neither a man nor a woman. i am a faggot. they/them only. i am asexual and for the most part, extremely sex repulsed as a result of sexual abuse. everything here is just fantasy.
asks are open but DO NOT express attraction for me or about me. i am extremely liberal with the block button.
the exploration of my sexuality (or lack there of) is inseparable from my assault so i may occasionally reblog posts i deem relevant to my experience tagged as “tw SA”.
DNI —
INCEST of any kind / cisheterosexuals / detrans / bigot etc.
date idea but you get sick so i tuck you in with my electric blankets and plushies, make you pumpkin noodle soup, handfeeding you, nuh uh not letting you raise a finger. Reading to you so you dont get bored, sorry baby no screentime right now, you need to rest your eyes. Constantly checking for a fever, the back of my hand brushing against your forehead gently. Your belly is full, you took your meds, now its time for a nap. No, you have to sleep honey how else are you gonna gather some energy then hm? Dont worry i'll be by your side, holding you in my arms for extra warmth. You can rest your head on my chest, yes just like that.. take it easy sweetheart i got you <3
Just let me take care of you.. i want to look after you like you are my baby.
i know it’s too much, sweetheart. that’s why i’m holding your hips still, so you don’t run from what you begged for.
you just came. hard. your first orgasm leaving you shaking, gasping for air. and now my fingers are still inside you. still moving. pushing you toward a second one that you’re not sure your body can handle.
you trying to squirm away. hips twisting. trying to escape. but my grip is firm. hands on your hips. keeping you exactly where i want you. “where do you think you’re going, baby?”
“it’s too much, i can’t—” your voice breaking. tears already forming. the sensitivity making every curl of my fingers feel electric. overwhelming.
“aww, poor baby. it’s too much?” mocking gently. pumping my fingers. curling them deep. “then why is your pussy taking my fingers so well? why are you so wet, sweetheart?”
you whimpering. no answer. because i’m right. your body is responding even though you’re protesting. “if i pulled my fingers out right now, you’d beg for them back, wouldn’t you?”
pulling them almost all the way out. you gasping. hips chasing my hand without thinking. “see? knew it.” sliding them back in. three fingers. filling you. “such a desperate thing.”
my other hand moving to your breast. pinching your nipple. rolling it between my fingers. you crying out. “please, i just came—” “i know you did, baby. i was there. and now you’re going to cum again.”
thumb finding your clit. rubbing circles. fingers pumping inside you. other hand playing with your nipples. alternating between them. pinching. tugging gently.
“you said you couldn’t cum more than once, remember?” curling my fingers. hitting that spot. “but look at you now. already getting close again. were you lying to me, baby? or are you just that easy?”
you sobbing. shaking your head. “i’m not close—” “oh, you’re not?” stopping all movement. fingers still inside but not moving. hand leaving your breast. “then i guess i’ll stop.”
you whimpering. hips trying to move. to get friction. “that’s what i thought.” starting again. pumping my fingers. rubbing your clit. “poor baby can’t make up her mind. is it too much or do you need more?”
“both… it’s both…” you crying. overstimulated. “aww, that’s so hard for you, isn’t it?” condescending. affectionate yet mocking. “your body wants to cum so bad but it’s all so sensitive. must be so confusing for you, sweetheart.”
bringing my wet fingers from your pussy to your mouth. “open.” you obeying. taking my fingers in. sucking them clean. tasting yourself. “good girl. taste how wet you are. taste how much your body wants this even though you’re crying about it.”
sliding my fingers back inside you. three again. filling you completely. other hand back to your nipples. pinching harder this time. you moaning around my fingers still in your mouth. “look at you. taking my fingers in both holes. such a good little slut for me.”
pulling my fingers from your mouth. using that hand to hold your hip again. keeping you still. the other hand alternating between fucking you and rubbing your clit. you getting closer. building faster than you thought possible.
“please… please i’m so close…” “already? but i thought you couldn’t cum again?” teasing. mocking gently. “i thought it was too much for you, baby.”
curling my fingers. hitting that spot over and over. thumb pressing hard on your clit. “go ahead then. prove yourself wrong. cum for me like the desperate little thing you are.”
you breaking. cumming hard around my fingers. clenching. moaning loudly. crying. me not stopping. keeping the same pace. pushing you right through it. “that’s two. let’s go for three.”
