though he is concerned about your soreness and will treat you, it also laid as an ego booster about what he's capable of doing to you.

[inertiabug]

tourist trap ; otis b. driftwood (18+)

kinktober day ten ; consensual non consent

pairing ; otis b. driftwood x female!reader

reader pronouns ; she/her/hers

word count ; 3650

note ; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

“Are ya sure that this is the right way, babe?” The young woman whispered to her boyfriend in the driver’s seat - earning a roll of the eyes and a grunt of “course I’m sure” from her partner before they both fell into an awkward silence. In the ten minutes she’d been riding with them, she’d learned that the couple were called Diana and Martin and were passing through town to see the Dr Satan exhibit - a tale as old as time, as it seemed like everyone who was anyone at all seemed to find their way to this little town for that little legend.

Not that she particularly cared, of course, horror folklore was never really her thing, but she was more than happy to keep her mouth shut so long as it meant getting a ride back home without having to stay out in the storm. Though it wasn’t like she needed to do very much talking, for her fellow hitchhiker (a young blonde woman that went by the name “Baby”) was very talkative and personable - engaging the couple in conversation they seemed to want to avoid whilst she just remained quiet and in her own little bubble.

She didn’t live too far from here anyhow, so as soon as they were on her street she could just belt it and get out of this awkward situation and -

- And the car just slammed to a stop, nearly crashing into a nearby tree. Fantastic, just her luck.

Maybe she could walk home from here? It isn’t too far and surely they didn’t need her to stick around for much longer -

“My house is just up the road and my brother’s a mechanic. If we head up now he should be able to fix ya car up before ya know it - what d’ya say? Me and the little lady over here,” she elbowed her rather harshly in the ribs, earning a sharp wince as she desperately tried to bite her tongue, “can head up first and I’ll send him down to get you. Sound good?”

And with three sets of eyes staring her down, she sighed and put on her best customer-service smile, squeaking out a brief “sure!” before following the blonde woman out and into the storm.

Fucking fantastic; this is what she gets for not arranging a ride out of town.

————

The walk back to Baby’s home was thankfully rather quick, filled with unremarkable small talk surrounded by unremarkable views and unremarkable weather until they reached a rather morbidly remarkable house - with one wall covered from end to end with mutilated doll’s heads. An art piece that the blonde ball of energy had eagerly taken responsibility for, hanging off of her arm and giggling gleefully as she gloated about how artistic and creative her family is - and how she just couldn’t wait for her to meet them.

“In fact,” she interrupted herself with a gasp, making a sudden stop as she turned sharply to look at her, “I’m sure mama has something cooking - oh she’s gonna love you! C’mon, hun!”

And she didn’t have the time to protest before she was harshly dragged forwards up a set of rickety wooden steps and forcefully shoved through the front door - tripping over her own feet as she went. Though she couldn’t find it in herself to complain as she found herself in a warm and dry space… even if the decor was rather, well, unique. So, instead, she simply coughed into her hand and forced out a smile as she addressed the energetic blonde.

“Hm? Yes. I’m sure we’ll get along well,” she winced when Baby tugged rather harshly on her wrist, nearly causing her to fall over as she took off her soaked-through shoes, “please slow down; I don’t want to make a mess.”

“Ya don’t need to bother ya’self with that,” she giggled in response, “mama won’t mind a bit of mud - there’s four of us kids, she’s more than used t’ it,”

“Well it’s the polite thing to do,” the hitchhiker insisted gently, straightening her back and brushing her hands off on her thighs, “anyway, shouldn’t we be getting your brother? I’m sure the others won’t appreciate being left alone in the storm for so long…”

Baby pouted and rolled her eyes before huffing out a brief retort of “I guess” before tugging the other woman further into the house - straight towards Mama to help set up the dining table. And, of course, she complied - not wanting to seem like an ungrateful guest yet still not quite able to shake the uncomfortable feeling bubbling up her throat.

————

What had ensued was the longest forty-two minutes of her life (as she'd precisely counted), spending a gruelling half hour slaving away over a hot stove alongside Baby's equally eccentric mother — not even getting the chance to stop when the other members of their party arrived. Hell, she barely got a minute to greet them before being hurried back into the kitchen as Mama and Baby abandoned all of the main household duties to her.

