[lunadileo]

🌓 Moon in Signs 🌗

🌙 ARIES MOON:

If a Pisces Moon is a watercolor painting dissolving in the rain, an Aries Moon is a sudden brilliant flash of lightning that splits the night sky. Having your Moon in this cardinal fire sign, ruled by the fierce energy of Mars, means your emotional world doesn't simmer or wait — it erupts. You don’t have the patience to let a feeling marinate or develop over time. When you are hurt, it is a sharp immediate sting. When you are happy, it is a radiant infectious heat that fills the entire room, demanding to be felt.

Your ultimate coping mechanism is raw action and immediate expression. You possess a beautiful, almost childlike emotional honesty — what people see is exactly what they get. You don't do passive-aggression, slow-burning resentment or calculated mind games. If you are angry or upset, it flares up instantly into a storm, but just as quickly, the sky clears. You melt the tension away, forgive easily and move on, often entirely forgetting why you were even mad in the first place. You burn through your pain rather than letting it poison you from the inside.

In relationships, you love with a passionate, protective and ride-or-die intensity. You are the ultimate warrior friend, the person who will fiercely defend your loved ones against anyone without a second thought. You need connections that can handle your heat, match your high energy and celebrate your independence without trying to dim your light. Beneath that brave, trailblazing and seemingly unbreakable exterior, however lies a tender soul that just wants to be chosen first. Your deepest hidden need is simply to be loved passionately for exactly who you are, and to find a safe space where you can run completely wild and free.

🌙 TAURUS MOON:

If an Aries Moon is a sudden wildfire, a Taurus Moon is the ancient, deeply rooted earth that absorbs the heat. Having the Moon here, where it is traditionally considered to be "exalted", means your emotional world is built on a foundation of quiet strength, steady rhythms and an immense capacity for calm. You don’t panic easily. When life gets chaotic and everyone else is spinning out, you are usually the anchor, holding down the fort with a grounding, silent resilience.

For you, emotions are a physical experience. You process your feelings through your senses — the warmth of a heavy blanket, the scent of rain, a perfectly cooked meal or the tactile comfort of a favorite sweater. When you are stressed, you don't want to talk it to death; you want to retreat into your sanctuary, dim the lights, and shut the door on the noise of the world. Because you crave safety and predictability, change can feel like a personal threat. You will hold onto a situation, a routine or a relationship long after it has expired, simply because the comfort of the familiar feels safer than the chaos of the unknown.

In love, you are the epitome of devotion. You don't give your heart away quickly but once someone is in your inner circle, you love them with an unshakeable, fiercely protective loyalty. You show affection through acts of care —showing up, building a cozy life together and being the one constant people can always rely on. Your deepest hidden need is simply peace. You want a life stripped of unnecessary drama, a beautiful and stable home, and the freedom to enjoy existence at your own slow, deliberate and luxurious pace.

🌙 GEMINI MOON:

If a Taurus Moon is the steady earth, a Gemini Moon is a restless shifting wind. Having your Moon in this mutable air sign means your emotional world is a kaleidoscope of thoughts, ideas and constant motion. You don't just feel your emotions — you analyze them, question them and try to solve them like a puzzle. For you, a feeling isn't fully real until you’ve found the exact words to describe it, which means you are often talking, writing or texting your way through your inner landscape.

The fascinating thing about a Gemini Moon is the duality. You can experience two completely opposing emotions at the exact same time, feeling deeply sad while simultaneously cracking a joke about it. Humor, wit and intellectual detachment are your ultimate coping mechanisms. When life gets heavy, your instinct isn't to cry or hide; it’s to rationalize, distract yourself with a new hyperfixation or scroll through social media to keep your brain occupied. Because your mind moves at lightning speed, your moods can shift just as quickly, making you deeply adaptable but also prone to sudden waves of mental anxiety.

In relationships, connection is entirely mental. You need a partner and friends who can match your intellectual pace, listen to your late-night tangents and debate everything from philosophy to reality TV. You show love by sharing information, sending memes that reminded you of them and engaging in effortless non-stop banter. Your deepest hidden need is simply to be understood in all your complexity. You want the freedom to change your mind, a safe space to vent without judgment and someone who recognizes that beneath all your talk and nervous energy, you possess a deeply curious, beautifully observant and sparkling soul.

🌙 CANCER MOON:

If a Gemini Moon is a shifting wind, a Cancer Moon is the deep infinite ocean. Having the Moon here, in the sign that it naturally rules, means your emotional capacity is vast and profoundly powerful. You don’t just feel your own emotions, you absorb the feelings of everyone else in the room like an emotional sponge. Your intuition is almost psychic and you can sense a shift in someone’s energy before they even realize it themselves.

