#remmick x reader

[vampzbitten]

༺☠︎ Remmick blurb II

contains ; no use of y/n, gender-neutral!reader, southern!reader, reader lives out in the middle of nowhere, remmick being deceptively pathetic, remmick has no morals and i was hoping we knew this

author's note ; listened to seether and a whole designated remmick playlist writing this👅

wc ; 896

☠︎ “Oh, thank goodness,” The man, pale but sunburnt at the same time, gasped. He was out of breath, who wouldn’t be though? You lived out in the middle of nowhere, just cornfields for miles and the long dirt road. “Is something wrong? You look–look awfully rough, sir.” You stumbled over your words, not trying to sound rude, your mama didn’t raise you to be rude of course.

☠︎  “I just need help, I’ve been wanderin’ around for days, I got all my things stolen, I just need to be rode out to the nearest town, I have no idea where I am or how far a town is from here.” He said convincingly, he was a great actor, anyone who crossed his path would’ve wanted to help him, most people in the south were just like that. “Sir, I would truly love to help but I don’t have a car, my daddy took it.”

☠︎  His face didn’t change, didn’t fall, didn’t even falter. “O-Oh, well, that’s fine, if you could just let me, I could use a telephone if you have it.” You just tilted your head, no doubt feeling sympathetic, most didn’t come around, especially not in the shape he was in. “I-I suppose I could let you in, um, I just um, what’s your name?” You asked, your eyebrow raised in question, staring at him with those big, innocent eyes.

☠︎ “It’s Remmick,” He said, offering a weak smile, earning a small nod from you. “Okay, um, well, c-come on in, Remmick, I won’t be on the telephone for more than a minute or two.” You returned the smile, moving out of the doorway to let him through, a strange, sudden feeling of dread washing over you as he passed the threshold of the doorway. 

☠︎ He didn’t follow you, not closely, he looked through the open doors, seeing if there was anybody else in the house. “You alone in this house?” He asked, gritty, hoarse, almost as if he was holding back himself. “Yes, sir.” You hesitated when you answered, freezing in your tracks for a quick moment, “A girl like you, all alone in this big house? Dangerous, someone could get their hands on you, hurt you real bad.” He shuddered, earning a small, worried glance from you. “I can hold my own, sir.” You offered a small smile, trying to ease the tension. He didn’t return it.

☠︎ “The telephone is in the kitchen, you can wait in the sittin’ room if you want.” If your mama was home, she would’ve said you were being rude not inviting him to sit in the kitchen with you. But she wasn’t home, and something told you this man was a predator. “I can stand in the kitchen with you,” “No, really, I insist on waitin’ in the sittin’ room.” His face fell almost imperceptibly when you got slightly firm, like he wasn’t used to being put in his place. “Alright.” His smile was false, filled with spite.

☠︎ You quickly dialed the phone, not even bothering to put in a real number, something about this man wasn’t right and you needed to get him out. After two minutes, you came back out, entering the living room, lip bitten, meek almost. “Nobody picked up the telephone, I’m sorry sir, I can give you directions…” You offered a small, uncomfortable smile, not making eye contact. “Why would I leave?” He asked, like he knew something you didn’t, but that knot in your gut tightened. “Because I’m sure you’d get some better help from someone else.” Your voice cracked mid-sentence, revealing the fear you were trying to hide.

☠︎ He smiled, like he got a bunny trapped in a cage. “Oh, don’t be scared, I ain’t gonna hurt you… Not terribly.” You stepped back, an uneasy look on your face, eyes wide and wet with tears that were better left unshed, you really didn’t need more leverage against yourself. “Don’t run, that’ll get you nowhere,” His voice was condescending, domineering. “If you just stay there, it won’t hurt none.” “What…” Your voice shook, eyes finally lifting up, meeting his. “...What are you..?” The question was miniscule, small in the grand scheme of things. It wouldn’t stop him, hell, it wouldn’t even buy you time. “I ain’t nothin’ to be ‘fraid of, I'm just a hungry, hungry man, and you look like the perfect meal for me.”

☠︎ His mouth was on you before you could even blink, and you tried to fight, you really did, but he had already sunk his teeth in, your tears escaping your eyes in big, watery drops and a low, heaving sob protruding from your throat. He went for the most available place, your neck. He wasn’t gentle, why would he be? You were another meal to him, another brick in the wall.

☠︎ When he stopped, you were still sobbing, collapsed on the ground, gripping your bleeding neck, gasping for air like he had personally ripped out your windpipe. It felt like it at least. “Oh, don’t look so sad, I can’t stand the big puppy dog eyes, makes you look pathetic.” He said coldly, staring down at your useless attempts to stop the bleeding, he didn’t look disgusted, no, he looked like he was trying to restrain himself from doing something else, something less violent and impersonal.

[quietchaosclub]

Hear me out

Van Helsing 2004- Remmick

Maybe reader is like a vampire hunter or like one of dracula's brides

Let me just point out how much time I spent researching this movie and everything related to Van Helsing. I've been editing this ever since I received your request, and I'm happy to say it turned out exactly as I imagined. I also want to mention that the GIF I used is exactly how I imagined Remmick in this movie—hence the long hair, oh my god. 😭 It just fit the vision perfectly. Scroll down to read!