Well... to her and her clumsy assistant; a tall, quiet fella named Tiny. Though as ironic as his name was, and as difficult as it was to communicate given his poor sight and apparent hearing loss, he was still a welcome hand around the food — and he seemed nice enough, so the more the merrier as far as she was concerned.

But, being a good guest be damned, she couldn't help but let out a relieved sigh when the final timer went off and the host came in and ushered her into the dining area. "You get settled in, sweetheart," she'd said in a voice most mothers seemed to possess, "you've done more than enough. I can handle the rest."

And she didn't need to be told twice; rushing into the adjacent room and sitting in an available seat between Baby and the other woman (who, having since forgotten her name and finding it far too awkward to ask again, she'd mentally dubbed as "duck"), not even paying mind to the scattered masks about the table, nor the fact that there were two more empty seats than there were people (by her last count, at least). No. Concerns and fears could wait, all that work had left her famished and she'd rather worry about conspiracies on a full stomach.

————

The meal itself was... mostly uneventful — aside from the rushed introduction to certain family traditions that she found more endearing than frightening (unlike her companions who openly gawked at and judged the array of masks that they were urged to wear). Though that lull in chaos was cut short the moment that Baby's third and final brother, Otis, came to join them with a jarred, pickled foetus in hand as he unceremoniously plopped down in his seat across from her.

And Otis himself seemed to be something of an enigma, even within the larger context of the household, as they all seemed to revere him in one way or another — with mama gingerly stroking his arm and greeting him warmly and Baby calling out to him with so much mirth that she was half certain that the woman would combust, and neither reacting to the strange accessory he carried with him. Hell, even the overly crude couple that she'd travelled alongside didn't offer much commentary at his entrance, with the closest they came being a couple of weary side glances and mouthing vague phrases of concern amongst themselves.

She, however, opted for the courteous route and nodded to him in greeting before returning her attention to the shockingly good meal their host (or, rather, she herself) had prepared for them. In fact, she outright refused to divert her attention for a fraction of a second more even as an argument broke out between the man and Baby's brother over "Doctor Satan" or something like that (though, frankly, she couldn't bring herself to care).

Well, in reality, she tried her best to remain uncaring and to force herself into the background as much as possible, taking full advantage of the ongoing argument and constant stream of conversation to force herself out of the situation. And that was a successful strategy... for all of twelve blissful minutes before the blond turned his attentions to her and started hurdling a barrage of questions at her as she desperately tried to remain impartial and uninteresting.

"And what about you? What brought ya here?"

"Nothing in particular," she'd respond with a polite shrug between spoonfuls of stew, "was just in the area and ended up hitchhiking with those guys,"

"So y'aren't a group?"

"Nope," she'd respond shortly, popping her 'p' purposefully before scooping up another healing spoonful, "well unless you count a group of strangers as a group — in which case your sister's included,"

"Like a band!" Baby, thankfully, interrupted with a shrill giggle, pulling her into her side and holding her a bit too tightly for it not to be concerning.

"I, uh, suppose so?"

"D'ya know how dangerous it is to hitchhike in these parts?" Otis continued, glaring briefly at his younger sister before turning his attention (and rather sinister smile) towards her once again.

"About as dangerous as any other place I suppose?" She laughed awkwardly, "I've been doing this for a while and it's definitely a gamble whether you're gonna get to your destination or a final one — but I've been pretty lucky so far."

Otis didn't respond to that aside from a short laugh — and, in a way, that made her feel even more uncomfortable as she tried to stomach the rest of her meal, only hoping that their stay wouldn't last too long as the family started filing everyone out of the dining room and towards the stairway.

————

Much to her quiet relief, Baby had offered to escort her to her room — eagerly chattering about how her temporary quarters were the best in the house with a look in her eye that she couldn’t quite place… and a joke that would feel more like a warning far sooner than she would’ve liked.

“It’s really big; it used to belong to mama!” Baby cooed, hanging off of the other woman’s arm.

