Nutritional Label : he likes the way you sound when he’s got you trapped like that.
Calories : 500
Notice .ᐟ first post on this account ! just a filthy blurb with sweet farmer boy remmick inspired by @flixpii !
Content Warning 18+ mdni, unprotected piv sex, choking / breathplay (consensual), light overstimulation, creampie / cum play, size kink, messy sex, light drool
you don’t even get a warning. just the blunt, thick press of his cockhead parting your folds again, already sticky with his last mess, already throbbing as it sinks back inside.
he’s panting before he’s even halfway in, forearm curled around your throat now, tugging you into a headlock that forces your back flush to his chest. your spine arches. your tits bounce with every roll of his hips, the slap-slick sound of skin on skin filling the room like it’s obscene.
“i-i like this,” he whispers, breath trembling as his chest swells against your back. his voice breaks into little gasps each time his cock bottoms out. “like holdin’ you like this… keepin’ you close.”
his cock is fat—too fat—and the stretch has your eyes rolling, your mouth open, drool gathering at the corner of your lips as your thighs tremble beneath you. he’s buried so deep it aches. every slow grind punches breath out of you, the blunt head of him dragging against that swollen spot inside that makes your legs go weak.
you moan, loud and shameless, and his breath catches.
“that feel good?” he mumbles against your shoulder, the arm around your neck flexing just a little, just enough to tighten the hold. “i-i’m doing good?”
you nod, squirming helplessly under him as his strokes grow faster. mess gathers between your legs, a slick squelch every time he fucks into you. his balls slap against your cunt, already wet and swollen from how full he’s made you. the lube of his last climax hasn’t even dried—it’s dripping out of you, leaking down your thighs, coating the base of his shaft in a creamy ring that clings with every thrust.
“s-sorry,” he whimpers suddenly, voice cracking as he hugs you tighter. “can’t help it—it feels too good—too warm—”
his hips are stuttering now, frantic and shallow, his thick cock rutting in and out of your soaked hole like he’s chasing the feeling. your walls spasm around him, and he cries out again—loud, needy, broken.
“please… please let me finish inside again. wanna give it to you. wanna see it drip out after—”
you press your hand to the arm around your throat and whisper, “tighten it.”
he freezes. “you sure?”
“yes.”
the squeeze comes soft at first, just enough to make your breath stutter. then a little more. your vision dims at the edges. your cunt clenches hard.
he groans—high, desperate, barely holding on—his cock pulsing thick and twitching deep inside as he spills. it’s hot. wet. a slow, sticky flood that fills you so full it bubbles out around the base, dripping down your thighs and onto the bed.
his arm is still around your neck. his body’s still pressed tight against your back, flushed and trembling, cock still lodged inside you, too thick to slip out even soft.
“made such a mess,” he breathes, staring down at where he’s buried. “you’re so pretty like this… leakin’ all over me.”
hey!! hope it’s no trouble but i js wanted to ask if u have any anime “x black reader” writers to recommend on here? im new on tumblr and ur like the only one i can find 😞 (very grateful for u tho ofc!!!)
ooh yes nonny there's plentiful here! ill list some below but please check out authors @triangularz big list of black writers and also @ramonathinks runs @blkwriters. Besides them here's what i can think off off the top of my head:
Synopsis: You haven’t seen him in so long, barely batted an eye. So why do you keep doing double takes and suddenly, you want all his attention on you now?
Characters: Lion Kaminski, James Cook
a/n: Yes I've been listening to MBF and I’m obsessed with this song. So, when the idea comes i have to write. not plot heavy, just ideas or blurbs/drabbles hahahaha…unless?
cw: drugs mentioned, suggestive content, kissing, I went all out for Cook for some reason— oops. if you see any grammar or punctuation mistakes, no you didnt :)
You went out with a few friends, a small social gathering that had just happened. Nothing was planned, nothing had a set order, so the night was filled with spontaneous decisions that may or may not come back to bite you in the morning.
You saw a poster— A boxing match taking place only for tonight. With alcohol in your system and money to spare, you all went inside to watch men get bloodied and hoped that you would see a tooth on the floor.
It was good, some lasting far longer than you thought but then you see him. Someone who looks very familiar and yet you couldn’t pinpoint who. When the match was over— the familiar figure whose hand was raised in triumph— the announcer called his name as the winner, and then it clicked.
Lion Kaminski
You remember him from way back in high school. He was the type who mostly kept to himself and didn’t stick around too often in the city. He was mostly a quiet, shy, and scrawny-looking kid. His hair was longer back then too, a little on the blonder side. In your case, at the time of your youth, he wasn’t much to look at— the type of guy you would never take interest in, you wouldn’t have thought twice about him.
Now? You're looking.
Really looking.
He exited the ring, jumping down from the back, and walked away. Your eyes followed him, trying to see which way he was going amongst the crowd and he went through a back door tucked into a hallway.
You excused yourself from the friend group, telling them you had to use the bathroom, but really, you were looking for him.
You opened the door and found him standing by a table, a few things scattered along the surface. The room was dimly lit, and the only bright light was the single lightbulb hanging overhead. Getting closer, you could see the muscles on him, the growing purple bruises on his pretty face that somehow made him look hotter. You couldn’t help the way your eyes traced over the large cross tattoo on his side. It was big, dark, like he deliberately placed it so people could just look.
He was wiping sweat from his face with a towel, his hair ruffled, eyes shut in thought.
“Lion?” You called, trailing closer with your heels clicking against the floor.
He turned and stopped what he was doing momentarily, head tilted, eyebrows raised.
“Who’s asking?” he said, his voice a mix of confusion and curiosity.
“Remember me? From Salt Lake High School?” you said, “We had third period together with Ms.Lyman— you know, the one who had all the cat posters on her wall? I used to sit in front of you.”
He thought for a moment—understandable. It’s been so long since high school, since either of you had seen the other. You rarely spoke unless you needed a pencil or asked about what assignment was due. If he didn’t remember, that was fine; you could treat it as a do-over of sorts.
