[cherryxhaze]

•❉᯽❉ masterlist ✧ request rules ✧ ao3 link ❉᯽❉•

✧ shelbs ✧ 29 ✧ she/her/hers ✧ libra ♎︎︎ ✧ infj ✧ plus size writer/reader ✧ horror enthusiast ✧ lover of fictional men ✧ previous fics at @eddiexmunsonlover ✧ divider by @cafekitsune

[spikedfearn]

banner cred: @scannainscanrula

🕊️ THE BAG IS OPEN: A JOC DEAD DOVE FEST 🕊️

The morgue is officially accepting new arrivals.

Welcome to The Bag Is Open, a Jack O'Connell character-focused dead dove fic fest & digital zine celebrating darkfic in all its forms. Whether your story is unsettling, obsessive, horrific, toxic, tragic, or somewhere in between, this event is for you.

Posting Window 🗓️ August 10th – August 15th, 2026

You do not need to post at a specific time or alongside everyone else. Simply publish your contribution any time during the posting window.

How to Participate 🕊️ Fill out the sign-up form

Need inspiration? An optional prompt list is available here

Guidelines • Open to all Jack O'Connell characters. • Reader-insert focused (reader does not have to be female, but reader must be part of the main pairing/dynamic). • Fic, artwork, graphics, moodboards, and other fanworks are welcome. • No minimum or maximum word count. • All participants must be 18+. • All sexual content must involve characters who are 18+. • Proper content warnings/tags are required. • No AI-generated writing or artwork.

Organization To help organize both the masterlist and the digital zine, submissions will be sorted into three categories:

🏷️ Toe Tag: lighter darkfic and dead dove themes.

🩸 Evidence Bag: darker, heavier themes.

⚰️ Body Bag: the darkest submissions.

You do not need to choose a category or organize your fic yourself. Domo @the-lilted-tune and I will sort submissions during the editing process so the table of contents flows naturally.

Banners To give the digital zine a more polished look, we're asking all fic writers to include a banner with their submission. If you've never made one before, don't worry! Feel free to reach out. I have Canva and would be more than happy to make one for you, and I know several other participants have already volunteered to help as well.

When Posting Please use the tag #joc dead dove fest and tag @joclibrary so everyone's submissions are easy to find and archive throughout the week.

Remember:

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat means exactly what it says. Read the warnings. Curate your own experience. Don't open the bag if you don't want to see what's inside.

Happy writing. 🖤

[spikedfearn]

so, because apparently some people have decided that reporting tagged dead dove fics is activism now, i’ve decided to do the funniest possible thing and host a dead dove fic event for the joc fandom.

introducing, very unofficially for now:

the bag is open: a joc dead dove fest 🕊️

this will be a darkfic/dead dove event for jack o’connell characters, with no minimum or maximum word count. fics can be as short, long, nasty, bleak, psychological, violent, messy, or unwell as your little heart desires, as long as everything is properly tagged and warned for. art/graphics will also be accepted, i might turn this into a small digital pdf zine.

the actual interest check will open tomorrow so i can see how many people would want to join before i make the full official post/rules/submission info.

tentative posting date is august 14th.

basic rules will be the obvious ones: all sexual content must involve characters 18+, no ai-generated fic, tag your shit properly, and readers are responsible for curating their own experience. dead dove means dead dove. do not open the bag and then complain about the dove.

anyway. interest check tomorrow. sharpen your knives or whatever.

[whyenn-reader]

''what if you regret it'' then you will expirience regret - a normal and unavoidable part of the human expirience.

[whyenn-reader]

the more you twist yourself into a pretzel to avoid regret the harder it will hit when it eventually catches up to you.

[cherryxhaze]

You Gotta Earn It First

Professor!Remmick x Fem!Reader

Part Two ->

Fic Playlist & AO3 Link

Summary: The new Irish Folklore professor seems to have it out for you. Constant critiques and unfair grades. There's a strange air to him, beyond the passionate lectures and the other students who seem to adore him. As much as you'd like to deny it, you too find yourself under his spell. WC: ~14.2k Tags/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI 18+ ONLY. heavy dubcon: somnophilia (f!receiving oral), power imbalance & manipulation. modern day professor AU. no use of y/n. dom!remmick, brat tamer!remmick, cheating/infidelity (reader cheats on bf w/ remmick), hive mind plot device, semi-public masturbation & sex, panty stealing, panty sniffing, blood kink, marking, spanking, degradation, praise, oral sex (f! & m!receiving), anilingus/rimming (m!receiving), unprotected vaginal & anal sex (f!receiving), classroom sex, hair-pulling, creampie, possessive language, obsession, rough and soft sex, jealousy. A/N: I could not have written this without the support, help & ideas from these lovelies: @confetti-cakemix @weavingduck @madkingcrowley @fuckoffbard @remmicks-salvation with a special thanks to my love @eternalstrigoii for beta reading! Credit to @cafekitsune for dividers.

When you first signed up for the Irish Folklore course this semester, you never imagined it’d turn out like this. Every student is required to take a Humanities course for their degree and this one seemed to be the perfect fit. It piqued your interest, fit into your schedule with work and other classes with a meeting time in the evenings, and you (foolishly) figured it’d be easy enough to pass without much effort. 

You were very wrong.

It’s a Tuesday night when class convenes, a handful of students scattered about at their desks in the small room stationed on the first floor in one of the oldest academic buildings on campus. You preferred small classes like this, it was more intimate, helped you be immersed, and provided better opportunities to connect with the professor. If only this Professor didn’t seem to have some personal vendetta against you, targeting you every chance he got. Professor Remmick, he insisted you all call him. Not Dr. O’Brien or Professor O’Brien, just Professor Remmick. 

“Alright, now. Before we pick up where we last left off on the discussion of Filidh, I’m returnin’ your last graded assignment.” Remmick peers down at the stack of papers in hand through the clear lenses of the glasses fixed on the bridge of his nose before he shifts, standing from his spot leaning against his desk to begin walking down the aisles. “Most of y’all did well.”

Most.

The word echoes in your ears and a heavy weight settles in your gut, churning with each appraising comment he gives to the other students upon returning their graded work.

Nice work, Chris. 

Good job, Jess.

Your teeth begin to nervously chew on the inside of your lip as he draws nearer, hoping for the string of praises to continue but dreading for more of the endless criticism you’ve received since the start of the semester.

Polished black cap toe shoes scuff against the linoleum as he stops by your desk. You chance peering up at him, but he doesn’t even glance your way before sliding the paper onto the desk like it’s a discreet, dirty secret.

A silence passes, quiet but resoundingly loud, before he moves on to the next student. He doesn’t say a word and that’s somehow worse than if he had told you it’s the worst work he’s ever seen in front of the entire class. Your eyes immediately search for the damage, landing on the C- circled and written in red ink at the top of the paper.

Disappointment floods through you before frustration, and finally anger. You’ve never gotten a C in any college courses until this class, until this Professor. If someone had told you before that the hardest class you’d take in college would be an Irish Folklore course, you would’ve laughed and looked at them like they grew two heads. 

Your eyes trail down the paper, glancing over every note written in red. 

Grammar.

You’re rambling a bit much here. 

Not quite. 

?

There is room for improvement. I expect better on the next assignment.

You don’t get it. You could’ve sworn you did everything right and had all the correct information. Hell, you probably could’ve spent hours working on it and he still wouldn’t give you an ‘A’. A heavy exhale huffs out through your nostrils as you lean back into the hard plastic seat, arms crossing over your waist. 

This class is shaping up to be more trouble than it’s worth, and you can’t help but wonder how you’d have fared with the original professor, Dr. Hughes.

It was only a few months ago when Remmick found himself in this little college town. He didn’t seek it out intentionally, only meaning to pass through on his journey to an undesignated destination. He’d been wandering for so long, he couldn’t tell you a specific number of years. After so many failed attempts to find connection to his old home, he’d begun to lose hope. That was until that December night when he found himself strolling across the quiet, concrete paths and grassy patches of your campus. When the familiar words of the legend of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and the Giant’s Causeway floated through the night air and to his ears, it stopped Remmick in his tracks. He followed it to an open window in one of the campus buildings where he lingered in the shadows, watching and listening as this Dr. Hughes butchered the retellings of the legends and myths from Remmick’s homeland, the stories near and dear to his heart. What else could he have expected from a damn Englishman. Worst of all, these students were victims of it. 

And Remmick… Well, he just couldn’t have that.

So he continued watching Dr. Hughes’ flimsy lecture until the class adjourned, waiting as the students filtered out of the old building until finally, the professor emerged. Remmick followed him as he made the walk to the Faculty parking lot, oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows. By the looks of the dark and quiet campus there didn’t seem to be many night classes, and after that night the college would lose one of its professors.

After that, all it took was a forged degree and resume, which along with his vast knowledge on the course subject landed Remmick a position as an adjunct professor. 

He’d finally found something to give him purpose.

Remmick, oblivious or uncaring to the anger simmering within your body, continues on with class as usual, picking up where he last left off in the discussion of Irish filidh and traditional music. Palpable enthusiasm and confidence ooze from him as he lectures with an undisputable knowledge on the subject. Qualities that initially sparked excitement at the beginning of the semester, that now annoy you like an itch under your skin you just can’t scratch.

Remmick leans back against his desk as the oldest recording of The Rocky Road to Dublin plays through the computer speakers, the only time he elects to utilize electronics in class. You should be paying attention, immersing yourself in the tune, but your mind wanders elsewhere. 

Still ruminating on your bad grade, on your workday, other classes, upcoming exams, your boyfriend, James. 

At the thought of your boyfriend, your eyes fall to the Claddagh ring fixed on your right ring finger. A soft smile graces your lips, briefly remembering the moment James had gifted it to you on your birthday, telling you it symbolized love and loyalty with two hands holding a crowned heart. 

You’re distracted as you admire the ring before the hairs on the back of your neck rise with the unmistakable feeling of being watched. Slowly, your eyes lift to seek out the culprit of the discomforting sensation in the surrounding classroom. A look to the left toward your classmate Chris makes you pause, catching his eyes slowly trail up your legs to the curve of your ass and up to your breasts, until they finally lock with yours. He catches your look of disgust and before he can even react Professor Remmick clears his throat, loud and abrupt from the front of the classroom. Chris’s head snaps forward like an obedient dog following a command before it lowers, whether from shame or embarrassment, you aren’t sure.

Remmick doesn’t look at you, only exhales sharply and licks his lips before delving back into the lecture as the song comes to a close. The distraction of catching Chris undressing you with his eyes pulls your focus back to the lecture for a moment, but as Remmick discusses the significance of the traditional ballad, your mind drifts once again. This time, it isn’t toward thoughts of your boyfriend, work, or your other courses. It’s solely focused on your professor. Your frustration with him is still tangible and simmering in your body, but it begins to mix and fuse with another emotion.

Your eyes follow Remmick’s movements as he slowly paces at the front of the class. 

The way he talks with his hands.

Thick, calloused fingers. You imagine they’d feel both rough and soft dragging along your bare skin.  

The gold chain hanging from his neck. You wonder how it would catch the light as it swings back and forth above you.

That crooked, almost boyish yet calculating smile. 

The soft curve of his cupid’s bow, plump bottom lip shining under the overhead lights as his tongue darts out to lick them once more.

The way those lips wrap around each word, moving in a way that seems downright vulgar.

Biceps outlined by a light blue button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. You imagine how much strength is harbored within them.

The ego that earlier wrought your irritation now mixes with admiration for his passion and knowledge.

Your mouth grows dry as the heat rises in your body with the wavering thoughts. Remmick’s eyes catch yours briefly with what you perceive to be a heavy weight of unspoken words within them, and it’s enough to send a tingle right between your clenched thighs. His eyes leave yours just as quickly as they met, but the undeniable signs of arousal pulse through you, a wet warmth resonating at your core.

A glance at the clock on the wall. 9pm. Still another hour left.

With each passing minute the hunger residing in your body only grows, becoming harder to ignore. You can’t make it another hour like this.

“-explores the mostly misfortunate adventures of a man on his journey to-”

“May I go to the bathroom?” You blurt out with a raised hand, too impatient to wait for him to call on you.

The classroom falls silent as Remmick takes a deep inhale, his lips forming into a thin line from exasperation at your interruption. His gaze meets yours before he reluctantly gives a curt nod, freeing your thrumming body from the seat. Your feet quickly follow the path to the door at the front classroom, only for his voice to stop you.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

You can’t help but roll your eyes before turning to face him. A fiddle bow turned bathroom pass sits in his outstretched hand, though his gaze remains cast forward to the rest of the class. You huff under your breath at the ridiculousness of it, no one else is even in the goddamn building. Nevertheless, you cross the short distance to retrieve the bow from his hands, but he doesn’t release it.

A sharp tug jerks your body toward him, close enough to feel his breath fan over your skin as his eyes finally meet yours.

“Don’t take too long.” He murmurs a low and gravely warning that practically sets your body ablaze, flames licking at your most sensitive, aching parts.

As soon as his hand drops from the bow and eyes shift back toward the other students, you turn and exit the classroom as quickly as your feet can carry you.

One of the advantages of taking a night class was having the entire academic building to yourself. Something you’re grateful for as your fingers part your slick pussy lips in the bathroom stall. You’re so goddamn worked up and throbbing for release with the confusing mix of anger and arousal.

You can’t decide if you hate Professor Remmick or want to fuck him, but it’s becoming painfully obvious that it’s both.

Who the hell decided to hire him in the first place? He’s far too hot to be a professor, let alone a hard-assed one. 

You sigh softly with a jerk of your hips, a finger finding the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your thoughts drift to wonder how his tongue might feel instead of your fingers, imagining he knows just the right places to lick and suck, since he seems to know everything.

“Fuck” The soft moan fills the empty bathroom, mixing with heavy breaths as you rub your clit in tight, slow circles.

You can’t decide if you want more of his punishment or to take your anger out on him.

If you want him to bend you over that mahogany desk and spank your bare ass until you give him the correct answers,

Or if you want to straddle him in that desk chair and ride that cocky grin off his pretty, plump lips.

Your walls pulse and squeeze, body vibrating with waves of pleasure as your fingers move faster, teeth biting your bottom lip to muffle the whimpers.

He’s big and thick, stretching you wider than any other man has, but the way you wrap around him would have him a whimpering mess beneath you, suddenly devoid of arrogance as his hands grip onto your body like it’s the only thing keeping him from blowing his load inside you.

The pleasure builds in your core, a single thread on the brink of snapping. 

You’re so goddamn close.

His calloused hands would soothe your reddened, sore flesh before moving to the wet patch of your panties. “How badly do you want that ‘A’?”

With a stutter of your hips and a muffled cry, the thread finally snaps, granting the release of intense pleasure to course through your shaking body. The tight, fast circles on your clit slow and loosen as you ride out the high until your breaths finally even out. 

It isn’t long before guilt replaces lust. You have a boyfriend for god sakes and here you are, in the bathroom of the lecture hall masturbating to your professor. With a groan, you pull out your phone and open the Messages app.

Are you coming over after class?

You hit send before setting to clean up the evidence of the escapades between your thighs and head back to class, unsure if you’ve been gone long enough to raise suspicion. Head down and gaze averted, you hope not to draw attention to yourself as you slip the bow back onto Remmick’s desk and return to yours with a silly worry that everyone knows exactly what you just did.

And he does.

Remmick takes note of the flush of your skin, the shame written all over you, the smell radiating from between your thighs and into his flared nostrils. He’s unable to stop the small smirk that tugs at his lips before steeling his mask and resuming the lecture as if he wasn’t aware of your very presence or absence.

The cool night air is a welcomed respite against your still warm skin as you step out of the building and onto the concrete pathways of campus. You love walking around at this time of night, sidewalks and roads devoid of the daytime bustle of bodies and cars. A few straggling students camping out in the library until closing time and the small group of your classmates being the only signs of life.

“So, what did you think of tonight’s lecture?” The cheery sound of your classmate Sarah’s voice pulls you from your thoughts as she comes into step at your side. You cock an eyebrow at her with an exasperated, scoffed laugh.

“What?” She questions with an oblivious but amused tone, to which you sigh.

“I mean… the subject matter is interesting.” 

“Okay…? What, you don’t like Professor Remmick?”

“Like? I think he’s a bit of an asshole, actually. I had an easier time in Chemistry, for christ’s sake.” The bitterness for what you perceive as unfair treatment seeps into your voice.

In the solitude of the now empty classroom, Remmick listens in through Sarah, letting out an amused chuckle at your crass retort.