The dreams started three months ago.

You told no one, of course. Your father, Gabriel Van Helsing, had raised you in the shadow of monsters—training you to hunt them, to fear them, to destroy them.

Dreams of a dark figure with pale hands and a voice like velvet wrapped around steel were not something you could confess.

You never saw his face.

In the dream, you stood in a grand hall of black marble and crimson drapery, and he would appear behind you, close enough that you could feel his breath against your neck, his fingers tracing your shoulder with impossible gentleness.

"Come to me," he would whisper, and you would wake with your heart hammering, your sheets tangled, and an inexplicable ache in your chest that felt almost like longing.

The monastery in Budapest was meant to be a simple scouting mission. Your father had gone ahead to track a group of strigoi in the Carpathian foothills, while you stayed behind to gather supplies and speak with the local priests.

You were in the cathedral's archives, dust motes dancing in the shafts of dying sunlight as you pored over centuries-old ledgers, when the temperature dropped.

You looked up.

He stood in the doorway, backlit by the stained glass windows, and for a moment you thought he was merely a shadow given form—a trick of the light. Then he stepped forward, and the breath left your lungs in a rush.

Tall. Impeccably dressed in black that seemed to drink the remaining light from the room.

His dark hair was brushed back from his pale face, making his sharp features stand out.

But it was his bright blue eyes that caught your attention. They looked old, calm, and like they knew far more than they should.

Those eyes. You knew those eyes.

"Hello, little hunter," he said, and his voice was exactly as it had been in your dreams.

Rich. Smooth. Dangerous.

You reached for your weapons—your crossbow, your holy water, the silver stakes at your belt—but your hands wouldn't obey.

Your mind screamed run, fight, survive, but your body remained frozen, held by some force you couldn't name.

He approached slowly, almost leisurely, his boots making no sound against the stone floor. "Do not be afraid," he murmured, and you realized with distant horror that you were not afraid.

You should be.

Every instinct your father had drilled into you since childhood demanded terror, demanded action.

Instead, you felt only the same terrible, magnetic pull you had felt in your dreams.

"You have been waiting for me," he said. It was not a question.

"I don't—" Your voice came out breathless, barely a whisper. "I don't know you."

His lips curved into a smile that was almost tender.

He stopped mere inches from you, close enough that you could smell him—incense and something darker, something that made your head spin.

He reached out, and his cool fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet those impossible golden eyes.

"Your eyes say otherwise, draga mea," he whispered. "I have called to you for months. Night after night. Did you think I could not feel you reaching back?"

The dreams. He had been calling you. The realization should have terrified you, should have broken whatever spell held you motionless. Instead, you felt tears prick your eyes—not of fear, but of some terrible, twisted recognition.

"Who are you?" you managed.

His thumb traced your lower lip, and a shudder ran through you that had nothing to do with revulsion.

"I have had many names. The Order calls me monster. Your father would call me enemy." He leaned closer, his mouth near your ear, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur. "But in my homeland, they once called me Domnul—Lord. And you, my beautiful dreamer, may call me Remmick."

Remmick.

The name resonated through you like a struck bell, and you felt the last of your resistance crumble.

This was wrong.

This was wrong.

He was vampire. Ancient. Deadly.

Everything you had been raised to destroy.

And yet when he stepped back and offered his hand, palm up, like a gentleman inviting a lady to dance, you found yourself reaching for him.

"Come," he said softly, his golden eyes burning with something that looked almost like hunger. "Let me show you what waits in the dark. Let me show you why you have dreamed of me."

Your fingers brushed his, and the contact sent electricity racing up your arm.

You knew, with the clarity of a blade's edge, that you were crossing a threshold from which there was no return.

"Please," you whispered, and you didn't know if you were begging him to stop or to continue.

His smile widened, revealing the sharp points of canines that gleamed in the dying light. "There is no need to beg, dragostea mea," he murmured, folding your hand in his. "Not tonight."

As he led you toward the shadows, you realized with distant horror that you were not his prisoner.

You were going willingly.

And worse still—you had never wanted anything more.

SEND YOUR REQUESTS HERE

[vampzbitten]

remmick blurb ࣪ ִֶָ☾.࣪࿐

contains ; human!remmick/vamp!reader, religious imagery, inferred that reader is fem, mentions of damnation and salvation, reader and remmick have a established relationship, no use of y/n

author's note ; i need to make this man suffer omg hes totally deserving of it too

wc ; 666

☠︎ “It’s me baby, please, Remmick, please,” You pleaded, clutching the rosary between your fingers, he knew it wasn’t you, you had a different look in your eye. Hungry for something more than food, hungry for something more dangerous. “Remmick, please, baby, just let me in, just say I can come in, I ain’t gonna do no harm, I swear.” You whispered, “Remmick, one way or another, I’m comin’ in, you can’t stop this baby– You can’t.”

