You can't take the way he isn’t even looking at you.
You keep calling his name but he doesn’t even look up. He won’t even spare you a single glance.
“Heeseung” you whine.
“Heeseung. Please” you beg.
He doesn’t reply, partly because he’s too focused. Partly because he doesn’t know what you could possibly want more.
“Heeseung” you whine, tears threatening to fall.
You need him close, you need his attention.
He just thinks you want more and spreads your thighs further apart as he licks and sucks at your pussy.
“Heeseung!” you whine again and tug on his hair, wanting his attention.
He presses one last kiss to your clit before pulling back.
“Mh? What’s wrong? “ his lips glisten with your juices.
“I need you close” your voice shakes.
His brows furrow for a second before pulling himself up so he’s on top of you.
He immediately coos at the sight of you, tears spilling from your eyes, cheeks flushed, messy hair and your hand crumpling the sheets next to you.
Firstly, he grabs your hand and kisses it before pinning it next to your head.
“You need me close?” he repeats as he kisses you gently.
He doesn’t wipe your tears as they give him a weird sense of satisfaction and possessiveness.
You nod as you look into his eyes, trying to memorize every part of him.
He kisses your neck and smirks to himself.
He loooves how vulnerable you get during sex. Like you physically need this closeness to feel full and loved by him. Maybe it’s fucked up, maybe it’s unhealthy, but that wouldn’t be a first in your relationship.
He gives his already hard cock a few strokes before lining it with your hole.
You're so wet and ready for him, already clenching like you’re trying to suck him in.
“Fuck-” he groans as he sinks into you.
You whimper, slightly oversensitive considering how long his face was between your thighs earlier.
He grabs your calves and lifts them so your thighs are squished against your chest and he can go deeper.
You immediately moan “oh my god” as you arch slightly, your arms going around his neck.
He buries his face in your neck and starts thrusting, fast and powerful.
You whimper and dig your nails into his neck.
He groans, but doesn’t get mad, knowing you’re feeling extremely sensitive right now.
“I know baby, I know,”
“C-closer” you beg, needing him to invade every part of your body, your mind, your soul.
He grunts as he plunges deeper into you. “Baby I don’t think I can get closer than this.”
You whimper and more tears fall. You sniffle “I c-can’t,”
He pulls back to look at you and chuckles.
“You’re so sensitive, baby. C’mon don’t cry.” he presses kisses all over your face as his thrusts slow down.
You sniffle and he looks at you.
He wraps your legs around him so his pelvis grinds against you with every thrust, then he wraps one arm around your waist and leans down so your chests are touching.
He starts moving again, slower. Each powerful thrust sending shocks to your brain, making it feel all fuzzy and warm. He doesn’t stop looking at you as he watches your brows arch and your mouth fall open.
He feels you claw at his shoulders and just continues his slow, deliberate thrusts that knock the air from your chest.
“Better? Hm?”
You can’t possibly reply. You just roll your eyes back and arch into his chest.
“So fuckin’ needy. Do you get it now when I say no one else can handle you? Hm?”
You whimper, more tears falling from your eyes and into the mattress beneath you.
“It’s okay baby,” he kisses your neck. “Just means you're mine.”
“Heeseung-” you try to warn him you’re close but he interrupts you.
“I know. You’re- fuck- squeezing me so tight baby.”
He feels your grip on his biceps tighten and your legs lock in around him.
“Cmon hold on a little longer,” he smirks, basically pulling out until only the tip is in.
Poor y/n. Still getting teased, even when you’re crying, sweating, begging him for more.
Your head lolls to the side, letting more tears roll down your face.
He loves that.
“Look at me y/n,” his voice is soft,even though his actions speak way louder.
His actions being the way his dick is barely still inside you and he’s completely neglecting your pleasure.
You don’t turn your head and you cross your arms as well, giving him the full brat treatment.
“Seriously, baby?” his thumb goes to lazily rub your clit, making you clench around him.
He pushes back in slightly and your head tilts back.
“You were being so good. So communicative.” He leans in to suck a fresh hickey on your exposed skin.
You whine but don’t dare to push him away.
You try to roll your hips, attempting to get a sliver of pleasure from his firm thumb pressing against your clit and his cock half-inside your pussy.
He immediately pins them down.
“Y/n,” he warns.
Your arms go from crossed to covering your face.
He can barely see if you’re crying but hears the familiar sniffles and whimpers of all the other times he was in this situation.
“Cmon don’t do that now-” he tries to pull them away but you shake your head.
He sighs and smooths his thumb over your wrist, right under where your palm is covering your eyes.
“Baby. C’mon,” he repeats, stuck between "I took it too far” and “she’s a dramatic brat”.
He sinks back inside you, finally, pitying you.
He starts picking his pace up again, thrusting shallowly but rubbing circles on your clit.
It really isn’t hard to gain his compassion.
You’re feeling good again and your arms fall back above your head.
When you meet his gaze it isn’t warm. But not cold either.
He’s just...watching you.
The smudged black streaks of mascara falling down your face and your red, teary big eyes staring up at him like you’d do anything for him.
He plunges himself deep inside and you cry out.
He knows he should be going easier on you right now, but he just can’t resist when you fall apart around him.
In between your breathy moans, he buries his face in your neck and you swear you can hear him groan as you clench around him.
He presses soft kisses there as his dick slides in and out of your puffy pussy.
“You’re so pretty when you cry.”
That makes your legs tighten around him and pull him deeper.
You moan and let out a soft “‘m so close” in his ear.
He doesn’t stop this time.
“You’re such a good girl for me.” he praises, knowing exactly how to push you over the edge.
“That’s it. Cmon. Let go for me.”
It’s like his words have the magical effect of controlling what your body does, cutting yourself from the decision.
You feel like an elastic snap in your stomach and throw your head back as you call his name, repeatedly.
“I know, I know, fuck-” he speeds up, using your pussy as his personal fleshlight as he feels his own orgasm arrive too.
You whine as you look up at him.
All you want right now, in your post-orgasm blissful haze is to see him cum too.
You tug on his hair. “Please baby,”
That has him groaning as he bottoms out inside you with a final thrust, filling you up.
“Oh God,” he basically moans in your ear as his dick spills more cum inside you.
“Fuck-” he thrusts a few more times before basically falling on top of you, finally making you feel that closeness you were asking for in the beginning.
You stay like that for a few minutes, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair.
When he pulls back he grabs a tissue on the nightstand and admires the sight of his cum leaking out of your pussy, before cleaning it all up.
“You okay?” he asks after giving you a soft kiss on the lips.
You nod and look up at him as he smudges the mascara stains under your eyes.
“Sorry I cried,” you chuckle.
He chuckles back. “I didn’t mind. As long as you don’t shut me out.”
In fact, he loved it. Loved it so much he was already planning on how to tease so much you’d be crying in his arms. But that was for next time.
You nod as you play with his hair absentmindedly, unaware of his evil plan.
Michael shut the office door a little harder than he meant to.
The laughter downstairs carried through the walls anyway. Someone had started another round of "Happy Birthday," though half the kids had already abandoned the song in favor of yelling over each other.
The music from downstairs dulled instantly. Michael didn't even look at you. Instead, he crossed his arms and stared out the window like he'd been personally wronged by the sun. You sighed. "Really?" still no answer. "Michael." Still nothing. "Oh, so we're doing the silent treatment now?"
"I have nothin' to say." You blinked. "Then why did you drag me in here?" His jaw flexed. "I didn't drag you."
"You literally grabbed my wrist."
"I guided you." You laughed once. "You're so unbelievable."
"So are you."
"What does that mean?" He finally turned. "What does it mean?" He gestured toward you. "You're wearing that."
You looked down at your dress. The black one.
The one that hugged your waist just right, dipped a little lower in the back, and had earned the nickname 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨 years ago, because every single time you wore it, Michael couldn't keep his hands off you.
Back when he was your husband. "It's a dress, Michael..get over it."
"It is not just a dress."
"It absolutely is." He scoffed. "You know exactly what dress that is."
"Oh god."
"You wore it on our anniversary in Paris. You wore it when we renewed our vows, goodness.. you wore it when i couldn't stop makin' love to you."
"That was eleven years ago." His face twisted. "You don't have to remind me miss." Your lips pressed together. "You don't get to tell me what I wear anymore."
"I know."
"But you're acting like you do."
"I know."
"So what's the problem?" He looked away. His voice came out quieter. "I don't like other men looking at you."
Your face slightly softens. "...Michael." He looks up. "I don't."
"You lost that privilege." You said with no empathy. "I know." He laughed bitterly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Believe me, I'm painfully aware." The tension softened.
You hated when his voice did that. That tiny crack. That little glimpse of the man you'd built fifteen years of your life with. "You looked..." He searched for the words. "Beautiful."
Your heart jumped. "I couldn't stop noticing." His gaze dipped "You weren't supposed to." You tease.
"And every man downstairs was looking at you." You folded your arms. "Were they?" He shot you a look. "Don't do that." A smile tugged at your lips. "Are you jealous?"
"No." He said fast. "look at me...michael." and he did. "I'm irritated." You roll your eyes. "That's jealousy."
"It's different."
"It really isn't." He groaned dramatically, dropping into your brother's desk chair. "I hate this."
"What?"
"Being divorced." Your smile faded. "I hate that I can't walk over and put my hand on your waist." He looked at the floor. "I hate that I have to pretend it doesn't bother me." Another beat of silence. Then, from the hallway— "uncle applehead?"
Both your heads snapped toward the door.Your brother's oldest son. Cameron, muffled voice came through.
"Auntie (name)? Uncle bryan said we're taking a family picture." You and Michael exchanged a look.
He stood, straightening his jacket. "You still drive me crazy," he muttered.You smirked. "Oh, I know."
"...You wore that dress on purpose." you bite your lips. "I did." His eyes widened. "You are evil." You grinned all the way out the door. "And yet..." You glanced over your shoulder. "...you married me."
He couldn't even argue. He just shook his head with the tiniest, most lovesick smile. "Cameron..tell uncle bryan we're a little busy 'kay?"
ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹
he murmured, his hand brushing your cheek. "Let Daddy take care of his girl, hm?" His words made your heart skip and your thighs clench around him as he lined himself up with you.
The first slow push had you gasping. He was still stretching you inch by inch after all this years, your nails pressing into his back as he moved carefully.