Because you feel everything with such raw intensity, your moods naturally ebb and flow like the tides. To protect your tender heart, you have a beautiful but heavy "shell" — a defense mechanism that makes you retreat into total isolation when you are hurt or overwhelmed. You have a profound attachment to the past, often romanticizing memories, holding onto old photographs and remembering exactly how a specific moment felt years ago. When life gets cruel, your instinct is to go home, burrow into safety and surround yourself with the people and things that make you feel fiercely protected.

In relationships, you are the ultimate nurturer. You love with a fierce, unconditional and deeply devoted warmth, showing your affection through home-cooked meals, tight hugs and being a safe harbor for everyone else's storms. However because you give so much of your soul away, your deepest hidden need is to be taken care of in return. You crave absolute emotional security, a peaceful sanctuary to call home and people who will look past your protective outer shell to cherish, hold and gentle validate the soft beautiful depth of your heart.

🌙 LEO MOON:

If a Cancer Moon is the quiet depths of the ocean, a Leo Moon is a radiant blazing sun. Having your Moon in this fixed fire sign means your emotional life is grand, cinematic and deeply intertwined with your sense of pride. You don’t do subtle feelings; when you love, you love with a fierce royal devotion, and when you are hurt, the wound hits your very core.

There is a beautiful theatrical warmth to this placement. You have a natural instinct to bring joy, laughter and light to the people around you. You are the ultimate hype-friend, celebrating your loved ones' victories as if they were your own. However because your emotions are so tied to your pride, your ultimate coping mechanism is dramatic silence. If you feel unappreciated or slighted, you won't throw a tantrum — instead you will quietly withdraw your warmth, ice people out and wait for them to realize what they are missing. You possess a deep-seated need to be seen, validated and adored for exactly who you are.

In relationships, you are intensely loyal and fiercely protective. You love with an open generous heart and express affection through grand gestures, thoughtful gifts and unwavering support. Beneath that confident regal exterior, however lies a sensitive soul that is terrified of being rejected or ignored. Your deepest hidden need is simply to be cherished. You want a safe space where you can drop your armor, step out of the spotlight and be loved passionately by people who recognize that your big dramatic heart is made of pure gold.

🌙 VIRGO MOON:

If a Leo Moon is a blazing sun, a Virgo Moon is the quiet, steady hum of a perfectly organized machine trying to process a storm. Having your Moon in this mutable earth sign means your inner world is deeply analytical, observant and deeply tied to a desire for order. You don’t just experience a feeling; you dissect it, categorize it and try to find a practical reason for why it exists.

Your ultimate coping mechanism for emotional chaos is action. When you are anxious, overwhelmed or heartbroken, you don't usually break down or cry on someone's shoulder; instead you clean your room, organize your spreadsheets or create an intense to-do list. Anxiety for you is a physical buzz, a restless need to fix things. You are incredibly hard on yourself, possessing a relentless inner critic that tells you that having messy uncontrollable emotions is a flaw. Because of this, you often overthink every text message, replay conversations in your head and worry about things that haven't even happened yet.

In friendships and love, your affection is a verb. You don't show love through grand poetic declarations, but through quiet acts of service. You are the person who remembers how your friend takes their coffee, notices when they are burning out and shows up with their favorite snack and a solution to their problem. Your deepest hidden need is to feel safe enough to relax. You crave a sanctuary where you don't have to be perfect, a partner who will quiet your racing mind and the reassuring realization that you are loved for who you are, not just for how useful you can be.

🌙 LIBRA MOON:

If a Virgo Moon is the quiet effort to organize a storm, a Libra Moon is a breathless delicate dance to keep the storm from ever happening. Having your Moon in this cardinal air sign means your emotional world is entirely ruled by a deep desire for harmony, balance and beauty. You are hardwired to seek peace, which means your inner peace is deeply reflective of your outer environment and the people you surround yourself with.

Your ultimate coping mechanism is romanticism and intellectualizing. When life gets ugly, painful or chaotic, your instinct is to smooth over the rough edges. You might gloss over red flags, make excuses for people who hurt you or try to see "both sides" of a situation even when you have every right to be angry. Conflict is your absolute kryptonite — it makes you physically uncomfortable. Because you hate rocking the boat, you often swallow your own frustrations, choose people-pleasing over confrontation and wear a beautiful serene smile even when your inner scales are completely tipped over.

In relationships, you are a true artist of connection. You love with an elegant, deeply considerate and attentive warmth. You possess a rare gift for making people feel heard, understood and deeply valued. However because you focus so much on keeping everyone else happy, your deepest hidden need is to be allowed to be messy. You crave a safe space where you don't have to be the perfect peacemaker, a partner who will make decisions for you when your indecisiveness takes over, and the comforting reassurance that you are loved even when you are not perfectly balanced.