“Yeah, I guess he can be a hard grader. At least he’s kinda cute though, right?” Sarah counters with a shrug and a coy smirk. Your eyes widen slightly and you’re caught off guard for a moment before quickly brushing it off with a laugh.

“I have a boyfriend, remember? I’m not worried about how cute a professor is.” It’s a flimsy lie, you know it is, but it’s all you can conjure up in the moment. You can hardly handle the confusing feelings the professor provokes in you, let alone admit them outloud. 

Remmick rolls his eyes. 

“Okay.” Sarah murmurs, sounding unconvinced. “How are you and James doing anyway?”

Your phone vibrates at that moment, the screen illuminating with a new text.

Not tonight, babe. Me and the boys are watching the game.

That stupid goddamn fraternity. You fight back the urge to let the irritation reflect in your expression before dimming the screen and turning your attention back to Sarah, just as the lights from the dorms begin to come into view.

“Oh, you know. We’re both busy with classes and work but we’re good.” 

Not for much longer. 

You give Sarah a tight-lipped smile, unsure how effective it is, but she returns it and nods nonetheless.

A bid good night sends the two of you parting ways where the sidewalk splits, leading to your respective buildings. Under Remmick’s selfish influence, Sarah’s eyes follow your movements. Watching the way your hair flows with the wind, the bounce of your ass with each step until your form disappears through the glass doors of the dormitory.

It turns out turning a few students had its advantages. At first, it was merely for information, inserting a few spies into the web of the college. It didn’t take long for Remmick to lose himself in the role of a professor, and even a centuries old vampire like himself wasn’t immune to falling into the allure of petty professional rivalries. Particularly that bastard of an English professor Dr. Michaels, who seemed to turn every compliment Remmick received into a boast about himself.

That was until you. Until he first saw your pretty face and that tempting body strut into his classroom. Everything Remmick’s done since then has been with tunnel vision. 

And boy, has he learned a lot about you and that boyfriend of yours.

It doesn’t take long for exhaustion to overtake you upon returning to your room and stripping off the clothes carrying the weight of the day. A few hours later, you’re deep in the throes of sleep. Campus is dead silent at this time at night with the exception of a few students pulling an all nighter for one reason or another. That meant no witnesses as Remmick helps himself through the window you conveniently left open in an attempt to seek the cool night air to aid in your slumber. Remmick just can’t help himself as it becomes increasingly harder to stay away from you. And after what he knows you did in that bathroom tonight, he needs more. He needs something to hold him over until he can have you completely. 

Upon entering, his eyes immediately fall to your sleeping form scantily clad with the covers thrown about. Restless sleeper, it seems. An oversized shirt hands loosely around your body, the hem ending dangerously close to the curve of your ass, leaving your bare legs on full display. A deep, shaky inhale passes through him in an attempt to offset the onslaught of raging emotions and desires seeing you like this spurs within him. He forces his focus to shift to the surroundings of your room, to soak up the opportunity to be in your space.

He takes everything in, from the trinkets that line the desk and shelves, to books housing stories of romance and mystery, fingers running along them as if to commit every memento that is you to his memory.

Posters of musicians and movies line the painted brick walls, along with pictures of you with friends, family… that loser boyfriend. Remmick scoffs lightly at the photograph, knowing soon enough he’d be out of the picture. He’d make sure of it.

His exploration continues until his eyes land on the laundry hamper by the foot of the bed, a discarded pair of underwear lying on top. The faint smell hits him as soon as he sees it, beckoning him closer step by step.

Hands grasp the flimsy lace material before lifting it to his face. A deep inhale of the unmistakable scent that was wafting off of you earlier fills his nostrils. The smell of pure, lustful desire. He can’t help but groan softly, the sound of satisfaction and hunger rumbling in his chest. His hand curls, balling your underwear in his fist before slipping the fabric into his pocket. He’s not leaving without a token of yours and this is just what he was looking for.

Just as he considers it’s time to leave, Remmick’s eyes fall to your sleeping form once more and his feet draw him closer to the side of the bed. You could only look more beautiful than you do now whilst in the throes of pleasure, he imagines. A sight he aims to see for himself very soon.

His breathing slows as his hand gently clasps around your ankle, warmth radiating off your body and into his palm, a sensation that both balms and ignites the restless desire for you residing in his chest. Even as his heart hammers against his ribcage, his fingers trail up your skin leisurely but with full intent. Intent to memorize the feeling of this, your warm, soft skin beneath his hands at last. The touch is tender, ghosting, and reverent.

“Rem-”

The movement stills over the plush flesh of your thigh, eyes darting up to your closed ones at the sound of the muffled groan. You’re still sleeping soundly, eyes moving behind the closed lids. His heart stills, breath catching at the realization he hadn’t imagined the beautiful sound.

“You dreamin’ about me, doll?” A low and raspy whisper leaves his dry throat. Teeth digging into the plump flesh of his bottom lip, his hand presses more firmly against your skin, caressing the meat of your thigh and inching higher and higher to the hem of your shirt.

“Remmick…”

There it is. The airy, needy murmur of his name from your parted lips goes right to his hardening cock. You put on a good front in class, but even in the depths of sleep he is the one you want, the one you desire. The one you call out to within the realm of filthy dreams, fueled by unbridled lust. There’s no denying it now.

And fuck, look at you. So tempting. Laid out like a platter of ripe fruit, begging to be tasted, to be savored. And who is he to deny you, to deny himself? He only came for a token to keep with him while you’re gone but now, he’ll have the memory and lingering taste of you on his tongue. Just a little taste, right from the source. 

The path of his hand continues traveling up the back of your thigh until reaching the hem of your shirt where he pushes past, hiking the fabric up to reveal the bare globes of your ass.

“Fuck…” Remmick mutters under his breath, mouth salivating at the sight of your juicy ass and pussy completely bare with no panties on. A wicked smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, “Always hoped you were a naughty girl.”

Carefully, his body lowers onto the bed between your parted thighs, one leg bent and hiked up. Your swollen lips aren’t even parted yet and he can still see the wetness held within them, seeping out of the glistening folds. His hands gently squeeze the fat of your ass, eyes fixed on the way it makes your puffy lips spread to give him a glimpse of the paradise held within- like digging into a succulent, juicy peach.

“So wet for me…”

He leans closer, the tip of his nose nudging along the slit before taking a deep inhale that sends a wave of shivers down his body, filling his mind with a hungry, lustful haze. Parting your slit with a flat tongue and a breathy moan, he collects the juices from your clit to your throbbing hole,  taking a moment to savor the flavor spreading along his tongue, like a man dying of thirst cherishing that first sip of water. 

You’re magnificent.

With a groan, he dips back in for more. Curled tongue delving into your tight, wet channel, licking up every drop of your sweet nectar he can. Remmick moans at the taste, the feeling of your walls squeezing around his tongue, the soft, breathy moan that slips past your lips. He’s drunk on you, on your taste, the sounds you make. He needs more.

Satisfied he’s licked up every drop, his mouth lowers to your swollen clit. With a glance up toward your sleeping, blissful face, his tongue flicks against the bundle of nerves teasingly, eyes watching for any reaction. Satisfied you won’t stir, he presses the muscle more firmly against you, swirling around and licking the sensitive bud. A mix between a sigh and moan rises from your throat, like beautiful, sinful music to his ears. It spurs him on, eliciting his lips to seal around your clit and gently suckle it into his mouth.

Your pussy pulses against his nose with a slight jerk of your hips, the movement pushing your cunt firmly against his face. He obliges your unspoken plea, fingers digging into the meat of your ass as he sucks harder on your tender clit. Within the confines of his pants, his cock strains and throbs against the material, pre-cum no doubt staining them.

“Remmick…” The words slip from your lips so quickly in a stifled, high-pitched moan, but he hears it, the sound sinking in and echoing in his ears. Even in your slumber, your body and mind associate pleasure with him and it only strengthens his raging desire for you, the resolve to make you cum on his tongue before he leaves.

A low groan rises from deep in his chest, muffled against your slick folds as his mouth continues to work your throbbing clit to a heightened bliss. Until he hears your breath hitch, your body tense beneath him, and a shaky gasp burst from your mouth. Remmick’s eyes roll back behind closed lids, moaning softly as you cum with a buck of your hips. He softens his attack on your clit as the waves of pleasure course through your lush body, and only when you relax and fall slack against the sheets does his tongue return to your still spasming channel, lapping up your release like a reward. 

With a sigh, his face turns to rest against the delicate flesh of your inner thigh as the haze of lust in his mind and body calm to a low thrum, one he won’t be able to ignore for much longer. He can take care of that later, for now he knows he needs to depart with your token stored in his pocket and lingering on his taste buds. But, not before he leaves you with a token of his own. Remmick’s lips kiss your tender skin before latching onto it, sucking gently to leave behind a small bruise to form overnight, effectively marking you as his.

Reluctantly and with one last kiss along your skin, Remmick carefully rises and slips off the bed, pulling your shirt back down to its previous position. With your arousal stained panties in his pocket and one last look over your peaceful form, he leaves the way he came, through your window and out into the dark depths of the night.

It isn’t until hours later with the sun risen above the treeline, the chirping song of birds flowing into your open window that you finally awaken to the obnoxious alarm on your phone. You silence the nagging sound with a tired groan before sitting up, legs lazily shifting to hang over the edge of the bed. As the full depth of your senses slowly return, you’re unable to ignore the slick, wet feeling between your thighs. You can’t usually remember your dreams beyond small details and flickers of images, but you know last night’s sleep consisted of another ‘wet dream’ involving your professor. 

Only when your vision drops to your legs do you see something purple and part them to reveal a small bruise on your inner thigh. Your brows furrow in confusion regarding its creation. Was it from the last time you and James had sex and you just didn’t notice until now? Maybe you need to get your iron levels checked at your next doctor’s appointment…

Regardless, you don’t linger on questioning the source of your new bruise for long as the reality of your day full of work and exams comes to the forefront of your mind.

The following night, you return to the old, cracking stone building for your next Irish Folklore class. Your movements are sluggish upon entering the classroom and taking your seat, brain exhausted but anxious as your eyes mindlessly survey the antiqued items and posters reflecting Irish culture hanging along the walls. You’d already had a number of exams today with more scheduled tomorrow, not to mention the one you’d be taking in the next few minutes.

You hadn’t studied as much as you probably should’ve for this exam with your other classes taking priority, and it leaves you with a growing pit in your stomach. You fool yourself into believing you can still perform well on it, all while knowing Professor Remmick would no doubt slap that hope down just as quickly as it bloomed. The thought beckons a restless bouncing of your leg under the desk as class convenes and Remmick begins to walk down the aisles, handing out the exam to each student. With a nervous gulp, you don’t dare to meet his eyes as he passes your desk, wordlessly sliding the multi-paged, stapled test on top.

You close your eyes and take a deep inhale that does little to unravel the knot residing in your stomach before diving in. There’s no turning back now. As you begin, the questions seem easy enough, mind readily recalling the information from previous classes. Then there’s the questions you have no recollection whatsoever of going over, and with it a wave of embarrassment passes through, realizing you may have missed those moments while daydreaming about fucking your professor. Then, there’s the questions that are worded in a misleading way. The kind of question that you think you immediately know the answer to, only for there to be another very similar answer… fucker. It prompts you to begin second-guessing all your other answers thus far, eyes tracking over every single word until you feel an ache begin to form in your temple. He’s gotten in your head, making you doubt yourself even when you were so sure. 

Your hand moves to your forehead, supporting the weight as your fingers massage your temples. Your mind is foggy and exhausted, frazzled from lack of sleep, hours of studying, classes, and work on top of the very specific stress of this course you just can’t seem to function in. Suddenly, a crimson drop splatters onto the test beneath you, dark red staining and spreading into the white paper.

Remmick’s nostrils flare and eyes squeeze shut as the scent hits him like a wave. By connection and nature, the other students can smell it too, but as Remmick’s eyes open to land on you, he directs them to focus elsewhere. With brows furrow in confusion, your fingers seek out the source at the opening of your nostrils where the slickness of blood quickly coats them. 

One second, you’re staring down at the drops of blood along the pads of your fingers and in the next, Remmick is standing before you, expression concerned as his hand gently curls around your bicep.

“Let’s step outside,” His tone is soft and hushed with a cocking of his head toward the classroom door.

You nod absentmindedly, standing from the desk to follow behind him with fingers pressed against your bleeding nose.

The empty silence of the hallway engulfs the two of you, the classroom door shutting behind to leave you truly alone. Your eyes catch sight of a white tissue in his hand as it lifts toward your face. 

“Oh, thank-” You attempt to take the tissue from Remmick’s hand only to be immediately cut off by an “aht” as he shakes your hand away, raising his own to dab the tissue against your nose.

Your eyes widen, staring up at him dumbfounded and confused by the seemingly tender gesture, a stark contrast to the treatment you’ve received from him thus far. You hate the way your body reacts to it, the flip in your stomach, the breathless hitch in your throat, the flutter in your chest. 

He notices your confused expression and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips, “What? It’s just blood.” 

Just as your vision flickers down to admire the plumpness of his lips, he gently tilts your head back, pressing the tissue gently against your nose.

“Didn’t know I was workin’ you hard enough to bleed.” He murmurs, but you can hear the subtle amusement in the words. Your face twists up with a weak scoff, a mixture of bewilderment and frustration flaring at the weak concern, but it fizzles out just as quickly with his close proximity and caring touch. 

Does he not know how much of a pain in the ass he is to you?? Surely he does, there’s no way it’s not intentional.

“It’s just been a stressful week is all.” You manage to reply, earning a soft hum in response.

He pulls the tissue from your nose and you sniffle in response, tilting your head back down to meet his eyes.

“Well, you need to take better care of yourself then, darlin’.” The pet name stuns you, spurring a warmth to bloom and grow inside you. Still stunned as you watch his fingers close around the bloodied tissue before it disappears into his pocket, not thinking anything strange of it.

His nostrils flare with a deep inhale, squaring his broad shoulders and expression growing stern. “I’ll have to mark your exam as incomplete. You’ll just have to come back tomorrow night and make it up.”

Taken aback, your head shakes side to side at the directive.

“Seriously? On a Friday night?” You blurt out, anger flaring by what you perceive to be yet another set back personally handed to you by Professor Remmick.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have more important plans to attend to?” He feigns concern, leaning closer and daring you to argue further, effectively fizzling out the protest that was dancing on your tongue.

“No…” With a quiet mumble and deep sigh, your shoulders slump in defeat.

“Good.” A flicker of that cocky grin flashes across his lips before it disappears. “Now, go collect your things and head home. Ya need to get some rest.” He leaves no room for argument, reaching for the handle and holding the door open for you to reenter the classroom.

Even with stubborn reluctance you follow his instructions, collecting your bag and now blood-stained exam, returning the latter to his desk where he stands.

“Tomorrow at 8. Don’t be late.” Remmick’s low voice stops you just as you’re about to depart the classroom, eyes locked from over the rim of his glasses.

You nod curtly before stepping out and back onto the cement pathways leading to your dorm room, a nervous excitement bubbling in your gut at the prospect of being completely alone with Remmick in the empty classroom tomorrow night. James won’t be happy about your delayed Friday night plans, but part of you that you’re afraid to acknowledge doesn’t really care.

Given your spectacle in class, you know you should be in bed, likely mindlessly scrolling through social media while trying to fall asleep. But instead, you’re sat in the desk chair, laptop open and idly sitting on the google home screen as your professor permeates your thoughts once again. Your thumb nail has found a temporary home amongst teeth as your mind tries to make sense of the confusing mix of emotions he’s brought onto you, trying to make sense of him. This feels beyond the scope of a standard crush, and there’s something… off about him.

Within the solitude of the now empty classroom, Remmick sits at his desk replaying the events and images of you over the last few days in his mind. Your now dried and bloody tissue rests in his palm before he lifts it to his nose, taking a deep inhale of the intoxicating, coppery scent. A groan rumbles in his chest, the smell sending an electrifying frenzy through his body all the way to his already hardening cock. He palms it as his mouth begins to salivate and fill with thick drool, bringing the tissue to his lips and sucking, trying to taste the little bit of your blood that’s trapped within the fibers.