“Oh that’s nice,” she responded with an awkward half-laugh, tugging on the collar of her shirt, “and… and where will the others be staying?”

“Those guys?” Baby scoffed with a roll of her eyes, “They were really rude to us so mama set ‘em up on the other side of the house. In fact,” she leaned in close enough that her lips were just barely brushing against the shell of the other woman’s ear, “ain’t nobody staying up here but you; the best room in the house…”

A chill ran up her spine but before she had the chance to respond Baby said her goodbyes with a cheerful laugh and harshly shoved her into the room and slammed the door shut behind her. Though the temporary relief of privacy was shattered before it even had the opportunity to settle when she felt the cold blade of a knife pressed against the column of her throat — which was soon accompanied by a gravely voice that spat out a single threat (no, promise) against her ear.

“Do what I say or I’ll slit yer fuckin’ throat.”

————

Otis' voice was low and firm as he instructed her, leaving no room for protest or hesitation as he wielded that rusted pocket knife with enough comfort and expertise that she daren't fight back. He began by ordering her into the centre of the room and having her undress, smirking and mocking her as she trembled and shook in place: first went her shirt, followed closely by her shorts and sandals — leaving her in just her underwear when he all but pounced on her and forced her to the floor.

She desperately tried to get him off of her: kicking, punching, slapping, shoving and biting at him however she could — but all of it was in vain. In fact, it seemed to excite him even more.

He forced her legs apart and used one hand to pin her wrists above her head, leering down at her as he forcefully pressed his clothed crotch down against hers — showcasing his arousal and laughing mirthlessly as she tried to squirm away. It was of no use and she knew it; the man was so much stronger than her... but still she tried to bargain and beg through her own sobs.

"Please just let me go," she whimpered, "I won't tell anybody, please,"

"Aw y'ain't gonna scream?" He goaded, leaning down to lick the tears from her cheeks, "Not gonna try and call for help?"

She didn't respond to his taunts, she knew screaming wouldn't do anything already, just repeating her pleas for freedom and mercy until he finally snapped at her and pressed the blade to her cheek, just below her right eye.

"Shut yer trap; all that beggin's just gettin' on my nerves," he leaned in closer and harshly bit her earlobe as she swallowed a yelp, "and ya don't want to see what happens when I'm pissed off. That shit ain't pretty,"

And, believing him, she nodded silently and desperately tried to swallow every whimper and sob that threatened to escape her cracked lips — which he leaned down to messily kiss and bite as a sort of sick reward for her obedience.

"Good girl; didn't even need t'cut yer tongue out..."

————

She was going to be sick as he forced his slick tongue between her dry lips. He tasted like cigarettes and alcohol and weed; a combination that made her head spin as she fought herself to keep still and unresponsive, lest she lean into the knife that he was still holding against her cheek. Though it wasn't as if she was free of pain for going along with what he wanted, as every few seconds Otis would suck her lower lip between his teeth and harshly bite down; bruising her and drawing blood that he would eagerly lick away as she trembled and quietly cried beneath him.

Before long, there was plenty of blood and tears streaming down from her face to her neck and collar and chest, staining her skin as she hopelessly half-struggled against her attacker. A struggle that she knew was all for naught as, despite all of the pain he was putting her through, the constant rubbing of his body against hers had left her shamefully soaked between her legs and her mind was a war zone of shame and submission and a dying desire to fight back (which she continuously denied out of a slim hope for survival).

Though it seemed that Otis had become keenly aware of her growing arousal as he soon pulled away from her (either not noticing or not caring about the string of saliva that had connected them both breaking and covering his chin) and bucked his hips into hers with that same sadistic smirk on his pale features.

“Weren’t ya beggin’ me to stop some time ago?” He taunted, dropping the knife by her head to reach down and purposefully run his hand down her clothed slit as she instinctually keened into his touch, “Someone’s in denial about just how much they wanted this,”

She didn’t even have the time to think of a coherent response before the man grabbed the knife again and sliced her undergarments clean off of her body. First her bra straps then the sides and then the centre and right side of her sodden panties — all of which he carelessly pulled off of her and uncaringly threw over his shoulder. Hell, he didn’t even take care to not cut her up, seeming to get off on the small messy wounds on her shoulders and hips and stomach as he drew his eyes slowly over her fully exposed form.