🌙 SCORPIO MOON:

If a Libra Moon is a breathless dance to keep the peace, a Scorpio Moon is a plunge into the absolute deepest darkest parts of the ocean. Having your Moon in this fixed water sign, where it is traditionally considered to be in its "fall", means your emotional world is not a safe shallow pool; it is an active volcano of intensity, passion and raw psychic energy. You don't just feel things, you bleed them.

Because your emotions are so incredibly vast and burning, your ultimate coping mechanism is total secrecy. You have massive instinctual trust issues. From a very young age you learned that showing your vulnerability gives people power over you so you built a fortress around your heart. You are a master at reading everyone else's secrets, motives and hidden shadows while keeping your own cards completely hidden. When you are hurt, you don't cry publicly; you retreat into the shadows to burn, transform and rebuild yourself from the ashes. You possess an all-or-nothing emotional spectrum — you either love with a terrifying life-altering devotion, or you detach completely as if that person never existed.

In relationships, you crave an intensity that scares most people. You despise small talk and shallow connections — you want to merge souls. You show love through unshakeable ride-or-die loyalty and a fiercely protective, almost possessive devotion. Beneath that icy, mysterious and intimidating exterior, however lies a soul that is simply exhausted from fighting its own internal wars. Your deepest hidden need is absolute unconditional safety. You want a partner who isn't afraid of your darkness, someone who will look into your shadows and choose to stay, proving that it is finally safe for you to drop your guard and surrender.

🌙 SAGITTARIUS MOON:

If a Scorpio Moon is a plunge into the absolute depths of the ocean, a Sagittarius Moon is a wild breathless sprint toward the horizon. Having your Moon in this mutable fire sign means your emotional world is fueled by a relentless desire for freedom, expansion and meaning. You don't like to feel trapped, heavy or stagnant. For you emotions are a landscape to be explored, understood and ultimately outrun if they start to feel too suffocating.

Your ultimate coping mechanism is optimism, distraction and movement. When life gets painful or heavy, your instinct isn't to sit in the dark and cry; it’s to pack a bag, book a spontaneous flight, start a new hyperfixation or crack a joke to diffuse the tension. You are the ultimate silver-lining finder, always trying to turn your trauma into a grand life lesson or a funny story for a party. However this philosophical detachment can sometimes manifest as emotional avoidance. You run away from your problems, literally or mentally, hoping that if you keep moving fast enough, the sadness won't be able to catch up to you.

In relationships, you are a breath of fresh air. You love with a generous, enthusiastic and fiercely independent warmth, acting as the ultimate cheerleader for your loved ones' wildest dreams. You need friends and partners who can match your thirst for adventure, debate philosophy with you at 3 AM and give you plenty of space to breathe. Your deepest hidden need is a safe harbor that doesn't feel like a cage. You crave people who love you for your wild untamed spirit but who will also hold you gently when you are finally tired of running and just need to admit that you are hurting.

🌙 CAPRICORN MOON:

If a Sagittarius Moon is a wild sprint toward the horizon, a Capricorn Moon is a solitary silent climb up a frozen mountain. Having your Moon in this cardinal earth sign, where it is traditionally in its "detriment", means your emotional world is governed by a heavy sense of duty, self-control and stoicism. You don’t believe in messy breakdowns or public displays of vulnerability. From a very young age you likely felt that you had to be the strong one, the responsible one or the anchor for the people around you.

Your ultimate coping mechanism is restriction and isolation. When you are heartbroken, anxious or overwhelmed, your instinct is to lock it down, put on a blank face and throw yourself entirely into work, school or a project. You view unchecked emotions as a weakness or a liability, believing that "feeling things is unproductive." You swallow your pain, swallow your tears and tell yourself “I will deal with this later”, but later rarely comes. Because of this you often carry a profound quiet loneliness, hiding your struggles behind a mask of absolute competence and dry sarcastic humor.

In relationships, you are the most reliable person anyone could ever ask for. You don't know how to love with cheap words or superficial promises — your love is structural. You show affection by showing up in a crisis, paying the bills, fixing what is broken and building a secure stable life for the people you cherish. Beneath that cold, imposing and hyper-independent exterior, however lies a deeply tender, incredibly loyal soul that is utterly exhausted from carrying the weight of the world. Your deepest hidden need is simply permission to rest. You crave a safe space where you don't have to be strong, a partner who will take care of you for once, and the comforting realization that you are worthy of love even when you aren't achieving, working or holding everything together.