"O-oh sooo good," he groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Still so tight—So warm, baby.." Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut as your body adjusted to the feeling of him...so big, filling you so deeply you couldn’t think.
"You’re doing so good, sweetheart," he whispered, kissing your shoulder as he bottomed out. He stayed still for a second, letting you breathe, his hand still holding your waist, his touch grounding. Then slowly, he began to move. Your moans were soft at first, breathy and needy, hands gripping onto his back like it was the only thing grounding you.
But then he started to go deeper. His hips snapped forward harder, more purposeful, and your sounds shifted, whimpers, then moans, broken and high-pitched.
He groaned low in your ear, his pace steady but rough, his large hands locked tight around your waist. "Y-you feel that, mama?" he rasped, eyes dropping down between your bodies.
You blinked through the pleasure, dazed and flushed, until you followed his gaze, and your breath hitched. There. A faint bump rising under the skin of your stomach every time he drove into you.
"Look at that," he muttered, voice full of awe. "You feel me here, huh, sweetheart?" Your lips parted, no words coming, just a shaky moan as he flattened his palm over the bulge. You trembled under him as he pressed down, and your body clenched tight around him.
"Shit," he hissed, "You’re so Beautiful, mama. Can y'feel every inch of me?" You nodded frantically, tears almost pricking your eyes from how full you were, from how deep he was.
"C-can’t believe I’m this d-deep in you," he growled, thrusting up again, and again, letting his hand stay firm on your stomach while your fingers gripped the sheets. "Taking it so well f’me. My perfect girl." Michael's hotel room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, the wetness between you obscene and constant, your voice breaking into gasps as he kept pounding into you.
You moaned louder and louder, he brought his hand down between your legs, fingers finding your clit with ease.
He started circling, slow and firm, and it was like your entire body shutdown. "C’mon, let go f’me," he murmured, lips grazing your temple. "My pretty lady." It only took a few more strokes of his fingers, perfectly timed with the deep thrusts of his hips, and your body tensed underneath him.
a loud moan broke from your throat as you came hard, everything pulsing, your walls fluttering around him, your thighs shaking uncontrollably.
He groaned at the feel of it, hips stuttering slightly, hands tightening around your waist to steady you through it. You barely had a moment to breathe before he pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach.
still trembling from your orgasm, you blinked up at him over your shoulder, dazed. He was already stroking himself at the sight of you like this. Face down, ass up, skin flushed and glistening. He leaned over and kissed the base of your spine, both hands caressing your ass as he lined himself back up. "Y-you can give me one more for Daddy, yeah?"
You were already nodding, dazed and needy. His large palms smoothed over the curve of your ass before he gave a sharp, affectionate squeeze.
You whimpered into the pillow when he slipped back inside, deeper now somehow, your body so sensitive. He bent forward over your back, mouth brushing your shoulder. "You’re so good to me..mmh.." he praised, hips rolling into you harder.
"I miss you mama,.. i dont deserve you." Your fingers clawed at the pillows as your body rocked with his rhythm, a fresh wave of pleasure building fast, hotter, messier.
He slid a hand around your waist, fingertips finding your clit again, rubbing soft circles that made your legs tremble. "mmhhm!!—mikey!" you whimpered, body arching as his hand kept moving so deliciously. "Close, sweetheart?" murmured in your ear, his voice hoarse, strained. "shit, m-me too…" you nodded frantically, barely able to form words. "Y's-so big.. i missed you daddy—M’so close!"
"I’m gonna make you a mommy," he whispered, voice gravelly in your ear. "Fill you up just right—watch you carry my baby, yeah?" Your whole body jolted at his words, the sound of them shooting straight to your core.
You nodded uncontrollably, thighs clenching, the pleasure unbearable now, building fast and out of control. "Daddy—m’gonna—ahh!" you moaned, voice breaking into a high-pitched moan as the wave finally hit you.
Your body shook violently, hips jerking, and then it happened, your climax crashing over you so hard, you couldn’t stop the gush that followed, soaking everything beneath you. "yesss atta girl, so good mama," he hissed, watching it happen under him.
The sight alone was enough. His thrusts faltered and his grip on your waist tightened almost bruisingly. "s-shitttt, I’m gonna cum—shit—" With a final, deep groan and whimper, he buried himself to the hilt and came inside you, cock pulsing as he spilled every last drop into your still twitching cunt.
He flipped you over, and shoved his mouth onto yours, kissing you hungrily, his hand cupping your jaw. You both lay there for a long moment, chests rising and falling in sync, the quiet only broken by your mingled breaths.
His forehead rested against yours, eyes half lidded and soft as he murmured, "I missed you so damn much baby..divorce sucks, I’ll buy you the pill in the morning, okay?" you smiled sleepily, brushing your fingers gently over his cheek. "I missed you more angel, its okay." you whispered, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.
A few minutes passed, and then Michael shifted, letting out a long exhale before resting his head against your bare chest, his arms lazily wrapping around your waist like he never wanted to let go. You threaded your fingers through his hair without thinking, letting your nails lightly scrape over his scalp in slow, soothing motions. He let out a quiet hum, almost like a purr, before speaking—voice lower than before, like a secret he hadn’t meant to say aloud. "Would you like to get on tour with me again, love? i miss you so bad."
" IDIA SHROUD ISN'T JUST A BOTTOM. " ֶָ֢ ♥︎ +18 MDNI ! ꫂ᭪݁
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
just my thoughts mushed into one ramble . all i gotta say...this was written at 4 am, haven't slept a wink and heavy nsfw . fem reader
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
i refuse to fall for that stereotypical "power bottom idia" because have you seen this man when he locks the fuck in?? the sharp look in his eyes, that shit eating grin and the overall boost or confidence he gets? yah, once he gets comfortable and doesn't feel like an actual loser; he can top you.
i always see fics with a sub!idia, and yes, i also love a good nerdy guy getting fucked silly by his girlfriend―like yes, give me more?? but i also see idia being a semi bratty top.
sure, he's whimpering in your ear every mid thrust―but he feels powerful, in control. that just gets him going even more, especially if you topped him just a few moments ago. he's not really verbal, but he can be loud if he wants to be. the most he'll probably say is how good you feel, cheeks hot and almost his entire head bright pink.
the most teasing you'll get out of him would probably edging you, starting off slow until suddenly gaining confidence to go faster. he's a sucker for your voice, just beg him for more and he'll deliver. top or bottom.
AND THEM HANDS??? oh, don't get me started on this man's hands―UGH TAKE ME NOW. they can hold you down, and i mean pinned down ! perks of being a gamer, gripping your wrists down together above your head or at your side is like holding a game controller. despite his slender appearance, idia can most definitely keep you down if he actually tries.
i also feel like idia would be the type to try out different toys, IM NOT EXACTLY SURE WHAT KIND, LITERALLY ANY HE MAY FIND THAT HE THINKS WILL GET YOU GOING. bonus points if you give him the same treatment. he would experiment different kinds of vibrators on you and keep them in the back of his mind.
idia shroud is a switch, and will most definitely top you when he feels like it. maybe fuck him once or twice and get him to cum fast―not that you barely have to try―he'll try to beat your record by remembering all the ways to get you crying out his name in disheveled gasps.
man, i luv my bf guys...
end notes ; scared to post this because i don't want people to come at me saying this is all inaccurate, im always scared of mischaracterisation and cry about it for a whole day (˘･_･˘)
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: he was probably not the best choice for your first time. (ao3)
ᴡᴄ: 7.0k
ᴀ/ɴ: you know i'm such a fool for youuuuuuuu! y'all, please bear with me. this is essentially a cross between a one-shot and a drabble (heavily the latter) but i kept overthinking how to format it without an actual ask. I'M GETTING BACK INTO THE SWING OF THINGS OKAY?! anyways, this entire idea deadass came from my airplane movie being casino royale, specifically that scene where daniel craig is comforting vesper in the shower (😛😛😛). the horniest part of my brain immediately activated like a sleeper agent and i've been mentally plotting this fic out ever since. this might be my freakiest writing yet actually i gagged myself multiple times.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ MINORS DNI!!!!, good old-fashioned smut, heavy descriptions of blood and gore, murder and its subsequent arousals, established relationship, power imbalance, manipulation, extreme dubcon, reader having second thoughts, fingering, cunilingus, bloodplay, drool, scent kink, monsterfucking, biting, eye contact, body worship, dacryphilia, aftercare, praise kink but degrading actions (?), dom!remmick, obsessed!remmick, sub!reader, afab!reader (idt i ever put this in tags before omg mb yall), remmick is a CREEP, but also talks you through it, there's fluff somewhere in here, possibly rusty 🤧
“It just won’t come off.”
The words came out thin. Frayed. Barely louder than the hiss of the water hammering against marble.
You scrubbed harder.
The bathroom was enormous—vaulted ceilings, white-veined marble climbing every wall, gold fixtures gleaming through the thick steam like dull halos. A place meant for quiet luxury. For long baths and soft robes and someone pouring wine while you sank into warm water.
Now it smelled like copper.
Now it smelled like you.
Your hands shook as they moved over your skin again, nails dragging, scrubbing, scraping like you could peel it away if you just tried hard enough. The water was far too hot—scalding, really—but you barely felt it anymore. Your new skin drank the heat greedily, nerves lit up too sharply, too alive.
Everything was too alive now.
Every scent.
Every sound.
The drain gurgled below you and the noise alone made your stomach twist. You could hear the pipes in the walls. The hum of electricity in the sconces. The faint, distant whisper of traffic outside somewhere beyond the estate walls.
And beneath all of it—
The smell.
God.
It clung to you.
Metal and salt and something darker, richer. The thick, iron tang of spilled blood worked itself into your lungs until you thought you might choke on it.
You scrubbed harder.
Your reflection blurred in the fogged mirror across the room, a ghost of yourself—hair plastered to your temples, eyes too bright, lips trembling. Your knees were planted hard against the marble floor of the shower, the stone biting cold into your skin while the water burned down your back.
You couldn’t stop shaking from the memory.
An awful, awful thing.
His face kept appearing the moment you blinked.
Not Remmick’s.
The other one. The man from the street.
Kind eyes. Gullible eyes. The kind that softened when he smiled.
You saw it again.
The moment he realized something was wrong.
The confusion first.