“Yeah, I do.” He nodded, picking up a duffel bag from the floor, tucking the towel he had been using to clean himself off into it. “You used to wear that vanilla-scented perfume all the time.”
How…How did he remember that?
“Was it that obvious?” You felt heat creep to your cheeks. Embarrassed, oddly self-conscious suddenly.
“You sprayed it before class, during class, and after. So yes, it was obvious.” He cracked a smile, you can see a split on his bottom lip, dried blood evident.
You saw the way his eyes trailed over you, slowly at first, but then snapped back up like he was suddenly aware of what he was doing. “You…you look good.” He commented, his words a little unsure, like he didn’t know what else he was supposed to say. Still that shy, quiet, kid it seemed.
“You too.” You averted your eyes so it wasn’t obvious that you were staring hard. There was something there—you weren’t sure if it was sexual, romantic, or just the thought of wanting someone. The more you looked at him, the more you felt a spark growing.
“I didn’t know you boxed,” You questioned soon after, glancing back at him.
“I don’t,” he said, then quickly added, “my brother makes me.”
Brother? You didn’t know that either. Then again, you didn’t know much about him anyway.
But God, he was fine. Probably the finest man you’ve ever seen. He wasn’t like this in high school, he wasn’t this satisfying to look at, wasn’t this hard to talk to— you're barely holding it together.
Lion turned away, his back to you as he began gathering the rest of his things— his headphones, another towel left on the table, and his water bottle. He quickly packed everything into his duffel bag, then faced you again.
“Nice seeing you, I guess?”
“Y-Yeah, Nice seeing you too.”
The atmosphere was awkward, with two people who clearly didn’t know how to navigate a conversation correctly.
“Okay…”
Just before he could turn to leave, another exit at the back, your mouth moved before you could think. When were you going to meet him again after this? If you were ever going to meet him. This was an entirely different town right now, so far away from home. He could be leaving tomorrow and never show up again.
You blurted out, “Can I get your number?”
Lion halted, eyes wide.
“— Or I could give you mine? Either works, doesn’t matter.” You couldn’t have made it more obvious. Shit, you should have asked if he had a girlfriend before you said that.
Would you have cared if he did?
(A/n: Be honest)
…No, not really.
Lion stopped, his eyes locked to your own. You weren’t sure what he was thinking, weren’t sure if he was close to rejecting you— but then, he dipped his hand into his duffel bag and pulled out a pen.
“…You got paper?”
Wait, was this really happening?
“Um, no... “ With quick thinking, you thought of the next best possible solution. “But I have this.” You reached your hand out, palm up. Lion glanced at your hand, then back at you— puzzled at first but he got the gist of the idea.
A quiet laugh escaped him, amused and intrigued.
“Sure, that works too.” he said with a chuckle. He took your hand and pulled you closer, causing you to stumble slightly. He removed the cap with his teeth, holding it between them as he kept your hand in one of his, the other busy scribbling something.
His fingers were rough and cold, the clear signs of wear and tear on his skin— Shades of black, blue, and what looked like fresh paint of red were evident. Veins were running along the top of his hand, almost hypnotic, like it was mapping out the width of his hand. You could feel your mouth watering, like a dog to a juicy T-bone.
Christ.
He jotted down a few numbers, then released your hand, slid the cap back on, and slipped the pen back into his bag. “Call me anytime… if you want.”
You brought your hand up, reading the numbers in your head. Unsure if you were dreaming at the moment.
Did that really just happen?
"I'll catch you later then?" He tipped his head slightly, then turned and walked out the back door, clearly leaving no room for a response. He took his time, clearly in no rush. Just strolled along like he didn’t have anywhere else to be.
You stood there, watching him leave through the back.
“O-Okay...” you said a moment later, to nobody but yourself—your brain short-circuiting.
Okay.
Parties were never really your thing— they were more Jenna’s, your best friend since grade school. She loved going out, spending her nights twirling on the dance floor, and aiming to kiss at least three guys who happened to glance her way. You, on the other hand, were usually content at home, curled up in bed with a good movie and a few snacks within reach. But somehow, she managed to convince you to come along.
“Does this dress make my ass look big?” you asked, pausing by the door as you twisted to catch a glimpse of yourself from behind.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, a little too enthusiastically. “That’s why I told you to wear it— duh.”
She took your hand and guided you inside the building, making a beeline for the bar. The club was packed, with people bumping and grinding against each other already. It was too crowded for your taste—and too obscene to be doing those things in public—but hey, people did what they wanted.
“What’s the plan?” you asked, settling into the swivel chair. Your feet were starting to ache—heels too high and a bit too tight. You wanted to wear flats, but Jenna had begged you to at least try putting some effort into your outfit. How did she convince you to come out again?
“First,” she said, reaching into her cleavage and pulling out a small plastic bag from her bra, “we take this. Then we dance.”
“What the fuck? I’m not taking that.”
“Come on, it’s just a little,” she pressed, holding the small plastic bag out to you—the white powder inside just waiting for its next victim.
You glanced down and then back at her, one brow raised, judging accordingly. “Where did you get this?”
“Had it since yesterday. Thought tonight would be the perfect time to use it,” she prodded again, nudging it toward you.
“No, I’m not going to get high—”
“—Come on,” she whined, “what’s the fun in coming here without a little something in your system?”
Jenna tried to use her best puppy-dog eyes, holding her hands together—pleading for you to just do it. You hated it when she did that.
“This is why I never come with you,” you snapped, but you took it anyway—opening the bag and spilling some of the contents on the table. “You know this is why I always decline your invitations, right?”
“Just say you love me and get on with it.”
“Shut up.”
You leaned forward, closed one nostril with a finger, and sniffed it as quickly as you could. It stung so bad you coughed, holding your chest like you were close to dying.
“Just wash it down with this,” Jenna laughed, passing a glass over to you.
You didn’t care what was in it. Your only real concern was that your throat suddenly felt unbearably dry. You gulped down the entire drink and took a deep breath afterward. Jenna patted you on the back, still laughing as if it was hilarious that her friend was actively failing at taking drugs.