“Well now,” he taunted in a tone lower than she’d heard from him before, chucking the weapon to the side, “what d’we have here?”

Never having felt so utterly exposed and vulnerable in her life, she tried to turn her head away from him, hiding in the only way she could from what was sure to follow. But Otis didn’t allow her even that smallest amount of dignity, forcefully gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger and compelling her to watch as he took full advantage of her prone body — as he ruined her in ways only he could.

————

She could feel the leaking head of his cock sliding along her slick, puffy lips once, twice, three times as he lubricated himself before he gracelessly shoved it into her aching cunt in a single, agonising movement. He was painfully large — long and thick — and the stretch had her screwing her eyes shut and letting out a strangled scream despite herself (which Otis quickly silenced by slapping her hard across the face).

But she wasn’t afforded any time to adjust or recover (why would she?) before he began moving again. Slowly at first, sliding out of her tight pussy in a careful almost calculated movement that gave her the chance to see the fresh blood and slick that covered his veiny dick for the few moments it took for him to steady himself before sharply thrusting back into her. Though it hardly took any time at all before the rhythm started to bore him and he sped up; pumping in and out of her fluttering hole in quick, shallow movements that had her entire body being thrown back and forth from the sheer force behind them.

His movements, his thrusts, were piston-like for quite some time — just boring his hips into hers repeatedly in such a way that she was left hiccuping and teary-eyed from the pain. Yet his pace and rhythm gradually became more and more erratic, more becoming of his persona, alternating between slow tortuous periods of barely any movement at all and periods that had her entire body shaking from the speed and ferocity of his thrusts — her back and shoulders slamming repeatedly into the wooden floor in such a way that they would surely be bruised.

And his assault didn’t stop at her abused cunt. No. As he soon branches outwards and turned some attention to her exposed breasts — using his free hand to toy with her nipples whilst his other still held her hands in place with a threatening, bruising grip. He’d pinch and twist and tug on each in an alternating pattern that left neither neglected and gave neither the time to recover as they started to become overly sensitive and pained from the attention — which caused her to sob even louder and plead incoherently, paradoxically even, to stop and continue; to go harder and faster and get off of her; to do everything and nothing.

Fucked out, her mind and body had started to betray her as her climax loomed ever closer — and Otis knew it. How could he not? The glazed over look in her eyes as she sobbed and whimpered helplessly beneath his larger form; the way her back arched upwards into his touch as he toyed with her neglected chest; the way her hips bucked up against him and her sweet cunt tightened around his weeping cock. All of it pointed towards a single conclusion and the cocky bastard couldn’t help himself but to tease her for it as he forced her towards her peak.

“Look at ya; yer fuckin’ pathetic,”

“Ya gonna cum for me?”

“Ya keep saying ya want me to stop but I think yer enjoyin’ this way more than ya think,”

“Go on; cum all over my cock ya filthy fuckin’ whore,”

And, much like a filthy fucking whore, she did: with her bloody, bruised lips parted in a silent scream as she stared tearfully up at the ceiling; with her legs quaking and spasming as she wrapped them around his waist and forced him deeper into her pussy; with her cunt and thighs covered in a mixture of blood and cum; with a mind that was somehow both completely blank and running a mile a minute at the same time. Utterly cock-drunk and caught in the bliss of release.

Too far gone to protest as Otis spilled his seed into her spasming sex with a loud and guttural series of grunts and moans. Lost in her own high as he eventually pulled out and collapsed beside her, tugging her into his side as a sort of half-hug and kissing her head. Just barely aware of her surroundings when he stroked the side of her face and asked if she was okay.

Yet still not bothered enough to protest as she continued to lay with her “captor” in a pool of their own filth — completely worn down from their little game and wanting nothing more than to rest as she assured him she was fine. A peaceful moment that was so rare to find in the Firefly household—

—and then the door creaked open and that moment was ruined.