☠︎ “You ain’t my girl, no,” He said back, jaw clenched. Your eyes were wide, but far from human looking, glossy and unnatural, “Remmick, Remmick, please, let me in, I won’t ask again.” You demanded, hand reaching out to the doorway, “It’s me, it’s me, baby, I’m still your girl, I’m not any different, I’m just willing to show my teeth.” Something was wrong, incredibly animalistic.

☠︎ “Let me in– Remmick, let me in!” You banged your hand against the doorframe, a tear threatening to escape, that was the most human he’d seen you act since whatever happened to you. “You ain’t my girl, you need to leave,” He said, moving to grab the shotgun by the door. “I am your girl, I am, I am, please, don’t you believe me? Don’t you want to believe your girl, would I ever lie to you?” You said quickly, breathily, slamming your hand against the doorframe again, a choked sob protruding from your throat.

☠︎ “Look at me, look at me, I’m still your girl, I don’t look no different– I ain’t no different, just tell me I can come in, you don’t have to worry about anything else, I’ll handle it, I’ll keep you safe, I’ll keep you from ever gettin’ harmed.” Your face was serious, lips parted, sharp, inhuman teeth visible, “I could fix you, I could change you– You’re not past redemption, not past salvation, your soul is tainted, I can fix that, I can bring you back from your sinning ways.”

☠︎ He was stuck, you looked like his girl, sounded like his girl, you ever talked like his girl. You weren’t his girl, and that was scarily obvious. “If I let you in, what’ll you do?” He uttered, his voice gruff, untrusting. “If I let you in, you’ll kill me, won’t you?” He accused, jaw clenched, still gripping that shotgun tightly, his eyes narrowed. “I won’t kill you, I won’t hurt you, I’ll save you.”

☠︎ “I’ll save you from the hell you’re destined to, from the hell that the devil wants you in.” Your voice was scarily steady, not like you meant it, more like a warning. You still held the rosary between your fingers, still traced the carved crucifix. “I can change this for us, for all of us. I can save you from eternal damnation, you just need to let me in!” You yelled, gripping the beads attached to the rosary. “Please, let me save you, let me help you, I want the best for you, for us, we could be together, I can’t live without you, Remmick,”

☠︎ “I can’t be with you, you’re not the same girl, you’re not my girl.” His words made you choke slightly, lips parted in resignation. “There’s another girl? I thought I was your girl... Do you like her more than me, do you like the way she talks, the way she says your name while you’re whoring around with her?!” You bawled, a tear escaping, far from real, this was mastered manipulation, he was falling for it, hook and sinker. “There’s not another girl, you’re my girl, but you’re not at the same time!” “I am your girl, I’m not any different, I didn’t change!”

☠︎ In a moment of weakness, his hands grabbed out to touch your face, cupping your cheeks like you weren’t really standing before him, you felt the same, looked the same, talked the same…Maybe you were the same, maybe you weren’t any different from before. “I told you, I’m still your girl, now let me in, Remmick…”

[bloodsuckingfiends]

Maw

Summary: while cleaning Remmick up when he comes home from a particularly messy feeding, you discover just how sensitive he is in this form.

Pairing: Remmick x f!reader

Warnings: oral fixation, drool, I’m a forked tongue Remmick truther, finger sucking, monsterfucking, blood, pathetic subby Rem🤭

Word count: 1.7K

A/N: my good friend @crows-plague likes to drop nuggets of vampire lore and ideas on me at random that she knows will drive me into feral insanity, so you all have her to thank for this. My brain went in the direction of "what if instead of erogenous biting, you manually stimulated a vampire orally but in a submissive kinda humiliating way?" I DON'T KNOW, MY MIND IS IN THE GUTTER. Sorry you’re getting Remmick oral fixation fang smut before camboy!Cook pt. 2 LMAO

The heavy wood of the door, slots carefully into it's worn, splintered frame as Remmick steps over the threshold. He tries to be quiet as he makes his way through the kitchen, taking extra care not to wake you, who he thought was upstairs fast asleep. Tucked into bed just like he had left you.

Tracking blood down the hallway and towards the stairs.

The light at the bottom of the stairs flicks on, and highlights his guilt in it's spotlight.

His eyes close in defeat, and he huffs in realization that he's been caught, "Shit."

Your sleep soft voice meets his ears and his guilt multiplies as you make your way down the staircase, "Rem, what have I told you about leavin' your boots at the door. You're trackin' blood and dirt through the house an- oh." You stop in your tracks, bare feet halting on the hardwood floor, hand not left the railing yet, eyes darting from the mess he's made in the kitchen to the mess that stains his clothes and pale skin.

In the time that you had been with him, Remmick had been extra careful as to make sure that you didn't see him like this. Covered in blood and viscera. The spoils of his hunt painting his skin a different shade altogether. He had made sure you didn't see the way his fangs filled his mouth, taking up too much space to be human, or the way his digits grew like long talons rather than fingers. He hadn't wanted you to see all of that. See what a monster he turned into when you laid your head on your pillow at night to rest. You were too sweet. Too pure. Hadn't been exposed to the horrors the world had hid away from you the way that he had. He wanted to keep it that way. Make sure you weren't tainted by him.