Then the fear.
Then—
Your stomach twisted violently.
You clutched the edge of the shower bench, knuckles white.
“I didn’t—” Your voice broke. “I didn’t mean—”
But you had.
Your new teeth had known exactly what to do. Your body had known. Your hunger had known.
And above it all—
That voice.
Low. Smooth. Patient.
Go on now, darlin’.
You squeezed your eyes shut.
Remmick hadn’t touched him.
Hadn’t needed to.
He’d just stood behind you in the foyer, one hand resting warm against the back of your neck like a man steadying a nervous horse.
His mouth near your ear.
There ya go.
The memory made your stomach drop.
That’s it.
The praise had been soft.
Gentle.
Proud.
Show me what I made.
You gagged, the sound raw in your throat.
The water kept pouring down.
Still, the smell wouldn’t leave.
Still, the weight of it clung to your skin like something alive.
You were different now.
Changed.
It had only been days, but the world had already sharpened into something unbearable. Every scent was louder. Every heartbeat within range felt like a drum pressed to your ear.
You could still hear the man’s pulse sometimes, echoing faint in your head like an afterimage.
You curled in on yourself.
Then, the bathroom door opened.
The sound was so quiet, but it didn’t matter.
The room changed the second he stepped inside.
Remmick took over any space he walked into.
The air thickened with him in it, something warm and slow-moving through the steam. Even the light seemed to shift toward him.
Your head lifted slowly.
He stood in the doorway like he’d belonged there.
Dark slacks.
Suspenders hanging loose from his shoulders.
White shirt sleeves rolled just enough to show the strong line of his forearms.
His hair was still slicked back neat despite the late hour. A gold chain caught faint light at his throat.
And those eyes—
Blue at first glance.
Red glowing underneath if you looked too long.
Remmick’s gaze settled on you kneeling beneath the shower.
He didn’t speak right away.
Just watched.
Slowly, his head tilted.
“Well now,” he murmured at last.
That voice, again.
Low and syrup-thick.
It coated your brain like honey.
“Ya made yourself a mess.”
Shame hit you so hard your shoulders folded inward.
“I tried—” Your throat tightened. “It won’t—”
He stepped forward.
Shoes slow across marble.
Each step deliberate.
Agonizing.
Steam curled around him as he reached the edge of the shower.
You froze.
Remmick crouched down beside the glass partition, resting one forearm on the marble ledge like he had all the time in the world.
“Darlin’,” he said softly.
The word slid through you like oil.
“Look at me.”
You did.
You always did.
His gaze moved slowly over you—the trembling hands, the angry red skin, the faint streaks still clinging stubbornly along your wrists and collarbone.
And then he smiled.
Not cruel, not exactly.
Pleased.
That was the look that settled over his face. Quiet and satisfied, like a man admiring something he’d been patient enough to grow himself.
It made your stomach turn.
Remmick stepped fully into the shower.
The water soaked through him in seconds, white cotton clinging to his frame, turning translucent where it stretched across his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen. It should’ve looked ridiculous—leather on wet marble, clothes ruined—but somehow it didn’t.
It looked intentional.
Like everything he did.
Like this.
You shrank back on instinct, your spine brushing the slick tile behind you. “You don’t—have to—”
“Mm,” he hummed, cutting you off easy.
His hand found your jaw again.
Not rough.
Never rough at first.
Just heavy. Certain. Tilting your face toward him like you were something delicate he didn’t trust to hold yourself upright.
“Now why would I leave ya like this?” he murmured.
His thumb dragged slow along your cheek.
You flinched.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
A faint smile touched his mouth, softer than before, but no less knowing.
“That all too much for ya?” he asked, voice low, almost sympathetic. “World gettin’ loud?”
You swallowed.
Nodded before you could stop yourself.
Remmick’s eyes darkened—absent of concern. You knew this look all too well.
With interest.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I remember that part.”
His hand slid from your face to the back of your neck, fingers spreading wide, anchoring you there.
“Everythin’ feels sharper,” he went on, tone easy, conversational, like he was talking about the weather. “Smells stick. Sounds echo. Can’t outrun it, no matter how hard ya scrub.”
His gaze dropped—slowly—down your body.
To your hands.
Still trembling.
Still streaked.
“You’re fightin’ the wrong thing, darlin’.”
You shook your head, breath catching. “I can still feel it—”
“I know.”
The words came quick this time.
Firm, but not dismissive.
Confirming.
Which was so much worse.
Remmick stepped closer.
Too close.
The heat of him cut through the steam, a different kind of warmth entirely—denser, heavier, something that pressed in instead of wrapping around.
His hand slid down your arm again, slower now. His fingers followed the faint lines of your veins as he traced the map he’d memorized.
“You’re holdin’ onto it,” he murmured. “That’s why it won’t leave.”
His thumb pressed lightly into your wrist.
Right over your pulse.
It jumped beneath his touch.
He smiled.
“There it is,” he said softly.
It wasn’t triumph.
Recognition was the word you’d been searching for.
He’d been waiting for that exact note to surface in you. The crack where something human still tried to name what was happening, even as the rest of you leaned toward him.
He didn’t rush after that.
That was the worst part.
Remmick took his time the way a man admires something delicate before deciding exactly how to handle it. His hand stayed firm at the back of your neck, not forcing, just holding you in place as he leaned closer—slow enough that you could see every detail unfold.
His mouth parted.
And this time, there was no mistaking it.
The fangs weren’t subtle anymore. They weren’t tucked away behind charm or softened by that easy smile. They were there—fully bared, sharp and gleaming, lengthened into something undeniably monstrous. The water didn’t wash them clean. If anything, it made them glisten more, catching the light in a way that made your stomach tighten.
He was drooling.
Not a trickle. Not something you could politely ignore.
It was excessive. Thick. Strands of it clinging to his lower lip, gathering at the corners of his mouth before slipping free and vanishing into the torrent of water cascading over both of you.
You could see it.
Even through the steam.
Even through the heat.
Your breath caught, sharp and shallow.
For a second—just a second—you thought he might bite you.
The thought came uninvited, unwelcome, and yet it landed with a strange, desperate clarity. Pain would be clean. Immediate. Something you could understand, something that might cut through the noise in your head and the weight still clinging to your skin.
You wanted it.
The terrible realization of it all.
Remmick’s eyes flickered—subtle, but there. He saw it. That tiny shift in your breathing, the way your shoulders tensed not in retreat but in anticipation.
His mouth hovered closer.
Closer.
The fangs brushed your skin.
They didn’t puncture.
Just grazed.
A light scrape along your shoulder where the skin was already raw from your scrubbing.
It stung.
Wasn’t enough.
And then—
He licked you.
Open-mouthed and unashamed, his tongue dragging slow and broad across your skin, following the faint traces you’d failed to wash away. The sensation was overwhelming—heat layered over heat, the steady burn of the water mixing with something slick and invasive.
You flinched hard.
A sound caught in your throat, halfway between protest and something else you refused to name.
It was wrong.
God, it was so wrong.
The way he did it—no delicacy, no attempt to soften the act. Just the full press of his mouth, his tongue moving with a purposeful rhythm, gathering what remained and replacing it with something that felt heavier, thicker.
His saliva clung.
It didn’t rinse away like the water did. It smeared, spread, left your skin feeling coated in something that wasn’t yours.
Your stomach twisted.
Your fingers curled against his chest.
“Stop—” you tried, but it came out thin, unconvincing.
Remmick didn’t stop.
He shifted slightly, angling your arm, exposing more of your skin to him. His tongue followed, slow passes that bordered on methodical, like he was undoing your frantic attempts at cleansing and replacing them with something of his own design.
His fangs scraped again.
Another sting.
A shallow drag across your collarbone this time.
He didn’t apologize.
Didn’t even acknowledge it.
If anything, the faint hitch in your breath seemed to draw him in further.
The water poured down, relentless, but it couldn’t keep up with him. Wherever he touched, the sensation lingered—warm and slick and entirely his.
You should’ve pulled away.
Should’ve fought harder.
But your hands stayed where they were, braced against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms. Your body betrayed you in smaller ways—your breath coming uneven, your skin reacting to every pass of his mouth like it didn’t know how to separate disgust from something far more indefensible.
Remmick knew.
He always knew.
He paused—not pulling away completely, just enough that his mouth hovered a breath from your skin. His head tilted slightly, like he was listening to something only he could hear.
Or smelling it.
That faint shift.
That change in your core.
Your eyes squeezed shut.
“No,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.
A quiet sound left him—almost a hum, low in his throat.
His hand at your neck tightened just enough to ground you, to keep you from retreating into yourself completely.
When he moved again, it was slower.
More deliberate.
His mouth found your shoulder once more, but this time the motion was almost… patient. Less frantic, more certain. Each pass of his tongue felt intentional, claiming rather than simply cleaning.
As if he was marking over what had already happened.
Replacing it.
Rewriting it.
The disgust didn’t leave.
It sat heavy in your stomach, coiling tight.
But it tangled with something else now—something warmer, something that made your pulse feel too loud in your ears.
Remmick didn’t comment on it.
He didn’t need to.
The way his breath shifted, the subtle press of his mouth, the faint scrape of fang against skin—it all spoke for him.
He lingered there, close enough that you could feel the shape of his smile without seeing it.
And when he finally spoke, it was barely more than a murmur against your damp skin.
“Mm.”
That was all.
But the way he said it—
Like he’d found exactly what he was looking for.
The understanding of it sat heavy in the air between you, thicker than the steam, heavier than the heat pouring down your back. Remmick didn’t move right away. He stayed close—too close—his mouth hovering just off your skin, breath warm, damp, alive with something that made your pulse stutter in your throat.
His hand never left your neck.
Not once.
It had settled there so naturally you almost forgot it wasn’t supposed to be—fingers spread wide, thumb resting just beneath your jaw, holding you upright without asking, without needing permission. It wasn’t forceful in the way violence was forceful. It was… inevitable. Like gravity. Like something you couldn’t reason your way out of.
Your breath came uneven.
He felt it.
Remmick drew back just enough to look at you properly. His head tilted slightly, studying you the way he always did when he was deciding something—eyes slow and calculated, dragging over your face like he was memorizing each flicker of resistance before it disappeared.
The red had spread.
You saw it now—clear as anything.