🌙 AQUARIUS MOON:

If a Capricorn Moon is a silent climb up a frozen mountain, an Aquarius Moon is looking down at that mountain from a satellite in space. Having your Moon in this fixed air sign means your emotional world is deeply unconventional, fiercely independent and profoundly intellectualized. You don't just feel an emotion; you step outside of your body, look at it under a microscope and try to understand the sociology behind why you are feeling it.

Your ultimate coping mechanism is detachment. When life gets overwhelmingly heavy, dramatic or messy, your instinct is to flip an internal switch and go completely numb and detached. You possess a rare ability to compartmentalize your feelings which makes you incredibly cool-headed in a crisis but it can also make you feel like an alien observing humanity rather than participating in it. You are terrified of being emotionally messy or dependent on someone else so you often push people away the moment they get close enough to see your vulnerabilities. You would rather write a brilliant essay, create art or fix a societal problem than sit in a room and cry about a broken heart.

In relationships, connection is rooted in a shared vision, deep friendship and absolute mental freedom. You despise possessiveness, jealousy and traditional emotional expectations. You show love by accepting people exactly as they are, without trying to change them, and by being a fiercely loyal, open-minded champion of their individuality. Beneath that cool, detached and fiercely independent exterior, however lies a soul that cares deeply about the world and feels a profound sense of cosmic loneliness. Your deepest hidden need is simply to belong without losing yourself. You crave a safe, judgment-free space with people who understand your quirks, celebrate your weirdness and love you not because you fit into their box but because you defy every box entirely.

🌙 PISCES MOON:

If an Aquarius Moon is a satellite looking down from space, a Pisces Moon is a watercolor painting left out in the rain where all the edges blur into the universe. Having your Moon in this mutable water sign, the very last sign of the zodiac, means your emotional world has no boundaries. You don’t just feel your own emotions; you flow into the feelings, heartbreaks and energies of everyone and everything around you. You are the ultimate cosmic sponge, possessing a psychic intuition so profound that it can often feel like a beautiful exhausting curse.

Your ultimate coping mechanism is escapism and romanticism. When the world becomes too harsh, loud or cruel, your instinct isn't to fight back or rationalize — it’s to disappear. You retreat into the rich infinite landscape of your own mind, losing yourself in music, art, poetry or elaborate daydreams. Because reality can feel incredibly heavy for your gentle soul, you are prone to wearing rose-colored glasses, making excuses for people who mistreat you because you can see the hidden pain inside them. You have a profound relationship with sorrow, often crying over things you can't even name, simply mourning the collective sadness of the world.

In relationships, you love with a mystical, unconditional and deeply spiritual devotion. You don't just want a partner, you want a soulmate. You show affection through absolute empathy, listening to people's deepest trauma without judgment and offering a love that feels like a warm healing wave. However because you give your energy away so freely, your deepest hidden need is to be grounded and protected. You crave a safe, solid harbor — a partner or a friend who will build a boundary around your soft heart, pull you back to earth when you drift too far into the ether and remind you that your sensitivity is not a weakness but a rare breathtaking magic.

[sorrrowfull]

[55five]

If it’s meant to be I’ll see you later

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Daddy kink with Jax, him catching you waiting up for him after a late night with the club, wearing nothing but his shirt in the kitchen. Also can it be the first time you call him daddy and he’s absolutely intrigued.

Sitting Pretty.

unspoken desires can only stay unspoken for so long.

jax teller x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. daddy kink. jax is somehow so degrading but so loving at the same time.

a/n - YEEEEEEEEEAH. murphy writing a daddy kink… who would’ve thought they’d see the day. anyway i’d call this man anything he wanted me to x

masterlist. inbox.

It’s a bad habit, the waiting up.

He tells you not to do it. Says honey, I don’t want to keep you awake. I’ll just come to bed when I get home in that gruff voice of his. He uses that persuasive tone, the one that makes you weak at the knees. I don’t know what time I’ll be back, baby. I don’t want to keep you up.

And yet, you do it anyway.

You occupy your time with tv shows, movies, books. Cleaning, tidying, cooking. Anything that’ll keep your mind from racing, wondering what Jax is doing, what the club are talking about, if they’re in trouble yet again.

But there’s none of that tonight. Tonight, you’re sat on the couch in nothing but a t shirt that belongs to your boyfriend, staring into empty space. All because you can’t stop thinking about something that happened this morning.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The glass had slipped from your hand before you could stop it, shattering all over the clubhouse floor. A chorus of patronising but amused sounds echoed around you, coming from all of the guys sat at the table.

Jax jumps up from his seat immediately, standing up to see if you’re alright.

“Ooo, Daddy’s disappointed.”

The quip has come from Tig, to no one’s surprise. You look up from your knees to see that actually, Jax doesn’t look disappointed. There’s a sparkle in his eye that you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s mischief and curiosity and self satisfaction all at once.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s replayed in your head all day.