"Darlin', I don't want you seein' me like this." His words come out muffled by the teeth that push against his gums and crowd his mouth. His hands fumble to clasp behind his back, like you hadn't just seen the way they stretched longer than their last knuckle.

"Oh Rem, I ain't a 'fraidy cat like you are." you yawned and chuckled, taking a step closer to him. He meets your step forwards with a step back of his own, trying his best to distance himself from you in this form.

"I know you ain't darlin', I just.. there's some things a lady shouldn't see." A clawed hand comes up to shield his mouth from you, drool beginning to collect at the corners of his lips like a dog.

You give him one last look before closing the distance and taking his blood coated hand in yours, not even flinching at the slick feel of it against your palm, "C'mon, let's getcha cleaned up so you can get some beauty sleep. Lord knows you'll need the rest when it comes time for your punishment for this damned mess."

He snorted and smiled as you lead him to the kitchen, urging him to take a seat at the table while you filled a bowl with warm water and grab a clean dish rag. You set it on the table beside him, and stand between his spread legs, wetting the corner of the cloth and bringing it up to his stained cheek. His big, clawed hands came up to gently rest on your hips as you work. Red iridescence lingers in his irises, his gaze slowly roaming over your features that focus on cleaning up his mess, while your fingers gently swipe the warm rag at the congealed blood on his chin, softly wiping at his neck and down the line of his throat.

"'Yer real pretty, ya know that?" he murmurs through the barrier of his fangs and past his pink, swollen lips.

You smile, just a twitch at the corner of your mouth, focus never straying from the work at hand.

"You never let me forget it." you say, just as quietly. Your fingers stop their cleaning, and your eyes meet his. You take in his features. The way his eyes glow slightly, like a wild animal. The way the points of his fangs peek from between his lips. Feel the way his claws dig just a little bit into the meat of your hips whether he means for them to or not.

You should be afraid of him. Afraid of the fact he could tear you apart with just his bare hands and teeth. The thought of getting as far away from him as you possibly can, sits at the back of your mind, but that self preservation instinct has yet to truly kick in when it comes to your Remmick. You still didn’t see him as the predator he so very clearly is.

His tongue darts out, swipes across his bottom lip, as his eyes land on your mouth.

Before he can lean up to kiss you, you speak, "Wanna look at your fangs. Really look at em'. Never really got to see em' like this." A fingertip drags lightly across his lip, urging him to open his mouth.

He hesitates, but ultimately obliges, jaw slowly opening to reveal the fangs crowding his mouth.

You don't realize the quiet gasp that leaves you. The sight of just how sharp his teeth are shocks you for a moment, a chill running down your spine at the thought of the damage they could truly inflict. He could so easily kill you. Tear you to absolute shreds... yet he doesn't. For some reason, he has restraint when it comes to you.

Your thumb prods gently at the sharp point of one of his incisors, making sure not to nick yourself, before running the tips of your fore and middle fingers upwards, pushing his lip up. You rub along his gumline, his eyes closing as he inhales deeply through his nose.

"Hmmm, are they sensitive?" you ask even though you can already guess the answer, opposite hand coming up to rest on his stubbly cheek that’s now flushed red.

Remmick sits transfixed by your touch. He nods, drool gathering at his bottom lip and spilling over, a whine catches in his throat when you rub at the gum of his incisor.

You pull your hand away slowly, "Do you want me to stop?" You ask him so sweetly. So innocently. Like you have no idea what it’s doing to him.

It makes him groan.

Low and throaty and desperate.

He shakes his head, eyes shut, and when he opens them to look at you, they’re glossy with need.

“Please darlin’, don’t stop.” He mumbles, clawed hand gently grabbing your wrist and lifting your fingers to his mouth.

You nearly choke on a breath when he takes your middle and forefingers between his lips and sucks, forked tongue swirling around the digits lewdly, drool coating them.

Your gaze doesn’t miss the obvious strain of his hard cock against the stiff fabric of his pants as he moans around your fingers.

"Awww," you coo, fingers pressing down on his tongue, "Are you getting hard just from this?"

He nods, a muffled sound leaving him as you inch your fingers towards the back of his throat. Drool pools from the corners of his mouth, dripping down the sides of his chin.

You pull your wet fingers from his throat and tilt his chin up, his wet eyes locking on yours, "Want you to take your cock out, can you do that for me?"

His hands are at his belt buckle, unfastening and unzipping his pants before he could properly answer with a mumbled, "Mmmhmm."

Remmick's cock slaps against his belly as he shuffles his pants just enough past his hips. The tip flushed red and angry, already leaking precum at the slit and dripping down the shaft. He takes himself in his palm, fingers wrapping in a tight grip as he spread the wetness over the length.

You run the pad of your thumb along his swollen bottom lip, before pushing it forwards into his mouth. The sound of him eagerly sucking on the digit, tongue lathing up the skin, pairs filthily with the symphony of slick that comes from his hand languidly jerking up and down his cock.