You can’t quite put your finger on what it is about him. He looks rather young for a professor, especially compared to the others at your university. Despite this, there’s an older, wiser air to him in the way he speaks and runs the class. Old-fashioned, for sure. No electronic assignments, a stark contrast to what’s been the standard for as long as you can remember, instead insisting that everything be hand-written and physically turned in. Then, there’s the way he speaks during lectures. You’ve always appreciated professors that are passionate in their taught subjects, but Remmick seems to be on another level. He speaks of the Irish folklore myths and legends with such reverent fondness and innate knowledge, knowing the information like the back of his hand.

The hints of your blood spread across his taste buds, making his cock throb and strain against the tight fabric of his slacks. Hands make quick work of the button and zipper to free his hard, red cock from its confines, the swollen head leaking as he sucks the last little bit of your blood from the tissue. It tastes just as divine as your cunt. He hums, reaching for the panties kept within his back pocket with his free hand. He wraps the fabric stained with your juices around his leaking tip, letting his own arousal mix with the evidence of yours.

Then there’s the somewhat off-putting love all the other students in class seem to have for him, the kind of power he seems to hold. Like Chris. The way he ripped his eyes from ogling your body the second Remmick seemed to notice, like a dog heeding its owner’s command. The Google search bar reflects back to your blank stare, questions and suspicions looming in your mind. You need to know more. With a sharp breath, your fingers land on the keyboard and type out “Remmick O’Brien” into the bar and hit search. Within seconds only 2 results are presented back, both of which are from your university’s website. One from an article welcoming him to the department, another from the department’s staff listing page. Your brows furrow and brain short-circuits for a brief moment of bewilderment. Everyone has some kind of digital footprint bigger than this. Shouldn’t there at least be some kind of result from whatever college he attended?

Remmick’s head falls back as the fabric slides down his thick, throbbing shaft, his hand guiding the slow, stroking movement. He imagines it’s your tight, wet cunt wrapped around his girth instead, squeezing and pulsing around him. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, tongue darting out to wet dry lips, low groans slipping out as he squeezes the flimsy fabric around the base of his cock. 

You think, searching for any memories where Remmick might’ve shared where he got his degree, surely he mentioned it during your first class. Boston, that’s it. “Remmick O’Brien Boston”. Search. 0 results. You huff, crossing your arms and leaning against the back of the chair. There’s just no way. No social media, you can understand. But not even a Dean’s List or Commencement article? Shit, did your university even verify his degree? Surely, they’d have had to… right? Teeth dig into your bottom lip, chewing on the cushioned flesh as your thoughts race with confusion. 

Remmick’s hand moves faster, jerking himself off with your panties and the lingering taste of your blood dancing on his tongue. The swollen tip continuously leaks and soaks into the fabric as his mind is filled with images of you in every goddamn position imaginable, remembering the way you called for him in your sleep, the way your cunt tasted, the sight of your doe eyes, the way your cheeks burn with a heady mix of frustration and desire for him. It’s just enough to get him there, to hold him over until tomorrow night, when this little game you’ve been playing finally comes to a head. When he can finally have you all alone and make you his.

You’re left with no answers to your questions, your lack of findings only fueling the conflicting emotions swirling inside you, adding to the nervousness residing in your gut ahead of tomorrow’s ‘make-up exam’ all alone with him. Sure that you can’t possibly get anywhere farther tonight along with the exhaustion weighing heavily in your body, you slam the laptop shut before standing from the desk, cutting out the lights and crawling into bed. It’s another in a string of recent nights where your professor has overtaken your thoughts and dreams, and as much as part of him is unsettlingly mysterious and frustrates you to no end… you don’t object to his residence there in your mind and fantasies, with an undeniable craving for more growing hungrier every day.

A choked groan of your name, a stutter of his hips, and a hard squeeze of his cock sends Remmick barrelling over the edge, his seed seeping into your panties. A dazed, sloppy smile adorns his lips at the sight before using the fabric to clean himself up as the high slowly wanes. Only one more day and he’ll have you fully within his grasp.

There’s an anxious gnawing in your stomach, a quickening of breaths with every step toward the old stone building that houses the Folklore class. It’s quiet. Not a soul in sight wandering the buildings this time of night on a Friday. You can hear the distant buzzing of cars, people in town just down the street starting their festivities for the night. Festivities you’d otherwise be partaking in, likely at your boyfriend’s frat house. Another sweaty party filled with drunk college kids, loud music, and meaningless conversations. Your boyfriend surprisingly didn’t seem too upset about your absence for the first part of the night, and you yourself aren’t too upset about it either.

The creaking of the building’s glass entrance doors echo down the empty hall, followed by your singular footsteps. You chew on your bottom lip as your feet bring you closer to the classroom door, taking a deep breath before entering. He’s the first thing you see, sitting at the desk fashioned at the front of the classroom grading papers. At the sound of your steps, his gaze rises from the collection of papers, meeting your eyes over the brim of dark framed glasses with the flicker of a smile and a murmur of your name.

“I do hope you’re feeling better tonight.” Remmick leans back into the leather chair, gaze slipping to taking in your form.

You step closer toward the edge of the desk, skin tingling under his probing gaze.

“I am, thanks.” A beat of silence. “So um, am I just finishing yesterday’s exam?”

“Oh, no. Of course not.” He chuckles as if you cracked a joke. “I made a new exam entirely for you. Can’t trust that one of your classmates didn’t give you the answers.”

There’s that cocky grin again, a playful gleam in his eyes. You stifle the scoff bubbling up your throat, eyes closing with a deep inhale at the insinuation you’d cheat. “Okay…”

Another stretch of silence hangs heavy in the air as you survey on another.

“You know,” He speaks up just before you can try to break the tension. “I suppose I’m glad things worked out this way. I’ve been meanin’ to have a talk with you.”

“Okay. A talk about what?” You ask, despite already knowing it must be about your ‘performance’. Preparing for the onslaught, you stand before him confidently, arms crossing as your hip leans against the edge of his desk..

“About your grades. Should come as no surprise to you that you- well… you’re not doin’ well.” His fingers interlock, hovering above his chest as if contemplating. “Lackluster papers, missin’ assignments, often distracted in class… Quite frankly, I don’t think you’re puttin’ in the effort.”

You sigh, briefly looking away to collect your thoughts. Confrontation has never been one of your strong suits, let alone being put on the spot like this.

“Look, I know I’ve missed some assignments or turned them in late but it’s just… I’m busy-” You regret the words as soon as they come out and in turn, word vomit the rest. “I’m taking a lot of classes. I work. I have club meetings. Sometimes I just forget or I’m too tired to-”

“Well,” A scoff cuts you off, shaking his head with a smirk at your excuse. Your body grows fidgety with a wave of frustration at his interruption and dismissive gesture. “Your classmates have the same responsibilities and still manage this class just fine.”

His eyes bore into yours as he stands, sliding one hand into the pocket of his slacks as the other plants onto the desk, propping up his leaning body. “In fact, I’ve spoken to a few of the other professors and they all speak very highly of you. You seem to excel in their courses. A star student.” His words are almost mocking as he takes another step closer.

“So tell me… why is that?” His gaze is scrutinizing all the while that soft smile plays on his lips. He’s enjoying this.

You falter for a moment, mind racing as you contemplate what to say.

“I just… sometimes I don’t have time to do everything and I have to decide what’s more important to work on…”

“Oh. So what you’re saying is this class isn’t a priority for you, is that it?” 

“No, that’s not-”

“That just because this class isn’t in your major, it’s not just as important and worthy of the same attention?” 

It feels like the walls are closing in around you, like he is closing in around you. Judging and critiquing, pushing your buttons to get a rise. 

“No.” The word comes out weakly as your mouth goes dry, a lump forming in your throat as your heartbeat quickens.

“What is it then, hm? Does all the intelligence in that pretty lil head of yours just dissipate the moment you cross that threshold?” He motions dramatically with the words, tilting his head to survey you, waiting expectantly for whatever grand explanation you’ll give.

Your eyes widen with a scoff, mouth falling open in shock before resentment replaces it with the furrow of your brows.

“You’ve got some nerve…” You bite back with a little surge of confidence, even as his face softens in amusement. In that moment, your mind flutters back to your findings, or lack thereof, on his background and credentials online. 

“It’s funny how hard you’re hounding me right now, considering it’s unclear if you’re even a real professor. Yeah, I looked you up and there was nothing to be found. Nothing from the college you attended, no Dean’s List or Commencement mentions, no social media. In fact, if you hadn’t started working here, there’d be no evidence you even existed!” The volume and confidence in your voice rises with anger at the disrespect that tainted his words, reflecting his own scrutinization back onto him as you place your hands on your hips.

You watch his expression, looking for any signs of panic or his smirk faltering. But it doesn’t. The lines around his eyes crinkle as a rumbling snicker slips past his lips that pull into a wide grin. He nods, almost out of respect at your little outburst before leaning in closer.

“Ya know, if you put this much effort into your classwork, you wouldn’t be failin’ miserably… maybe think about that.” He mutters lowly, eyes trailing over your faltering expression before he steps back and turns away, leaving you to stand there dumbfounded.

You’ve always known yourself to be a little sensitive at times and you can’t deny the way his words sting.

“You don’t have to be so mean about it!” Your voice has lost its edge despite you, faltering along with your resolve.

“Aw, sensitive lil thing aren’t ya?” A low hum as he looks toward you again, tone lacking any actual sympathy or concern. “In more ways than one I bet…” His voice lowers, gaze faltering to trail down the curves of your body.

“What?” The question comes out in a shocked whisper, brows furrowing as you question if you actually heard him right.

“Maybe it’s somethin’ else that’s affectin’ your performance in class… maybe it’s this boyfriend of yours.” His eyes fall to the inaccurately placed Claddagh ring on your finger. “Or maybe it’s just me…”

You roll your eyes at the first suggestion before they narrow with the second. Of course it’s him. 

“Uh, yeah. I’d say it’s you.” You retort matter of factly. “You’re the one being an ass and critiquing every little thing I do-”

“No, no…” Remmick shakes his head softly, his voice a breathy rasp. “I’ve seen the looks you give me, even when you think I’m not lookin’. Not to mention those long bathroom breaks you take. Ya think I don’t know what you’re doin’ in there?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, had you really been so foolish to think he wouldn’t notice? You didn’t think you were that obvious, but you’re definitely not about to admit it to him.

“You’re crazy. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You hope your words are more convincing than you feel. 

He grins at you, seemingly unconvinced by your proclamation. Despite your words, you feel your body ignite with his close proximity and unwavering gaze from your eyes and body, prompting the return of that familiar pulsing between your thighs that he always seems to awaken.

“Well, let’s just see about that then, hm? If that’s the case, you should be able to pass this oral exam no problem.” 

Oral exam? 

The words send a spike of anxiety through you. Written exams are enough of a pain in the ass, but being expected to verbally recall the answers on the spot with no time to contemplate? You grimace, watching as he steps back to return to the leather chair like he’s settling in for a show.

“Please,” Remmick gestures. “Both palms on my desk.”

“W-What?” Your body stills, staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“Both. Palms.” The deep timbre of his words sends an electric charge through your immediately flushing body.

With a gulp and lick of your dry lips, you obey. Stepping closer, you turn to face the desk, your back facing toward him merely a foot behind you and lay your palms flat against the cool, polished wood surface.

You mentally chastise and thank yourself for wearing a skirt tonight, the slight lean forward of your body causing the fabric to hike up just a fraction, enough to feel the air hit the tender flesh of your upper thighs. You can only imagine the view from his seated position behind you, heat spreading up your neck and across your face at the thought.

“Let’s start with something easy, hmm?” Remmick’s eyes glide up your bare legs to where the hem of your skirt rests dangerously close to the curve of your ass. 

“Name 5 of the ancient Celtic gods.”

A brief moment of silence passes as your brain catches up to your ears, recalling the names repeatedly mentioned throughout class.

“Rhiannon, Morrigan, Lugh… Dagda… Bridgid.”

No praise or criticism, he simply moves on.

“And the four cycles?”

“Mythological, Ulst-” You stutter, feeling the sudden touch of calloused fingers gently caressing the back of your knee, a ticklish sensation that shoots up your thigh and throughout your body.

“Ulster… Fenian… Cycle of Kings.” Your voice and breaths waver as his touch, feathery light and painfully slow, glides up the back of your thigh, leaving a trail of rising goosebumps behind.

“Good.”

“Profes-”

“When is St. Brigid’s Day?” A swift cut off, moving onto the next question.

“The first day of spring?”

“Which is?” The dancing of his fingers along your thigh ceases, waiting as you hesitate and struggle to recall the answer. You’re almost ashamed of the way your body reacts to his halted touch, spurring a flicker of panic and racing heartbeat. 

“Um, February… 1st?” It’s a guess you’re only half-confident in, but a lucky one nonetheless as his touch resumes, hand moving under your skirt to caress the bare skin of your ass.

A shaky exhale escapes your parted lips, eyes fluttering closed as the stroke of his fingers turns the kindling fire flickering in your core into a wild blaze. Your body automatically reacts by bending forward slightly to lean into the touch, the meat of your ass pressing fully against his palm. You hear his hum of approval, the palpable hunger in his low, breathy voice.

“The mother goddess of Tuatha Dé Danann?” Remmick pushes the fabric up, fully revealing the round globes. No panties… He groans at the sight of wetness already slicking your puffy folds and the sound goes right to your core, a shiver running up your spine as the air hits your bare cunt. You can’t think straight, mind focused solely on your professor’s groping and caressing hand, your most private regions exposed to his ravenous gaze.

Remmick himself is distracted until a moment passes and he realizes you haven’t answered the question. “Oh, don’t disappoint me now, darlin’. You’re doin’ so good.”

The soft creak of leather hits your ears, his presence shifting behind you until the fabric of his clothes brushes along your skin, mouth hovering by your ear.

“Fuck,” You mutter under a breath, palms growing sweaty against the polished wood. Think. “Morrigan?”

The tsk hits your ears as a disappointed chide, all movement stalling before his gravelly voice whispers, “Lay your chest against the desk.” Breath fanning over your ear, a sick and anxious thrill shoots through you with the command.

You obey and bend over fully, upper body flush against his desk. The coolness of the polished wood is a welcomed shock, a stark contrast to your blazing, flushed skin. He makes you wait, only just for a moment to make you antsy and anxious, fidgeting with anticipation for what you know will inevitably come. 

Knowing doesn’t prepare you.

Remmick’s hand collides with your bare ass, a smacking sound that echoes off the walls of the empty classroom, pulling a broken gasp from your parted lips pressed against the desk. 

“One more chance. Try again.”

He’s trying to utterly wreck and humiliate you. You try your best to think of the correct answer, at this point you’ve nearly forgotten the damn question.

“Fuck. Eriu? I don’t know!” He grins at how pathetically desperate you sound, returning the incorrect answer with another resounding smack against the tender, already reddening skin of your rear. 

Your body jerks against the desk with a whimper and then a yelp when he spanks you again, unexpectedly and hard. He’s not sure he wants to stop, seeing the way his handprint is beginning to mark the flesh, watching the way it jiggles with each smack. “That one was for being a mouthy little brat.”

Another smack. 

The pain bleeds into pleasure, reverberating throughout your body and spreading right to your soaking cunt. You don’t think you’ve ever been so wet in your entire life. Remmick seems to take notice too as his calloused hand soothes the red, beaten flesh.

“I think I’ve found the root of your problem, sweetheart.” He hums before his hand trails down and two digits slowly part your puffy, slick lips. The two of you moan softly in tandem, body trembling with the touch as your pussy throbs with want, with need.

“Too busy thinkin’ with this,” A flinch and a gasp as his hand spanks your cunt. “instead of your brain. Isn’t that right?”

You can barely nod, too focused on the way his fingers soothe your pussy just as they’d done with your ass.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, Professor.” You answer obediently, voice thick with barely restrained desperation that mirrors your restless body, unable to resist the impulse to rock your folds back against his hand.

“Poor thing. ‘Course you can’t pay attention when all the blood in your body is between your legs.” The outline of his hard cock nudges along your thigh, breath hot against your ear. “I could give you what you need, darlin’. If you want me to fuck you, all you have to do is ask…”

His touch stalls, waiting for you to obey, to beg him for what you both know you want. But even in the haze of arousal, a moment of clarity passes through as you remember your supposed commitment, the loyalty you’ve already broken.

“I shouldn’t… I- I have a boyfriend.” Your protest is shamefully weak and your cunt, well she has a mind of her own, pulsing pathetically in protest from the lack of your professor’s touch. Remmick knows it too, can hear it in your voice, can see it in your eyes.

“Ah, yes. James…” A breathy laugh and devious smirk. “Quite a flirt from what I hear.”