His pupils were blown wide, the blue swallowed whole by that deep, glowing red you’d only ever seen when something buried inside him slipped closer to the surface.
Hunger.
Your stomach dropped.
“Open,” he said.
No softness in it.
Not even a drawl curling around the word to make it easier to swallow.
Just flat.
Certain.
You shook your head before you could think.
It wasn’t a real refusal. Not the kind that held weight. Just instinct. Just something inside you trying—failing—to push back.
Remmick didn’t react.
Didn’t sigh. Didn’t smile. Didn’t threaten.
His fingers lifted from your neck and moved to your face, hooking lightly at the corners of your mouth. Not pulling. Not yet.
Just resting there.
Waiting.
“Open,” he repeated, quieter this time.
Worse, somehow.
The steam pressed in around you. The water kept falling, hot and relentless, but all of it faded under the way he was looking at you now. There was nothing rushed in him. Nothing uncertain.
He would wait.
He would get what he asked for.
The realization slid down your spine like ice.
You opened your mouth.
“Opened” was generous.
But it was just enough for him.
Remmick’s fingers slipped inside, slow and deliberate, pressing past your lips like he’d done it a hundred times before. The motion was controlled, careful in its own way—but there was no gentleness to it. No hesitation.
He pushed deeper.
Your breath hitched.
Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, a sharp gag catching in your throat as his fingers pressed further than you were ready for.
Remmick’s mouth curved.
A low, quiet chuckle vibrated against the space between you.
“Better,” he murmured.
Not praise.
Not quite.
But it landed like it.
You made a small sound—protest, maybe—but it got lost around him, swallowed up, turned into something softer than you meant it to be.
He didn’t remove his hand right away.
Let you feel it.
Let you adjust.
Or struggle.
It didn’t matter which.
When he finally drew his fingers back, it was slow—dragging, intentional, leaving behind the ghost of the pressure, the lingering warmth that refused to fade.
Your lips parted again, breath catching.
Remmick didn’t give you time to recover.
His mouth replaced his hand.
At first, it was almost gentle.
Almost.
His lips pressed to yours in a way that might have been mistaken for something soft if you ignored everything else—the fangs brushing against you, the damp heat of his breath, the way his hand returned to your neck with a firmer hold this time.
You froze.
Then—slowly—your body betrayed you again.
You softened.
Just a fraction.
It was all he needed.
The kiss deepened without warning.
His mouth opened wider, his tongue pushing in with a sudden, overwhelming insistence that stole the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t something you could meet halfway.
It overtook.
Consumed.
His fangs scraped faintly against your teeth, a sharp edge that never quite broke skin but never let you forget it could. His saliva was everywhere—warm, excessive, impossible to ignore as it coated your mouth, your tongue, slipping further back in a way that made your throat tighten reflexively.
You tried to pull away.
You couldn’t.
His grip had changed.
What had been steady was now unyielding—fingers pressing firm at the back of your neck, holding you in place with a strength that didn’t need to prove itself.
The world narrowed.
Just this.
Just him.
The sound of the water blurred into the background, replaced by the wet, overwhelming reality of the kiss—too much, too close, too consuming. You felt it everywhere. In your chest. In your throat. In the way your pulse stumbled and raced all at once.
It was suffocating.
It was—
You didn’t finish the thought.
You couldn’t.
Remmick pulled back just enough to breathe.
His lips hovered against yours, breath and spit mingling as his eyes still locked on you with that same unbearable focus.
You didn’t realize how unsteady your legs had gotten until his other hand moved.
Slow.
Unhurried.
It traced down from your waist, fingers dragging along the curve of your side before dipping lower—lower—until they brushed lightly against your thigh.
You tensed instantly.
Your knees drew together without thinking.
He paused, but didn’t push.
Just feeling the resistance.
His thumb pressed faintly against the inside of your leg, testing the line you’d drawn, the boundary you were trying so hard to hold onto.
Remmick’s gaze didn’t leave your face.
Didn’t need to.
He already knew.
The faintest hint of a smile touched his mouth again.
Not amused.
Not mocking.
Something far more patient than that.
His hand remained there—resting, waiting, letting the moment stretch just long enough to make it unbearable.
The water kept falling.
Hot. Relentless.
It struck the crown of your head, ran down your face, your throat, your chest, pooling and slipping and taking nothing with it—not the memory, not the smell, not the way your body had begun to hum in spite of everything.
Remmick watched you.
He bore into every part of your face.
That was where the truth lived.
His thumb shifted—barely—against the inside of your thigh, a slow, testing press that didn’t push, didn’t force, but didn’t retreat either. It lingered there, warm and deliberate, drawing your attention down to the place you were trying so hard to ignore.
Your knees stayed locked.
Your breath didn’t.
It gave you away.
Remmick’s mouth curved, subtle. Quiet. More private. Like he was letting himself enjoy the moment instead of performing it.
“Well now,” he murmured, voice thick with that slow drawl that came out strongest when he was most certain. “Ain’t that somethin’.”
Your throat tightened.
“Don’t—” you started, but the word came out weak, unraveling before it could hold shape.
He leaned in just enough that you felt it before you heard it—his breath brushing your cheek, warm despite everything.
“Go on,” he said, almost conversational. “Open up for me.”
You shook your head.
It wasn’t enough to matter.
Remmick’s hand didn’t move.
“Darlin’,” he added, softer now, almost playful in a way that made something sharp twist behind your ribs. “Y’know I’m a gentleman.”
Your stomach dropped.
“I’d hate to go and ruin that reputation.”
The lightness in his tone—the ease of it, like this was a game, like this was something small—it nearly brought tears to your eyes. It made the room tilt, made everything feel even more unreal than it already did.
You swallowed hard.
“I can’t,” you whispered. “Not here. Not—like this. I can’t—”
Your voice broke.
“I can’t do this right now.”
The words sounded fragile.
He heard them.
Remmick leaned back just enough to see you again, properly this time. His head tilted, eyes narrowing slightly—not in anger, not in disappointment.
In consideration.
For a moment—just a moment—it almost looked like he might give it to you. That small mercy. That pause you were so desperate for.
His thumb stilled.
His hand eased.
The pressure lifted just enough to make your chest ache with the sudden absence of it.
“Mm,” he hummed, thoughtful.
Then he smiled.
Slow.
Measured.
“Alright,” he said.
The word settled over you like a false promise.
“Just this once.”
Relief hit you too fast.
Too deep.
It made your shoulders sag, your breath rush out in a shaky exhale you couldn’t quite control. Your knees loosened—not opening, not yet, but no longer braced so tightly shut.
Remmick noticed.
Of course he did.
He didn’t rush you.
Didn’t need to.
He waited.
And that patience—God, that patience—did more than any force ever could.
Because now it was you.
You who moved.
Slowly.
Reluctantly.
Your legs eased apart.
Just a fraction at first.
Then more.
Each inch felt like something slipping, something giving way inside you that you weren’t sure you’d ever get back.
Remmick’s expression changed.
The lack of subtlety alarmed you.
The restraint broke into something brighter, wider—something that showed teeth, showed hunger, showed the full, unfiltered satisfaction of a man watching something unfold exactly the way he knew it would.
“That's my girl,” he murmured, and you knew he caught the corner of your mouth twitch in response.
The words hung there, low and approving, wrapping around your spine like smoke. His hand didn’t waste the opening. It slid higher, fingers parting the slick heat between your thighs with a certainty that made your breath snag hard in your chest.
You bit your lip.
Remmick’s mouth was already on you again—wet, open presses against your jaw first, then trailing lower, scattering kisses along the line of your neck like he was mapping territory he’d conquered long ago. Each one landed heavy, saliva-slick and unhurried, his lips dragging just enough to leave your skin gleaming under the falling water. The heat of him everywhere. Breath ghosting your ear. Fangs grazing faint, teasing threats that made every nerve scream alive.
“Goddamn,” he breathed against your throat, voice rougher now. “Look at ya. Soakin’ for me already.”
His fingers found you.
Two of them pressed in slow—inch by burning inch—stretching you open with a precision that reminded how well he knew this part of you. Knew the exact angle that made your hips jerk. Knew the rhythm that turned resistance to ruin.
You clenched around him on instinct.
Tried to hide it.
Failed.
A sharp gasp tore from your throat, raw and unfiltered, echoing louder than the water in your sharpened ears. Everything was amplified. The slide of his fingers inside you felt like lightning—wet, obscene sounds mixing with the shower’s roar, your own pulse thundering in your temples, his scent flooding your lungs. Cedar and smoke and something darker, primal, overtaking every sense until there was no room for shame.
No room for anything but him.
He chuckled low, the vibration humming against your collarbone where his mouth lingered, sucking a mark that would bruise just right. “Tryin’ to play coy, darlin’? Ain’t workin’. I feel that little flutter. Ya love this.”
His thumb circled your clit—slow, firm circles that built pressure like a storm gathering. In. Out. Deeper each time, his fingers curling just so, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
You hated it.
Hated how he played you like an instrument he’d tuned himself. Every twist, every press, pulled euphoria from you in waves you couldn’t swallow down.
Your hands fisted in his soaked shirt.
Pulled him closer.
“Remmick—” It came out broken, a plea wrapped in protest.
He didn’t stop.
Didn’t slow.
His free hand stayed firm at your neck, thumb stroking your pulse like he was counting the beats racing under his touch. His mouth moved again—kisses peppering your cheek, your temple, the corner of your eye where salt mixed with water. Wet. Messy. Stealing every inch.
“That’s it,” he praised, fangs nipping light at your earlobe. “Take it so pretty. My perfect girl, openin’ up just like I knew ya would.”
The words sank into you, hot as the water scalding your back. His fingers thrust deeper, faster now, but still controlled—twisting on the outstroke, crooking to drag against your walls, thumb relentless on that bundle of nerves. Pleasure coiled tight, insane and overwhelming, your new senses turning it into something unbearable. You could hear your own slickness, feel every ridge of his knuckles, smell the sharp tang of arousal cutting through the steam.
You tried to bite it back.
Tried to keep your hips still.
They bucked anyway.
A whine slipped free—high, desperate, nothing like you.