————

“Are y’all done in there yet?” an endearingly high-pitched voice called out from the cracked open door, “I don’t wanna see nothin’ I don’t wanna but Mama said she needs Otis’ help with somethin’ s’all,”

“He’ll be with you in just a second, Baby,” she responded with polite exasperation, pressing a light kiss to her husband’s nose, “just let us get dressed!”

Otis was, as always, slightly irritated with his sister’s shenanigans and her compliance there-with but nonetheless grumbled his way through redressing and retrieving the knife he’d so carelessly tossed aside. And she couldn’t help but laugh as he stumbled out of the door, yelling at the woman just out of earshot with a threat that both amused and endeared her.

“This’d better be fuckin’ important, Baby!”

[inertiabug]

MICHAEL PITT AS ANDREW LANDON LISEY'S STORY | 2021

[inertiabug]

Adam Stanheight SFW + NSFW headcanons

REQUESTS FOR SAW OPEN!

2.3k words

Sfw

How you meet!

you two meet probably in the hallway of your crappy apartment complex.

you run into him from the corner, he had his headphones in and was listening to it on full volume, and you were running late for work

crashing head first into neighbor? you dick he probably thinks to himself as he realizes he just ran into his neighbor.

he'd seen you around before: mostly rushing to whatever crappy retail job of the month you had

he had thought you were really beautiful, but he was a coward at heart, so never did anything about it

this time he didn't have the choice to not interact with you: well, without looking like a dick

"I am SO sorry. I'm such a dumbass." He rushes out before he can think

Youre still kinda in a little bit of shock, so you just look up at this incredibly handsome man who just face planted into you for a long while

he thinks your silence is you rejecting his apologies and he quietly apologizes and runs off

but you just were so enamored by him that you couldn't say anything

at work all you can think about is how you didn't accept his apologies and probably made him feel horrible

you were determined to make things right so after work you grab a couple packs of the smokes you always saw him with from the store and rush to his apartment

you timidly knock on his door and wait with bated breath

he sees you through the peephole and momentarily considers not answering it

but he sees the bag you have in your hand and is curious

he opens it, fully expecting to be yelled at for running into you

but all that happens is you raise the bag up quickly and say "i'm so sorry i didn't say anything, i feel so bad. i just was in shock because you're s-" you stop and say nothing after realizing your rambling

he looks in the bag and notices the smokes

you smile at him shyly

and that starts a beautiful relation

how you are as friends

you stay over ALOT

he tends to not eat the best so you make him alot of dinners and lunches to make sure he's eating regularly

his work as a professional stalker keeps him up at odd hours so those pre made meals are rlly a life saver

buying each other candy and snacks alot

when the other was having a rough month fiancially, you would try to pick up the slack andhelp them

that means buying the other small groceries and items to get them through till the next check

you stay over sm the other has toiletries like tooth brushes n soap at the others place

going to parties together but only talking to one another bc ur both not super extroverted

you just go for the free alcohol

speaking of which,,, taking care of each other when the other is drunk

he holds ur hair when ur sick in the toilet,

you rub his back when he's sick

when the other is actually ill as in cold or the flu, bringing each other soup n montioring each others temp

making sure the other takes their meds to get better

inevitably the other gets sick with the same thing, but it just ends up the same way with the other taking care of u

leaving notes in his mail slot when he's busy, and since its 2004, no fast messaging so "coming over at 5!! xoxo" in his mail slot

he lives kinda like a typical man with basically only a chair and essentials , bare ass living room

taking him to the thrift store to get like a decent couch n maybe an arm chair

helping him expand his wardrope to something beyond crappy second hand flannel n white shirt (preferably without blood on it)

helping him get through his trauma over the trap

you cant exactly help him get over it, but ur there when he has bad moments

holding him while he sobs in ur lap

just stroking his hair n reminding him hes here n not at the god awful bathroom

it really calms him down and reminds him he is present in this moment, not that one

he sometimes gets insecure about his scar on his shoulder and tries to hid it but you remind him that he shouldnt be embarassed for being strong enough to survive

helping him get back into normal non stalkery photographer- his need to make money to live kinda outweighed his desire to just take pics of birds

speaking of which: he def loves nature photography

he lives in new jersey, so its rare he gets to do that, but its a nice treat

road trips with him n he spends the whole time as a passenger princess asking you to stop n take pics of a dead tree that has a rlllly nice backdrop

ur crappy car probably breaks down once or twice but its part of the adventure

In a relationship

kisses. lot of f'ing kisses

neck kisses, forehead kisses, navel kisses. any types!