Your eyes widen, visibly taken aback. “Excuse me?” You question despite knowing you have no ground to stand on to be hurt or upset, given you yourself have already crossed the line.

And Remmick, well, he’s more than heard that James is a flirt. He happens to know that in this very moment under the guidance of that powerful little hivemind, James is currently tangled up with his spawn and your classmate, Sarah. It hadn’t taken much convincing at all. 

He won’t tell you that part, though. You don’t need to know. You’ve already let Remmick in, let him touch you in your most intimate area and now, all you need is a little push.

“You heard me, darlin’. Your little ‘relationship’ clearly isn’t serious to him… and judgin’ by the way you’re soakin’ my fingers right now, I’d say it’s not serious for you either.”

A muffled gasp slips past your lips with a flick of his calloused fingers stroking your throbbing, needy clit.

“This pretty lil pussy is all wound up. She needs a man to take care of her… all you gotta do is beg me for it.” He practically growls, hunger lacing the filthy words as his lips brush against your ear.

The little voice reminding you of your commitment to James grows quieter until fizzling out all together, leaving just the raw arousal for your professor behind. Your body is trembling and aching for it, to give into your forbidden carnal desires.

“Yes,” The words slip eagerly from your tongue with a languid nod. “Please.”

The pad of his thumb continues its ministrations against your clit as his other hand grabs your jaw, not enough to hurt but enough to exert his power. His fingers flex against your soft skin, grip forcing your lips into a pout that you’re sure looks as pathetic as it feels, even as a newly discovered part of yourself loves it.

“Please what? You’re gonna need to get more specific, darlin’.” Remmick taunts, lips moving to the blazing skin of your cheek.

“I want you to fuck me. Please, Sir.”

Remmick’s cock aches behind the confines of his slacks at the pure, unbridled need in your voice. He could push you further, make you beg and edge you until tears stain those pretty blushing cheeks. Hell, maybe he will later.  But for now, even he can’t hold back anymore.

Remmick uses his grip to turn your head to face him, the rest of your body quickly following suit as his lips crash against yours in a demanding kiss. It’s wet, sloppy, and full of ravenous hunger as you readily return it, lips moving in a frenzied, passionate dance. There isn’t an inch of space between your bodies pressing flush together, his hands greedily roaming your backside as your own grip onto his biceps to ground yourself amidst the dizzying sensations of his touch.

As soon as your lips part, his tongue delves in to explore and claim the depths of your mouth. He swallows your wanton moan at the feeling of his tongue against yours, licking and tangling together as one of your hands trails up his arm to thread your fingers into his short, curled strands of hair. Rumbling groans rise from his throat with the mixing of your spit and you’re too lost in a daze of arousal to question the thick, viscous consistency of his. You readily lap it up as the throbbing between your legs intensifies with every brush of his tongue against yours, every breath that presses your chests closer together.

With a shuddering gasp, Remmick pulls his lips from yours, a thick string of saliva still connecting your lips. He sees the same glazed over look in his eyes reflected in yours. With his hand cupping the side of your jaw, the calloused pad of his thumb slowly rubs along your now swollen bottom lip, breaking the chain of spit and collecting the rest off the plump skin. 

A grin appears as he pushes his slick thumb into your mouth, eyes locked in an intense gaze as you softly suck the remnants of the kiss from his finger. 

“Good girl” The raspy praise washes over you in a wave of sweet relief, settling into your knees that wobble under the weight of it. His praise is a refreshing drop of water down your parched throat, a substantial load off your shoulders that leaves you stumbling after weeks of persistent criticism.

A soft smacking sound leaves your lips with a slow pull of his thumb, dragging down to your chin before his palm leaves your face entirely. His body follows, eyes locked onto one another as he steps back, watching in amusement when your brows furrow in confusion from the loss of touch.

Your eyes follow as he casually sits back into the leather cushioned desk chair before you, thick fingers working the button and zipper of his slacks with practiced ease. “You wanna pass this class? Want me to fuck you? I can give you everything you want, baby, but you gotta earn it first. On your knees.”

All it takes is a slight push down of the waistband for Remmick’s aching cock to spring free and stand at attention in all its engorged glory, the swollen head red and leaking. Your eyes take in every detail, following the pulsing veins that run the length of his thick girth, mouth watering at the sight alone. It feels like you’re in a trance as your body slowly lowers until your knees land on the cold tiled floor, lips parted with every heavy breath flowing freely. On hands and knees you crawl toward him and his waiting cock, his own eyes flickering between your hungry expression and the sway of that sinful ass with each shift of your hips.

The movement halts once your shoulders become caged between his knees. A tentative glance up to those eyes staring back, shadowed by the overhead light behind him. There’s a light twinkling within them. It flickers, the white glimmer shifting to crimson before it disappears just as quickly. It should scare you, should send a shiver of fear down your arched spine… but it doesn’t. The heat radiating throughout your body, the hunger residing in your core only grows. The moment only adds to the looming mystery around your professor, but also, his intoxicating allure and pull.

Your gaze settles back onto Remmick’s leaking cock before you, watching as it twitches in anticipation before you can no longer deprive the both of you. With your tongue sticking out flat, it slowly drags along from the base to the tip, gathering a taste before curling to flick at the cleft marking the underside of his swollen head. A swirl to collect the drops of dripping pre-cum onto your tastebuds sends a shudder through his heaving chest, eyes falling half-lidded as he watches your pursed lips pepper kisses between kitten licks along his throbbing shaft.

“That’s it.” He breathes out, fingers anchoring into the hair on the back of your head when your lips finally wrap around him. The warm, wet cavern of your mouth feels better than he could’ve imagined, hot saliva engulfing his length with the teasing wiggle of your tongue that makes his breath hitch. 

The grip on your hair tightens with each inch that disappears past the plump curve of your lips, testing just how much of him you can take before a gag, pop, and a gasp bursts from your lips with the incessant nudging of his head deep down your throat. He smirks, tongue darting out to wet his lips when you do. But if anything, you’re determined and already craving more of the salty, heady taste of him.

A deep satisfaction settles into his bones, mixing with the sparks of toe-curling pleasure your mouth ignites throughout him. “Look at that,” A breathy chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Turns out you are good at somethin’ besides runnin’ your mouth.” He comments as his fingers work to undo the buttons of his shirt, voice beginning to strain when your tongue swirls around the tip with each bob of your head.

His words only spur you on more, prompting your fingers to reach for the waistband of his slacks and impatiently push them all the way down and off until there’s no barrier, no resistance to keep you from fully sliding yourself between his legs. Your arms straddle his strong, thick thighs, hand joining your mouth to move in sync stroking up and down the thick girth, eliciting a deep groan of approval.

Despite his fingers remaining tangled in your hair, he doesn’t try to guide or force your movements. He can tell by your closed eyes, the moans that vibrate through his length, the deeper you take him, the faster your mouth moves, the harder you suck, that you’re enjoying this as much as he is. So he lets you, reveling in the most pleasure he’s had in a long time, so long that the past pales in comparison to this, to you.

Then, you open your gorgeous eyes to lock onto his just as your free hand falls to cradle and rub his heavy, aching balls. All the strength in his body can’t stop the drawn-out moan that leaves his mouth or keep his eyes from rolling back. “Fuck… so good, darlin’.” The shaky guttural praise only heightens your resolve and hunger to a degree you’ve never felt before. You’ve been horny and aroused, but this, this is a different level entirely. 

Your lips pull from his cock with a wet pop while your hand continues to pump him, body lowering and back arching as your mouth moves down to his heavy sack. Your hot, heavy breath surrounds his balls before your mouth does, licking and swirling before gently sucking them into your mouth. Remmick practically growls at the intense stimulation and your eyes watch as his head falls back against the cushioned headrest. His jaw tenses, chest shaking with every exhale, veins protruding along the thick column of his throat.

You lather his sensitive sacks with attention amid the dripping arousal between your legs. You crave more, you need more. More of him, every inch you can get, every depraved sound and moan you can pull from those plush lips. You’re lost in the throes of hunger, with the desire to please him, to taste every inch of his alluring body you can. 

With a mind of its own, your tongue slips lower in hopes of exploring more of him and his pleasure, moaning as it lavishes the stretch of skin below his balls. An experimental zigzag of your tongue against it elicits a shaky moan, Remmick’s eyes opening to watch you sink lower and lower. Your own eyes lock onto his as your tongue flicks out, giving a testing lick against his puckered hole. It’s uncharted territory for you, but you can’t resist the intoxicating urge to keep going, especially with the way his breath hitches.

“Fuck, I knew you were a filthy girl.” He groans as the feeling of your mouth becomes dizzying, his cock rock hard in your still stroking hand. His grip on your hair tightens as he spreads his legs wider, shifting lower on the seat to grant easier access as your tongue presses firmer with another lick and swirl against his asshole. 

“Oh god,” Remmick’s head begins to fall back before he catches himself, forcing his eyes to focus on the dirty, sinful sight of you. On all fours, back arched with that perfect ass in the air, glazed eyes fluttering up at him with your mouth buried beneath his balls. “You eat your boyfriend’s ass like this?” His breathy, strained voice reflects his quickly crumbling composure, only furthered by the way he can practically feel your smile in response.

“Uh uh,” You gasp, only pulling from his core enough for him to hear you. “Just you, Sir.” He groans as you waste no time diving back in, your tongue incessantly licking and prodding at the sensitive hole with a one-track minded hunger that reflects his own.

Fuck, you’re going to be his unravelling. Body, flesh, soul… his entire being.  

The pleasure coursing through him builds at a rapid pace, balls drawing up tight with the coil in his lower stomach with each lewd lick and moan muffled against him.

Using the leverage of his fingers in your hair, he pulls your mouth from him with a guttural curse, almost busting right there on the spot upon seeing your expression. You gaze up at him like a newborn dazed and drunk off their first taste of blood. His cock aches and twitches at the sight before his lips collide against yours with a swift speed.

Strong arms lift your body with his as he stands from the chair, tongue invading your mouth to taste himself from you. A few stumbling steps and the cool surface of the desk presses against your backside. “Bend that ass over the desk again, now.” Long gone is the cool, snarky and collected persona from earlier, stripped away to leave only the primal, feral lust behind.

There’s no time wasted on stripping off the remainder of your clothes, the impatient need to be connected on the most carnal level taking precedence. With your body resuming its previous position bent over his desk, Remmick settles behind you and flips up the flimsy fabric of your skirt. His cock slots between your puffy lips, thrusting slightly to coat the length with your slick. 

“Tell me you want it,” He pleads, rasping your name against your ear with his last bit of restraint, your sweet, depraved begging the last thing he needs to hear before he fully lets go. You swear you’ve never heard your name sound so beautiful and with such desperation before.

“Yes. God, yes! Please, Professor. I need you.” Your bottom lip trembles as you beg, your entire body thrumming with need, hips rocking back in an attempt to chase the promise of what you both know only he can give you. Ecstasy beyond your comprehension, beyond what you’ve ever experienced. 

The swollen head of Remmick’s cock breaches your cunt with a shuddering exhale before slowly sinking deeper. He leans back to watch his length disappear inside you, the tight, wet warmth of your pussy surrounding him inch by inch until he’s fully hilted inside. Your gasping whimpers are like music to his ears, tight walls fluttering as they attempt to accommodate his thick girth. So thick it makes your eyes roll back, stretching you farther than anyone before ever has, filling your walls with an intoxicating ache that borders on painful.

“So fucking tight.” He grits out through clenched teeth, fingers digging into the fat cushioning your hips. His eyes follow the slow unsheathing of his cock from your cunt before a roll of his hips sends him plunging back into you with a deep, hard thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs.

Remmick doesn’t give you time to catch it, setting a rough and fast pace as one hand slides up the curve of your spine to land at the nape of your neck, curling his fingers around the tender skin with a tight grip.

“Oh, fuck!” A high-pitched whine bursts from your lips, body jerking against the desk with every sharp thrust that sends your fingers searching for purchase along the cool, smooth wood. His body brackets you against the solid furniture, forcing you to take the full brunt of his relentless pounding.

The desk begins to shake, sending pens, papers, and books clattering to the floor. The sound joins the echoing symphony of your combined, debauched moans and the slapping of skin against skin.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Remmick’s hand moves from your neck to collect your hair, gripping and tugging it back. “For me to fuck you and put you in your place, hm?” His voice takes on a unrestrained, feral quality that matches the way he’s fucking you, juxtaposing your choked, wanton cries.

“Yes, Sir!” The way your words jumble with each thrust only makes his cock twitch and pulse inside you, you’re already so fucking wrecked and drunk off him.

“Yeah? You wanna be my good little pet?”

“Oh god, yes!”

“Yes what?” A harsh tug on your hair and a sharp smack against the bouncing meat of your ass. “Yes, Professor!” Actual tears begin to brim your eyes with the overwhelming sensations, your pussy throbbing from the unrelenting abuse of his cock while aching for more.

A near animalistic growl rises from his throat, sweat beading and slipping down his forehead. His eyes are locked onto the way your ass recoils with each stroke, the sight of his length repeatedly disappearing inside you, the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him like it never wants to let go.

A shift in angle sends your hands grasping at the edge of the desk with a high-pitched gasp, stars beginning to bloom behind your eyes. Remmick’s length rubs against that spongy spot inside you that James could never find, sending radiating waves of intense, hot pleasure through you. It rapidly builds, walls fluttering with a deep throb.

“Fuck, harder!” You beg, craving more of that intoxicating feeling that already has your body trembling.

“Louder!” He demands, not caring if anyone left on this side of campus at this time of night hears the utterly depraved sounds he’s pulling from you.

“Please! Harder, Sir!” You use all your breath to raise your voice into a desperate cry, one that seems to satisfy as his cock hits that sweet spot even harder. It’s nearly too much to handle as your nails dig into the wood, feeling yourself begin to slip. “I-I think I’m gonna-”

“Let it out. Give it to me. Now.” 

Your body immediately reacts by obeying his command, releasing a flood of pure, blinding ecstasy with a scream of carnal rapture. Remmick’s guttural groan joins you at the feeling of your juices flooding his shaft, walls spasming around him with a vice grip. He fully hilts himself inside you as his own release crashes over him, cock twitching as it fills up your cunt with his seed, possessive satisfaction mixing with pleasure.

The sounds of your heavy breaths fill the room, chests heaving and cores pulsing together, still joined. Remmick slowly pulls his now drenched cock from your pussy, smirking at the way it clenches around nothing from the loss. Despite the intense orgasm and his seed stuffed deep in your cunt, he’s not done with you yet as desire still simmers between your bodies.

He tears off the already unbuttoned shirt hanging off his arms, one hand rubbing along the arched curve of your back as the other grips the base of his cock. His tip slides up and down your soaking slit, collecting your combined juices before teasingly rubbing the swollen head against your puckered, unused hole.

“Ya ever let your boyfriend fuck you here?” The raspy question meets your still ringing ears with the feeling of his tip teasing your asshole.

“No, Sir…” Teeth dig into your bottom lip and even as your body tenses with the unfamiliar territory, a thrill shivers down your spine with the prospect.

A grin pulls at his lips, muffling a short, rumbling chuckle before he lets the thick saliva pooling in his mouth drip out onto his cock and your unused hole.

“Good…” His voice hits your ears like honey laced whiskey, twinged with an undeniable dark, defiling possessiveness. 

He braces a hand on the desk next to your waist as the other guides his cock, steadily pushing forward until the head breaches your opening. A grunt and heavy breath escapes him at the feeling, your ass is even tighter than your pussy, the walls resisting his exploration. 

“Just relax, baby. Let me in.” The cooing of his voice combined with the soothing touch along your spine sends sparks fluttering throughout your body. You try to focus on steadying your breaths, relaxing your muscles to ease his way inside.

With each inch he sinks deeper, his body lowers until he’s fully hilted inside your pulsing walls and his chest is flush against your back. The uncomfortability slowly fades as he holds himself there, waiting for your breaths to even out until all that remains is a foreign ache and you fully relax around him.

“There you go.” Remmick praises as he withdraws and thrusts back in at a leisurely pace with less resistance, hearing the soft gasps that begin to leave your lips. “You’re takin’ me so well, baby.”

The praise goes right to your head, already spinning and hazy from the stark shift in his disposition, from rough and feral to the now slow and tender that makes your stomach flutter. This, it’s just as charged with hunger and desire, but far more intimate. 