This is why you never, ever, come with her.
“Now, let the fun begin!”
She pulled you again, a wide grin on her face—leading you toward the dance floor. You bumped into a few people, but nobody really cared. The music was loud, almost too loud—with the bass booming, the electric instruments and synthetic keys mashed together like oil and water. The song was terrible to your ears, but for the atmosphere, it made sense: chaotic and wild, sexy and hot.
Eventually, you began to feel more relaxed, the drug pumping through your system. Your feet still hurt, but the pain started to subside into numbness. You weren't sure if that was good or bad. Probably best for now—you'd worry about the pain in the morning.
Then you heard something.
Someone shouting for you.
You would have ignored it, chalked it up to the drugs fucking with your head—but it was a nickname you hadn't heard in years. You turned toward Jenna, who was hopping around to the beat of the music, throwing her hands up wildly.
“Jen, did you hear that?”
“Yes! That’s the sound of me getting down. Dance with me!”
“No, I mean—someone just called me.” You glanced around, eyes scanning the crowd, trying to make sure you weren’t losing it. You didn’t recognize anyone. No one was walking toward you—just people still dancing. This was definitely the drugs talking.
And then you heard it again. That godawful nickname.
Fuck, you recognized that voice.
“I have to go... to the bathroom. Be right back?”
“Want me to come with?” she asked, still dancing, though she slowed down.
“No, keep dancing with… what’s his name?” You looked over to see the guy behind her, eyes shut—grinding behind her. You didn't remember when he appeared, but Jenna seemed to like him enough, so—
“…Don’t fucking know.”
“Right... I’ll just find you after.”
You pushed through the crowd, trying your best to find the women's restroom. It was still packed—too many people clustered in the back—but that didn't matter. You really didn’t want him to find you, opting to stake it out in the bathroom. Before you could open the door, before the relief could wash over you—someone grabbed your hand.
You turned around, fist already balled, ready to fight your offender, but then you stopped when you saw him.
Great. James Cook.
“Whoa!” He raised his hands in mock surrender, smirking at you. “Gonna fuck me face up?”
“Not the first time that would’ve happened,” you said, rolling your eyes. There was no point in going in anymore—he’d probably follow you inside, like the weirdo he was.
“Haven’t seen me in what, three years? And you don’t care to show some love to Cookie?”
“Love?” you scoffed. “That’s rich coming from you. You used to bully me.”
“Bully? Nah, I thought of it more as tough love.”
You felt… dizzy.
Everything hit at once—Cook, the pounding music, your foot nearly kicking some random bucket placed on the floor. You needed to sit down—quickly.
You shot Cook a look—one you hoped conveyed fuck off—but he just smiled.
“What?” He came closer. “Something on my face?”
“You called me an ugly duckling. Remember that?” you sneered, spinning on your heel and refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You saw a couch tucked off into an absent corner and decided to rest there.
“Because you were!” he shouted after you.
You dropped onto the couch with a loud sigh. Cook slid in beside you, his arm casually draped along the backrest, fingers just barely behind your shoulders.
“Leave me the fuck alone,” you muttered.
“Still have that feisty attitude, and it still makes my pants get tight—fucking love that.”
Perhaps it was the drugs in your system.
Cook moved in closer, his hand landing softly on your leg—his palm cool to the touch.
“You’re hot as fuck now—hotter than any girl I’ve seen in this club.”
Perhaps it was the beaming blue lights that swayed your judgment.
“You think, just because you find me hot you'll what? Get into my pants now?”
“I was hoping so, yeah.”
Perhaps it was the way he looked at you, the added proximity of his hand that was slowly creeping up your thighs. He still looked…charming. Cute, even after all these years. Maybe that's what tipped the boat.
“Huh… You find me hot?” You tilted your head at him, a small, innocent smile gracing your face.
You leaned in slowly, unhurried, your eyes glazed with lust. You weren’t sure what exactly compelled you to move but ...one taste couldn’t hurt. Just enough to see what all the fuss was about, to understand why women seemed to flock to him so easily.
Cook’s eyes widened, a little shocked that you caved so easily.
“Y–Yeah… I saw your ass first—still big and curvy.”
His voice was still annoying but his face—
“Wanna touch 'em’?”
“H-Huh?” Cook swallowed hard, eyes flicking to your lips. “T-Touch… what exactly?”
“My ass, silly.”
Cook didn’t move. He just sat there, eyes wide in shock. He actually looked kind of cute like that—completely dumbfounded.
You got closer until your lips brushed over his, your hand dragging along his thigh. You could feel the tightness in his jeans. When did that happen?
“Are you hard right now?” you asked, with no concern. You just wanted to hear him admit it.
“Fuck Yes,” he breathed.
At least he was truthful.
You let your fingers trace a slow line up his thigh, careful not to rush, watching his reaction. The way his breath hitched told you everything.
“Guess some things never change,” you murmured, voice low and teasing.
You finally kissed him.
It wasn't quick, it wasn't sloppy, it was tamed. You wanted to take your time with him, wanted to truly see if he could change your views– make you understand why people still tolerate him, even after all these years. You got closer, your legs moving on their own– sitting into his lap. You heard him moan softly into the kiss, his eyes shut in pleasure.
Your hands cupped his face, thumb brushing against his cheek. You tilted his head back slightly to deepen the kiss and his tongue met yours, warm and eager.
Cook slid his hands down your side, feeling your curves, bringing his hands lower and lower until they were on your ass. He squeezed lightly, feeling how soft it was under his palms.
“A-Always wanted to touch you here.” He sighed, then quickly sucked your tongue into his mouth.
You could feel an ache growing, your hips grinding down to feel some sort of relief. You jolted when he pinched the underside of your ass, but then he smoothed his hand over it, like he was apologizing.
You pulled back to bite his bottom lip and he let out a low, surprised yelp. You tugged harshly, chewing softly as you locked eyes with him. You felt his hips lift to meet your ass, his hand sliding under the hem of your dress to touch your panties. Once you released his lip with a soft pop, watching his eyes search yours, he groaned.