Remmick's mouth found your neck again, sucking hard enough to mark, tongue laving over the spot before kissing lower, open-mouthed and dripping. “Hear that? That’s you, darlin’. So wet for my fingers. Actin’ like ya don’t want it, but this pussy’s tellin’ tales.” He teased, voice a rumble you felt in your bones. Another curl of his fingers—precise, devastating. “Gonna make ya come so hard ya forget every damn thing but me.”
He was everywhere.
Filling you. Surrounding you. His body pressed close, shirt clinging translucent to the hard planes of his chest, suspenders heavy with water slapping wet against his thighs as he moved. Kisses rained down—jaw, throat, the hollow of your collarbone—each one leaving trails of spit that the shower couldn’t rinse away fast enough. His breath in your ear. His growl when you clenched again. His scent choking out the copper ghost that had haunted you.
You hated this too.
How he knew.
Knew to slow just when the edge loomed, drawing it out with shallow thrusts that made you chase him. Knew to whisper filth against your skin—“Fuck, ya grip me like ya never wanna let go. Good girl, just like that”—while his thumb flicked faster, building that euphoric blaze higher.
Your thighs trembled, spread wide now, knees digging into marble that no longer felt cold. Everything narrowed to the thick slide of him inside you, the wet smack of skin, the relentless press of his mouth claiming your face, your neck, like he’d devour you piece by piece.
“Remmick—please—” You didn’t know what you were begging for. Stop? More? It didn’t matter.
He laughed soft, dark, lips brushing your pulse. “Please what, sugar? This?” Deeper thrust. “Or this?” Thumb grinding hard. His fingers pumped steady, unyielding, chasing every hidden spot until euphoria drowned you—wave after crashing wave, your body arching, toes curling, every sense screaming his name.
You were lost.
Floating.
So close.
The coil snapped taut, pleasure cresting, ready to shatter—
Then, he stopped.
Fingers still buried deep, but unmoving.
Why the fuck did he stop?
Your body clenched around him, desperate, chasing what he’d yanked away. A whine built in your throat—weak, needy—but before it could spill, Remmick’s eyes held yours. Blazing red. Unblinking. Pinning you there under the relentless pour of water, steam curling like fingers around his shoulders.
No words.
Just that gaze.
Then his mouth moved.
Kissing down from the frantic pulse in your neck—soft at first, lips parting to suck light marks that bloomed under his touch. Water streamed between you, mixing with his spit, but he didn’t care. Didn’t pause. His free hand braced your hip, steadying you as his kisses trailed lower, grazing collarbone with fangs that scraped just enough to sting.
You sucked in a breath.
Tried to form protest.
“Remmick, I—”
Too late.
His lips found your breast.
One.
Then the other.
He lingered.
God, he lingered.
Mouth sealing hot over your nipple, tongue swirling broad and slow, lapping like he was starving for the taste. Suction pulled tight—wet, obscene—drawing a gasp from you that echoed off marble. His fangs grazed the sensitive peak, not piercing, just pressing, threatening, sending jolts straight to your core.
He switched sides without mercy, sucking harder, biting down just enough to ache, tongue soothing the sting before diving in again. Your back arched. Hands fisted in his wet hair. Everything was too sharp, too much—pleasure spiking through your heightened nerves like knives wrapped in velvet.
He hummed against your skin.
Approval.
Hunger.
Kisses scattered lower—sternum, ribs, the soft plane of your stomach. His fingers slipped free at last, leaving you empty, throbbing, a slick trail dragging along your inner thigh as he went. His mouth followed, pressing open kisses that smeared heat, fangs nipping faint at your hipbone.
You were spread before him now.
Knees weak against marble.
Pussy bare, aching, dripping under his gaze.
But before his mouth could descend—
The flash hit.
Sudden.
Vicious.
The man’s face again. Those kind eyes widening—not in pleasure, but terror. Blood. Gurgling. Your fangs sinking deep, the hot spill over your chin. Remmick’s voice praising from the shadows.
Show me what I made.
Disgust crashed over you.
Thick as the steam.
You were soaked in it now—his touch, your arousal, all of it twisted into something vile. Pleasuring yourselves to this. After that. Your body betrayed you even as your stomach heaved, sobs ripping free, raw and jagged.
“N-no,” you choked, curling inward, hands shoving weakly at his shoulders. “I can’t—God, the blood, his eyes—I killed him, Remmick, and you—you made me a monster, and now this—”
Tears mixed with water, hot streaks down your face you couldn’t tell apart.
Remmick froze.
Just for a beat.
Then he rose—slow, fluid—cradling your face in both hands, thumbs wiping tears he’d caused. His eyes softened. Red dimming to something almost blue, almost human. “Hey now, darlin’,” he cooed, voice dropping to that velvet murmur, thick with drawl. “Shh. I gotcha.”
He eased you down.
Gentle.
Marble chilled your back as he laid you out, water pooling beneath, his body shielding you from the spray. He hovered close—not crowding—but everywhere. Mouth brushing your forehead, your temples, soft kisses peppering your eyelids. “I know, sugar. I see it tearin’ ya up. That ain’t right.”
You sobbed harder.
He shushed you soft—lips against your brow, hand stroking damp hair from your face. “Listen to me. I feel it too. That weight. Makes my chest ache seein’ ya hurt like this. He was just a man walkin’ his path, and now… hell, it sits heavy on me same as you.”
Lies.
Smooth as silk.
But your senses drowned—water roaring, his scent overwhelming, touch grounding you in the now. No room to question. Too raw. Too much.
“I didn’t want this for ya,” he murmured, kissing your cheek, your jaw, nuzzling close like a lover grieving with you. “Not the pain. Not the ghosts. I turned ya ‘cause I love ya, darlin’. Wanted ya forever with me. But this? This guilt? I hate it eatin’ at ya. Let me take it away. Just for now. Let me make ya feel good. That’s all this is. All for you.”
His hand trailed soothing paths down your side—light, reassuring. Kisses dotted your throat, your collarbone. “It’ll be okay. I promise. We’ll figure the rest. Together. But right now? Let me love on ya. Wash it all clean.”
You hiccuped.
Clung to him.
Not convinced—not fully—but the overwhelm crashed too hard. Sobs tangled with shivers, his words weaving through like balm on burned skin.
He felt it—the softening, the brief surrender.
Like clockwork, he moved.
Eased down your body again.
Settled between your thighs.
Eyes locked on yours one last beat—red flaring hungry beneath the feigned concern.
Then his tongue dragged.
Bottom to top.
He dove in.
A long, flat lick through your folds, gathering slick, pressing firm against your clit at the very end. The taste of you exploded on him. A growl rumbled low, ancient, and whatever mask lingered shattered.
Ravenous.
Unrelenting.
His mouth sealed over you—sucking hard, tongue thrusting deep like it aimed to replace his fingers and more. No tease now. No patience. He devoured—lips pulling at your folds, fangs grazing outer lips with dangerous precision, never breaking but threatening ecstasy edged in peril. His tongue swirled wild inside you, curling, lapping every drop, then flicking frantic over your clit—fast, messy, insatiable.
You cried out.
Body bowed.
Tears streamed—guilt? Pleasure? Blurred into one endless salt. Sobs choked into moans, your hands yanking his hair, hips bucking into his face despite everything. He was everywhere again—growls vibrating through your core, nose grinding against your mound, saliva mixing with your arousal in thick, dripping strands that clung and stretched. He ate like famine gripped him—sucking your clit between lips, teeth nipping light, tongue plunging deep, fucking into you with wet, obscene thrusts.
“Fuck—Remmick—”
He didn’t stop.
Wouldn’t.
A hand pinned your thigh wide—claws pricking faint, holding you open as his mouth worked ruthless. Lick after lick after lick—broad stripes, pointed flicks, circling that swollen peak until sparks lit your veins. Your heightened world exploded: every lap thundered like thunder, his hums rattled your bones, scent of sex and him choking the air. Pleasure built savage, coiling tighter than before, guilt fracturing under the onslaught.
He pulled back just enough—barely—to growl against your dripping core. “Taste so goddamn sweet, darlin’. All mine.” Then back in—fangs scraping inner thighs, tongue spearing deep, lips sealing to suck like he’d draw your soul through your cunt.
Your tears were endless.
Sobs melting to screams.
Hated it.
Needed it.
His free hand slid up—fingers pinching your nipple, rolling hard, syncing with the frenzy below. Mouth unrelenting—lapping, sucking, biting faint at tender flesh. Growls turning feral, drool slicking your thighs, water doing nothing to dilute the mess. You were soaked. Ruined. Every sense overtaken—his heat, his hunger, his everything consuming you whole.
The edge loomed again.
Faster.
Harder.
His tongue lashed with renewed fury, plunging deep into your core before flicking up to your clit in a rhythm that bordered on brutal. You couldn’t take it anymore. The pleasure bordered on pain now—too intense, too all-consuming for your sharpened senses to process. Your hands shot to his head, fingers tangling in his slick hair as you tried to push him away. “Remmick—stop, too much, I can’t—”
He didn’t stop.
He didn’t even pause.
Instead, his grip tightened. His claws dug deeper into the soft flesh of your thighs, pricking skin with sharp points that drew faint beads of blood. The sting barely registered amid the onslaught, but it anchored you, held you mercilessly open. He locked you against his mouth, nose grinding into your mound, lips sealing tight as he devoured you with even more ferocity. Growls vibrated through your folds, low and animalistic, drowning out your pleas. He didn’t seem to hear you anymore.
Or if he did, he didn’t care.
His tongue thrust relentlessly, curling inside you, lapping every inch like a beast denied for centuries. Fangs scraped your inner lips, teasing peril without piercing, while his lips sucked hard on your clit, pulling it between them with obscene pressure.
You thrashed.
Sobs tore from your throat—pleasure and overwhelm twisting into something frantic. “Please—Remmick!” Your hips bucked wildly, but his claws pinned you down, unyielding. He ate you like he owned you, tongue swirling faster, wetter, more invasive, saliva dripping in thick strands that mixed with your arousal and the shower’s endless cascade.
Every sense screamed: the wet smacks of his mouth, the copper tang of your own blood mingling faint with the air, his scent choking everything else. You loathed how it built again, coiling savage despite your protests, euphoria crashing higher until your vision blurred.
It hit like oblivion.
You came.
Hard.