His hips set a steady rocking rhythm, thick cock stretching your virgin ass with long and deep strokes. You feel every heavy breath tickle the sensitive skin along your neck and ear, making your walls squeeze around him, rewarding you with another wrecked moan from his lips.

Soon, the shift in your moans and body is palpable, eyes fluttering as waves of pleasure flow through you with each plunge of his dick inside you. “Yeah… you like that, darlin’?” A breathy whisper fans across your cheek with a tilt of Remmick’s face, pressing his forehead to rest against the side of yours.

“Yes. You feel so good, Sir.” You answer with a needy whimper, turning your face slightly to lean into him. A shuddering sigh passes through him in response and despite already being inside your tight ass and feeling the parts of your body flush with his, he still needs more, needs to be even closer, needs you to feel absolutely surrounded by him.

“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He murmurs, lips brushing against the flushed skin of your cheek as one hand searches for more, reaching around to grasp at the low neckline of your shirt. A slight tug is all it takes for the soft mounds of your bare breasts to fall free, his hand immediately moving to grab and massage the tender flesh.

“Yes, Professor.” You practically purr for him, the added stimulation of his fingers tweaking your sensitive nipples making your eyes roll back.

“Say it, baby. Tell me who you are.” Remmick pushes further, shifting his other hand to cover yours that’s holding onto the edge of the desk. He flinches as the silver of your Claddaghs ring burns, but he doesn’t pull away, instead slotting his fingers into the spaces between yours.

“Oh, god. I’m your good girl, Sir.” You answer with a broken, breathy moan, eyes opening to meet his half-lidded ones.

They gaze back at you with affection and desire, his lips parted for every breath and groan to slip freely. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this.” The blissed out expression on your face, the glazed look in your eyes, put there by him. 

There’s no time to respond before his lips capture yours in a deep, passionate kiss. The speed of his thrusts picks up slightly, spurred on by your moans that muffle against his lips. You part them, tongue freely and languidly sliding in to tangle with his. That familiar blinding heat begins to bloom in your core once again, heightened and building with each added layer of stimulation.

The full, pleasureful ache of his cock in your ass. The feeling of his body and skin flush against yours. His hand fondling your breast, teasing your hard, sensitive nipples. The other covering yours, fingers laced together. Mouths swallowing each other's moans as your tongues engage in a dance as old as time.

The forbidden filth and yet intimacy of it all.

Remmick can tell you’re getting closer, can feel it in his own tightening coil. Your breaths quicken, tight walls squeeze rhythmically around him, your sweet, muffled sounds growing higher-pitched.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, waves of pleasure crashing over your trembling body. Remmick holds you through it as he cums with you, the tight grip of your ass around his thick girth spurring on new heights of ecstasy. Your moans and heavy breaths mingle, chests heaving in sync as he pumps you full, laying claim to both of your holes with his seed. 

You remain there together joined over the desk, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms until it eventually wades. Remmick presses a soft kiss to your lips before easing his length out of your sensitive, still pulsing hole. You remain there on the desk, catching your breath and waiting for the haze of ecstasy to clear from your mind amidst the sound of shuffling clothes, the buckling of Remmick’s belt. 

When you lift your chest from the desk to stand straight and turn around, Remmick’s stepping back toward you. His slacks are back on, shirt pulled back over his arms but still unbuttoned. His hands quickly return to your body, moving to adjust and fix the neckline of your shirt as you look at him with those doe-eyes.

“Now, given our… discussion, I’m willin’ to look past those missing assignments.” A wide, bashful smile pulls at your lips, matching his own grin as his hands drag down your sides.

“And my exam? Do I get an A?”

“Greedy now, are we?” He chuckles at the tilt of your head, the innocent batting of your eyelashes. “I’ll give you an A… but you’re still gonna run home and do your reading for the next class like a good girl, aren’t you?” His voice grows deeper, hands sliding to smooth the now wrinkled fabric of your skirt back down over the curve of your ass.

“Yes, Sir.” You answer with a dazed smile, heart still pounding against your ribcage.

Remmick’s gaze shifts down as his hand moves to take yours in his palm. His expression falters for a moment upon seeing the Claddagh ring gifted to you by James before a smug grin returns.

“Ya know, the way you’re wearin’ this ring… it means you’re single.” Your eyes shift down to watch as he reaches for it, already prepared for the burning sting once he grasps and slowly pulls the silver band off the column of your finger. He turns it so that the heart is facing inward and slides it back onto your right ring finger. “That means you’re in a relationship.”

You blink in confusion, unaware there was a significant meaning in the ring’s placement, James had surely never told you so either. The feeling of your professor’s fingers along your jawline snaps you from your thoughts as he gently lifts your face to meet his once more.

“And don’t be mistaken. It’s not with that boy, either… You’re mine now, ya understand?”

Part Two ->

[flixpii]

You’re still being reported.

Do better. There’s victims of the acts that you’re romanticising. If you’re a victim yourself, that’s still not an excuse.

Stop writing rape.

okay… no one owes you a confession to justify writing anything.

no one is required to disclose their trauma, victimhood, personal history, or life story in order to write dark fiction. no one has to ‘prove’ they’re allowed to explore certain subjects in fiction, and spreading the idea that people need to publicly identify themselves as victims before they’re ‘allowed’ to write about certain topics is invasive, harmful, and extremely weird and entitled.

my work is tagged and my warnings are there. AGAIN, you’re responsible for curating your own space. block me, mute me, unfollow me, filter the tags, or stop reading. those are literally your options. i’m not going to argue about that with ppl who purposely ignore warnings and then act shocked by the content they chose to read.

leave me alone 😭

[freakytikigifs]

Jack O'Connell as Paddy Mayne SAS: Rogue Heroes 2.02

[cherryxhaze]

The Sweet Pain of Charity

Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal x Fem!Reader

Masterlist Summary: You're the sole survivor of your group, left restrained, suspended, and at the mercy of the Jimmies. Your friends suffered a gruesome fate the crazed group called 'charity' and now it's your turn. Only Sir Lord Jimmy has a different kind of charity in mind for you, one he'll deal himself. WC: 5.5k Warnings/Tags: MDNI 18 + ONLY. Dead Dove. Non/Dub-Con. Mentions of gore, blood, torture, and skinning. Forced Sex and Breeding. Exhibitionism (all the Jimmies are adults). Knife Play. Fingering. Squirting. Overstimulation. Nipple Play. Bondage. Dom/Sub dynamic. Rough Sex. Unprotected P in V. Spanking. Hair Pulling. Breeding. Religious/Satanist Themes. A/N: This has taken me months to write through writer's block and life lifing, but it's finally done. Please heed the warnings before continuing. GIF is mine.

The smell of copper permeates the damp air of the shed, mixing with the earthy scents of soil and herbs, ones you'd collected just earlier that day. Blood and discarded flesh surround you and even with your eyes closed, the images are burned into your retinas, the smell stinging your nostrils, the sound of their cries growing quieter and fatigued with every strip of skin torn from their bodies, the sounds of your assailant's laughter joining and eventually, the repulsion ejecting from their stomachs.

Your own sobs have quieted though fear still rages, coursing through your body that twitches and trembles with every footstep that draws near. Still, you are left untouched, forced to bear witness to the torture and slow deaths of the people you've shared your daily life with for months.

The muscles in your arms ache and there's a now dull burning in your wrists where the rope has dug in, tied to the beams above. Countless tears have made your eyes grow swollen and red, nose congested and making every breath a choked sob in your lungs. You wonder when it'll be your turn, every nerve in your body on edge in anticipation.

Why haven't they touched you yet?

Do they truly seek to torture you most of all by witnessing the others before they finally turn their blades onto you?

A heavy silence hangs in the space, so thick and palpable it raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

"Howzat?" A single voice asks casually, carrying all the cockiness and power only the leader of such a twisted group could. You don't need to open your eyes to know it's him. Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal, he called himself. Clad in a pristine purple tracksuit and excessive gold jewelry, his followers quickly recite the phrase back in an exhausted chorus.

There's a soft shuffle of fabric and then footsteps, each one drawing closer to and you tense up instinctively, breath catching in preparation for the onslaught of pain. Only it doesn't come. The steps stall, coming to a halt before you. His presence is unmistakable, consuming the space around you, but you don't dare open your eyes to truly face him.

"And then there was one." Sir Jimmy remarks, eyes trailing over your shaking form in satisfaction, huffing out an amused chuckle at the way your eyes remain squeezed shut almost defiantly.

"Old Nick sees potential in you…" His form circles yours, a predator surveying their prey. "He says our fingers should grow, and you may yet be one… if you have what it takes."

Fresh tears break past the rim of your closed eyes with a muffled sob from the fresh wave of fear his words and closeness bring you. They slip down your cheeks, wet and warm to join the leftover stains of your earlier bouts of anguish.

Jimmy, however, seems to quickly lose patience. His body is back in front of yours instantly, ring clad fingers grabbing onto your chin with a firm, chastising grip.

"Focus." The fingers from his free hand snap close to your ears, making you jerk away instinctively though his grip and the ropes keep you in place. "Open your eyes before I gouge them out and make you choke on them."

A sharp, stuttering inhale passes through your nostrils in a weak attempt to gather courage, but you gather it none the less, swollen and tired eyes slowly fluttering open. A few blinks and your once blurry vision comes into focus, with his face as the first thing you see.

Up close, you can see the lines etched along his forehead from years traversing and terrorizing the land along with the infected. The flush of his skin, tinted red from being out in the sun unprotected. The blue of his eyes are bright, eccentric, and yet hold a deranged kind of light fitting of his actions. He seems pleased by your compliance, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

"Ahh, and what a shame that would be… so pretty." A chill runs down your spine while a rotten teeth flashing grin spreads across Jimmy's face.

Now with your full attention, the warmth of his fingers leaves your skin and settles on his own jaw as he backs away, surveying your restrained form.

"But, before you can become a finger… you have to pass the test."

Your eyes shift from Jimmy to the source of a sudden movement, one of his followers rising off the nearby bench as if standing at the ready, cleaning off his bloodied knife, Moira's blood, with a worn cloth in preparation.

"No no no, Jimmy." he placates the member with a raised hand. "Old Nick has another kind of charity in store for this one." One of his thick fingers points toward you, bobbing up and down with the words full of an unknown, terrifying promise. "And he wants me to deliver it myself."

His presence is so captivating you barely notice the confused, bewildered expressions of the Jimmies, even obscured under their makeshift masks, they look at each other in unexpected surprise. It only fills you with more unease and dread, the feeling clawing its way up your spine with each step Jimmy takes closer until you can feel his breath against your skin, slick with sweat and tears.

A silver gleam catches your eye and you notice a small knife within Sir Lord Jimmy's hand, pulled from the waistband of his tracksuit. Your back grows rigid as it taunts you, blood running cold through your veins as you're face to face with whatever torture awaits, and its executioner.

Despite anticipating it's touch, the feeling of the cool metal against your skin makes you flinch with a sharp inhale, a response that only goads him on more. The tip of the blade teases the burning skin of your cheek, pressing just hard enough to not quite break skin but with the threat of it lingering before it trails down to your neck in a cruel caress. A lump lodges in your throat with it, breaths growing fast and heavy while Jimmy takes his time, soaking in every reaction of the blade gliding further down and over your chest until catching on the loose collar of your shirt.

Your gaze follows his and the movement of the blade as it stills, only to glance up to his pursed lips. "Tsk tsk tsk" the sound of his tongue clicks behind them, and you find yourself ashamedly fixating on the supple pink flesh. "You won't be needing this."

A flick of the wrist sends a button flying, lost in the dirt beneath. Fresh air hits the newly exposed sweat slick skin, goosebumps rising with it. Another button clatters. Jimmy moves with an uneasy calm, taking his time to unwrap a present until your shirt falls completely open, nipples growing hard at the vulnerability and cool air.

"Oh, Old Nick was right to save you for last…" Jimmy's voice comes out lower, almost as a snicker while his eyes transfix on your bare, fluttering chest. The tip of his knife traverses the curve of fat until finding your hard, sensitive bud standing at attention for him. As if your body knows he's your lord, even if your mind hasn't quite caught up yet.

You don't realize you're holding your breath until it floods out in a sharp gasp, the tip of the blade teasingly flicking your nipple. He smiles at your whimpers, free hand gripping the back of your head as your body tries to flinch away.

"Shhh, not to worry, lass." Your reddened eyes lock onto his and a sick anticipation fills your bones with it. Sick and warm, tingling up your thighs. Shame turns in your gut with it, with the way all you can focus on is him and the new flicker of pressure between your thighs.

The raw flesh sitting in small piles around you and the fellow Jimmies behind him begin to fade into the background in a blur.

"In fact, I think you might even enjoy it." You hadn't even noticed the blade moving down your stomach until it's notching against the waistband of your pants, teasingly pressing against the tensioned band until the tear of fabric fills the dead silent barn.

The now loosened piece of clothing begins to fall, leaving you completely bare before him. You don't have the strength to look down at your naked and vulnerable form, at the way your thighs tremble. Whether from fatigue or humiliation or a twisted arousal, you don't want to acknowledge. You can only look at his face taking all of you in, lips parted in a unreadable expression that you can only hope holds a plan that doesn't end in a torturous death.

When his now intense gaze meets yours again with a tightened grip on the back of your head, a heavy gulp slides down your throat. "Do you want me to touch you?" His words are low and thick, nearly breathy while the cool metal of his knife meets the inside of your warm, shaking thigh. It slowly begins to trail upward to where a pressure is rapidly building.

He watches you, transfixed to every flutter of emotion passing through your wet eyes, to every stuttering breath, to the way your thighs strain under the impulse to squeeze them shut.

The headiness of his voice, the intensity of his blue eyes, and the anticipation of his wandering touch sets off a war of emotion and raw desire within you. Your consciousness begins to lose grip on the reality of the situation, of the sick depravity having already occurred and the real danger you lie within the face of while an electric, primal, and gnawing need pulses in your cunt, taking over all rational sense of mind.

A tightened grip and harsh tug sends your head jerking back before you feel his hot breath against your ear, lips brushing the skin with his words full of dwindling restraint. "Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal does not repeat himself, lass."

The threat and sudden stillness of the blade against the soft skin of your inner thigh is all you need. "Yes, Sir." The mutter of compliance comes out between heavy and fast breaths, the fear lodged into your spine heightening once again.

A beat of silence passes and you're sure you've fucked it all up, that any silly glimmer of hope you had of mercy is gone with the fear of what he might do with that knife, so close to your most intimate place. You wait, bracing for the impact of searing pain from the blade before it's pressure against your thigh dissapears completely.

You're sure he's toying with you, waiting for your defenses to drop just before catching you off guard again. Only the pain of a cut or slice doesn't come. Instead, the warmth of skin passes over your folds and sends a shock of pleasure through your restrained and suspended form, body jerking and back arching in response.

A hearty and cruel chuckle meets your shaky gasp, the tight grip on your hair keeping you in place from squirming away as his fingers press more firmly against your slit.

"Oh ho ho," his rotten teeth flash your way with a sick glee. "Looks like your wee cunt was crying for me too."

A fresh wave of embarrassment hits you and replaces the lingering fear, eyes squeezing shut as they threaten to fill to brim with fresh tears, thighs attempting to clasp around his wandering hand. Only the flat of his palm slaps your pussy, harsh and chastising, yanking you back in line with a yelping whimper.

"Ah ah, you were doing so well." His voice holds a sickly sweet tone of taunting encouragement. "You wouldn't want to disappoint Old Nick now, would you?"

This is a different kind of torturous torment, the scratchy rope digging in and rubbing your wrists raw as your limbs start to feel more like lead than flesh with each passing minute. A dizzying mix of arousal and repulsion swarming your head, body yearning to lean in to pleasure yet shrivel away in disgust.

His hand remains unmoving, cupping your sex before you realize he's waiting on an answer, on obedience. The realization hits like a wave that if you want to hang on to any chance of your survival tonight, obedience is what you'll need to give.

A sniffle with a deep inhale. "No, Sir Jimmy." The words scratch along your throat, dry from screams and sobs. With a few flutter of your lashes, the vision of him clears before you once more, waiting and studying you with an amused awe glimmering in his blue eyes.

"Good."

Not a second is spared before his thick fingers are moving again, working your sensitive bud with short and slow strokes, working you open for him until you're practically begging for more just like he knows you will. Your teeth clench and grit, attempting to hold back any whimpers his touch draws from your throat.

You don't dare look away from him again, and his face is a better target than the gore surrounding you. In fact, as you focus in on the intensity of his eyes, on the intoxicating caress of your clit, awareness of the surroundings fades entirely.