Low and silent but clear, begging you to do it again.
You leaned forward, ghosting your lips over his ear and whispered, “Wanna see what I'm wearing under this?”
You sweep your arm across his side of the bed and discover it to be empty. You squint into the darkness, your eyes scanning the room – he isn’t here. You sit up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You hear classical music faintly playing from somewhere down the hall.
You gather the fur throw from the bed, wrap it around yourself and head out of the room. You pad down the hallway, your bare feet making little slapping noises on the marble as you do so. You follow the sound of the music and find yourself in one of the house’s drawing rooms. You stop at the edge of the doorway, peeking past the frame. You see Sylus, wearing his bathrobe, standing next to his vintage turntable, his fingers rifling through his collection of records. You watch as he pulls one out, then returns it, going through a few records before walking away, possibly deciding to leave the one he’s currently playing.
He comes around to the leather sofa, and takes a seat, his hand reaching for his gun on the coffee table in front of him. He starts pulling it apart, his hands deftly moving to disassemble it. He takes a small cloth from the table and begins to polish one of the smaller parts of the gun.
“Well, are you just going to hover at the doorway? Or are you going to come join me?”
His voice startles you, deep and still a little croaky – he doesn’t look up at you, his attention still on the work in his hands. You step out from the shadows into the dim light of the drawing room. Sylus glances at you sideways, and then motions at you to join him on the sofa by tilting his head. You comply, wordlessly walking towards the sofa and sitting down next to him, the throw you took from the bed still hanging around your shoulders.
“You should be asleep,” he tells you, continuing in his polishing.
“So should you,” you counter, leaning against him. You’re not too familiar with the weapon he’s handling, but it looks to be an old-fashioned pistol. He sure does like collecting antiques. You watch him silently, entranced by the way his long, calloused fingers delicately handle the weapon.
“So why aren’t you in bed?” you yawn, nuzzling into his shoulder. “Bad dream?”
He pauses in his work, pursing his lips before answering. “The inside of my head has been a little… noisy tonight,” he says, eyes still focused on the weapon. “But it’s fine,” he adds quickly. “I just need to… meditate a little.” He waves the gun in his hand. “This is my meditation.”
“I have another idea – this might help,” you pipe up, and he looks at you sideways again.
“Sweetie, we’ve already done that tonight. Four times for you if I recall–”
“Okay, Sylus,” you interject with a roll of your eyes. “I wasn’t talking about that.”
You take away the pieces of the gun in his hand, and lay them back on the table. He lets you take them, the corner of his lips tugging up into a subtle smirk.
You lay down on the sofa, pulling away the throw from your body. You motion at Sylus to lie down in the small space next to you, which he raises an eyebrow at.
“Come on,” you croon, trying to make more space for him. “Don’t be shy.”
He sighs, then does as you suggest, lying down in between you and the backrest of the sofa. He squeezes in, half of his weight on top of you, his arm draping over your chest in a light embrace.
“I’m not heavy?” he asks in a murmur.
You shake your head, your arm wrapping around his broad shoulders as much as possible, pulling him into you. Your other hand takes the throw and you cover both you and Sylus with it. He nestles into you, his face nudging into the crook of your neck.
“What now?” he whispers into your skin. His fingers go for a button on your pajamas, and he toys absentmindedly with it as you settle against him.
“Just listen,” you tell him, placing a hand in his hair. “Maybe this will help drown out the noise in your head.”
Your hand starts stroking his hair, your fingers ruffling through his silver locks. He lets out a long sigh, and you feel his body relax into yours. You start humming, a familiar melody you’ve heard from one of his records – one he puts on when he’s had a particularly rough day.
“I know this one,” he mumbles, his eyelids starting to flutter.
You continue humming, your fingers running through his hair, giving it a soft tug every so often. You listen to his breathing start to slow, his body becoming heavier. Soon, you start to hear him snore, and you finish the song with a last few quiet hums. You place a kiss onto the top of his head, into his hair, willing the voices in his head to be silent for the rest of the night.
Summary: You Come home late at night from a party, Unaware that a stranger is following you. Too bad he wont get a warning to what's about to happen. A creature that stalks your home and calls you "Mine" doesn't like it when people try and take what belongs to him.
A/N: It took me 4-5 Days to write this with pure determination and horniness. Thank you to my Remmick’s Freak writers room that showed me that life is truly worth living if Remmick gets to take you in the forest, added with drool and spit swapping. If you notice anything missing in the tags pls don’t be afraid to let me know! If you see grammar mistakes, no you didn't :)
Warning : MDNI, No use of name or Y/n, Reader isnt described, Blood, Slight Blood Play, slight Predator/Prey, Female Reader, Murder, slight sexual harassment (mentioned), Spit eating (with Blood), Possessive!Remmick, choking (slight), Humping if you squint, Remmick Drools as usual, Cursing, Drool Eating, Stalking (mentioned), Remmick is greedy asf (who could blame him?),
Word Count: 2.6k
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆₊ °✦ ‧ ‧ ₊ ˚✧⁺˚⋆｡ °✩₊˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
He just killed someone.
A man who was too busy trying to take what wasn’t his.
You were walking home from a party. Having caught wind of a new Juke joint opening, it only made sense to check it out. You and your merry band of friends who were bursting with excitement got ready that same day - picking out an outfit to wear, makeup that matched. Soon the opening hour was upon you.
The place was nice, with lights suspended on balconies and a stage filled with instruments of all kinds. The Music was felt deep into the soul and the people who got in knew how to have a grand ole time. You danced and danced until your feet hurt, until your skin got all sweaty and your voice raspy from singing and hollering all night long. Once it got too late the crowd started to die down; People running to get home so they could wake up and catch the early morning.
Once the music finally started to slow down and the crowd got smaller, You figured it was also time for you to go. So, you bid your friends a farewell. One of them offered to walk you home but You declined. You figured since it was too late nobody would be around, wondering and lurking in the night. Well, maybe except for one but that was an entirely different thing.