That damn look in his eye.

At first, you thought that maybe it was because you were on your knees on the ground. He’s been very vocal about how he will never, ever, get sick of the sight of you staring up at him.

But the more you think about it, the more there’s no denying that the twinkle in his eye appeared when Tig had called him Daddy. Or maybe you’re just convincing yourself to twist the situation to fit the fantasies that swirl around in your head day in, day out.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t hear the side door open, footsteps rumbling across your kitchen floor.

“Baby, what have I told you about waiting up?”

“Hey,” you breathe, always happy to see him. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Too busy daydreamin’,” he observes, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “Wish I could read your mind.”

“You don’t,” you laugh, securing your arms over his to squeeze him tight. “It’s not very interesting.”

He smells like gasoline and smoke, all musky and masculine. The scent of him drives you insane, like some sort of instant aphrodisiac designed just for you.

“Missed ya,” he whispers in your ear, pressing his body into yours. “Been thinking about you all day. Was secretly hoping you’d be sittin’ all pretty for me when I got back. And here you are, wearing nothing but my shirt, lookin’ like a goddamn angel.”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“What did I do to deserve a sweetheart like you, huh?”

You hum, leaning back into the firm warmth of him.

“Now tell me, my little daydreamer… what have you been thinking about?”

His hands migrate from your waist, skimming up your body so they’re massaging your tits.

“Just you,” you breathe. “Always you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He’s hot and heavy against your back, grinding his hips into your ass to relieve some of the friction that’s driving him insane.

One of his hands winds it way around your neck, squeezing ever so gently to make you even dizzier. His other hand is slipping under his shirt that you’re wearing to cup you over your panties, his middle finger swiping along the seam to feel how wet you are.

“You’re fuckin’ soakin’,” he groans, all deep and raspy. “Fuck, you’re nothing but a desperate whore after midnight. Sittin’ here, thinking about all the things you want me to do to you when I get home…”

You seem to have lost your words, rendered speechless as you buck your hips to try and get him where you want him.

“What d’ya want, baby? Tell me.”

“Fingers,” you choke. “Please.”

He whips your panties down your legs before you can even process it, kicking your ankles apart to give him better access. His fingers are dragging through your core in an instant, gathering your slick and sliding right in without any protest.

Jax curls his digits and buckles your knees as he does it, while you grip onto the countertop for dear life.

“Right there? Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Filthy girl. Filthy fuckin’ girl.”

All you can do is whine, panting for breath as he slides his fingers in and out, his pace utterly relentless.

“Oh, baby. Can you feel it dripping down your legs? Can you feel it soakin’ my hand? My favourite little whore. Just can’t think straight when I’m touchin’ you, can ya?”

He’s rasping the words right into your ear, his breath tickling your neck and giving you instant goosebumps.

“Jax.”

“Atta girl. Say my name, darlin’. Let everyone know who you belong to.”

You’re not sure if it’s the way he’s curling his fingers, or the honeyed words he’s rasping down your ear, or the fact that he’s claiming you as his so brazenly that it makes you dizzy, but it slips off your tongue before you can even think about stopping it.

“Daddy.”

His movements halt completely, both of you frozen in place. You figure if you don’t move a muscle or make a sound, he’ll carry on like nothing occurred in the first place.

That doesn’t happen.

Instead, Jax pulls you flush to his body, plastering you to his chest. One hand is still in between your legs, the other one tightening its grip around your throat. He’s panting like he’s run a marathon, body vibrating with animalistic need.

“Oh honey… what was that?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, smart girl.”

You shrug, which is the wrong move entirely.

“Nuh uh, you ain’t getting away that easy. Repeat yourself, baby. Tell me what you said.”

You’re still hesitating, reluctant to potentially embarrass yourself. Jax dips his head so his mouth his resting against your ear, teeth nipping at that spot on your neck he knows makes you weak.

“Spit. It. Out.”

“Daddy,” you breathe, somewhat relieved to not have to bottle it up anymore. “Fuck, daddy.”

“That’s my girl,” he purrs, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “That’s my fucking girl.”

His hand that was around your neck twists itself into your hair as his other hand pushes you firmly between your shoulder blades, bending you over the kitchen counter. He kicks your ankles apart, folding himself right over you.

“Daddy’s gonna fuck you now, pretty girl. Gonna fuck you until you can’t remember anyone’s name but mine.”

Both of you groan when he slides inside with no resistance. You grip the edge of the countertop for stability, knowing you’ll fly over it if you don’t hold on.

“Fuck, you feel like heaven. A filthy fucking angel.”