“no! i can’t, not again—” you sobbing now. completely oversensitive. trying desperately to close your legs. to escape. me forcing them open. “you can. and you will.”
both hands on you now. one fucking you relentlessly. fingers pumping fast. curling. the other hand pinching your nipple hard. you crying out. overwhelmed. “poor baby. so sensitive but still so wet for me. your body just doesn’t know when to quit, does it?”
“please, it hurts—” “it doesn’t hurt, sweetheart. you’d use your safeword if it hurt. this is just overstimulating. there’s a difference.” pressing harder on your clit. “and you’re going to take it.”
bringing my hand from your breast to your mouth again. “suck.” you opening. taking my fingers. me fucking your mouth with them while my other hand fucks your pussy. “there you go. keep that mouth busy so you stop whining.”
pumping my fingers faster inside you. rougher now. your third orgasm building impossibly fast. the overstimulation making everything heightened. pulling my fingers from your mouth so you can breathe. so you can moan properly.
“look at you. crying and shaking and still taking my fingers so perfectly. if i told you to beg for more right now, you would, wouldn’t you?”
you shaking your head. “liar.” curling my fingers hard. you gasping. “your pussy is literally dripping on my hand, baby. you’re clenching so tight. you’re about to cum a third time and you still want to pretend you don’t want this?”
pinching your nipple again. hard. the pain mixing with pleasure. you moaning. getting so close. “please… please i need—” “need what? need to cum again? the third time you said was impossible?”
“yes! please let me cum!” you begging now. completely broken down. “aww, there it is. there’s my honest baby.” pumping faster. rubbing your clit frantically. “go ahead, angel. cum for me. show me what a desperate mess you are.”
you tipping over again. cumming so hard you’re almost screaming. shaking. clenching rhythmically. completely wrecked. me finally slowing. gentling. carefully pulling my fingers out.
you collapsing. sobbing. exhausted. me immediately switching. pulling you into my arms. tone completely different now. soft. loving. “shh, sweetheart. you’re okay. you did so well. so so well.”
holding you close. stroking your hair. your back. “you were perfect, baby. absolutely perfect. took everything i gave you.” kissing your forehead. your cheeks. wiping your tears. “such a good girl for me.”
you curling into me. “that was intense…” “i know, baby. but you did it. three times. you were so beautiful and good for me .” continuing to soothe you. praise you. “i’m so proud of you, sweetheart. so proud.”
you finally catching your breath. looking up at me. cheeks read, body overstimulated and exhausted. “i didn’t think i could get to 3…” “but you did, baby. your body is amazing. and you trusted me to push you. that means everything.”
Imagine he’s got you in the meanest mating press, his thick cock spearing you open against the bed and it’s so good you’re seeing stars. But suddenly he stops and just leaves his cock inside of you, splitting you open, not thrusting and not moving, just buried deep inside, holding you nice and open for him. And he decides to focus on your clit, maybe with a vibrator or maybe with his fingers, just rubbing and playing with your swollen clit. It’s making you whine and buck your hips against his weight but he’s so much bigger and so much stronger there’s no way to stop him. He tells you to be a good girl and take it because he just wants to feel your pretty pussy pulse around his cock, he wants to feel your walls fluttering around him, your cunt milking his cock so perfectly in response to the overwhelming stimulation on your clit. And he’s so mean about it, one hand working your clit and the other braced against the bed so he can lean into you and keep you pinned down. He’s pushing you closer and closer to a mindbreaking orgasm as he whispers in your ear. “Such a good girl for me, come on, milk my cock with that pretty pussy, that’s it, feel good for me, I want to feel that cunt clenching around me, there you go.” And finally, your body breaks into a toe-curling orgasm, trembling, writhing, crying for him and the unrelenting pleasure he’s forcing out of you. You look at him through teary eyes, expecting him to go back to fucking you but all you see is the sadistic gleam in his eyes that tells you this is far from over. “Come on baby,” his voice is so mean as his fingers don’t stop working your clit, “One isn’t enough, give me more, let me feel that pretty pussy pulse