He should have known better than to mess with women walking at night, alone.
Especially women who have guard dogs waiting for them at home.
You’re pinned down on the floor . Remmick touching all over you, marking his territory once more because some poor old bastard couldn’t read the “do not enter” sign properly. They got what they wanted. What they deserved. Now there’s multiple large, crankled, slash's deep into their chest, blood pooling from the wound. Their neck has been completely ripped off - the large organ of skin and muscle standing a few feet away from your face but you didn’t care. Not when Remmick was too busy making sure every inch of your body smelled like you again. Like him.
If an unsuspecting viewer were to walk by they would have thought a rabid dog was mulling you to death. The scene was chaotic and obscene. A dismembered body a few feet away and a poor victim being ravaged by a beast. They would probably scream and shout for help, Ask if you were okay but nobody was coming for you. They never did.
Not when He was around.
In a situation like this you would have fought him off. Maybe Use anything to your advantage, grab a rock that was wedged by the tree, take the lonely branch on the side and use it as a weapon - Like normal people would do to fight off a normal guy but he was not normal. Something that was entirely impossible to be and yet he was.
“Remmick slow…slow down!” You cry out, gripping Remmicks shoulders for support when he licks a long, fat, strip up against your neck. It's late in the night, nothing but the cold breeze rattling the trees and startling a few birds. The dead stranger almost got you, almost had his way with you. He grabbed you from behind while you were a few feet away from your porch, pulled you close until your body was flushed against his and touched you. Wandering hands searched your skin and mouth pressed against the back of your neck. You screamed, trying your best to pull away from him, tossing your body from side to side but it was short lived when he shoved you towards the ground.
“Quit it bitch! There aren't anybody up at this hour.” he chuckled, getting down on his knees to forcibly turn you over to your back.
He wanted to get a real nice look at you, too bad you were going to be the last thing he ever saw. One of the things he ever saw. The moonlight shined against his face and you noticed that he looked familiar. You've seen him before, at the juke joint. He was drowning drink after drink but was short lived when he got kicked out for touching one of your friends. You remember cursing him out, screaming and shoving him out the door along with the bouncer who took notice. He was pissed, arguing that your friend asked for it.
How stupid can men be?
If only he had noticed that a creature lingered in the shadows of your porch. One that didn’t take too kindly at having their property be trespassed.
“Remmick-”
“Can’t, busy. Need you to get rid of that stench you have.” Remmick says, getting in between your legs, in that comfortable position he always liked to be in , making sure his body was close enough. Remmick moves to press his face into you, rubbing his nose against the deep hollow of your neck. Pinning his body fully against your own. You can’t help the way your body reacts, the way he’s got his full weight on you; Like he wants to get under your skin. No, he Needs to get under your skin. His hands are everywhere - His claws scraping lightly against your arms, legs, anywhere that showed too much skin. Areas that were infected by hands that didn't deserve to touch you.
He still wasn't satisfied.
“Remmick you killed someone!” you shout, Shoving his chest back to get his full attention. He didn't budge, he never does. Too strong, ancient, powerful but he did stop to take you in - leaning back on his hunches, Eyes searching your form. You weren't sure if he was inspecting you, eyes trailing down slowly and then snapping back to your face. He was frozen, quiet until after a few minutes, When the wind stopped blowing and the cicadas went silent.
“Does it matter?”
Your brows raised, confused at first. “Does it matter?...” you quickly repeat after, annoyance building on your tongue, “Yes! You can't have too many people up and go missing in this area cause you get all-”
“He was gonna hurt you…” he growls, a cold bloody hand reaching out to caress your face. His hand is bigger than before ; Longer, claws sharper , Like a predator. An elongated thumb glides against your cheek bone. His hands were rough, frigid and yet he held your face so softly. Careful, like you were fragile glass.
“He was gonna take you…take what's mine away,” the pad of his thumb rubs along the bottom line of your lips, leaving a small bloody trail, “He was gonna die anyway.”
“...How…How would you have known that?”
He sneers at your question, Disappointed that you would ask that but most importantly question him. He sighs loudly at that. Fine, he’ll entertain you, for a bit. He doesn't say anything for a short while but he does take note of how you watch him, eyeing the way he pokes his tongue out to lick the presence of blood away on his teeth. He finally decides to speak again.
He whispers low so only you could hear him as if someone else was among the two of you. There was, he just wasn't alive to hear it.
“I could smell it on him,” he says, “Death.”
The pad of his thumb gets replaced by a long claw, slowly dragged against your lip. He was careful once more; Careful not to prick the soft skin but his eyes were sharp, Dilated until there was nothing but red.
It sends a shiver down your spine; How sinister he could look and yet moved in a way that was gentle. Ever so considerate of how human you are but soon after he adds in, interrupting the hypnotizing hold he has on you with a hint of amusement on his breath, “I just sped up the process.”
Then a sudden grind of his groin against your clothed bundle of nerves sends signals to your brain. A pulse that Remmick hears all too easily.
“Fuck- darlin’, I’m gonna make sure everyone knows you belong to me.“ he mutters under his breath. Talking more to the air, a warning to the universe. A threat. A small squeak escapes your lips when he reaches under your skirt to bunch them up against your stomach, Warmth bubbling up in your cheeks.
“W-What… What are you doing?” You ask with a shaky breath.
Remmick looks at you with those too bright, intense, glowing eyes. Eyes that always manage to pick you apart and somehow put you back together again. He truly did look like a beast right now; drool hanging from his chin, hair rattled, clothes battered from the stranger trying to fight him off and those razor sharp teeth open to the midnight air. He doesn't say anything but his breathing is rapid, low, inhuman sounds deep in his chest.
He sets his eyes on you, desiring building into his chest, deciding that what he was going to do was going to be his life's goal. You feel a cold, wet, palm glide up against your thigh and you jolt.
“Remmick!” you gasp, your leg shifting to the side but his strong grasp holds you down.
“Shhh, baby, almost done…Just gotta get here too.”