"That's it Rem, get it nice and wet." you praise him, moving to rub at his gums again, thumb rubbing right where the incisor met the soft pink tissue.

His eyes close, jaw going slack, hand faltering a bit.

"Right there." he whines, hand twisting a bit when it reaches the head.

Your thumb rubs back and forth, matching the rhythm of his hand.

You see the way his thighs tense with each upstroke, the way his chest catches at each sensitive touch.

Spit continues to travel down his chin in rivulets, catching in his collarbones and further wetting the collar of his blood soiled shirt. He's an absolute wreck, and putty in your hands.

"Want you to come for me, you can do that, can't you Rem?" you bring up your other hand, rubbing at the opposite incisor in tandem.

He tries to nod against your hold, eyes squeezing shut in pleasured agony, and he picks up his pace, chasing his end.

With one last swipe to his gumline, the muscles in his abdomen tense, and a breath he doesn't need catches in his chest, cum painting his stomach with every twitch of his oversensitive cock.

You wipe the drool from his chin with your thumbs and press a kiss to his cleaned cheek as he collects himself and grabs the rag you were cleaning him off with.

"Now don't go using this information against me." Remmick jokes, cleaning himself off and resituating his pants.

"You seemed to enjoy it too much for it to be a punishment." you quip back. "Your real punishment for makin' such a mess, is gonna be all the wash you're gonna have to do without my help."

"And what are you gonna be doing while I'm doing all that?" he asked, brow raised.

"I'll be planning the ways to use this newfound information against you."

[spikedfearn]

banner cred: @scannainscanrula

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

The morgue is officially accepting new arrivals.

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

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

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

How to Participate 🕊️ Fill out the sign-up form

Need inspiration? An optional prompt list is available here

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

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

🏷️ Toe Tag: lighter darkfic and dead dove themes.

🩸 Evidence Bag: darker, heavier themes.

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

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

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

Remember:

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

Happy writing. 🖤

[pavlovianfuckery]

maybe deep down, we're all lapdogs really

This is an 18+ space, if your blog is empty I will assume that you're either a bot or a minor and act accordingly.

AO3 ★Masterlist ★ The Master-masterlist

Pairing: Remmick/F!Reader

Notes: PWP, fingering, squirting, orgasm control

Length: 1.6k

A/N: I've written this kind of scene before for a different character but only like 2 people ever read that fic and the idea is just so yummy that I had to do a quick Remmick version. Set me up to fail please😮‍💨

There's something to be said about patience and about his sometimes frustrating lack of it, except for the occasions when he feels like having any. On account of those occasions usually coinciding with him tormenting you most of that something would probably be expletives, though. Like now, for instance.

"I fucking hate you." You've lost count of how many times he's almost brought you off only to snatch your release away at the last second, but it's definitely approaching the double digits because it hurts.

Not just your cunt, either; half hovering and half straddling his lap like this you can't even close your legs without him forcing them open again with his own, overextended muscles starting to burn as well-worn denim rub against the insides of your thighs. With one hand in an iron grip your hip and the other buried between your legs there's no escape, no relief.

"I know, sweet thing…" The words are gentle and as soft as silk, dripping with false pity, breath ghosting over your lips in an almost-kiss. But as he cups your cunt in his palm, he doesn't look sorry at all. "So make me stop."

"…No." As if you could, even if you wanted to. Besides, if he actually stopped now you might cry. Or maybe punch him. Possibly both at the same time.

"Thought not." Circling your entrance with a fingertip, the corners of his eyes crinkle as he grins, wide and sharp and perfect. "Jus' one more time, then." Which is precisely what he's been saying for the last twenty minutes, though he doesn't give you the opportunity to point that out as he slips two fingers inside. After being wound up again and again there's barely any resistance, your body greedily swallowing every tiny bit that he'll let you have. A third digit slides in just as easily, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your head drop onto his shoulder with a pitiful little whine.

"Oh, you're so damn mean, you—" With a huff of laughter he adds a fourth finger, making your words cut off with an involuntary squeak as he hooks them up around your pubic bone, all but trapping you on the spot, completely unable to move.

"Funny, that." Breath tickling the shell of your ear, you can hear the grin in his voice. "'Cause I distinctly remember you singin' a different tune jus' a minute ago." There's no use trying to argue, not that he gives you the time to before pushing those gorgeous fingers into you with purpose, so methodical that it's almost cruel. After this long he knows exactly how to take you apart, and every practiced stroke has tension building at your core steadily and so infuriatingly easy. Stuffed so perfectly full there's barely room to breathe or to even think, and as release starts to coil at the bottom of you, sharp and urgent, all you can do is cling to him as every thrust knocks a hiccuping little gasp from you.