probably is the little spoon lbr

follows ur lead for the most part

want to go to the theatre? it may take out half his money but he WILL pay for the date

probably gets u sweet treats alot n writes a little note that says "love you babe!"

he def clings to you everywhere u go

got to go to the kitche? catch him hugging u from behind n not letting go

can't fall asleep without each other anymore

he used to have a twin sized mattress but he decided to buy a full after u moved intogether

speaking of which, he definitely moved into your apartment

you have a two bedroom n that allows him to have a red room for his photography and a bedroom

he probably only had a redroom and slept on the couch at his apartment tbh

typical man

very clean n likes to take showers with you

his fav thing is his hair being washed by you

the scraping on his scalp is incredibily grounding

he loves washing you as well, and not in a sexual way.

theres something so domestic about cleaning each other that he loves.

ultimately i think his interactions with cheating rich men has spoiled a bit of his view of marriage, but with you he really can see himself settling down and being a forever thing. beyond everything, he trusts you

he craves domesticity so he will enjoy providing for you and helping with the house

loves to cook, his mom probably taught him

doesn't really have a jealousy problem, though he can get jealous from time to time

very rare, but if he does, there might actually be a substantiated reason

doesn't want kids atm, as he can barely support himself and you.

waiting up for you to get home no matter how tired he is

wants to make sure you're home safe

rlly co dependent directly following the trap. can't be in the bathroom by myself, it reminds him too much of the trap. he needs you to be in the room with you while you speak to him through the curtain, or even better, being in the shower with you.

needs constant reassurance he isnt a burden on you

he feels like you don't deserve to be with a man who has so many problems

you tell him constantly that you will be there no matter what

holding hands just to remind him of your presence.

calms him down alot more than you expect

if you happen to be late getting home from work, he may partially freak out: thinking you left him finally

you'll find him sobbing on the couch curled in on himself

he's so vulnerable after lawrence left him there

he doesn't know that lawrence didn't break his promise intentionally so he holds alot of resentment for him

kissing his cheeks and telling him you'll never leave

onto more happy things:

MOVIE NIGHTS!!! you religiously watch movies together and spend most of the time talking about the stupidity of the characters or something.

never meeting his parents bc he's not on good terms with them

LOVES THAT YOURE ABOUT HIS HEIGHT, he's not a tall man and has never been insecure about his height, but the fact he's eye level with you makes it extremely intimate in his opinion

or if you're taller than him, his man brain goes ooga booga and thinks "tall woman/man" and all bets are off

NSFW

okay, to go ahead and put this glaringly obvious thing out there: HE HAS A THING FOR BEING A SUB!!!

He needs you to take control and tell him what to do

grab him by his hair and shove him in between your legs? yes ma'am

ask him to kneel and eat you out on a hardwood floor? done

he absolutely would do anything for you

he needs reassurance what he's doing is good: and rest assured, it is

he probably is a bit messy, and not very controlled

sloppy licks and desperate sucks are common

same thing for when he's inside you

ragged thrusts and a desperate pace

hes probably desperate bc you havent let him cum the whole session

his cock is probably a bit under average length wise, but good god is his girth something to marvel at

everytime he takes you he stretches you

very skinny man, and once you get your claws into him, he probably gains weight which gives him a cute bit of chub that you love to grab onto while he's thrusting into your hole haphazardly.