Blood is dripping from the corner of his mouth, his eyes locked unto your face. Hovering over your body, There’s so much blood and drool dripping from his mouth that it starts to pool in between the crevices of your breast.
“I should’ve known other fools would try and take you away,” he grunts, “Look what you did - what you made me do.”
“Remmick please…” you whine.
He pushes up against your body. Grinding his hips down hard, making sure you can feel him through his pants. “You liked that, didn’t you? Me, ripping a man apart cause he tried to take what’s mine?”
You look over once more at the corpse a few feet away. The look of terror still glazed over the man's eyes. The scene wasn't pleasant to watch, to see a man be torn apart right in front of your eyes but the thought of a creature like that protecting you? Watching over you. Wanted you. How could you ever be ungrateful? Sure, it scared the hell out of you but all of that was forgotten. Head filled with nothing but Remmick and how much he wanted to devour you under the stars.
If you admit that, tell him you liked it when he killed for you, how you liked that you were the one who made him like this. Well, let's just say you wouldn't make it out alive. So you lie…or atleast try your best.
“N-No..” You turn your head away so you won't have to look in his eyes, have him see the telltale signs of a lie forming, yearning bleeding into your soul but he pulls your face back. A smirk playing on his mouth.
“Look at me, sugar.” he says, “Dont lie-”
“I'm not lying-”
“Yes you are.” Before you have time to form another poor, fabricated excuse, Remmick moves with precision. His entire hand wraps around your throat, His claws digging into your skin and yet it did not puncture the vitals or muscles underneath. Careful. Your body leaps, not out of fear- No, far from fear but something much more terrifying.
Excitement.
What's even more frightening than the thought of you liking what he's done, what he's currently doing to you, is the fact that he knows.
“Look at the way ur squirming under me,” he laughs, “I can hear your heart racing.” He sits back, watching, observing. Loving the way your body reacts to him. Only him.
“Tell me you want this,” He demands, “Or…I'll make you beg.”
“Yes!” You say too loudly, too proudly. Embarrassment washed away with a strong passion to please. To be pleased. There was no use in denying it anymore, Eagerness building on your skin. Remmick nuzzles his body back onto yours, his face tucked comfortably into your breast. He hums a low sign of approval, the sound seeps through his chest like a purr. Soon after a hiss flees your mouth when You feel a warm, rough, texture lap at the forgotten pool of blood and spit in between the crevices of your breast. His teeth scraping against your skin. He leans back up suddenly, the loss of contact almost makes you cry out. Desperate to feel him once more. Desperate to be wanted.
He tucks his hand under your chin, lifting to view your face clearer. You looked beautiful like this. Under him, completely at his mercy. Like prey trapped in a predator's teeth. He wants more of you.
All of you.
“Open your mouth for me darlin’...” he says softly, nothing but adoration and need in his voice.
Your body moves on its own, all logic and reasoning thrown out the window. You obey him so easily, your autonomy completely lost to him. Your tongue lolls out, the cool breeze shrouding the top of the muscle, anticipation building in your gut. Fuck, you wanted it . Wanted Him. Whatever he could give you. You watch in a daze as Remmick pulls you closer, maneuvering your mouth right under his. He ghosts his open mouth over yours, slightly open, ready to drip warm trails of the substance right down your tongue.
He can feel your thighs move to squeeze around his waist, a strong intensity blooming where he's still connected. He makes sure that he builds the mixed fluid along his tongue and lets gravity take its place. The taste was unpleasant and yet you wanted more. It comes out in thick, heavy, globs, flowing right into your mouth. The weight of it makes you gag but the ache you feel on your nerves only grows further.
He sweetens the deal with locking his lips against yours. No permission needed to enter his tongue into your mouth so he could savor you, relishing the moment; Tasting his own spit, tasting the blood of the poor bastard who’s life was cut short. He tilts his head so he can get in deeper, push in closer, explore further. Your entire being completely, utterly, intoxicating . He makes sure to drag his tongue against the edges of your teeth, leaving nothing in your mouth untouched. The hunger only grows the more he consumes you.
Hunger was an understatement.
He was starving.
He only pulls away, reluctantly, when he feels you struggle against him. Your breathing completely fucked up and yet he didnt care. He made you like this, Debauched and panting against his lips; trying your best to catch your breath. He was going to ruin you, that was a fact.
You think he's done when you feel him shift on his knees, like he was getting ready to scurry off to hunt some poor soul in the night once more. You should have thought better, Should have known better that he was only getting stirred on with every breathless moan and whimper you released into his mouth.
“M’gonna eat you alive…” He says, the sense of Imminence in the air. Your eyes grow wide, danger prickling the hair on your skin. You should feel afraid, flight or fight should have kicked in and yet it doesn't. There's too many emotions running through you at this very moment; Fear, Danger but worse of all joy. Remmick uses his claws to drag them down your blouse, tearing the fabric in one go. Your chest and stomach are swiftly exposed to the open air. The sense of fear only spurs you on, heat pooling at your core.
“When I'm done,” Remmick smiles inbetween, looking like a natural predator- scratch that, he Is a predator, “Nobody else will try and take you away from me. I'll make sure of it.”
Summary: You Come home late at night from a party, Unaware that a stranger is following you. Too bad he wont get a warning to what's about to happen. A creature that stalks your home and calls you "Mine" doesn't like it when people try and take what belongs to him.
A/N: It took me 4-5 Days to write this with pure determination and horniness. Thank you to my Remmick’s Freak writers room that showed me that life is truly worth living if Remmick gets to take you in the forest, added with drool and spit swapping. If you notice anything missing in the tags pls don’t be afraid to let me know! If you see grammar mistakes, no you didn't :)
Warning : MDNI, No use of name or Y/n, Reader isnt described, Blood, Slight Blood Play, slight Predator/Prey, Female Reader, Murder, slight sexual harassment (mentioned), Spit eating (with Blood), Possessive!Remmick, choking (slight), Humping if you squint, Remmick Drools as usual, Cursing, Drool Eating, Stalking (mentioned), Remmick is greedy asf (who could blame him?),
Word Count: 2.6k
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He just killed someone.