"Please, I'm gonna, please, let me, let me, please just let me, fuck…" As you mindlessly grab at any part of him you can reach, you don't even care that you must sound like a broken record. All that matters is his hand, the tips of his fingers nudging against the spot deep inside that always turns you dumb with pleasure and any second now it's going to happen, you can feel it, so close that it's nearly painful. "Please, yes, ye–" As it keeps building you can barely keep still, breath speeding up until your head spins and it feels like you could float away. And then his lips are on yours, swallowing every needy little sound as he as at first slows down and then simply stops, making you keen as your release is kept out of reach once again. He's smiling when he pulls away, completely smug as he greedily drinks in your desperation.

"You're damn cute when you're whinin' for it."

"Stop saying things like that." Slapping weakly at his chest you try to ignore the ache at your core, though the way he keeps wiggling his fingers in teasing little twitches is making it all but impossible.

"Shan't." He sounds incredibly pleased with himself, so smug that despite everything he's still got you wrapped around his fingers in more ways than one. "You gon' hold on for me, now." It's not a question and it clearly isn't meant to be, because he doesn't wait for a response this time either. While not starting completely over he still takes his time when he starts back up again, pushing his fingers deep and pressing the heel of his hand against your clit. It's an all but hopeless battle; with the deep, firm, delicious pressure right where you need it most it's only a matter of when, not if. It doesn't matter that he's hardly even moving, every glacial press-and-release has pleasure lapping at you in syrupy waves.

"Don't stop, you can't, please, I'm—" You're trying, you really are, but as your cunt starts to twitch and tighten all on its own you can't fight it anymore. This time he has to let you come, he has to.

"No, you fuckin' don't." The words are quick, raw, and you dimly realize that he's far from unaffected despite trying to pretend otherwise. "Look at me, lass." You can feel his thighs trembling underneath you, and as he grabs at the back of your neck to force your gaze up it's almost clumsy. "Don't you fuckin' dare." With him wringing the pleasure out of you like you're a wet rag it's an impossible ask. You're not sure how he can expect you to even be able to, not when he's dragging his fingers against the upper wall of your cunt until you can feel yourself starting to drip with it. "Not 'til I say." Push, drag. "Gods, jus' listen to that…" As if you have any choice; the slick noise of his fingers thrusting into you is obscene, too loud in the small room. "So damn wet an' needy, all for me." You're barely holding on as it is, and if he's going to keep talking there's no way you can keep it up. A quick change of his grip has him pushing the pad of his thumb to your clit, focused and merciless, and that's when it finally dawns on you; he's making it impossible on purpose. He was never expecting you to manage it at all.

Asshole. Beautiful fucking bastard.

"Don't you dare fuckin' come," he grits out, breathless and filthy and too good and just like that, you're pushed past the point of no return no matter how hard you try to hold back.

"I'm sorry, I can't, please—" For a second you're sure that he's going to ruin it somehow, that he's going to take it all away again, but he doesn't. Instead he groans, raw and perfect as he drives his fingers in deep, pushing against the front wall of your cunt. As you convulse around his fingers, words lose all meaning. There's only the release that tears through you in great choking waves, leaving you unable to do anything but try to hold on to him, muffling your pathetic cries in the crook of his shoulder as you gush all over his hand. There's a brief moment where you're hazily aware that you're drooling on his shirt but he doesn't seem to care and you can't either, not when he's dragging your release out, pushing back when your body pulls until your legs give out. After, as you sag bonelessly in his lap and struggle to catch your breath he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you in a steadying grip that's surprisingly gentle, all things considered.

"Y'made a mess all over me, sugar." Even though he's still tense and wound up underneath you, he looks almost fiercely proud, satisfied in a way that sends a brief stab of irritation through you. Feeling the sticky fabric cling to your skin as it cools has heat flooding your cheeks, and you quickly duck your head down under the pretense of kissing the side of his neck. Mostly pretense, anyway. While you're there it's too hard to resist nibbling at the heated skin, the salt of exertion stinging your lips. His usually slow pulse is thrumming under your tongue, a beat that you can't resist chasing with your mouth even though it muffles your words.

"You did that on purpose." It's nowhere near as reproachful as it's intended to be, but it probably wouldn't make much of a difference, anyway. If the unrepentant grin on his face is any indication, it definitely wouldn't.

"Couldn't resist." You can feel him through the soaked denim, thick and hard and lovely as he shifts underneath you, hips mindlessly chasing any hint of friction they can find. "An' apparently, neither could you."

"Do feel free to shut up."

"Or what?" The grin widens, turning positively indecent as he grinds up against you. "You're gon' get me back?"

"Something like that."

"Yeah?" Another roll of his hips, the drag of denim against your still oversensitive cunt making you twitch, breath catching as you can feel him pulse through the soaked fabric. Hands going to your hips again he holds you there, not letting you pull away as he leans in for another kiss, slowly rocking against you. "Do your worst, then."

Oh, you are going to enjoy making him regret saying that. As soon as your legs start working again, that is.

Masterlist ★The Master-masterlist

If you liked this spicy snack even a little, please consider supporting your local smut-slinger and hitting the reblog button on the way out, perhaps even drop a comment if you're feeling generous, it really helps with the motivation side of things a lot!