around me again, that’s it, keep making those needy sounds for me, you can take it, I want your pussy to cum over and over again to milk all the cum out of my cock. We’re not stopping until I’m satisfied.” You’re sobbing now, trying to push him off, trying to make him stop the assault of pleasure. Begging, crying, gasping out pleas that he’s ignoring because he wants to use you to feel good, he wants to use you like a fuck doll, meant for nothing more than to milk his cock like a toy with no regard for how you feel. His fingers pull another orgasm from your body, the feeling lighting your every nerve and forcing your pussy to milk him just the way he likes. But it’s not enough for him, it won’t ever be enough for him, and so he keeps going. He pulls one orgasm after another out from your helpless body just so he can use you to make himself feel good. It has nothing to do with your pleasure because he’s exceeded that several times over now but it has everything to do with using you like a sex toy to get himself off. You have no idea how many times he’s forced your body to cum for him when he finally groans above you as his hips jerk into you, pumping his cum deep inside of your still-spasming walls. And maybe he’ll leave his cock inside of you even after, keeping you plugged up and nice and full with his cum while you fall asleep in his arms, with his gentle kisses on your forehead and soft strokes of your hair.
Note: This made me feral ugh please someone do this to me.
i actually like when boys come fast. it’s the cutest thing and not shameful at all. like i will just make you come again. don’t hold back on me. we can do it again; and again and again and again, until you can’t remember what day of the week it is and don’t know whether you want me to stop or keep going
dude i need to rub dicks with someone so badly i think i might fucking die. a man grabbing his dick and pressing it against my clit and rubbing it in circles would fix every issue i’ve ever had in my life
dude i need to rub dicks with someone so badly i think i might fucking die. a man grabbing his dick and pressing it against my clit and rubbing it in circles would fix every issue i’ve ever had in my life
Imagine a priest finally giving in to his sexual desires, but instead of being slow and gentle, he's desperate and almost aggressive.
Hard kissing while he clumsily attempts to remove his trousers and underwear, revealing how hard he his from finally deciding to let you play with him.
“Touch me anywhere, I don’t care” he breathes into your kiss. It almost makes you laugh how hard and achy he is from just kissing and groping. Like a teenager having sex for the first time.
“Forgive me” he whispers to himself before you kneel down in front of him, guiding his hard cock into your mouth. You grab his hands, in one of them a rosary, and lead them to your head. He quickly gets the hang of how to fuck your mouth, and he doesn’t hold back, harshly pushing and pulling his cock in and out of you.
“Oh God, something’s happening” he moans.
His hands grab onto your hair, making it easier to move your head. “Where do I- fuck- where do I do it?”, before he decides where to cum you feel his load filling your mouth. He holds his breath for a moment, his body twitching, pushing his cock further into your mouth.
SUMMARY: In the bible, "Babylon" is used as a symbol of sin and rebellion. Based on this request.
"How many miles to Babylon?
Three score miles and ten.
Can I get there by candlelight?
Yes, and back again ...
If your heels are nimble and your toes are light,
You may get there by candlelight."
Nursery Rhyme, Unknown, 1801
PAIRING: Remmick x f!reader (human)
WORD COUNT: 2.1K
WARNINGS: Canon-typical things, tension-filled enemies to lovers, heavy on the religious themes (mentions of god, prayer, sin, bible verses, devil mentions, etc.), mentions of blood, inner turmoil, ANGST, inspo from Margaret Atwood, James Baldwin, Jennifer Johnston (Irish writer of 'How Many Miles to Babylon'), and Nosferatu quotes, etc.
A/N: Lowkey really enjoyed writing this, might have to do a part two! Thank you so much for this request. I incorporated similar requests into the story as well, so I'm not ignoring my inbox. Comments HEAVILY encouraged, it makes writers' hearts full and encourages me to continue writing. Enjoy.
part ii
“You again.”
You were a master of speaking silently—you've spoken silently all your life, and you’ve had to live through entire tragedies because of it.
Yet, your tone was sterile. It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise.