A man who was too busy trying to take what wasn’t his.
You were walking home from a party. Having caught wind of a new Juke joint opening, it only made sense to check it out. You and your merry band of friends who were bursting with excitement got ready that same day - picking out an outfit to wear, makeup that matched. Soon the opening hour was upon you.
The place was nice, with lights suspended on balconies and a stage filled with instruments of all kinds. The Music was felt deep into the soul and the people who got in knew how to have a grand ole time. You danced and danced until your feet hurt, until your skin got all sweaty and your voice raspy from singing and hollering all night long. Once it got too late the crowd started to die down; People running to get home so they could wake up and catch the early morning.
Once the music finally started to slow down and the crowd got smaller, You figured it was also time for you to go. So, you bid your friends a farewell. One of them offered to walk you home but You declined. You figured since it was too late nobody would be around, wondering and lurking in the night. Well, maybe except for one but that was an entirely different thing.
He should have known better than to mess with women walking at night, alone.
Especially women who have guard dogs waiting for them at home.
You’re pinned down on the floor . Remmick touching all over you, marking his territory once more because some poor old bastard couldn’t read the “do not enter” sign properly. They got what they wanted. What they deserved. Now there’s multiple large, crankled, slash's deep into their chest, blood pooling from the wound. Their neck has been completely ripped off - the large organ of skin and muscle standing a few feet away from your face but you didn’t care. Not when Remmick was too busy making sure every inch of your body smelled like you again. Like him.
If an unsuspecting viewer were to walk by they would have thought a rabid dog was mulling you to death. The scene was chaotic and obscene. A dismembered body a few feet away and a poor victim being ravaged by a beast. They would probably scream and shout for help, Ask if you were okay but nobody was coming for you. They never did.
Not when He was around.
In a situation like this you would have fought him off. Maybe Use anything to your advantage, grab a rock that was wedged by the tree, take the lonely branch on the side and use it as a weapon - Like normal people would do to fight off a normal guy but he was not normal. Something that was entirely impossible to be and yet he was.
“Remmick slow…slow down!” You cry out, gripping Remmicks shoulders for support when he licks a long, fat, strip up against your neck. It's late in the night, nothing but the cold breeze rattling the trees and startling a few birds. The dead stranger almost got you, almost had his way with you. He grabbed you from behind while you were a few feet away from your porch, pulled you close until your body was flushed against his and touched you. Wandering hands searched your skin and mouth pressed against the back of your neck. You screamed, trying your best to pull away from him, tossing your body from side to side but it was short lived when he shoved you towards the ground.
“Quit it bitch! There aren't anybody up at this hour.” he chuckled, getting down on his knees to forcibly turn you over to your back.
He wanted to get a real nice look at you, too bad you were going to be the last thing he ever saw. One of the things he ever saw. The moonlight shined against his face and you noticed that he looked familiar. You've seen him before, at the juke joint. He was drowning drink after drink but was short lived when he got kicked out for touching one of your friends. You remember cursing him out, screaming and shoving him out the door along with the bouncer who took notice. He was pissed, arguing that your friend asked for it.
How stupid can men be?
If only he had noticed that a creature lingered in the shadows of your porch. One that didn’t take too kindly at having their property be trespassed.
“Remmick-”
“Can’t, busy. Need you to get rid of that stench you have.” Remmick says, getting in between your legs, in that comfortable position he always liked to be in , making sure his body was close enough. Remmick moves to press his face into you, rubbing his nose against the deep hollow of your neck. Pinning his body fully against your own. You can’t help the way your body reacts, the way he’s got his full weight on you; Like he wants to get under your skin. No, he Needs to get under your skin. His hands are everywhere - His claws scraping lightly against your arms, legs, anywhere that showed too much skin. Areas that were infected by hands that didn't deserve to touch you.
He still wasn't satisfied.
“Remmick you killed someone!” you shout, Shoving his chest back to get his full attention. He didn't budge, he never does. Too strong, ancient, powerful but he did stop to take you in - leaning back on his hunches, Eyes searching your form. You weren't sure if he was inspecting you, eyes trailing down slowly and then snapping back to your face. He was frozen, quiet until after a few minutes, When the wind stopped blowing and the cicadas went silent.
“Does it matter?”
Your brows raised, confused at first. “Does it matter?...” you quickly repeat after, annoyance building on your tongue, “Yes! You can't have too many people up and go missing in this area cause you get all-”
“He was gonna hurt you…” he growls, a cold bloody hand reaching out to caress your face. His hand is bigger than before ; Longer, claws sharper , Like a predator. An elongated thumb glides against your cheek bone. His hands were rough, frigid and yet he held your face so softly. Careful, like you were fragile glass.
“He was gonna take you…take what's mine away,” the pad of his thumb rubs along the bottom line of your lips, leaving a small bloody trail, “He was gonna die anyway.”
“...How…How would you have known that?”
He sneers at your question, Disappointed that you would ask that but most importantly question him. He sighs loudly at that. Fine, he’ll entertain you, for a bit. He doesn't say anything for a short while but he does take note of how you watch him, eyeing the way he pokes his tongue out to lick the presence of blood away on his teeth. He finally decides to speak again.
He whispers low so only you could hear him as if someone else was among the two of you. There was, he just wasn't alive to hear it.
“I could smell it on him,” he says, “Death.”
The pad of his thumb gets replaced by a long claw, slowly dragged against your lip. He was careful once more; Careful not to prick the soft skin but his eyes were sharp, Dilated until there was nothing but red.
It sends a shiver down your spine; How sinister he could look and yet moved in a way that was gentle. Ever so considerate of how human you are but soon after he adds in, interrupting the hypnotizing hold he has on you with a hint of amusement on his breath, “I just sped up the process.”
Then a sudden grind of his groin against your clothed bundle of nerves sends signals to your brain. A pulse that Remmick hears all too easily.