[lycanscribe]

Maybe you shouldn't go sniffing random things in the apothecary…

Luckily you have an extremely hot silver fox of a boyfriend handy to help with the consequences of your actions

Notes: 18+mdni, explicit, porn with a smidge of plot, p in a, submissive male reader, size kink, sex pollen, high fantasy, age gap, reader's in the 25 to 30 range, buckets of drool, knotting, riding, gay sex, anal sex, cream pie

credit goes to @thlaylisden For the concept of knight!Remmick I needed to sexualize that old man yesterday.

"Alright, which bottle was it?" Remmick hissed as he dragged you into the apothecary by the back of your tunic. The elf behind the counter, mixing herbs raised an eyebrow but then went back to her work. Like she knew better than to acknowledge it.

Despite your discomfort of a painful erection pressed against your trousers, you glanced around before you spotted it. You pointed it out. "The pink one." Remmick walked over with his cane tapping on the stone floor before reading the label. "Of all the… You're sure it was this one?" He asked and you nodded.

"Wonderful. Come along then. We have to deal with the consequences of your actions biting y' in yer arse. Oh and Lyndis? I'll come back for th' salve. Or I’ll send this one. Provided he doesn't die from his own stupidity first."

"Take yer clothes off and on the bed." He ordered and you were more than happy to comply. "Tha' powder y' decided to smell. Smelt righ' sweet?" He asked, "yeah?" "That was the ground up petals of a succubus flower. Surprised it was even on the sales floor." He grumbled as he removed his own clothes.

"As th' name implies, sex is the only antidote." He explained as he came to lie on the bed beside you. His hands take a hold of your hips and guide you until you're straddling him. "Now, yer gonna fuck yerself on my dick. Line yerself up, lad." Your face heated up as his blunt head pressed up against you.

Taking Remmick was always a struggle with how big he was. Not that you ever complained. Since the stretch of him was absolutely perfect. The effort was well worth it. When you bottom out, he made a growling sound deep in his chest. "There he is." He purred with drool at the corner of his mouth.

You understood the assignment perfectly. His clawed hands rested on your hips to guide you but he let you set the pace. Started off slow and shallow and as your confidence grew it got faster and deeper. "Tha's it., lad. Show me how much you love my dick."

You braced your hands on his strong chest, nails dragging through the coarse greying hair. The red lines left behind healed up fast but not before he arches up into you. It would make his hip act up but he'd deal with that later. Right now, he needed you to have as many orgasms as he could milk out of you to essentially burn through the energy the flower had given you.

It could be a long night. But feeling your tight hole milking his cock made it all worth it. His knot had started to swell at the base, knocking against your already stretched rim with every desperate motion of your hips. His claws tightened on your hips to bring you to a slower pace. He wanted you to feel it as your greedy hole swallowed it.

He pressed down and with a pop, the knot was in. The added pressure made the heat pooling in your lower belly snap. As your orgasm crashed through you, your walls clamped down on his cock. You hear him curse, trying to fuck you through the aftershocks. His rhythm falters and then you feel him release deep inside you. Filling you until it leaks out around the base of him and onto his balls.

"Fuckin''…" he hissed as he gathered you to rest against his chest. "Be awhile ‘fore it goes down, lad. Catch 'yer breath." The talking was more to give you something to focus on besides the pulsing inside of you. He also pressed his fingers in your mouth to give you something to occupy yourself with in the meantime.

"Since we're jus' gettin' started."

I must have been possessed when I wrote this because I did it in about a sitting.

The little shit would absolutely do it again.

[poison-babeyy]

Hiii goodmorning/day to you and I never done match up before but it'll make me incredibly happy if you did mine.

SOOO please just call me Rissa, I'm 5'5 and INFP. I usually just stay in my room and definitely not a social butterfly but I try my best to socialize in gatherings or events. Anxious of making someone else uncomfortable for how I stare at people when my mind drifts off. Also, I always have this frown or look straight up annoyed when my face is just resting so people often say I'm angry or something. But really, I would offer comfort even if I don't get one.

I have black straight hair, a round face and not exactly physically fit. Wider hips too ig. People always point it out. I also laugh easily and cry. I would loove cuddles but hate waking for it even from a friend or family (was neglected as a child so I crave physical touch now)

I love desserts specially chocolates. I love afternoon naps. I don't cook cause idk how to do it but I'm washing the dishes in exchange.

I love art (drawing and sketching). It became my hobby and something I do to clear my mind OR journaling to vent out things I couldn't say out loud. I sometimes do poetry (it sucks). I'm not a frank person or straight up say I'm uncomfortable with this or that.

Also, I'm interested in WW2 or any aspect of history that interests me. Monarchs of Europe and colonization across the world sort of thing. I also like anime and reading fanfiction. I stay up late because of it.

I'm an only child (legal adult now just to clear up) so I was sort of raised to depend and have always been isolated for my safety so no I don't know how to do things and learn it on my own. But I quickly learned and tried to be more independent.