“Miss me?” Remmick vetted your blank gaze for the proper determination of your upset. He nodded mockingly. “...Thought you might.”
The bliss had been idyllic.
Your wrist balanced on the rocking chair’s arm as you lazily tapped the ash of your cigarette. The humid air caressed your arm and gave you goosebumps that reminded you that you were still alive. Human.
Your senses had been perked, knowing a disruption was overdue.
“Cicadas warned me you’d be comin’ tonight.” Your vexation was pointed, always honest in the distaste you held for the man before you. “Have I not made myself clear?”
The cracks behind your exterior were so deeply concealed you hadn’t thought anything could slip between. Yet, standing before you, his presence was the ice-pick that’s pressure had threatened to shatter you.
“Oh, no, ma’am, you have.” Remmick's posture was playful as if he held control of the situation. “Just reckon you’d change your mind by now.”
You hummed. It wasn’t thoughtful, but a placeholder. You were slow to anger; your patience could outwit Remmick.
You’d grown so accustomed to how he worked, his body language became predictable, and so did his actions. Especially, with the banjo strapped across Remmick’s back.
Even in the dark, you could see how his fingers itched to toy with the instrument. You’d learned he couldn’t sit still in silence, even if the night itself always buzzed. Remmick would twist the banjo’s strap, settling the instrument in his lap, and persuade the night to succumb to him and his song.
You drew in another crackling breath, “Tonight’s no night for pickin’ that thing.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.” Remmick’s hands were joined behind his back.
He swayed back and forth on his feet, waiting with a childlike enthusiasm. His smile wasn’t foreign on his face, but something was off.
Different.
There was an odd sense of pride you felt with his presence. It confirmed the distant admiration that Remmick held for years. You respected his drive, but your desires fell elsewhere. He carved space for you despite your protests, but you could never be the one to fill it—you could never be his.
Something swirled in your chest, but you brought the cigarette to your lips to suffocate it.
“Those’ll kill you, ya know…” Remmick gestured to your vice.
You flicked the roach onto the dirt before his feet.
“So will you.”
Another smile, sinful this time. You never had to say it aloud, nor did he. You knew what he was. To you, it was obvious his desires; he was an open wound rooted to his devotions. You, another thing in his path.
“Heard what you did to those clan folk…” You prodded. Apparently, you were all heart tonight, carrying the conversation. Something rare and in between.
“You sound impressed.”
“Your massacre will fall on the shoulders of the undeserving.” You shook your head with wry sympathy. “You ain’t a hero.”
“To some, I am.” He shrugged. “I’ve had many titles, but I know to pay no mind to ‘em. Can’t let the bullies win, right?”
You tutted lightly. “Peace be upon you for what you have so mightily endured.”
Remmick talked to you about suffering. He had said it in passing, in riddles that took a few visits for you to realize what he wanted. He wanted a home, but too much time had bastardized the sentiment.
Instead, his suffering became one very long moment. You learned it could not be divided by seasons. You could only record their moods and chronicle their return—his return.
Remmick wagged his finger at you, hand on hip, teasing. He inched closer to your porch, but you knew he’d never touch the steps unless you said so.
“You almost got me thinkin’ something dangerous—” He cocked his head, musing a buried thought. Then, he clicked his tongue against his teeth with ridicule, “Careful—you’re getting awful sentimental these days.”
You tracked Remmick’s movements. You envied how he filled the space better than you. Perhaps it was the smugness in his presence. Regardless, you felt like a guest outside your own home.
You felt caught, exposed. So, you stood, leaving your shadow with the rhythm of your rocking chair.
The weight of your footsteps made the rotting wood of your porch groan, as if warning you not to move further. But you continued down the steps until the last, giving you enough height for Remmick to tilt his chin up to reach your eyes.
“Thinkin’ bout me often?” You cooed. “That why you always lurkin’, waitin’...for me?”
“Ain’t never said that, lass.” Something sparkled in his eyes, but they remained dark and curious. You wouldn’t stop until they shone red. “Some of us appear out of habit, guided by some blood-orchestral pulse—”
“Is that why you keep coming back to me?” You considered. “That’s not a comfort.”
“Ain’t meant to be.”