“Fuck- darlin’, I’m gonna make sure everyone knows you belong to me.“ he mutters under his breath. Talking more to the air, a warning to the universe. A threat. A small squeak escapes your lips when he reaches under your skirt to bunch them up against your stomach, Warmth bubbling up in your cheeks.
“W-What… What are you doing?” You ask with a shaky breath.
Remmick looks at you with those too bright, intense, glowing eyes. Eyes that always manage to pick you apart and somehow put you back together again. He truly did look like a beast right now; drool hanging from his chin, hair rattled, clothes battered from the stranger trying to fight him off and those razor sharp teeth open to the midnight air. He doesn't say anything but his breathing is rapid, low, inhuman sounds deep in his chest.
He sets his eyes on you, desiring building into his chest, deciding that what he was going to do was going to be his life's goal. You feel a cold, wet, palm glide up against your thigh and you jolt.
“Remmick!” you gasp, your leg shifting to the side but his strong grasp holds you down.
“Shhh, baby, almost done…Just gotta get here too.”
Blood is dripping from the corner of his mouth, his eyes locked unto your face. Hovering over your body, There’s so much blood and drool dripping from his mouth that it starts to pool in between the crevices of your breast.
“I should’ve known other fools would try and take you away,” he grunts, “Look what you did - what you made me do.”
“Remmick please…” you whine.
He pushes up against your body. Grinding his hips down hard, making sure you can feel him through his pants. “You liked that, didn’t you? Me, ripping a man apart cause he tried to take what’s mine?”
You look over once more at the corpse a few feet away. The look of terror still glazed over the man's eyes. The scene wasn't pleasant to watch, to see a man be torn apart right in front of your eyes but the thought of a creature like that protecting you? Watching over you. Wanted you. How could you ever be ungrateful? Sure, it scared the hell out of you but all of that was forgotten. Head filled with nothing but Remmick and how much he wanted to devour you under the stars.
If you admit that, tell him you liked it when he killed for you, how you liked that you were the one who made him like this. Well, let's just say you wouldn't make it out alive. So you lie…or atleast try your best.
“N-No..” You turn your head away so you won't have to look in his eyes, have him see the telltale signs of a lie forming, yearning bleeding into your soul but he pulls your face back. A smirk playing on his mouth.
“Look at me, sugar.” he says, “Dont lie-”
“I'm not lying-”
“Yes you are.” Before you have time to form another poor, fabricated excuse, Remmick moves with precision. His entire hand wraps around your throat, His claws digging into your skin and yet it did not puncture the vitals or muscles underneath. Careful. Your body leaps, not out of fear- No, far from fear but something much more terrifying.
Excitement.
What's even more frightening than the thought of you liking what he's done, what he's currently doing to you, is the fact that he knows.
“Look at the way ur squirming under me,” he laughs, “I can hear your heart racing.” He sits back, watching, observing. Loving the way your body reacts to him. Only him.
“Tell me you want this,” He demands, “Or…I'll make you beg.”
“Yes!” You say too loudly, too proudly. Embarrassment washed away with a strong passion to please. To be pleased. There was no use in denying it anymore, Eagerness building on your skin. Remmick nuzzles his body back onto yours, his face tucked comfortably into your breast. He hums a low sign of approval, the sound seeps through his chest like a purr. Soon after a hiss flees your mouth when You feel a warm, rough, texture lap at the forgotten pool of blood and spit in between the crevices of your breast. His teeth scraping against your skin. He leans back up suddenly, the loss of contact almost makes you cry out. Desperate to feel him once more. Desperate to be wanted.
He tucks his hand under your chin, lifting to view your face clearer. You looked beautiful like this. Under him, completely at his mercy. Like prey trapped in a predator's teeth. He wants more of you.
All of you.
“Open your mouth for me darlin’...” he says softly, nothing but adoration and need in his voice.
Your body moves on its own, all logic and reasoning thrown out the window. You obey him so easily, your autonomy completely lost to him. Your tongue lolls out, the cool breeze shrouding the top of the muscle, anticipation building in your gut. Fuck, you wanted it . Wanted Him. Whatever he could give you. You watch in a daze as Remmick pulls you closer, maneuvering your mouth right under his. He ghosts his open mouth over yours, slightly open, ready to drip warm trails of the substance right down your tongue.
He can feel your thighs move to squeeze around his waist, a strong intensity blooming where he's still connected. He makes sure that he builds the mixed fluid along his tongue and lets gravity take its place. The taste was unpleasant and yet you wanted more. It comes out in thick, heavy, globs, flowing right into your mouth. The weight of it makes you gag but the ache you feel on your nerves only grows further.
He sweetens the deal with locking his lips against yours. No permission needed to enter his tongue into your mouth so he could savor you, relishing the moment; Tasting his own spit, tasting the blood of the poor bastard who’s life was cut short. He tilts his head so he can get in deeper, push in closer, explore further. Your entire being completely, utterly, intoxicating . He makes sure to drag his tongue against the edges of your teeth, leaving nothing in your mouth untouched. The hunger only grows the more he consumes you.
Hunger was an understatement.
He was starving.
He only pulls away, reluctantly, when he feels you struggle against him. Your breathing completely fucked up and yet he didnt care. He made you like this, Debauched and panting against his lips; trying your best to catch your breath. He was going to ruin you, that was a fact.
You think he's done when you feel him shift on his knees, like he was getting ready to scurry off to hunt some poor soul in the night once more. You should have thought better, Should have known better that he was only getting stirred on with every breathless moan and whimper you released into his mouth.
“M’gonna eat you alive…” He says, the sense of Imminence in the air. Your eyes grow wide, danger prickling the hair on your skin. You should feel afraid, flight or fight should have kicked in and yet it doesn't. There's too many emotions running through you at this very moment; Fear, Danger but worse of all joy. Remmick uses his claws to drag them down your blouse, tearing the fabric in one go. Your chest and stomach are swiftly exposed to the open air. The sense of fear only spurs you on, heat pooling at your core.
“When I'm done,” Remmick smiles inbetween, looking like a natural predator- scratch that, he Is a predator, “Nobody else will try and take you away from me. I'll make sure of it.”