Your body seized, back arching off the marble as waves ripped through you—insane, shattering, so high you nearly blacked out. A scream echoed off the walls, raw and broken, as you soaked him completely. Slick gushed from you in hot pulses, flooding his mouth, his chin, dripping down his neck to mix with the water. He drank it all, growling deep, tongue still working through the spasms, prolonging every twitch until you shuddered boneless beneath him.
Only then did he relent.
He lifted his head slowly, face glistening—your release smeared across his lips, his cheeks, clinging in strands to his fangs. Red eyes glowed triumphant, pupils blown wide. He crawled up your body with deliberate grace, water sluicing over both of you, and captured your mouth in a kiss.
You accepted it.
Couldn’t do anything else.
Your limbs felt like lead, spent and trembling, every muscle drained from the high. His lips pressed soft now—loving, almost tender—as his tongue slipped inside, mingling saliva thick and warm. You tasted yourself on him: sharp, sweet, intoxicating. Your fangs brushed his, a faint scrape that sent aftershocks tingling through you. He kissed you deeply, slowly, hand cupping your jaw like you were fragile porcelain. No rush. Just possession wrapped in gentleness.
He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips. “There ya go, darlin’. All better now.”
And it was.
He had done exactly as he promised. The memory of the man—the kind eyes, the blood, the guilt—had faded to a distant echo, washed away in the flood of him. Nothing remained but Remmick. His touch. His taste. His voice coiling through your mind like roots taking hold.
Time blurred in the steam-filled haze.
Minutes?
Hours?
You couldn’t tell.
The shower poured on, relentless, but he made no move to stop it at first. He simply held you there, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, whispering soft nothings that wove deeper into your bones.
“Ya did so good for me,” he said, voice a low rumble, thumb stroking your damp cheek. “My brave girl. Lettin’ me take care of ya like this. Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt ya now. Not while I’m here.”
His words wrapped around you, gentle and addictive, each one a thread pulling you tighter to him. You melted into it, eyelids heavy, body limp against the marble. He shifted, reaching past you with one arm, and the water cut off abruptly. Silence rushed in—broken only by your shared breaths and the faint drip from fixtures. Cool air kissed your heated skin, raising goosebumps, but he didn’t let you shiver long.
Remmick gathered you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as he stepped from the shower. His clothes clung sodden and ruined, but he ignored them. He carried you to the marble counter, perching you there gently, like you weighed nothing.
“Hold still, sugar,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple before turning to the linen closet.
He returned with a towel—plush, oversized, warmed somehow in his hands. He draped it over your shoulders first, rubbing slow circles to chase away the chill. His touch stayed reverent, obsessive in its thoroughness: drying your arms, your back, lifting each leg to pat tenderly along the claw-marked thighs. He lingered there, eyes darkening faint at the red welts, but his fingers soothed rather than tormented—light strokes that made you sigh. “Look at these,” he whispered, voice thick with feigned regret. “Got carried away lovin’ on ya. I’ll kiss ‘em better later. Promise.”
You nodded faintly, too spent to argue, leaning into his care. He dried your hair next, fingers combing through the wet strands with shameless intimacy, tilting your head back to blot the nape of your neck.
Every motion screamed possession: the way he murmured praises—“So beautiful like this, all soft and mine”—the way his eyes never left you, red glow simmering possessive. “Ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout a thing. I got ya forever now. No more scrubbin’, no more ghosts. Just us.”
Time slipped further. He wrapped you in the towel like a cocoon, lifting you again to carry you from the bathroom. The estate’s halls blurred past—dark wood panels, faint lamplight casting long shadows—but you barely registered them. Your bedroom materialized: the massive four-poster bed, silk sheets rumpled from earlier nights, air heavy with his scent. He laid you down reverently, peeling the towel away to slide cool sheets over your naked skin.
He stripped then—efficient, unhurried—tossing wet clothes aside before joining you. His body pressed close, warm and solid, one arm banding around your waist to tuck you against his chest. “Sleep now, darlin’,” he cooed, lips brushing your ear, hand splaying wide over your stomach in a move that felt like protection. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Gonna hold ya all night. Dream of good things. Dream of me.”
His fingers traced lazy patterns—spine, hip, the curve of your breast—gentle caresses that lulled rather than aroused. Kisses dotted your shoulder, your hair. “You're perfect,” he whispered, obsessive litany spilling soft. “My heart. My everything. Turned ya right, didn’t I? Feel that strength in ya now? All mine to keep safe.” Delusions layered sweet, each word erasing cracks, filling you with him.
The man’s face flickered once—faint—then vanished, overwritten by Remmick’s touch, his breath syncing with yours.
Your eyelids drooped.
The world narrowed to his warmth, his voice humming low lullabies in that hypnotic tone. “That’s it. Drift off. I love ya more than anythin’. Forever, sugar. Just like this.”
originally posted on patreon as a one-shot, then later turned into a series
MAIN MASTERLIST
older!harry | dad's friend!harry
Summary: Your hyper sexual tendencies get you into a lot of trouble. You're trying to be good, but you never seem to be able to shut off the voice in your head that keeps telling you that you need attention from unavailable men. When you set your sights on Harry, your dad's friend, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into.
Word Count: 9.1k
Warning: Inspection k!nk, rough blow job, humiliation k!nk, anxious attachment and validation/attention seeking behavior, unresolved neglect, d0m/sub behavior, smut, forbidden relationship, spitting, nipple play, + Harry's quite a lot older.
. .
You couldn't say exactly what was wrong with you. Maybe you really were the insufferable attention seeker your dad always said you were. You knew you needed to screw your head on straight, but you didn't know how. Seeking older, married, off-limits men seemed to make you feel better. Temporarily, at least. Was it because your dad was so cold and you were certain he didn't love you? Was it because your mother would rather drink and shop, and sleep her life away than spend any time with you? Was it because you liked the drama, the fallout, the fight, the tears?
You stared at Harry, your dad's friend, sitting at the table, just off the lake dock, drinking his third beer as he chatted with the guys. But you saw his eyes on you when your dad wasn't looking. You saw all your dad's friends' eyes on you. But Harry's were the only ones you were interested in. The lakehouse was one of your favorite spots to be. You could escape reality while drinking alcohol and wearing bikinis all day. Your dad hadn’t wanted you tagging along but you wore him down like always, nagging, needling, whining… until he gave in, rolling his eyes and told you to keep busy and not ruin his guys’ weekend.
Well, he should have known better. Certainly, there was a reason he didn't love you after all. Ruining things was kind of your go-to specialty. And right now, you wanted Harry to ruin you. He was the kind of man who could set you straight. At least he wasn't married.
You pushed up from the edge of the dock where you'd been sunning, and sauntered toward the table, just shy of the zone where your dad would bark. On your way to the cooler, you gave Harry a small, private smile, then bent for a beer and let him have the view. Tits, ass, whatever he chose to take. You just needed his eyes on you.
The first swallow of cold ale carved a clean line down your throat as you stood right where Harry could watch. He glanced, but not too long. You tossed him another look, then drifted toward the cedar-and-stone house, slipped through the sliding doors, and let the air-conditioning lift the heat from your skin.
Even as your sweat began to dry, you were still heated from all the inappropriate thoughts about Harry. His arms were strong and tattooed, his shoulders were broad, he was tall, big hands… There wasn't a single thing you could find about him that wasn't appealing. He was even a little bit boorish, which you loved. You wouldn't call him mean, but he definitely wasn't nice. He'd never been rude to you, but you'd let him if he wanted.
And best of all, you were positive he had a huge cock. You'd seen the bulky line of him after pulling himself out of the lake, the way he plucked his shorts away from the heavy lump that swayed in his navy swim shorts. Plus, there was no way a man like that wasn't nicely endowed. You wanted to see it for yourself, though.
You took another drink of your beer, your forearms pressed over the granite kitchen island, just as Mark walked in and set his dark eyes all over your skin before he walked behind you. Rolling your eyes, you took another swig and turned around, propping your elbows on the island behind yourself to look at him. "Like the color green. Or you just like my ass?"
He laughed and reached into the fridge to grab out a few more of the special beers. The ones that didn't go in the cooler because they were too expensive to sit amongst the common lagers and ales that sat drowning in water and ice in the Igloo cooler. "You got some mouth on you, Y/n."
"I saw you lookin'. Don't pretend you weren't. If Darius finds out, he'd probably kill you, though."
"If your dad finds out what?" Harry's voice cut through from the sliding door as he stepped inside, eyes on Mark. There was tension.
"Nothin'."
"He was looking at my ass," you smirked and then took another drink of your beer.
"She's right. Darius'll kill you. So will I. Go back outside, Mark."
Mark scoffed and gestured toward you. "I wasn't looking at her ass, Harry. She's just a kid. Why would—"
"I'm 23. Full-grown woman," you corrected.
Both Harry and Mark looked at you and laughed. You rolled your eyes. Harry kept his sight on you as he spoke. "Go outside, Mark, before you do anything stupid."
You licked your lips and grinned at Harry, swaying your hips just a little as you shifted. His eyes grazed your thighs before he stepped in front of you, jaw set hard.
"Don't be playin' with Mark. He's going through a lot right now."
"I know. Poor thing," you mock-pouted. "Heard his wife left him. Probably desperate to get laid. That's why he was staring at me."
"You need to behave, Y/n. You're lookin' for trouble." Harry glanced out the window then back at you.
You fluttered, your lashes innocently. "Hmm… Not looking for trouble. Honest. Not from Mark anyway."
He shook his head and sucked at the front of his teeth like what you'd said was unbelievable. But you think he got the hint. "God help me."
And just like that, he walked away. Left you standing there in the air-conditioned kitchen as he stepped back out to the patio with his friends. All boring older men his age who he knew couldn't entertain him the way you could if he just let you.
.
The wifi sucked at the lakehouse. That was one of the only things you hated about the place. The rest was kind of magical. You sat on the balcony off of your room, a joint perched between your fingers as you watched the sun slip down, and one by one, your dad and his friends began to come inside. Bedtime for the old men. But that meant go-time for you.
Patting out your joint, you stepped back inside your room and checked yourself in the mirror. Your button-up shirt was unbuttoned, nothing underneath. You grinned and felt your nerves ramp up as you tiptoed from your room, down the hallway to the one off the shared bathroom. Harry's room.
None of the men had made it upstairs yet. You could hear them all down in the kitchen still. Once again, the thrill of doing something you knew you shouldn't was too big to pull back from. Just one night with Harry would cure you. Definitely.