its almost like a leash

he absolutely needs direction the first couple times, hes so nervous he's shaking

you ask if he wants to keep going and he nods quickly n says theres nothing he's ever wanted more, but assuming this is following the trap, he absolutely needs someone to tell him what to do

could definitely get off from watching you cum (it's def happened before, his poor red cock hadn't been touched all night beyond the grinding on the bed he's hidden from you while eating you out and seeing your intense pleasure just,, he couldn't hold on anymore)

probably circumcised with a tasteful amount of hair, enough to be cute but not enough to be annoying

his nipples are probably so sensitive and he doesnt even know it, he's never thought to play with them

the first time you brush them he gasps and leaks precum

from then on they become a regular part of your routine when playing with him

PLEASE CALL HIM A GOOD BOY!!!

the first time you do, his head is thrown back in ecstasy from your mouth on his cock, and when you pull up, you tell him to look at you while still stroking his cock, and you say "youre my good boy. cum for me my baby boy."

he immediately cums and is embarrassed for weeks, even with your reassurance that it was the hottest thing you've ever seen

speaking of head, he loves getting it but he absolutely enjoys giving it more

theres something so sexy about being able to lick you to completion

when he gets head, he's so lost in his own pleasure that he forgets to breathe and when he remembers, he takes deep breaths

is so in love with your body

he thinks your the hottest person he's ever seen

would probably want to call you mistress or momma. i dont make the rules

RIDE HIM RN

he loves when you're on top, it makes him feel so helpless

alright so: he definitely wants you to peg him

grip his hands and place them above his head, and shove his head into the mattress

anything

his fav position is with his ass up in the air with his head shoved in a pillow and his cock hanging pitifully untouched. shove your strap into his ass while he begs you to make him cum

grab his face and kiss him while he wails out from the pleasure

shove your tongue down his throat,,, something!!

IN THE ODD OCCASION HE IS FEELING DOMINANT!!

rare

but it happens

he isn't some hard dom who leaves you bruised up

he will take care of you just like he does when he's subbing, but he won't let you order him around

grabs your neck and just holds. not enough to prevent you breathing, but enough for you to know its there

still sloppy either way

with him, aftercare is a must

thing is: you can't leave him alone after he's finished subbing, as it sparks some trigger that brings him back to the bathroom, where, in his mind, lawrence left him to die

you have to take him with you

you found out after he cries out and practically tackles you begging you to not leave and to stay with him and to not abandon him

its alot of rambling, but once you get him to calm down, he is pretty embarrassed, but you understand

you tell him to get up and hold his hand, or hug, while walking to the bathroom

wiping a rag on his oversensitive cock to clean it and seeing his face scrunch up is ur fav thing

you might make him eat his cum out of you to clean you up, but it just depends on how he feels. and it might start up a whole nother round so its a gamble

he probably doesn't fall asleep immediately afterward, and will stay there stroking your hair while you sleep to remind himself you're there, you aren't leaving and you love him

LOTS OF LOVE YOU'S DURING AND AFTER!!

something about you telling him you love him does something: it might be from him feeling useless and like a burden

when he finally sleeps, he's the little spoon and he whispers a quick,"thank you"before nodding off

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS!!! I LOVE ADAM AND SAW AND AND pLS REQUEST SOMETHING!!

[inertiabug]

mdni 18+

content warning: dark!adam, manipulation and gaslighting, fingering, oral (fem recieving), pnv activities, mentions of other sex acts

blk coded! reader as always :)

okay look so boom hear me out...

dark manipulative! adam and dumb fem! reader right? adam gaslights the reader into thinking that she has a fever. feeling your forehead with his palm. "oh, baby you're so warm you must have a fever." he suggests to you gently thumbing your soft cheek feigning concern, lying through his fucking teeth. if anyone is sick it's him. "he just wants his princess to himself that's all", he convinces his conscience. he has you to call out of work for a week so he can give you a treatment of his own.

you already know where this is headed.

he tells his pretty girl that the only way she'll feel better is to cum on his cock throughout the day. well... his cock, along side his tongue, his fingers, even his thigh.

he has you bent over his knee fingers slipping in and out of you. making you squeal and whimper through your hand muffling your cute noises. landing a harsh slap on your ass he spreads your legs a bit rubbing faster between your slick folds. "feeling better, sweet girl?", he asks rubbing his hands along your outer thighs after a few minutes.

ooooooo~ bye i'm not normal abt him