There's a twisted yet boyish charm about him that begins to consume you, in the soft sway of his golden locks with each brush, in the way his pink lips are parted with increasingly heavy breaths passing through.

They mimic the flow of yours, barely stifled by your pursed lips that tremble in time with your thighs. Jimmy is fixated on every response your body gives, the warmth that spreads against his hand with the rushing of your blood, clit pulsing and swelling against his touch, watching you unravel for him despite yourself.

In a split second his touch slips, dipping lower to curl his digits into your slick cunt. The unexpected intrusion catches you off guard, stubborn resistance slipping with your jaw going slack and a gasping moan bursting out. A throaty chuckle rumbles from his chest in amusement, your wet warmth coating his fingers.

The pads of his fingers press into the spongy spot along your wet walls that knocks the breath from your lungs, knees buckling beneath but the ropes around your wrists holds you in place. The grip on your hair loosens, free hand falling to grasp onto the fat of your ass to restrain you even further before his fingers begin a relentless pace.

The velour of his tracksuit presses against the bare, flushed skin of your side, body heat radiating into yours. There's no escape from him, from the stroke of his two digits against your walls. The pleasure quickly drowns out any shame that could arise from the wet sound that spreads from where your bodies meet.

"F-fuck…" A low whimper slips from your lips as each pass of his fingers adds to the growing pressure building with the incessant prodding of your g-spot. You're entirely helpless and at the crazed leader's mercy, but the thought seems to only add to your arousal.

"Tha's it…" There's a breathlessness to his voice and words mumbled against your ear, feeling the frantic pulsing of your walls around him. The juices leaking from your cunt spread down his hand, coating the rings that press into your flesh.

Any grip on reality you have left is quickly fleeting, unable to control the way your body and mind are giving in so easily to your basic animal impulses. The moans fall freely from your open lips, growing higher in pitch with the intensity of the pressure building in your core, a wave threatening to crash over with just a little… push.

Your head falls back with a strained squeal as the dam breaks, cunt gushing against his still plunging fingers. The obnoxious sound is drowned out from your ringing ears, hips rocking with every rhythmic clench of your cunt.

"Oh!" Jimmy exclaims, watching your pussy squirt and body writhe with a gleeful satisfaction. Only when your breaths calm do his fingers slip from inside you to instead spread the wetness along your slit.

"Look at the mess you made." The touch dissapears from your sex only to lift to your line of sight. The jewelry adorning his fingers shines even brighter under the lights with your juices coating them. "Now, be a good lass and clean up after your self."

There's no pause for an answer before the pads of his fingers swipe along your bottom lip, coaxing them open to slide along your tongue. Lost in the ecstasy still buzzing throughout your body, you hum softly at the taste of yourself, lips wrapping around the metal rings to gently suck the slick covering his fingers. The sweet tangy taste of your cunt spreads along your taste buds and his blue eyes watch with content.

"See? Charity's not so bad, aye?" His head tilts, eyes watching every flutter of your lashes and the way your lips purse, feeling the brush of your tongue.

"No, Sir." The obedient mumble leaves your lips just as the string of saliva attaching them to his fingers breaks.

A pleased hum meets you in response, "then surely you can handle another."

The return of his fingers into your sensitive pussy spurs a jolt in your limbs, tensing from the intensity still pulsing in your core. They curl just right, wasting no time to mercilessly rub that spot that feels like it's on fire, electric and liquid, spreading and burning you up from the inside. Each pass rips a cry straight from your lungs, thighs trembling from fighting the impulse to clasp around his hand.

The metal of his rings dig into the flesh of your ass with a tightening grip, but it's nothing in comparison to the sensation of his fingers, building up another tidal wave before the last one has fully waded. He watches the ragged breaths move through your heaving chest, catching in your throat with each curl of his digits.

Sweat beads on your skin, the velour of his suit clinging to you just as the warmth of his breath does, panting against your neck.

"Please, lord!" You're babbling and stuttering, the pathetic whine the only thing you can muster out. The thrusting of his fingers drains whatever power is left from your body, held within his hands like a toy, pliant and oh so responsive.

"You beg so sweetly, lass." The mocking and gravelly edge in his voice infiltrates your entire body with a toe-curling jolt, eyes rolling back at the sound. The toes of your boots dig into the sweat, slick, and blood splattered dirt below, the only thing keeping your body grounded and steady aside from the restraints burning your wrists and his remaining grip on your ass.

The sudden wet glide of his tongue, tasting the salt of the sweat and tears coating your jawline sends you unraveling again with a shout, entire body tensing and convulsing under the weight of the ecstasy his well kept hands rip from it. The sight of your juices squirting out of your greedy cunt, soaking his hand and the soil below captivates him entirely, fills every fiber of his body with a prideful fascination.

The sound of your sweet cries, the way your body shakes and trembles under his touch makes him ache painfully, you can feel it pressing incessantly against your thigh, begging for attention. He watches your soft and flushed flesh jerk and jolt while his fingers torture your swollen clit, rubbing loose circles around it as the last of your juices drip from your pussy.

The breaths sucked into your lungs feel raw and ragged, electricity buzzing through your limbs with the fading high that leaves a nearly overwhelming sensitivity in its wake. A sensitivity Jimmy either cares less about or is intentionally taking advantage of to push you to your limits. You can barely make out his form through tear blurred vision, half-lidded with exhaustion.

"Hmm…" Jimmy pauses and hums thoughtfully, "no, not enough. He demands more."

The words barely register before the moving touch of his fingers returning to your sore cunt does, letting out a pathetic whine in protest. "P-please, I can't!"

The tears glistening in your pleading eyes only serves to arouse him even more, earning the chastising click of his tongue. "Oh, but you can. And you will." His thick fingers slide back in to caress your sensitive walls, finding that spongy spot with ease like the back of his hand. "He's watching."

The curl of his digits hits like a white hot branding, walls clasping down around him instinctively at the nearly unbearable intensity. Tears fall freely, choked sobs bubbling up your throat with the strokes of his fingers. The erratic rolling of your hips does little to lighten the weight of his touch, forcing you to take the excruciating intensity of his touch against your overstimulated pussy.

"Your cries are Old Nick's delight." Jimmy purrs against the shell of your ear, sending a wave of tingles that cascade down your body. Your pussy is gripping him so tight he can barely move his hand, only rocking his curled fingers against your bruised g-spot faster and faster. You're not even sure how much you have left to give, but feel that pressure building once again, growing until you're sure you'll burst at any second.

It's not long before that dam breaks again with one last flick of his wrist, now drenched and slick with the cum that readily seeps from your weeping cunt. The shouts and cries that mark your orgasm echo off the wooden walls of the barn, a scream far different from the ones that'd inhabited the space earlier. Your walls pulse in protest at the loss of his touch, fingers ripped away before Jimmy takes a few steps back and watches the climax course through your body.

His blue eyes follow the way your entire body collapses, unable to hold yourself up any longer under the weight of overstimulated pleasure that shakes through you. The rope scarring your wrists is the only thing keeping your form suspended over the dirt below. He admires the way your flesh shakes, thighs wobbling and streaked with your slick. The sheen of sweat covering your skin glistens under the light, nipples hard against the cool air, eyes swollen from the endless stream of tears. You're a beauty.

You're the one.

Your head lulls to the side in exhaustion, propped against your arm to keep it from hanging. The rampant flurry of emotions and sensations that have raged through your body in the last hour leaves you near oblivious to the surroundings, until a shushing sound beckons your attention.

Despite the lack of noise now filling the space, he silences it anyway with a raised and pointed finger, eyes closing with a cock of his head, the soft whish of those blond curls with it. It appears as if he's listening intently, something calling out and whispering dark scripture into his ears.

Then, a wide smile splits his face, rotten teeth peeking through that reflect the nature of his next words.

"Yes, Old Nick is pleased with you." Jimmy chuckles and a tension you forgot was held within your shoulders eases and goes slack with the rest of your tired body. "He deems you worthy."

His arms cross and his body shifts, standing directly ahead to admire your form. The beat of silence that passes begins to fill with unease, slowly swirling in the pit of your stomach.

"But not as an ordinary Jimmy, no no no." Your gaze falls onto his shoes as they begin to scuff along the dirt floor, taking leisure steps closer. "He has far bigger plans for you."

Fingers still damp from your slick softly brush away the sweat drenched strands of hair sticking to your face away, tucking them behind your ear almost gently. A tenderness you can't fully trust, before slipping down to outline the frame of your face.

"You're special, aye. Deserving of a special and infernal mission from our Father."

Just when the touch begins to feel too good to distrust, it retreats and him with it, returning to circle you like prey. Your entire body aches, muscles stretched and worn from being restrained for too long but you muster what little strength remains, settling your feet back flat on the ground to hold yourself up again. Pain radiates everywhere, from your thighs to your lower back, to your biceps and burning wrists.

"Old Nick commands for our strength, our claws, our kingdom… to grow." Jimmy's voice projects his preaching to the whole room, to the onlookers you'd forgotten were even there and the reminder sends a fresh wave of embarrassment to join the heat flushing your skin.

"And you…" Your body jerks slightly at the sudden touch of his fingers slowly trailing down the curve of your spine. "Are his chosen vessel. He has ordered me, his favorite son, to plant the seed of our future fingers, of our unholy lineage..."

The soft fabric of his velour suit presses fully against your back with an unmistakable hard outline against your ass. Both hands move to tickle down your sides, sending a cold wave of shivers with it until they come to rest on your hips.

The warmth of his breath inches closer to your ear. "You will be bestowed the greatest honor Old Nick has to offer. My bride. My vessel to breed and birth our sons of Hell."

Hot flesh now presses against your lower back and you can't help the way your walls clench in anticipation. There's no going back now, no fighting it, and it's a far better fate than a torturous death, right?

Ringed fingers curling around the base of his cock shift him, angling the swollen head to dive between your lips as the other maneuvers you, guiding your ass back and spine arched to meet the final act of tonight's charity. He doesn't give it to you right away, opting instead to drag out the anticipation further with his tip slowly parting your lips and gliding back and forth. Your slick coats his shaft, each nudge against your overstimulated clit sending a tremble down your thighs.

He teases until your cunt is practically begging for it, drooling and pulsing with a deep seated need to be stretched and filled and even then, he holds out further. "Is that what you want, lass? You want me to fuck and breed you till you can no longer think straight, is that it?"

Your entire body reacts with a twitch, leaning back into him and answering before your lips can, earning a shaky chuckle under his breath in response.

"Yes… Sir Lord Jimmy." The desperate words come out as a plea, squeaking out from your hoarse, dry throat.

The truth is Jimmy can barely hold himself back any longer if he wanted to and your words of submission act as the firing shot at a race, one shift of his hips notching the head at the entrance of your fluttering cunt before sinking in, slow and steady. You gasp at the intrusion and lack of time to adjust as each thick inch stretches your sensitive walls far more than his fingers did, filling them with a deep, toe-curling ache. It knocks the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping once he's fully seated inside and unmoving, his blue eyes nearly rolling back as he relishes in the way your wet, hot heat envelops him.

You brace for impact, expecting a ruthless onslaught right away but it doesn't come. Not yet at least. Those golden curls graze your shoulder, hot breaths tickling your ear just as his warm hands latch onto your waist before sliding higher and higher, until they're cupping the weight of your bare breasts. His thick digits squeeze and fondle them, the cool metal of his rings a relief against your blazing skin.

A gasp leaves your throat when his hips rock while still balls deep, burrowing himself even deeper when his fingers pinch and roll your hard nipples between them mercilessly. Jimmy loves the way it makes your cunt clench around him, the little high-pitched whimper muffled through your lips. "Yesss. You'll make a perfect wee bride of Satan, won't you?"

Your walls feel stretched to their limits, throbbing with the sweetest pain you've ever felt, so consuming that your head feels light. "Yes, Sir Lord!" There's a tension held tight within your entire body, waiting and begging for the overwhelming glide of his cock using your cunt for all it's worth.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, your pussy begins to feel empty with the retreat of his cock, only for a sharp thrust of his hips to collide with your ass, sending a wailing cry past your lips and body jerking forward from the force. His hands quickly return to your hips to steady you as he sets a relentless pace, holding you in place to take the brunt of every long and hard thrust, forcing you to take every thick inch over and over again.

Debauched screams and moans echo off the wooden walls, filling the space along with the sound of his hips slapping your ass. Your sore, fluttering walls can barely keep up with the rapid pistoning of his girth, the swollen tip of his dick already beginning to bruise your cervix. He's using you like a personal fuck toy with no choice but to take it and god, it's appalling and yet so arousing that you can't even muster feeling ashamed about it. You're completely lost.

Your cunt weeps for him just as your eyes do, tears streaking down your warm cheeks and juices coating his length. Your tits bounce in a way that feels obnoxious and obscene, moving in sync with the speed of his thrusts, the heavy weight of his balls slapping your clit with it.

"Fuck, your cunt really was made for this, wasn't it? She's gripping me so tight, lass." Jimmy groans, voice low and strained, a sharp slap joining it with a stinging pain radiating across your jiggling ass. The throaty whine you let out in response makes his cock jerk inside you.

"Yes! Fuck, yes! S-so good, Sir!" You're babbling desperately, voice wavering with the brutal pounding, practically drunk off the pleasure and pain.

"Look at you," A hand leaves your hip to grasp your hair, wrapping around and tugging to pull your head back with it. "So pretty and dumb off this cock already?"

The cries and moans scratch along your dry throat, growing strained against the relentless, toe-curling stroking of his girth along your sensitive walls. Every muscle in your body grows tense and coiled, electricity tingling through every inch of your body. It grows so intense your eyes roll back, slick dripping onto his balls, the pressure building in your core becoming unbearable.

"Tell me you want it." Jimmy huffs, so close to letting go completely, delivering another slap that'll leave a mark onto the meat of your ass.

"Please! Oh! I want it, want your cum!" He loves how utterly obedient and devoted you already are, so desperate to fulfill your newly appointed role that it makes his heavy balls draw up tight, threatening to spill over.

Another thrust is all it takes to send the tidal wave crashing over with a scream, pure ecstasy spreading over your entire body just as your cunt clamps around him, soaking his entire length with your cum. The vice grip of your velvety, fluttering walls sends him over the edge with a guttural shout that spirals into a string of whimpering moans, ropes of his hot seed spilling past your cervix and flooding your womb. He grinds himself even deeper, making sure it takes root to breed your eager cunt.

He remains there buried deep, forehead pressed against your shoulder until the the last of his cum is emptied inside you, heavy breaths beginning to even out. Once the last waves of pleasure begin to fade and his softening cock pulls out of your abused pussy, the weight of exhaustion hits and aches throughout your entire body, evidence of the tiring ordeal.

Tucking himself back in to the no doubt now ruined velour tracksuit pants, Jimmy takes a moment to admire his work with a tired but satisfied smirk, watching the slight tremble of your muscles, his milky seed dripping out of your raw cunt. Your half-lidded eyes are too heavy and dazed to notice.

A beat passes before his voice rings out. "Cut her down." Then, the soft shuffle of a few feet and fabric along with the nearly tear-jerking anticipation of relief. "She's not going anywhere."

[cherryxhaze]

The Sweet Pain of Charity

Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal x Fem!Reader

Masterlist Summary: You're the sole survivor of your group, left restrained, suspended, and at the mercy of the Jimmies. Your friends suffered a gruesome fate the crazed group called 'charity' and now it's your turn. Only Sir Lord Jimmy has a different kind of charity in mind for you, one he'll deal himself. WC: 5.5k Warnings/Tags: MDNI 18 + ONLY. Dead Dove. Non/Dub-Con. Mentions of gore, blood, torture, and skinning. Forced Sex and Breeding. Exhibitionism (all the Jimmies are adults). Knife Play. Fingering. Squirting. Overstimulation. Nipple Play. Bondage. Dom/Sub dynamic. Rough Sex. Unprotected P in V. Spanking. Hair Pulling. Breeding. Religious/Satanist Themes. A/N: This has taken me months to write through writer's block and life lifing, but it's finally done. Please heed the warnings before continuing. GIF is mine.

The smell of copper permeates the damp air of the shed, mixing with the earthy scents of soil and herbs, ones you'd collected just earlier that day. Blood and discarded flesh surround you and even with your eyes closed, the images are burned into your retinas, the smell stinging your nostrils, the sound of their cries growing quieter and fatigued with every strip of skin torn from their bodies, the sounds of your assailant's laughter joining and eventually, the repulsion ejecting from their stomachs.