You hummed. “Nothin’ you say will shake me, there’s a devil in this world, and I’ve already met him—you ain’t him.”
Remmick’s tongue sat on the roof of his mouth in thought, eyes mulling over your expression.
Then, he smiled, the shadows of the night elongating his teeth’s point. “Should I be jealous?”
“Yeah, I reckon so.” Provoking him, you dangled a foot off the step. You kept your eyes on his, waiting. “Just remember he who sups with the Devil should have a long spoon.”
Remmick could pull you forward before you could blink. Sink his teeth into your neck, but you knew he wouldn’t. You knew it wasn’t out of kindness.
He liked to play with his food. He liked it when his food talked back.
“Easy.” His warning highlighted his drawl.
“Isn’t this why you haunt me?” You followed his eyes, not letting him break the contact. “Seems not every one of your hauntings is for horror; sometimes it’s just for company, huh?”
You taunted him with a claim you never let him forget.
You waited for Remmick to lunge with anger. You’d been far more liberal with your words than usual.
Remmick watched you with something close to admiration, but his hands stayed firm in his pockets, and so did his posture.
“Trick question, that is.” He pushed against the physical boundary, his nose looking to touch yours. “I told ya, down in the Delta, never trust what you see. I’m an appetite, nothin’ more.”
Your foot finally landed, and you stood chest to chest with Remmick, past the threshold of safety.
“You think I’m afraid of you?” Fear was like a pet to you: something you’d pick up to get a better look at, but that you’d soon grow tired of. And now, fear was your ally. “You must be starvin’.”
You traced his face with your half-lidded eyes. He looked proper, shirt tucked in, suspenders tightened perfectly, necklace sticking to the sweat of his skin. What skin you could see was dirty, like his clothes. It had clearly been some time since he last tidied his appearance.
All an act of deception.
Meeting his eyes again, you smiled at his very human-like reaction; his pupils were blown wide and resisting something coveted.
The night was silent, holding its breath in hopes of saving you. You should have heeded its warning.
“If only you’d listen.” Remmick continued, filling the quiet. Your breath fell on his lips. It was a push and pull, your mouths ghosting each other, but never quite making full contact. “Look at what you’re doing, playin’ like this. Your revelin’ in my torture—”
“No.” You insisted half-heartedly. Remmick thought this was another lie, a deception to get him pliable. “You’re sorely mistaken.”
“You know, lyin’ doesn’t suit you.” Remmick sounded dangerous, his voice deep and coarse in a way you’d never heard before, every word he spoke seeming to rumble out of him. A hand snaked its way up to your throat. “Oh, to freeze this moment forever, where you are so warm and your heart is going so deliciously fast.”
You felt thin, sharp nails prick against the tender skin. Remmick nosed at your cheek, taking in every scent you offered. He trailed down your jawline, his ragged breath falling on your pulse point.
“I’m charmed.” Your remark fell on absent but not deaf ears.
“I’ve beheld a thousand faces, made purple with cold; whence o'er me comes a shudder, and evermore will come, at frozen rivers.” He spoke like a song, lilting his words as if reading a poem. “Yet, at the river’s bend, I see you as you are—”
You watched how his eyes flickered with a red gleam. There it was.
“—here you are.” Remmick continued, mouth searching for yours. “Changin’ right before my eyes.”
Your features were accentuated by an internal glow. There was no modesty in your gaze; it shattered any notion of strength. There was no insight into your emotions.
Yet, it highlighted something else, something deeper. It was subtle but powerful, like the way a garden seemed to breathe life into a space.
Something shifted in Remmick’s eyes; a baptism in fire. You missed how his eyebrows furrowed in conflict.
Fear clawed its way up Remmick’s throat, determined to make itself known. It fought with another emotion he was too proud to name. He wasn’t unfamiliar with loss. But this. The feeling was wild—sentimental.
The shadows were still pressed thick against the night. Morning was there, but hadn't been announced. Suffering had yet to spot you, though you heard it hunting. No one, yet, had spoiled the dark by singing. The air outside was too cold, even for the birds.