“Jax,” you choke. “You feel so good.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your head before setting a brutal pace with his hips, his pelvis slamming into your ass with every thrust. It takes everything in you to stay upright, knees buckling every time he pulls back and re enters.

“All mine,” he growls as he tugs your hair so your back arches. “Who do you belong to, hmm?”

“You,” you manage to squeak out. “You.”

“Hmm? Who?”

“You, Jax.”

“Say that again?”

“You, daddy. Fuck.”

“There it is. Perfect girl.”

He’s changed his angle ever so slightly to tilt his hips upwards, meaning he’s hitting exactly the right spot every time he slams into you. You’re dizzy with it, overwhelmed in the best way, gasping for air as your climax gets closer and closer.

“You wanna come? Yeah?”

All you can do is nod your head frantically, desperate for the release that’s been building up all day.

“Ask for it. Beg me like the whore you are.”

“Please,” you instantly start babbling. “Please, Jax. Want it, please.”

“So polite,” he laughs, tone dripping with condescension. “That’s not what I want to hear though, and you know it.”

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to think straight for one minute.

“Please let me come, daddy.”

That’s all he needs. He pulls his hand from your hair and slides it down your front, rubbing quick and firm circles on your clit to throw you over the edge. It does the trick instantly, your legs turning to jelly as your head tilts back and your back arches. Your orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave, uncontrollable and all consuming in the best way.

You’re squeezing him so tight that Jax can’t hold on any longer, coming inside you with a deep groan that rumbles through both of your bones.

All that can be heard is two sets of lungs heaving for air, both of you half collapsed on the cool wood of the countertop. Jax wraps his arms around you, cushioning the impact as he hooks his foot around your ankle to take you both down to the ground. You melt against him on the kitchen floor, revelling in the warmth of his body against the cold bite of the tiles. Your boyfriend presses a kiss to your hair, fingertips tracing absent minded patterns across any skin he can reach.

You’re not sure if you’ve been laying there for five minutes or an hour when Jax speaks.

“So how long have you been sitting on that one, huh?”

“Shut up,” you whine, burying your face in his chest.

“Nuh uh, daddy wants an answer,” he teases, squeezing you as tightly as he can.

“I hate you,” you laugh, trying to squirm out of his grip to no avail.

“Daddy loves you too.”

“I hate you.”

[loveridden1999]

[persianmom-deactivated20260602]

she’s just like me fr

[stuckinapril]

Truest thing ever unfortunately

[ruesdeluxe]

[you-gay-bitch]

[pinkhysteria]

THE L WORD | 1.04 Longing

[stuckinapril]

I will not accept a life I do not deserve I will not accept a life I do not deserve I will not accept a life I do not deserve I will not accept a life I do not deserve

[flixpii]

PORNSTAR!REMMICK loves bouncing you on his cock.

fem!reader. unprotected p in v. creampie. mdni 18+

he can’t get enough of it—your slick soaking him, your tits bouncing wild, your pussy taking him so deep you can feel him in your belly.

he’d sit back against the pillows, hands nowhere near your hips because he wants to watch you struggle through every inch. your palms pressing into his shoulders as you lift yourself, thighs shaking, then drop down hard, taking him to the base in one messy, sloppy slide.

“fuck—yeah, just like that,” he’ll groan, filming the way your ass slaps against him. “ride it. don’t slow down.”

you’ll bounce faster, clenching every time you slam down, cream smearing all over the thick base of his cock. he’d plant his feet, and start thrusting up into you, meeting every drop with brutal force that makes your tits jolt hard enough to smack his chest.

your whole body will shake as he jackhammers into you. more slick smears around him, dribbling down to his balls, onto his thighs.

he’ll grab your waist only when you start to fold, holding you wide open on top of him so the camera gets a perfect view of your cunt stretching and squeezing, creaming all over him.

“keep riding,” he’ll say, voice wrecked. “don’t stop just ’cause i’m fuckin’ you stupid. bounce that pretty body on me. give ’em something to jerk to.”

when he feels himself beginning to break—hips jerking, breath catching—he’ll hold you down on his cock.

“shit—i’m coming—fuck—”

you’ll feel the first hot pulse flood into you, then another, thick ropes spilling deep, stuffing you full while your body keeps bouncing without meaning to. your pussy milks him, squeezing around him, forcing more out.

“don’t stop,” remmick will insist, voice cracking. “bounce on it. milk it out of me. make it overflow.”

and you always do—moaning as you grind and bounce through his release, cum leaking out around his cock while he watches with a wrecked smile, chest heaving, phone still recording every filthy second.

[remmicksgf]

Visit Original Link

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

[stuckinapril]

when James Baldwin said I can’t be a pessimist because I’m alive

[stuckinapril]

when James Baldwin said to be a pessimist means that you have agreed that human life is an academic matter. So I am forced to be an optimist. I am forced to believe that we can survive whatever we must survive.