Your own sobs have quieted though fear still rages, coursing through your body that twitches and trembles with every footstep that draws near. Still, you are left untouched, forced to bear witness to the torture and slow deaths of the people you've shared your daily life with for months.

The muscles in your arms ache and there's a now dull burning in your wrists where the rope has dug in, tied to the beams above. Countless tears have made your eyes grow swollen and red, nose congested and making every breath a choked sob in your lungs. You wonder when it'll be your turn, every nerve in your body on edge in anticipation.

Why haven't they touched you yet?

Do they truly seek to torture you most of all by witnessing the others before they finally turn their blades onto you?

A heavy silence hangs in the space, so thick and palpable it raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

"Howzat?" A single voice asks casually, carrying all the cockiness and power only the leader of such a twisted group could. You don't need to open your eyes to know it's him. Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal, he called himself. Clad in a pristine purple tracksuit and excessive gold jewelry, his followers quickly recite the phrase back in an exhausted chorus.

There's a soft shuffle of fabric and then footsteps, each one drawing closer to and you tense up instinctively, breath catching in preparation for the onslaught of pain. Only it doesn't come. The steps stall, coming to a halt before you. His presence is unmistakable, consuming the space around you, but you don't dare open your eyes to truly face him.

"And then there was one." Sir Jimmy remarks, eyes trailing over your shaking form in satisfaction, huffing out an amused chuckle at the way your eyes remain squeezed shut almost defiantly.

"Old Nick sees potential in you…" His form circles yours, a predator surveying their prey. "He says our fingers should grow, and you may yet be one… if you have what it takes."

Fresh tears break past the rim of your closed eyes with a muffled sob from the fresh wave of fear his words and closeness bring you. They slip down your cheeks, wet and warm to join the leftover stains of your earlier bouts of anguish.

Jimmy, however, seems to quickly lose patience. His body is back in front of yours instantly, ring clad fingers grabbing onto your chin with a firm, chastising grip.

"Focus." The fingers from his free hand snap close to your ears, making you jerk away instinctively though his grip and the ropes keep you in place. "Open your eyes before I gouge them out and make you choke on them."

A sharp, stuttering inhale passes through your nostrils in a weak attempt to gather courage, but you gather it none the less, swollen and tired eyes slowly fluttering open. A few blinks and your once blurry vision comes into focus, with his face as the first thing you see.

Up close, you can see the lines etched along his forehead from years traversing and terrorizing the land along with the infected. The flush of his skin, tinted red from being out in the sun unprotected. The blue of his eyes are bright, eccentric, and yet hold a deranged kind of light fitting of his actions. He seems pleased by your compliance, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

"Ahh, and what a shame that would be… so pretty." A chill runs down your spine while a rotten teeth flashing grin spreads across Jimmy's face.

Now with your full attention, the warmth of his fingers leaves your skin and settles on his own jaw as he backs away, surveying your restrained form.

"But, before you can become a finger… you have to pass the test."

Your eyes shift from Jimmy to the source of a sudden movement, one of his followers rising off the nearby bench as if standing at the ready, cleaning off his bloodied knife, Moira's blood, with a worn cloth in preparation.

"No no no, Jimmy." he placates the member with a raised hand. "Old Nick has another kind of charity in store for this one." One of his thick fingers points toward you, bobbing up and down with the words full of an unknown, terrifying promise. "And he wants me to deliver it myself."

His presence is so captivating you barely notice the confused, bewildered expressions of the Jimmies, even obscured under their makeshift masks, they look at each other in unexpected surprise. It only fills you with more unease and dread, the feeling clawing its way up your spine with each step Jimmy takes closer until you can feel his breath against your skin, slick with sweat and tears.

A silver gleam catches your eye and you notice a small knife within Sir Lord Jimmy's hand, pulled from the waistband of his tracksuit. Your back grows rigid as it taunts you, blood running cold through your veins as you're face to face with whatever torture awaits, and its executioner.

Despite anticipating it's touch, the feeling of the cool metal against your skin makes you flinch with a sharp inhale, a response that only goads him on more. The tip of the blade teases the burning skin of your cheek, pressing just hard enough to not quite break skin but with the threat of it lingering before it trails down to your neck in a cruel caress. A lump lodges in your throat with it, breaths growing fast and heavy while Jimmy takes his time, soaking in every reaction of the blade gliding further down and over your chest until catching on the loose collar of your shirt.

Your gaze follows his and the movement of the blade as it stills, only to glance up to his pursed lips. "Tsk tsk tsk" the sound of his tongue clicks behind them, and you find yourself ashamedly fixating on the supple pink flesh. "You won't be needing this."

A flick of the wrist sends a button flying, lost in the dirt beneath. Fresh air hits the newly exposed sweat slick skin, goosebumps rising with it. Another button clatters. Jimmy moves with an uneasy calm, taking his time to unwrap a present until your shirt falls completely open, nipples growing hard at the vulnerability and cool air.

"Oh, Old Nick was right to save you for last…" Jimmy's voice comes out lower, almost as a snicker while his eyes transfix on your bare, fluttering chest. The tip of his knife traverses the curve of fat until finding your hard, sensitive bud standing at attention for him. As if your body knows he's your lord, even if your mind hasn't quite caught up yet.

You don't realize you're holding your breath until it floods out in a sharp gasp, the tip of the blade teasingly flicking your nipple. He smiles at your whimpers, free hand gripping the back of your head as your body tries to flinch away.

"Shhh, not to worry, lass." Your reddened eyes lock onto his and a sick anticipation fills your bones with it. Sick and warm, tingling up your thighs. Shame turns in your gut with it, with the way all you can focus on is him and the new flicker of pressure between your thighs.

The raw flesh sitting in small piles around you and the fellow Jimmies behind him begin to fade into the background in a blur.

"In fact, I think you might even enjoy it." You hadn't even noticed the blade moving down your stomach until it's notching against the waistband of your pants, teasingly pressing against the tensioned band until the tear of fabric fills the dead silent barn.

The now loosened piece of clothing begins to fall, leaving you completely bare before him. You don't have the strength to look down at your naked and vulnerable form, at the way your thighs tremble. Whether from fatigue or humiliation or a twisted arousal, you don't want to acknowledge. You can only look at his face taking all of you in, lips parted in a unreadable expression that you can only hope holds a plan that doesn't end in a torturous death.

When his now intense gaze meets yours again with a tightened grip on the back of your head, a heavy gulp slides down your throat. "Do you want me to touch you?" His words are low and thick, nearly breathy while the cool metal of his knife meets the inside of your warm, shaking thigh. It slowly begins to trail upward to where a pressure is rapidly building.

He watches you, transfixed to every flutter of emotion passing through your wet eyes, to every stuttering breath, to the way your thighs strain under the impulse to squeeze them shut.

The headiness of his voice, the intensity of his blue eyes, and the anticipation of his wandering touch sets off a war of emotion and raw desire within you. Your consciousness begins to lose grip on the reality of the situation, of the sick depravity having already occurred and the real danger you lie within the face of while an electric, primal, and gnawing need pulses in your cunt, taking over all rational sense of mind.

A tightened grip and harsh tug sends your head jerking back before you feel his hot breath against your ear, lips brushing the skin with his words full of dwindling restraint. "Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal does not repeat himself, lass."

The threat and sudden stillness of the blade against the soft skin of your inner thigh is all you need. "Yes, Sir." The mutter of compliance comes out between heavy and fast breaths, the fear lodged into your spine heightening once again.

A beat of silence passes and you're sure you've fucked it all up, that any silly glimmer of hope you had of mercy is gone with the fear of what he might do with that knife, so close to your most intimate place. You wait, bracing for the impact of searing pain from the blade before it's pressure against your thigh dissapears completely.

You're sure he's toying with you, waiting for your defenses to drop just before catching you off guard again. Only the pain of a cut or slice doesn't come. Instead, the warmth of skin passes over your folds and sends a shock of pleasure through your restrained and suspended form, body jerking and back arching in response.

A hearty and cruel chuckle meets your shaky gasp, the tight grip on your hair keeping you in place from squirming away as his fingers press more firmly against your slit.

"Oh ho ho," his rotten teeth flash your way with a sick glee. "Looks like your wee cunt was crying for me too."

A fresh wave of embarrassment hits you and replaces the lingering fear, eyes squeezing shut as they threaten to fill to brim with fresh tears, thighs attempting to clasp around his wandering hand. Only the flat of his palm slaps your pussy, harsh and chastising, yanking you back in line with a yelping whimper.

"Ah ah, you were doing so well." His voice holds a sickly sweet tone of taunting encouragement. "You wouldn't want to disappoint Old Nick now, would you?"

This is a different kind of torturous torment, the scratchy rope digging in and rubbing your wrists raw as your limbs start to feel more like lead than flesh with each passing minute. A dizzying mix of arousal and repulsion swarming your head, body yearning to lean in to pleasure yet shrivel away in disgust.

His hand remains unmoving, cupping your sex before you realize he's waiting on an answer, on obedience. The realization hits like a wave that if you want to hang on to any chance of your survival tonight, obedience is what you'll need to give.

A sniffle with a deep inhale. "No, Sir Jimmy." The words scratch along your throat, dry from screams and sobs. With a few flutter of your lashes, the vision of him clears before you once more, waiting and studying you with an amused awe glimmering in his blue eyes.

"Good."

Not a second is spared before his thick fingers are moving again, working your sensitive bud with short and slow strokes, working you open for him until you're practically begging for more just like he knows you will. Your teeth clench and grit, attempting to hold back any whimpers his touch draws from your throat.

You don't dare look away from him again, and his face is a better target than the gore surrounding you. In fact, as you focus in on the intensity of his eyes, on the intoxicating caress of your clit, awareness of the surroundings fades entirely.

There's a twisted yet boyish charm about him that begins to consume you, in the soft sway of his golden locks with each brush, in the way his pink lips are parted with increasingly heavy breaths passing through.

They mimic the flow of yours, barely stifled by your pursed lips that tremble in time with your thighs. Jimmy is fixated on every response your body gives, the warmth that spreads against his hand with the rushing of your blood, clit pulsing and swelling against his touch, watching you unravel for him despite yourself.

In a split second his touch slips, dipping lower to curl his digits into your slick cunt. The unexpected intrusion catches you off guard, stubborn resistance slipping with your jaw going slack and a gasping moan bursting out. A throaty chuckle rumbles from his chest in amusement, your wet warmth coating his fingers.

The pads of his fingers press into the spongy spot along your wet walls that knocks the breath from your lungs, knees buckling beneath but the ropes around your wrists holds you in place. The grip on your hair loosens, free hand falling to grasp onto the fat of your ass to restrain you even further before his fingers begin a relentless pace.

The velour of his tracksuit presses against the bare, flushed skin of your side, body heat radiating into yours. There's no escape from him, from the stroke of his two digits against your walls. The pleasure quickly drowns out any shame that could arise from the wet sound that spreads from where your bodies meet.

"F-fuck…" A low whimper slips from your lips as each pass of his fingers adds to the growing pressure building with the incessant prodding of your g-spot. You're entirely helpless and at the crazed leader's mercy, but the thought seems to only add to your arousal.

"Tha's it…" There's a breathlessness to his voice and words mumbled against your ear, feeling the frantic pulsing of your walls around him. The juices leaking from your cunt spread down his hand, coating the rings that press into your flesh.

Any grip on reality you have left is quickly fleeting, unable to control the way your body and mind are giving in so easily to your basic animal impulses. The moans fall freely from your open lips, growing higher in pitch with the intensity of the pressure building in your core, a wave threatening to crash over with just a little… push.

Your head falls back with a strained squeal as the dam breaks, cunt gushing against his still plunging fingers. The obnoxious sound is drowned out from your ringing ears, hips rocking with every rhythmic clench of your cunt.

"Oh!" Jimmy exclaims, watching your pussy squirt and body writhe with a gleeful satisfaction. Only when your breaths calm do his fingers slip from inside you to instead spread the wetness along your slit.

"Look at the mess you made." The touch dissapears from your sex only to lift to your line of sight. The jewelry adorning his fingers shines even brighter under the lights with your juices coating them. "Now, be a good lass and clean up after your self."

There's no pause for an answer before the pads of his fingers swipe along your bottom lip, coaxing them open to slide along your tongue. Lost in the ecstasy still buzzing throughout your body, you hum softly at the taste of yourself, lips wrapping around the metal rings to gently suck the slick covering his fingers. The sweet tangy taste of your cunt spreads along your taste buds and his blue eyes watch with content.

"See? Charity's not so bad, aye?" His head tilts, eyes watching every flutter of your lashes and the way your lips purse, feeling the brush of your tongue.

"No, Sir." The obedient mumble leaves your lips just as the string of saliva attaching them to his fingers breaks.

A pleased hum meets you in response, "then surely you can handle another."

The return of his fingers into your sensitive pussy spurs a jolt in your limbs, tensing from the intensity still pulsing in your core. They curl just right, wasting no time to mercilessly rub that spot that feels like it's on fire, electric and liquid, spreading and burning you up from the inside. Each pass rips a cry straight from your lungs, thighs trembling from fighting the impulse to clasp around his hand.

The metal of his rings dig into the flesh of your ass with a tightening grip, but it's nothing in comparison to the sensation of his fingers, building up another tidal wave before the last one has fully waded. He watches the ragged breaths move through your heaving chest, catching in your throat with each curl of his digits.

Sweat beads on your skin, the velour of his suit clinging to you just as the warmth of his breath does, panting against your neck.

"Please, lord!" You're babbling and stuttering, the pathetic whine the only thing you can muster out. The thrusting of his fingers drains whatever power is left from your body, held within his hands like a toy, pliant and oh so responsive.

"You beg so sweetly, lass." The mocking and gravelly edge in his voice infiltrates your entire body with a toe-curling jolt, eyes rolling back at the sound. The toes of your boots dig into the sweat, slick, and blood splattered dirt below, the only thing keeping your body grounded and steady aside from the restraints burning your wrists and his remaining grip on your ass.

The sudden wet glide of his tongue, tasting the salt of the sweat and tears coating your jawline sends you unraveling again with a shout, entire body tensing and convulsing under the weight of the ecstasy his well kept hands rip from it. The sight of your juices squirting out of your greedy cunt, soaking his hand and the soil below captivates him entirely, fills every fiber of his body with a prideful fascination.

The sound of your sweet cries, the way your body shakes and trembles under his touch makes him ache painfully, you can feel it pressing incessantly against your thigh, begging for attention. He watches your soft and flushed flesh jerk and jolt while his fingers torture your swollen clit, rubbing loose circles around it as the last of your juices drip from your pussy.

The breaths sucked into your lungs feel raw and ragged, electricity buzzing through your limbs with the fading high that leaves a nearly overwhelming sensitivity in its wake. A sensitivity Jimmy either cares less about or is intentionally taking advantage of to push you to your limits. You can barely make out his form through tear blurred vision, half-lidded with exhaustion.

"Hmm…" Jimmy pauses and hums thoughtfully, "no, not enough. He demands more."

The words barely register before the moving touch of his fingers returning to your sore cunt does, letting out a pathetic whine in protest. "P-please, I can't!"

The tears glistening in your pleading eyes only serves to arouse him even more, earning the chastising click of his tongue. "Oh, but you can. And you will." His thick fingers slide back in to caress your sensitive walls, finding that spongy spot with ease like the back of his hand. "He's watching."

The curl of his digits hits like a white hot branding, walls clasping down around him instinctively at the nearly unbearable intensity. Tears fall freely, choked sobs bubbling up your throat with the strokes of his fingers. The erratic rolling of your hips does little to lighten the weight of his touch, forcing you to take the excruciating intensity of his touch against your overstimulated pussy.

"Your cries are Old Nick's delight." Jimmy purrs against the shell of your ear, sending a wave of tingles that cascade down your body. Your pussy is gripping him so tight he can barely move his hand, only rocking his curled fingers against your bruised g-spot faster and faster. You're not even sure how much you have left to give, but feel that pressure building once again, growing until you're sure you'll burst at any second.

It's not long before that dam breaks again with one last flick of his wrist, now drenched and slick with the cum that readily seeps from your weeping cunt. The shouts and cries that mark your orgasm echo off the wooden walls of the barn, a scream far different from the ones that'd inhabited the space earlier. Your walls pulse in protest at the loss of his touch, fingers ripped away before Jimmy takes a few steps back and watches the climax course through your body.