His room was dark when you stepped inside and closed the door behind yourself. The rush of what you were doing made your heart race as you climbed into his bed and pulled the shirt off, dropping it onto the floor next. You turned your head to inhale the pillow he'd used the night before.
It was like a dopamine hit to your brain. Harry always smelled good, and now, lying in the bed, he'd soon be coming to… your insides were churning, and your skin was prickling with heat.
Look, you knew you were ridiculous. You knew it was dumb. But you really didn't care. You should have cared. You should have gone to therapy instead of going to older, unavailable men to fill in the gaps of whatever it was that was missing in you. But for you, rational thought rarely won. For better or worse. You were a walking disaster.
When footsteps began to hit the stairs and deep voices laughed and lulled, doors opened, and then closed, you pulled his blankets over your head and bit your lip in anticipation. You had a feeling he was going to kick you out of his room. Tell you that you needed help and that you were barking up the wrong tree or something like that.
The moment his door opened, you held your breath. You heard his footsteps, the door closing behind him, then locking. When the light came on, you could see it slip through the edges of the blanket, and then everything went silent. You slowly inhaled and blinked your eyes against the dark of the blankets over you and tried to listen for any single noise, but there was nothing. Not a footstep, nor a breath. Was he playing a game? There was no way he didn't notice the clear outline of your body under his blankets, and there was no way he didn't know it was you.
Just before you were about to pull the covers from your face to find out what was going on, all of the blankets were suddenly ripped from you and pulled to the floor, cold air hitting your bare skin. You gasped and sat up to see him standing at the end of the bed, an unreadable expression on his face as he trailed his eyes down your nude figure sitting right in the spot he would be sleeping.
He pressed his lips together tight and nodded before he crossed to the side of the bed to casually plug his cellphone in to charge it. You blinked, confused, and shifted to sit with your legs tucked under your thighs as you watched him. Why wasn't he giving you some kind of reaction?
"Um…" You said thinly. "You gonna say something?"
He slid his gaze to yours, and he sniffed before he sat at the edge of the bed and began to remove his shoes. "What do you want me to say?"
Shaking your head, you frowned. "I don't know. I thought it'd be funny. Maybe make you laugh."
He pushed out a laugh, but it was missing its edge of humor. "Funny? This is you being funny, Y/n?"
"Well…" You looked down at your lap and suddenly felt like escaping. You could just grab your shirt and dash back to your room, pretend you'd never done it.
"Well, what?"
"I don't know. I don't know why I did it."
"Not every day a man steps into his room to find a naked girl in his bed. Worse when it's his friend's daughter."
Biting your lip hard, you lifted an arm to cover your breasts and hook your fingers over your upper arm, suddenly not feeling like your usual bold self. Harry's reaction had not been what you'd expected at all. You were used to an extreme response. But this?
He brought a hand up and pulled at your lip, voice soft. "Don't bite it. Make yourself bleed."
You blinked slowly, eyes on his as you parted your lips where he pulled and grabbed his wrist, pushing your lips over his thumb and sucking around it. It was automatic when you did it. He didn't pull away.
"Fuck me," he muttered under his breath. But it came out sounding less like a man excited and more like a man with a conundrum.
You laved your tongue all around and moaned softly, pushing and then pulling your lips over his digit as he watched you. Shifting your hips, you scooted closer to him, his thumb still in your mouth. And you thought maybe it was just that easy. Show him how nasty you could be right off and he'd give in.
But he moved away and stood, your hand falling to your lap. He bent and grabbed the blankets, tossing them back over the bottom of the mattress. You watched him pull his wallet from his back pocket and place it on the dresser, with his back to you. You had no idea what was going on. But he wasn't kicking you out. Yet.
You were honestly used to one of two reactions from men when you pulled this kind of shit—not that you'd done this exact thing before, but still.
Men would either respond with a lot of enthusiasm in favor of getting to fuck you, or they'd freak out and leave (or tell you to leave).
Of course, your actual "body count" was not nearly as high as that makes it seem. You were no virgin, but you were also not really a "bop" either. Well, maybe you were a little bit, but you preferred thinking of yourself as a lover girl, really. Just a girl looking to be loved. Looking for something real, but probably in all the wrong places.
He turned to face you, bracing his hands against the edge of the dresser behind him. "Why are you here?"
You tipped your chin up to make it look like you had more confidence than you did, given that you were naked, in his bed, uninvited.
"I just wanted to see what would happen."
"To see what would happen," he repeated. You watched him nod and drag his eyes down your body to where your feet were tucked under your bottom.
"I think I already know what you want. But I need you to tell me first. Otherwise, you'll return to your room. This isn't a game. Tell me why you're here."
You swallowed and put your palms on your knees. "To see if I could get you to..."
He waited to let you finish your thought but when you didn't, he did it for you. "To see if you could get me to… what? Look at you? Pay attention to you?"
You nodded, your throat tightening. "Yeah. I wanted you to like me."
He huffed a quiet laugh. "You think I don't like you?"
Right then, you really wished you had some clothes on. "Hard to really tell."
He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling. "If I didn't like you, you would not be sitting here right now."
It was pathetic but the edge of your lip nudged upward at that admission. So he did like you. At least enough to keep you sitting on his bed, naked.
"Tell me why you're here."
God, you were so out of your depth with Harry. You slowly inhaled and sank your nails into the skin on the outside of your knee. "I wanted attention. Your attention specifically."
"Attention. Okay. Well, you got it. You realize I'm not much younger than your dad."
"I know. I just… like you."
He laughed and pushed away from the dresser, stepping next to the bed closer to you. "I can see that. Not very wise, though. Is it?"
You shook your head, looking up at him through your lashes.
"No, it's not." He blew out a slow breath. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Nothing since dinner. I’m not even tipsy. Well, I smoked a half joint before I came in here.”
His eyes stayed on yours long enough to make you feel naked in a different way. “A joint? And now you're sitting here without any clothes on in my bed? Your dad would be very disappointed in you.” He glanced at the door, then back to you.
Your heart thudded as you let out a humorless laugh. “He won't ever know unless you say something. Besides, he doesn't care about me anyway. Mom either.”
Harry reached down and took your chin between his thumb and middle finger, palm cradling the underside. "Darius doesn't give you enough attention? Is that what this is? You're desperate for someone to take care of you?"
You nodded, chin padded by his palm as you rounded your eyes on his. You reached up to grab his forearm, but he tsk'd at you and moved his hand away. "Hands back in your lap. You want attention from me, then we're doing this my way. Is that clear?"
"Yes," you spoke in a whisper.
"Good." His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile he didn’t want to have, but you saw it. "Few rules first." He stepped away, moving toward the door to double-check that he'd locked it before he returned to your side next to the bed.
"You'll listen to me. You keep your voice down. If I say stop, you stop. That door stays locked until I unlock it. You'll go back to your room when I say. And in the morning, you are polite and distant, and you don’t make me a liar in front of your dad."
You nodded too fast, blinking your eyes as you swallowed.
“Understood?”
“Yes,” you said, throat tight. “I can do that.”
He lifted a hand toward your face, and you leaned into it. His knuckles skimmed your jaw, the heat of his palm cupping your cheek. The careful way he touched you made your bravado feel small and your want feel enormous.
“There can be no loud noises coming from you, much as I'd like to hear it,” he said. “Are you able to keep yourself quiet?”
“Yes,” you said plainly. You hoped you could.
"Good, because one peep too loud and you're out of here. I'm not risking my relationship with your dad so some spoiled, bored girl can get her kicks and play out her twisted fantasy on an older man. We're both adults here, Y/n. Let's call it what it is."
You frowned, brows pinching together.
"What? Did you think this was gonna turn into a love story? Honey, this is what you get when you play around with people you shouldn't."
You turned your gaze toward the edge of the room, your heart thundering so loud you could hear it in your ears. You just wanted to find a man to love you at the end of the day, but you knew the way you went about it was all wrong. The kind of men you went after weren't fit for that. Harry wasn't going to be your knight in shining armour and sweep you away to his city penthouse and take care of every want and need you had.
"I know," you said, your voice hollow like the space inside of you that you so desperately wanted filled.
The bed dipped when he sat down. "Hey. Look at me, Y/n."
Blinking, you shifted your gaze back to his. His clear rules were making you confront yourself in a way you didn't usually need to, and you felt very outmatched for it.
"Where'd all your sass go? Hm? Don't tell me you're this easy to break."
"I don't… Most men don't care about rules. I'm used to just…" You shook your head, picking at your nails in your lap.
"Most men? How many?"
"What?"
He raised his brows. "How often do you do shit like this?"
"Well, not like… all the time. Like a few."
"You usually go for older men?"
You nodded.
"Right. So this is a pattern. You could have picked any of the guys here this weekend, and you'd have been satisfied. Mark would probably already be fucking you if you'd picked his room."
"No. I didn't want anyone else. That's why I came here."
"And you're used to men not giving a damn about the consequences. Thought I'd be easy to seduce, didn't you?"
Shaking your head quickly, you spoke. "No. I honestly thought you'd just kick me out."
He tilted his head, a slow grin pulling at his lips. "You did all this thinking I was just gonna send you out of here? You like being humiliated, Y/n?"
You shrugged. "Just for attention. Even if you just yelled at me and told me to get out, that would've been fine. Take what I can get."
He blinked, eyes shifting between yours. "That's kind of fucked up. You realize that, right?"
You pushed out a breath of a laugh, embarrassed, and looked back down at your lap. "I know. I have issues that I should probably work out in therapy."
He slid his palm over your knee, and you flicked your gaze back to his. "Probably? Baby, this is a whole shit sandwich you got goin' on here."
You laughed, a little too loud, and covered your mouth quickly, eyes wide.
"Shh…" he smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Get on your tummy. Tush up."
Your face went hot immediately, and every inch of flesh burned as your vision went bleary from the sudden shift in his demeanor and the drop in his voice. But you quickly did as he said, moving to your side and then lowering your tummy to the mattress. You kept your neck turned so you could see him in your peripheral. He didn't move at first, but you could hear his breath.
It felt like minutes that he sat there and just stared at your backside. Like he needed to make sure he was ready for it himself. But when he finally touched you, a big hand pressing at your low back and tracing upward along your spine, you smiled and sighed a soft moan.