[stuckinapril]

quoted by my Palestinian pi during our research meeting

[hatethysinner]

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

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

ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ

ᴡᴄ: 6.9k (i giggled too)

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

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

The night was quiet. Too quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remmick.

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

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

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

God, when he looked at you.

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

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

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

But you did.

You always had.

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

You shivered.

Outside, thunder rumbled low in the distance.

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

Waiting.

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

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

Three more taps followed. Firm. Even. Familiar.

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

Your feet moved on their own.

When you opened the door, there he stood.

Remmick.

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

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

He didn’t just see you.

He devoured you.

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

Your pulse tripped over itself.

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

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

“Y’know damn well why I’m here.”

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

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

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

You dropped your hand before you could stop yourself.

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

“Remmick—”

“You alone?”

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

“…Yeah.”

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

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

Your breath hitched.

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

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

It wasn’t a question.

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

He waited.

And waited.

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

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

Your throat went dry.

You didn’t shut the door.

You didn’t step back.

You didn’t even breathe.

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

And he did.

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

Remmick laughed.

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

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

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

You should’ve pulled away.

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

But your lips parted.

Your breath caught.

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

You hated how much you missed this.

How much you’d been starving, too.

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

When he felt how wet you were, he growled.

Actually growled.

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

You trembled.

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

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

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

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

He chuckled again, quieter this time. Darker.

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

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

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

And then his hand moved.

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t answer.

His fingers stopped.

Completely.

The stillness was brutal.

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

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

“…No,” you whispered, too soft.

Remmick clicked his tongue.

“I said speak up, baby. Y’know better.”

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

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

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

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

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

Not a flex. Not a curl. Nothing.

“Remmick—please—”

“Answer me.”

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

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

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

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

You didn’t want to answer.

You didn’t want to admit any of this.

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

“No,” you gasped. “Only you.”

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

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

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

You shook your head. “No.”

He paused.

You whimpered.

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

“For who?”

Your voice cracked. “You.”

“Say my name.”

“Remmick.”

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

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s my girl.”

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

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

You nodded.

He stilled again.

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He already knew.

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

You were close.

You were so fucking close.

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

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

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

And Remmick laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

Remmick grabbed you by the hips and lifted.

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

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

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

And you knew.

You knew where you were headed.

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

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

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

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

You were bare beneath it.

You always had been.

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

Then he dropped to his knees.

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

His mouth found you like it belonged there.

Hot tongue, open mouth, greedy hunger.

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

And his mouth—

You screamed.

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

He devoured you.

Sloppy. Loud. Wet.

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

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

“Oh my God—Remmick—”

He didn’t slow.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t even look up.

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

You wanted to run.

You wanted to cry.

You wanted to come.

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

And he did.

Because he always did.

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

You came so hard you forgot your name.

And still, Remmick didn’t stop.

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

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

Until finally—

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

You were crying.

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

And that’s when he looked up.

Face soaked.

Neck wet.

Shirt clinging to his chest, sheer with your slick.

But it wasn’t just you.

There was drool.

An obscene amount.

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

He stared at you.

Eyes glowing—red, hungry, starved.

And then he smiled. Real slow. Real soft.

“Ya always look the prettiest when ya cry.”

That broke you.

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

And then he moved.

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

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

And you drowned.

In yourself. In him.

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

You choked on it.

You loved it.

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

Then, he turned.

He walked.

Straight down the hall, not even breaking the kiss.

And you knew where he was taking you.

The bedroom.

Your bedroom.

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

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

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

Didn’t look around.

Didn’t hesitate.

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

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

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

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

Remmick chuckled.

Not the amused kind.

The mean kind.

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

The words should’ve shamed you.

They didn’t.

They burned.

Hot. Dirty. True.

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

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

His weight alone pinned you down.

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

And God, it was familiar.

The ache of it.

The sheer rightness.

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

This was love, wasn’t it?

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

This was Remmick love.

Cruel. Honest. Brutal.

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

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

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

He didn’t wait for your answer.

He slammed into you.

One sharp, vicious thrust.

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

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

Your eyes rolled back.

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

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

You whimpered.

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

“Answer me.”

Your voice came out a rasp. “Y-yes.”

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

You shook your head, biting back a sob.

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

Tears welled again.

Because nothing had.

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

But real.

He fucked you like he was never going to stop.

Eyes locked on yours.

Not blinking. Not flinching.

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

And still, Remmick didn't slow.

Not even close.

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

Remmick fucked you like he hated you.

Like he’d missed hating you.

And then—

His hand let go of your wrists.

Only to move to your throat.

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

Your body froze beneath him.