His blue eyes follow the way your entire body collapses, unable to hold yourself up any longer under the weight of overstimulated pleasure that shakes through you. The rope scarring your wrists is the only thing keeping your form suspended over the dirt below. He admires the way your flesh shakes, thighs wobbling and streaked with your slick. The sheen of sweat covering your skin glistens under the light, nipples hard against the cool air, eyes swollen from the endless stream of tears. You're a beauty.

You're the one.

Your head lulls to the side in exhaustion, propped against your arm to keep it from hanging. The rampant flurry of emotions and sensations that have raged through your body in the last hour leaves you near oblivious to the surroundings, until a shushing sound beckons your attention.

Despite the lack of noise now filling the space, he silences it anyway with a raised and pointed finger, eyes closing with a cock of his head, the soft whish of those blond curls with it. It appears as if he's listening intently, something calling out and whispering dark scripture into his ears.

Then, a wide smile splits his face, rotten teeth peeking through that reflect the nature of his next words.

"Yes, Old Nick is pleased with you." Jimmy chuckles and a tension you forgot was held within your shoulders eases and goes slack with the rest of your tired body. "He deems you worthy."

His arms cross and his body shifts, standing directly ahead to admire your form. The beat of silence that passes begins to fill with unease, slowly swirling in the pit of your stomach.

"But not as an ordinary Jimmy, no no no." Your gaze falls onto his shoes as they begin to scuff along the dirt floor, taking leisure steps closer. "He has far bigger plans for you."

Fingers still damp from your slick softly brush away the sweat drenched strands of hair sticking to your face away, tucking them behind your ear almost gently. A tenderness you can't fully trust, before slipping down to outline the frame of your face.

"You're special, aye. Deserving of a special and infernal mission from our Father."

Just when the touch begins to feel too good to distrust, it retreats and him with it, returning to circle you like prey. Your entire body aches, muscles stretched and worn from being restrained for too long but you muster what little strength remains, settling your feet back flat on the ground to hold yourself up again. Pain radiates everywhere, from your thighs to your lower back, to your biceps and burning wrists.

"Old Nick commands for our strength, our claws, our kingdom… to grow." Jimmy's voice projects his preaching to the whole room, to the onlookers you'd forgotten were even there and the reminder sends a fresh wave of embarrassment to join the heat flushing your skin.

"And you…" Your body jerks slightly at the sudden touch of his fingers slowly trailing down the curve of your spine. "Are his chosen vessel. He has ordered me, his favorite son, to plant the seed of our future fingers, of our unholy lineage..."

The soft fabric of his velour suit presses fully against your back with an unmistakable hard outline against your ass. Both hands move to tickle down your sides, sending a cold wave of shivers with it until they come to rest on your hips.

The warmth of his breath inches closer to your ear. "You will be bestowed the greatest honor Old Nick has to offer. My bride. My vessel to breed and birth our sons of Hell."

Hot flesh now presses against your lower back and you can't help the way your walls clench in anticipation. There's no going back now, no fighting it, and it's a far better fate than a torturous death, right?

Ringed fingers curling around the base of his cock shift him, angling the swollen head to dive between your lips as the other maneuvers you, guiding your ass back and spine arched to meet the final act of tonight's charity. He doesn't give it to you right away, opting instead to drag out the anticipation further with his tip slowly parting your lips and gliding back and forth. Your slick coats his shaft, each nudge against your overstimulated clit sending a tremble down your thighs.

He teases until your cunt is practically begging for it, drooling and pulsing with a deep seated need to be stretched and filled and even then, he holds out further. "Is that what you want, lass? You want me to fuck and breed you till you can no longer think straight, is that it?"

Your entire body reacts with a twitch, leaning back into him and answering before your lips can, earning a shaky chuckle under his breath in response.

"Yes… Sir Lord Jimmy." The desperate words come out as a plea, squeaking out from your hoarse, dry throat.

The truth is Jimmy can barely hold himself back any longer if he wanted to and your words of submission act as the firing shot at a race, one shift of his hips notching the head at the entrance of your fluttering cunt before sinking in, slow and steady. You gasp at the intrusion and lack of time to adjust as each thick inch stretches your sensitive walls far more than his fingers did, filling them with a deep, toe-curling ache. It knocks the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping once he's fully seated inside and unmoving, his blue eyes nearly rolling back as he relishes in the way your wet, hot heat envelops him.

You brace for impact, expecting a ruthless onslaught right away but it doesn't come. Not yet at least. Those golden curls graze your shoulder, hot breaths tickling your ear just as his warm hands latch onto your waist before sliding higher and higher, until they're cupping the weight of your bare breasts. His thick digits squeeze and fondle them, the cool metal of his rings a relief against your blazing skin.

A gasp leaves your throat when his hips rock while still balls deep, burrowing himself even deeper when his fingers pinch and roll your hard nipples between them mercilessly. Jimmy loves the way it makes your cunt clench around him, the little high-pitched whimper muffled through your lips. "Yesss. You'll make a perfect wee bride of Satan, won't you?"

Your walls feel stretched to their limits, throbbing with the sweetest pain you've ever felt, so consuming that your head feels light. "Yes, Sir Lord!" There's a tension held tight within your entire body, waiting and begging for the overwhelming glide of his cock using your cunt for all it's worth.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, your pussy begins to feel empty with the retreat of his cock, only for a sharp thrust of his hips to collide with your ass, sending a wailing cry past your lips and body jerking forward from the force. His hands quickly return to your hips to steady you as he sets a relentless pace, holding you in place to take the brunt of every long and hard thrust, forcing you to take every thick inch over and over again.

Debauched screams and moans echo off the wooden walls, filling the space along with the sound of his hips slapping your ass. Your sore, fluttering walls can barely keep up with the rapid pistoning of his girth, the swollen tip of his dick already beginning to bruise your cervix. He's using you like a personal fuck toy with no choice but to take it and god, it's appalling and yet so arousing that you can't even muster feeling ashamed about it. You're completely lost.

Your cunt weeps for him just as your eyes do, tears streaking down your warm cheeks and juices coating his length. Your tits bounce in a way that feels obnoxious and obscene, moving in sync with the speed of his thrusts, the heavy weight of his balls slapping your clit with it.

"Fuck, your cunt really was made for this, wasn't it? She's gripping me so tight, lass." Jimmy groans, voice low and strained, a sharp slap joining it with a stinging pain radiating across your jiggling ass. The throaty whine you let out in response makes his cock jerk inside you.

"Yes! Fuck, yes! S-so good, Sir!" You're babbling desperately, voice wavering with the brutal pounding, practically drunk off the pleasure and pain.

"Look at you," A hand leaves your hip to grasp your hair, wrapping around and tugging to pull your head back with it. "So pretty and dumb off this cock already?"

The cries and moans scratch along your dry throat, growing strained against the relentless, toe-curling stroking of his girth along your sensitive walls. Every muscle in your body grows tense and coiled, electricity tingling through every inch of your body. It grows so intense your eyes roll back, slick dripping onto his balls, the pressure building in your core becoming unbearable.

"Tell me you want it." Jimmy huffs, so close to letting go completely, delivering another slap that'll leave a mark onto the meat of your ass.

"Please! Oh! I want it, want your cum!" He loves how utterly obedient and devoted you already are, so desperate to fulfill your newly appointed role that it makes his heavy balls draw up tight, threatening to spill over.

Another thrust is all it takes to send the tidal wave crashing over with a scream, pure ecstasy spreading over your entire body just as your cunt clamps around him, soaking his entire length with your cum. The vice grip of your velvety, fluttering walls sends him over the edge with a guttural shout that spirals into a string of whimpering moans, ropes of his hot seed spilling past your cervix and flooding your womb. He grinds himself even deeper, making sure it takes root to breed your eager cunt.

He remains there buried deep, forehead pressed against your shoulder until the the last of his cum is emptied inside you, heavy breaths beginning to even out. Once the last waves of pleasure begin to fade and his softening cock pulls out of your abused pussy, the weight of exhaustion hits and aches throughout your entire body, evidence of the tiring ordeal.

Tucking himself back in to the no doubt now ruined velour tracksuit pants, Jimmy takes a moment to admire his work with a tired but satisfied smirk, watching the slight tremble of your muscles, his milky seed dripping out of your raw cunt. Your half-lidded eyes are too heavy and dazed to notice.

A beat passes before his voice rings out. "Cut her down." Then, the soft shuffle of a few feet and fabric along with the nearly tear-jerking anticipation of relief. "She's not going anywhere."

[cherryxhaze]

𖦹 beautiful person award! once you are given this award, you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. if you break the chain, nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ 🧁

🥰

Thank you so much, darling. You're too sweet! Sending it right back at ya ❤️

[just-jack-oconnell]

Jack O'Connell at Mark Kermode Live in 3D in London February 9th, 📸 Julie Edwards./Alamy thank you to @lostgirl88

[spikedfearn]

OMG I CAN'T WAIT TO MEET YOU GUYS TOMORROW!!!

@cryptidvillage @sinfulteeth @madkingcrowley @nimisardenter @remmicksgoldcoin @cherryxhaze and @peter-newkirks-smolder!!!

[cherryxhaze]

I’M SO EXCITED

[the-lilted-tune]

Inked Remmick Drawings

[dxmurewrites]

My fave writers this year ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Most here are mutuals so I guess I am biased, but they all mean a lot to me and write some fucking amazing stuff regardless ︎ ♡

@cherryxhaze My baby Shelbs, whose been such a big help and blessing to me 🫶🏽 I’m so grateful for how much you’ve helped me this year and I’m glad to call you my friend 🖤 And your fics? Stunnin’

@spikedfearn Rosie!! If it weren’t for you, I don’t think I would’ve been inspired to start writing again 🤠🖤 Your work is unbelievable!! I love every single fic!! 🖤 ⋆˙⟡ ♡

@scannainscanrula Rockstar Remmick?? Abhi holy shit your mind, honestly one of my favourite series on this app, I love when I see you’ve updated 🖤

@pastabillities my baby beany posted her first fic the other day and you should all go and check it out 🖤 ilysm and I’m so grateful for you and every lil chat we have about literally everything 🖤 ⋆˙⟡ ♡

@flixpii Lyric!! Farmer!Remmick? Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular 🤠 need dat biblically, you’re incredible ♡

@iceemochaa Lunaaaaa your Paddy works make me absolutely feral 🙂‍↕️ tbh they all do, but whewww, chefs kiss 🖤

@matrixfangs blessed be the whore is still on my mind ugh I love you so much, I want your brain 🫶🏽🖤 I appreciate you so much and am so grateful for you ⟡ ♡

@remmicks-salvation VAMP ilysm, I don’t know if you’ve been on tumblr in a while but I love youuuu and your works 🖤 I miss your content!!

@cryptidvillage my sweet Rosie providing me with my werewolf fix 😌 ilysm for joining me on my Jimmy freakisms ⟡ ♡

@sinfulteeth Jude my heart 🖤 Your writing is just amazing n i love yewww, I can’t wait for your next projects 🖤🫶🏽

@taiscedulcinea all the babies behind the paddy lovers club 🖤 ilyasm and all of your collaborated work ⋆˙⟡ ♡

Wishing everyone a Happy New Year! By all means comment your favourite writers/accounts and spread the love 🖤🫶🏽🌿

[cherryxhaze]

Beeeeeee, my darling, my wife, my sweet cheese. Thank you, I’m so glad to have you as a friend. And to receive praise for my fics considering how talented of a writer you are?? I’m flattered. I hope you have a great New Years love 🖤

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

unexpectedly sexy part of the Sinners credits. we LOVE a thoroughly sourced film.

[iceemochaa]

𝑆𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡 𝑆𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎 𝐸𝑥𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒 𝑀𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡.ᐟ

Hello! Our server hosted an incredible Secret Santa fic exchange event and as the host, I created this post to clump everyone’s stories for your viewing pleasure !

Disclaimer : Some (if not all) will contain explicit written content! Viewer discretion is advised!

You can also follow the tag : ˗ˏˋ𝒮𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉 𝒮𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶 𝐹𝒾𝒸 𝐸𝓍𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒ˎˊ˗

⋮ ⌗ ┆ Remmick :

Sink Your teeth (You’re in love for one night) | @madkingcrowley

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ Remmick seeks refuge in your cabin, but makes a request of you. You end up biting off more than you can chew.

Monster After Dark | @scrprints

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ An intoxicating game is underway. Outside a desolate, abandoned manor, the cold winter night is the perfect stage for the possessive hunt. A dance of fear and desire with the vampire you love, Remmick. But tonight, the handsome mask is gone. There is only the Monster. You run, thrilling in the predator's pursuit, desperate to survive the chase yet simultaneously longing for the moment of capture. You know the rules of this game. Surrender is inevitable. This is possession. And you are ready to give your beautiful, terrifying monster exactly what he craves?

Lose Control | @punani-san

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ It's late at night as you stand outside a Gentleman's Club, seeking respite after a busy shift. You have an intriguing encounter with a mysterious man when he approaches you. After a flirty exchange you invite him to watch you perform which results in him paying for your undivided attention, and soon enough you find yourself alone with him.

Come with me | @cryptidvillage

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ You’re a male werewolf being kept against your will in a barn by the Jimmies. An unexpected visitor comes to you in the night to rescue you.

A Study In Lace and Blood | @weavingduck

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ Brushstrokes of murder, stitches of suspicion. In London, the streets hide more than shadows, and every secret has teeth. You’re a seamstress who befriends a local troupe of ballerinas that have recently come to fear the dark. Amid whispers of Jack the Ripper on the loose, you decide to investigate alone and track a recent string of brutal murders, unaware that the killer lurks far closer than you think. You thought you controlled the hunt… but as clever and unafraid as you think you are, you’re soon about learn that curiosity comes with a price, and some hunts lead to dangerous rewards—as thrilling in bed as they are in the shadows.

Secret Santa Exchange | @nekkiotine

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ You've always liked Remmick, ever since you were both little kids. Little did you know, he's felt the same.

Better Watch Out | @spikedfearn

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ There’s a reason the townsfolk warn you not to go wandering alone this time of year—but you, with your pride and your temper, don’t listen. It’s only a few miles through the snow, after all, and you’ve never been one to fear shadows. But something walks the woods during the solstice—something old, antlered and cruel, cloaked in heat and hunger. What begins as an eerie journey to a remote cabin turns into a descent into myth and nightmare, where the chains that drag behind him aren’t just for show, and punishment is pleasure in the hands of the creature who’s been watching you all along.

Balsam | @nimisardenter

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ While home for the holidays you're hired to work part-time at your town's local Christmas tree farm. It's the perfect gig, really–that is, until your strange new coworker throws you off kilter.

At least there will be plenty implied | @eternalstrigoii

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ tba…

⋮ ⌗ ┆ Paddy Mayne :

Stress Relief | @foxtufts

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ Paddy has been advised to blow off some steam; you're looking to do the same. After a blind date, you're both left with some intense memories to take back with you from the bar restroom that neither of you can ignore.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ Patrick Sumner :

The Mercy of Limits | @flixpii

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ Something is wrong with you. patrick knows it the moment you stop fearing the woods and start craving them. in a decaying house far from society, he teaches you how to stay—through discipline, restraint, and a quiet intimacy that blurs the line between care and control.

Under the mistole with Patrick Sumner | @cherryxhaze

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ You find yourselves caught under the mistletoe at a company Christmas party. And though you try to run from the smoldering connection with the doctor, both it and he catch up with you in the washroom.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ Oliver Mellors :

The Last Leaves Of Autumn | @peter-newkirks-smolder

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ An impromptu walk through the forest becomes something much more intimate.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ Roy Goode :

Beyond Blue Eyes | @patronsaintofjackoconnell

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ This was hard to summarise, so I leave you with two song lyrics that accurately represent Roy himself in this story: My dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be but Now that I met you, I finally know just where I'm headin'

Honey, Be Good for me | @iceemochaa

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ You hated him. He hated you. Somehow, that made you both compatible.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ Lion Kaminski :

Close Enough To Catch You | @impalalullibies

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ Lion Kaminski never stops moving not when he’s hurt, not when he’s exhausted, and definitely not when he’s sick. But when he finally can’t push through anymore, you’re the one who notices… and the one who stays.

I hope you all enjoy reading and please, be sure to like/comment/reblog whichever fic you’ve enjoyed reading. It helps the author and it also encourages them to create more content!

Again, Please be sure to give everyone lots of love and to follow their blogs for more content! Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year !

[punishthemplease]