I've never done something like this but it's fun writing the description. Sorry if it turned out to be a bit of a vent and excuse my English. It's my second language. That's all thank you in advance if you did mine😊❤️❤️

i match you with… remmick!

it’s actually you that sees remmick first, though you may not realize it at first as it’s when you’re accidentally zoned out while looking at him

remmick had just finished his meal which went smoother than expected, so now he was enjoying the nightlife in town, walking through the streets with a small smile

when his eyes land on you and he finds you already intently staring at him, if not a little pissed off looking, he freezes. do you know he’s a vampire? was there still blood on his chin that he missed while cleaning himself up? were you one of those hunter types?

the both of you are just standing there like 🧍‍♂️in an intense stare down, you with resting bitch face (i say that as someone who also has rbf and gets called out on it often😔, so trust me no judgement here) and him with a guilty expression like he just got caught with his hand in a cookie jar

eventually you snap out of it and give him an apologetic look before going back to the food you were enjoying with friends

relief floods throughout remmick and once he realizes what was going on he stares for a little longer, finding your reaction cute

he continues strolling around but then he can’t seem to get his mind off of you. deciding he needs to at least talk to you before the night is over, even if he doesn’t turn you into dessert or a vampire, he begins to track your scent until he can find you again

your scent ends up leading him right to a bookstore that he’s already been to a couple times before. finding you in the historical nonfiction section, he smiles before clearing his throat

“now you don’t want to get that one. the author has a fancy way with words but he’s got his facts all wrong. trust me, i’m… sort of an expert on these types of things.” when he catches the panicked recognition in your eyes, he gently offers his hand with a kind smile, “i’m remmick”

he politely reassures you about your previous brief interaction, claiming you just caught him off guard which is a rare occurrence for him

the two of you end up taking a seat in a quiet corner of the store and discuss your favorite books and authors. eventually when it gets too late and the store closes, he offers to walk you home so you make it safely (not at all so he can find out where you live and keep an eye out on you)

during the walk, you two discuss anything and everything that comes to mind. he’s easy going and charming so it’s not as hard to open up to him as it is to others, and he finds the same with you, almost letting his age slip a few times in conversation before catching himself

arriving at your home, you invite him in for some tea or coffee, and to his own surprise he refuses. he enjoys your company far too much to turn you into another meal or risk scaring you. he insists he has to get going as he ‘has to work before sunrise’, but he promises to find you again. you’re far too dear to let slip through his fingers

in the weeks that follow, you happen to coincidentally bump into him in the evenings around town… totally not like he has been standing on this street corner for an hour waiting for you to see him or something

his face visibly brightens when he sees you, and if you have time you’ll go to a café that’s open late to just sit and talk, though each time you ask if he’s going to get something he claims he already ate

i think that you would figure out he’s a vampire before he would get the chance to tell you. only seeing him at night, him miraculously appearing where you are, the way he talks about history as if he’s seen it first hand before not so subtly brushing it off, the lack of eating and drinking… it all starts to add up after awhile

when you confront him he genuinely looks disappointed because being with you these past few weeks have been to closest thing to feeling human again. the thought of you wanting nothing to do with him anymore saddens him, but he cares enough to ask “are you scared/do you want me to leave you alone?”

you have to think about it for a moment, because who wouldn’t? he’s a monster in a man’s skin, preying on your neighbors to survive… but when you really think about it, he could’ve killed you that first night and didn’t. he just wants someone to talk to, he’s lonely

you don’t turn him away, and he swears to spend the rest of his eternity making sure you don’t regret that decision

after setting a few ground rules and boundaries, remmick basically becomes a clingy house cat to you

the second you walk into the door he’s engulfing you in a hug, taking in your scent as if he doesn’t walk around surrounded by it all day. he’ll hang your coat, ask how your day has been, kiss your neck or your cheek each time he walks past you

his cooking skills are a bit rusty since he hasn’t needed to in hundreds of years, but now that you’ve given him a reason to he picks it up again. makes it feel domestic. his nose will be all scrunched up as he plates your food, “hope it’s alright for human standards… smells somethin’ foul to me” if you criticize his cooking he’ll pout, but also take notes on what changes to make for next time. if you praise him, you’ll get a beaming toothy grin in response

he loves when you ask him questions about history, he’s far more interesting and handsome than some book to get the information from, plus he’ll tell it to you straight. the only thing is he might not be as quick to share about his personal past in ireland. it’s a sensitive topic, but on the days where quite homesick he’ll reminisce with you about the good times before his father’s land was taken

likes to surprise you with nice things as a thank you for keeping him around, you’ll come home to pastries from your favorite bakery on the counter, or a book he’s previously seen you eye up suddenly on your nightstand

he loves that you like staying home more than going out, because that means all the more time that he gets to keep you to himself (i warned you, he’s clingy lol)

often times when he comes back home from a hunt he’ll find you curled up and sleeping softly in bed. he’ll clean himself up before joining you, propped up on one arm while the other gently brushes your hair back or traces over your arm, musing silently to himself how lucky he is to have found you. he knows he doesn’t deserve an angel like you

honorable mentions/close picks: roy goode, kyle budwell