Not in fear. Not exactly.

Something darker. Deeper.

You looked up into his eyes.

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

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

Your breath caught.

His grip tightened.

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

You whimpered, legs trembling around his hips.

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

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

Your stomach flipped.

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

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

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

Your heart stuttered.

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

His grip cinched tight.

Your breath stopped.

The room swam.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

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

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Your fingers spasmed.

And just before the edges went black—

Smack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which is exactly when the front door opened.

Just a quiet creak. A shift of hinges.

But it shattered the world.

You went still.

So did Remmick.

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

Your husband was home.

And your heart plummeted.

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

Remmick blinked.

Once.

Then again.

Then he looked at the door.

Then at you.

Back to the door.

Then you again.

And then that grin split his face.

Wide. Sharp. Wrong.

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

This was different.

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

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

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

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

Doggy style.

Exposed. Helpless.

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

You gasped, eyes squeezing shut.

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

Your name echoed from down the hall.

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

Another thrust.

Louder this time.

Obscene.

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

You whimpered. You couldn’t help it.

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

Remmick picked up his pace.

Flesh on flesh. Sharp. Wet. Merciless.

You heard a pause outside the door.

Then the knob turned.

Then the door opened.

Your husband stepped into the room.

And froze.

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

Then his gaze moved.

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

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

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

The look on his face could’ve killed you.

Confusion.

Betrayal.

Then—horror.

Like something inside him snapped.

And still, Remmick didn’t stop.

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

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

You looked into your husband’s eyes.

Wrecked.

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

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

Wanted to believe he’d fight.

That he’d do something.

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

You wanted to believe he’d choose you.

But instead—

He covered his face with both hands.

And sat.

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

Chest heaving.

Shoulders shaking.

Not saying a word.

Not making a move.

And just like that—

Every drop of love you had left for him died.

Turned to ash in your mouth.

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

It was hatred.

Hot. Immediate. Unforgiving.

And Remmick saw it happen.

Felt it bloom in your body beneath him.

He laughed.

Not playfully.

Not even cruelly.

It was disgusted.

A laugh like spitting. Like rot.

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

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

The silence screamed.

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

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

And there he was.

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

But your eyes?

They were locked on him.

Your husband.

Still sitting there.

Hands still over his face.

Until they weren’t.

You saw the moment shame turned to something else.

Curiosity.

Then heat.

One hand dropped to his lap.

You didn’t want to believe it.

Didn’t want to see it.

But you couldn’t look away.

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

Remmick saw it, too.

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

Your husband flinched.

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

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

You whimpered.

Remmick thrust harder.

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

And then, your stomach dropped.

Because your husband did it.

He pulled his cock free.

Hard. Strained. Already wet at the tip.

And he started stroking himself.

Right there.

Right fucking there, watching you be destroyed.

Something inside you shattered.

But Remmick’s grip only tightened.

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

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

You realized something sickening:

You believed him.

And the second you did, everything shifted.

Remmick’s voice fell away.

Replaced by sound.

Raw, filthy, feral sound.

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

His hips lost rhythm.

Gained need.

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

He was everywhere.

Crushing.

Consuming.

Yours.

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

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

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t care.

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

Your thighs clenched around him.

Your fingers dug into his back.

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

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

And then, one last thrust.

Devastating. Bone-deep. Final.

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

And with it—

His fangs sank deep into your neck.

No warning.

No care.

Just sharp, precise, possessive puncture.

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

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

Your heart stuttered. Your eyes rolled back.

And in the haze of it, another sound.

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

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

Then he angled to look.

Smirked.

Spat.

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

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

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

And you?

You didn’t even blink.

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

Because Remmick was right about that too.

This was where you belonged.

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

Then—

He pulled out.

Slow. Measured. Intentional.

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

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

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

The emptiness hit harder than anything else had.

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

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

You watched as he stood.

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

Your husband.

Your witness.

There was a single second.

A flash of recognition.

His eyes met Remmick’s.

And that was all.

The claws flashed.

Once.

Ripped.

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

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

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

You screamed.

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

Remmick turned to face you.

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

And then he crawled.

Across the bed.

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

Now defiled.

Claimed.

Ruined.

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

And then he kissed you.

Slow.

Deep.

Unforgiving.

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

It coated your teeth. Filled your lungs.

You let him.

You kissed him back.

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

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

Your mouth parted, but no sound came.

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

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

You didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

There were no words left.

Just slick cooling on your thighs.

Just sheets ruined for good.

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

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

That was exactly how you wanted it to be.

Forever.

[emprcaesar]

the renaissance of freaky vampires in media makes me so unbelievably happy it’s what god intended.

[boykavalier]

ETERNITY (2025) dir. David Freyne