Remmick felt his skin prick. It was electric. Cold. Warm. All and nothing combined. A centuries-buried question revealed itself:
Do you not deserve to be somewhere that brings out the softness in you, not the survival?
Remmick’s hand tightened on your neck. You felt drool pool on his lips and drip down your neck. He pressed his lips there, teeth ready to puncture your flesh.
It was what he wanted, you thought. All this time he’d haunted you, you’d finally given him what he wanted.
However, you felt nothing but warmth. Remmick’s teeth were replaced with his lips, providing a wet, open-mouthed kiss. He lingered there, breath ragged through his nose as if testing his own limits.
“Fuck.” Remmick’s grip lightened. An act of submission, of failure, of self-consciousness. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, cursing in a language foreign to you.
Anger wouldn’t settle outside his chest, so he pulled away from you like you were sunlight. He avoided your gaze as if you were a mirror; he had no interest in learning what it felt like to meet his own eyes.
Remmick paced against the dissonance of conflict that filled his ears. He was supposed to devour you, turn you towards blood and music.
“...and how odd is it to be haunted by someone that is still alive, Remmick?” Even with a low tone, your voice carried throughout the open air. “You dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth.”
“Stop—” Remmick’s confusion manifested physically; he pulled at his hair trying to think clearly, rubbed at his cheek and chin to rid himself strife, and almost fell to his knees to beg for mercy.
Remmick stepped backward just as you moved closer. The only evidence you’d been standing in front of him at all was the pounding of your heart and a sick feeling in his stomach.
“Those colonizers took your father’s land, forced prayer upon your people, and you still recite His word for comfort.” You spat, stepping further from your forgotten home. “O, turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted. Relieve the troubles of my heart and free me from my anguish!"
You were something volatile and authentic. You didn’t mock religion, you related to the way your lips moved on instinct to verses as old as time. Comfort was needed when the world was on fire, when the world forgot about you.
You remember that once, Remmick had told you: We’re all dying, slowly, every day. But even you knew there was no use in prayers.
nsfw! remmick + f!preachers daughter!reader, rem is a total soft, needy dom, totally awkward, totally loser-y, extremely dubious consent in the beginning, never ever proofread, oral on fem.
I don't think that remmy ever got any pretty little maidens back in his day, subsequently because of his nervous, eager nature that he has carried through his vampire years.
that being said, it doesn't seem to stop him from tripping over himself when you sees you go by, making you feel awfully sorry for guy. just some new guy in town and he's already making a fool of himself for you - which makes you pretend not to notice the way he's everywhere you are, like a persistent shadow dogging at the heels of your feet.
you've been taught to be sympathetic to those in need, which only feeds into remmick's hopes when you return his stumbling words with your own soft n sweet ones. even just a hello from the preachers daughter and the Irish man felt like you had saved his soul.
and maybe remmick liked you (too much), not that he would ever say it. and you had to go and invite him to church and bring him home-baked pastries - things you did for everyone, though he would think otherwise - hell, you even had him even believing that you were wearing your skirts just a tad shorter for him.
so why are you surprised when he offers to walk around the forest trails with you that he's trying to kiss you?
"you're- you're just being too touchy, I think, is all," your voice like a bible hymn as you try to tell him off as politely as your daddy raised you too, head lilting far to evade his lips. "why, sweetheart," he's cooing to you in that southern drawl, "it ain't sex," he lets out with a chuckle as if you needed teachings in the way of god.
as he gets closer and closer, you put your hands to his chest, not pushing him away, but not bringing him any closer, either. "I know-" you stop, lowering your voice despite having nothing around you two for a few miles except the whispering of the wind, "I know that, but I'm just not ready-"
"oh, please baby, shh," he's shushing you, "you don't know what you want," and he believes what he says. why, he's a few hundred year old vampire, and you're just a little dolly thing. "I-i know you need this as much as I do," his statement upheld as his lips find yours, shutting you up even more effectively than before, ignoring the way your hands try to push him off.
"you don't know what you need," his voice promising you this as his lips slam against yours as his hands go and fumble to bunch up your skirt.
"no, no, none of that," he condescends you as you gasp and muscles make your arms move to go and push your skirt back down. "you'll see, sweet thing," his voice rasping a bit more as his nails take a dig at your panties, pulling them down, "you'll feel it, too. see n feel how you need me, how good I can be to you."
before you know it, his lips are suckling on your clit and fingers in your cunt as he looks up at you with those puppy dog eyes, everything about him feeling disgustingly good. "oh, you're just perfect. taste like peaches n cream," his speech muffled as he makes out with your pussy, voice barely making it up to your ears over your little moans you try so desperately to cage in your throat.
still, you can't help that when he gives your cunt a particularly perfect thrust of his fingers that you get louder and your hands go to his hair, tousling it to an even messier state than it had been in before. "o-ohhh, rem," you cry softly, tears that had been clinging to your bottom lashes drop.
"I know baby, I know," his other hand patting your thigh as his tongue works over your clit, "you gonna come for me baby? gonna be a good girl n finish?" his coaxing words making your pussy flutter, which made him smile against your soaking slit.
"yeah, you are," said before finishing you off with a particularly harsh suck to your clit, making your knees buckle, threatening your balance.
never a neglectful lover, remmick licks up the rest of your slick, cleaning you with his tongue before placing a lasting kiss on your slit before retracting himself from you. sitting back on his knees, his hands work up and down your thighs as he looks up at you with that adoring expression. "did you feel good, doll?"
Your thighs tremble around his head, trembling not just from the relentless pressure of his tongue but from the sick, slow way he moans against you. Not just eating you, no, devouring, like he’s starving. Like he’d die a second time if he wasn’t buried between your legs.
"Shit, baby, look at you!" Remmick coos, pleased with himself. You groan, pushing him back down with a buck of your hips.
"Don't talk with your mouth full." You hiss. He offers a scoff with a smirk, cutting you off with a light slap to your thigh. He dives back in, slick and spit coating his chin and nose, his breath hot as he looks up through heavy-lidded, feral eyes. You see them glow in the dim lighting, and you can't help but tilt your head back with a groan.
"Pretty little baby," he murmurs, voice thick, "Know you like it messy." He clicks his tongue, fangs peaking out while he smiles against your thigh. "Mmm. You're all twitchy." That grin of his turns animal when you tug on his hair in retaliation.
He spits, slow and deliberate, on your clit, watching your hips twitch, then leans in and laps it up again, groaning against you. The heat of his breath, the rise and fall of his chest as he needily humps the mattress beneath you two.
The more you struggle from the overstimulation, the more those sharp claws of his dig into your thighs. He's holding you down, letting you listen to the wet, sloppy obscene sounds of him making out with your cunt.
When a particularly harsh buck of your hips and whimper sounds, you break the eye contact.
"Remmi-"
"Nuh-uh. Stay the fuck down," he growls into your core. "You’re not goin’ anywhere." His words are quick and clipped, like he's briefly scolding you.
And you do- violently. Sobbing, convulsing, fists pounding the sheets. But he doesn’t stop. Just licks harder. Rougher. Ruts his face like he’s trying to tongue-fuck your soul out of your body.
When you think he's finally done, he crawls up over you, jaw wet, lips swollen. "Keep your mouth open for a second, baby." He directs. His breath hits your lips, sticky with his drool and your juice. His hand slides up your throat, not choking, but holding you still. It could almost be considered polite, if not for the mess he's making.
You barely have time to gasp before he spits into your mouth, watching you with narrowed, adoring eyes. The slow drawl of liquid passing between his lips, unable to be held in anymore. It dribbles into your open mouth, down your chin, until you can taste yourself and him.
"There you go, swallow." He nods, eager. Claws coming up to poke at your cheek and smush the drool all around your face and lips. His cock is straining hard against your thigh.
When you think he's done putting on his little show, he lets out a soft relieved sigh, pleased, before nuzzling his face into yours. His own drool sticking your faces together, little flicks of his tongue pressing all over your face just to get a few more tastes and kisses in.
He lifts two fingers up to his mouth. Licks. Moans. Savors the delicacy, before going down to swipe them between your legs. "One more round, okay? We ain't done yet." He whispers, before sinking his face back down your body to where your sweet heat awaits him.