"Jesus, Y/n." His hand paused at your shoulder blade. "Acting like you never get touched. Need it that bad?"
You breathed out and nodded into the crook of your arm. You didn't want him to stop touching you. However he wanted to do it, you'd be happy. You just needed it.
He shifted, his hands pressing flat into the mattress on either side of your waist as he leaned over you, his voice next to your ear. "Bet you like to be spanked, don't you? Like to get smacked around just to feel a man's hands on you? Like it rough?"
You nodded, your eyes pressing toward the limn of your vision so you could see the outline of his face over you.
"Not happening tonight. Too much noise. Understood?"
You nodded again. "Mmhm."
When he pushed away, he didn't move far. He pulled your hands down and placed them on your tailbone. "Keep these here."
You threaded your fingers together to hold your hands still as he moved behind you. A shift of fabric, the bed tipped under his weight and then lifted when he stood. He was taking off his shirt. Maybe everything, you weren't sure.
He turned on the lamp on the side table and then walked across the room to shut off the overhead light. Then you saw him grab his cellphone. A few moments passed before you heard the sound of white noise coming from his phone. The pulse of waves and the soft lapping of water receding from a shoreline. The constant, gentle drone of sound that could drown out small noises while putting someone to sleep. Only tonight, the white noise wasn't for sleeping. It would serve as a disguise.
With your hands still exactly where he put them, you turned your head to see him walking toward a small suitcase on the other side of the bed. He'd removed his shirt and his jeans, but was still wearing a pair of black boxer briefs that hugged his thighs and glutes tightly. He pulled something from his suitcase that you couldn't see before he stepped around to the bedside table, and you turned your head again to watch as he laid down two condoms. Two.
"I'm on birth control," you said, your eyes following his movements.
"Oh, I'm sure you are, honey."
And that was all he said before he was kneeing back up onto the bed behind you, his hands moving up the backs of your thighs and pressing them apart. You squeezed your eyes closed, feeling more exposed and naked than you ever had.
Then he was touching you with purpose. His hands sliding over your skin and around the curve of your ass before he squeezed and pulled. You could hear his breath as he went. The warm span of his palm and fingers wrapped your sides and then he pinched gently. You rocked your hips and moaned softly.
"You let men fuck you without condoms?"
You swallowed. "Sometimes. Not usually."
"Is that why you told me you're on birth control? Want my cock bare?"
You nodded and lifted your head to look back at him, but your hands, being where they were, made it difficult to turn. "I'd let you."
"Lie down."
You lay back into the position you'd been in and waited. He took your hips and lifted gently and you heard him inhale through his teeth before his thumbs found your labia and he pulled. "Looks pretty. Would love to fuck you raw, but I don't think that's a good idea tonight."
Tonight. There it was again. Your heart beat picked up faster at just the idea. Not tonight, but perhaps another. Not that that was what he meant, but the way he said it…
His fingers prodded and pulled at your folds slowly. It was strange to be scrutinized so closely like that. You felt cool air hit your skin before his lips pressed against your pussy and you moaned, turning your mouth down into the blankets to muffle the sound.
"Good girl. You do know how to listen." He squeezed your ass again and yanked you up further, bottom higher in the air, knees digging into the mattress, before he shifted and you felt his thighs line up with the back of yours. You immediately rocked back against him and felt the line of him pressing into you.
He let you rub yourself against him, your hips pressing, swaying against him as you whimpered like an idiot into the blanket. His hands were light on your hips as you moved, like he enjoyed watching you do it. And given how hard he was under his briefs, you figured he did.
He pushed out something that could have been considered a moan when he tightened his grip on you and then rutted forward, his big dick pressing harder against your ass. But then he pulled back, and you felt his fingers on your crease again, sliding them through, up and down.
"Knew this ass would be cute."
The sudden press of two of his fingers inside of you had you gasping as you rolled against him. He groaned quietly and began to finger you with one of his hands, his other holding your hip loosely so you could still push back onto his digits.
"There you go. Fuck my fingers, honey."
You arched harder, letting your body rear back and shift forward so you could keep sinking down onto his fingers. The white noise coming from his phone did a good job of covering up the gushy, wet sounds your pussy made as you rocked. But then he moved again, his fingers were gone, and the mattress dipped.
"Sit up."
You released your hands and scrambled up quickly to face him, and he laughed at how obedient you were. He stepped onto the floor to the edge of the bed and pointed. "On your back, head at the edge here."
You moved right away, scooting your bottom until you were where he wanted you, head slightly hanging from the mattress, throat exposed. You looked up at him and just saw his tall frame, upside down, standing over you as he pulled his cock from his briefs. Long and thick… just like you knew it would be. You reached for him, but he swatted your hand away.
"Hands down by your side for now."
You pressed your arms to your sides and balled your fists tight as he grabbed your throat and bent enough that he could smear his tip against your chin and then your lips. You opened your mouth wide, and he huffed a quiet laugh.
"Love the enthusiasm. Stick out your tongue."
You jutted your tongue out as he reached over you, and his hands found your breasts for a quick squeeze before he took his cock in one palm and tapped it to your tongue. He ran his dick along your tongue and passed your lips a few times, wetting himself with your saliva.
He started off slow like that. Gently pushing in, not too far, and dragging himself back. He held his base as he went, working into you until you felt more relaxed with the angle and his girth before he snapped his hips down and thrust in past your gag reflex.
He chuckled darkly when he did it again, and you gurgled. His crown curved into your throat as he gasped and you swallowed around him with a quiet sputter. But you were determined to give him what he wanted and be the best you could be. Only when he moaned and reached forward to squeeze your nipples did you feel like it was a job well done. He liked it. You were making him feel good.
You'd had a couple of men fuck your face before and do it rough. You didn't mind because it felt like a reward when someone was enjoying your body. If he was having a good time, then so were you. And the small gasps coming from Harry, the salty precome dripping down your throat, the pulse in his thick vein, the way he was pinching your nipples… You felt like you were on your way to winning first prize.
"Fuck… That's it…"
Your face was numb, your throat was raw, saliva dripped down your temples and into your ears and hair, your eyes were blurry, and you could hardly breathe… But you were being enjoyed and that's all you wanted. It turned you on more than anything else.
Harry pulled out, his chest was heaving and he cursed under his breath. "Goddamn, Y/n."
You blinked tears from your eyes and moved your head to look up at him, still upside down from your vantage point. He walked around to the other side of the bed and you followed with your eyes as far as you could until you felt his hands on your ankles, pulling you to lie lengthwise on the bed before he climbed between your legs and pulled your thighs over his shoulders.
"Fuck, baby…"
Then his mouth was on you, soft, hot, wet… His tongue drew silent lines up and down your center before he sucked at your clit. You lifted your hips sharply with a gasp, throwing your arm across your mouth to keep as quiet as possible.
He moaned into your pussy and pressed in harder with his lips and tongue. But it was the way he slid the tip of his tongue quickly back and forth on your bud that made it hard to stop the noises from falling out of your mouth.
You reached down to stuff your fingers into his thick hair and rolled your hips up against his mouth. He didn't let up, and he didn't make you put your hands down. It was heaven being eaten out by Harry. It was like being loved on, which was something you craved constantly. Most men skipped foreplay with you because they figured you were just a slut who didn't need that kind of thing. But of course, you never asked for it because you figured they were at least partly right.
"Mmmm…" you moaned, mouth closed as your spine bowed from the bed. Harry pulled away and spat over your pussy and then looked up at you.
"Never seen a girl get this wet before," he said as he slid three fingers flat on your clit to rub his saliva in with your slick arousal. He kept his eyes on you as he rubbed your pussy, and then he reached up to your tit, wiping your wetness on your nipple and then then thumbing over your peak. He pushed his mouth against your hip and moaned before he sat back, pressing the insides of your knees further apart, pupils drawing through the space of your pussy and everything between your legs.
You moaned quietly and blinked up at him, your hands drifting up to your breasts as you lifted your hips in a silent plea.
"Shit." He shook his head and sighed. "Gonna want more of this." He traced his palms up your thigh and to your hips. "Which is dangerous. But I need to hear you beg til you're crying." He smoothed his hands around to your hips and then under to your ass as he squeezed. "Wanna take you over my knee and spank you when you make a mistake, when you mouth off. Can't do any of that here, can we?"
You swallowed and shook your head, a whisper of a no coming out as you lifted your hips again, impatient.
"Fuck. Hold on."
He reached over you, his strong arm stretching to the bedside table where he grabbed his phone and a condom. He laid the condom on your tummy and fiddled with his phone until you heard it ringing, speaker phone on. He put his finger up to his lips to signal for you to be quiet the moment a woman answered.
"Hi, handsome."
"Hey. Got a sec?"
"Sure, what's up?"
You blinked and pushed yourself up by your elbows as Harry laid the phone down next to your hip, glancing at you before he plucked up the condom and tore it open.
"Hate to do this on the phone, but it couldn't wait." He laid the rubber over his tip and began to roll it down as he continued speaking. "Can't see you anymore. Something came up and wouldn't be right to drag this out any longer. Really sorry."
"Wait. You're breaking up with me? What happened?"
"What happened is that something came up. I really am sorry. I just wanted to let you know before we took it any further. Okay?"
When the condom was rolled down as far as it could reach, he scooted closer to you and lay his cock over your tummy.
"Harry, I don't get it."
"Nothing to get. No hard feelings. I wish you luck."
He reached down and ended the call, the white noise returning with a soft crashing wave, and then he looked down at you, your brows pinched together.
"You had a girlfriend? I thought you were single?"
"She wasn't a girlfriend. Just someone I was seeing casually. Wasn't serious."
"So, why'd you end it with her if it was casual?" Your heart was racing.
He pushed out a laugh and dragged his hands to the underside of your thighs. "It was a courtesy. Was gonna break it off anyway. Least I could do was be a gentleman about it and break up with her before I fuck someone else. Shoulda done it before I laid my hands on you, but kinda forgot she existed there for a bit."
You smiled, a small laugh puffing from your lips. "You could've just texted. That's usually all the courtesy I get from men, and then they block me so I can't call back. Woulda made that a lot easier."
He stared at you blankly and ran his hands up your thighs to your hips. "You haven't been getting treated right, Y/n. Breaking up over text is for cowards. Not my style."
You bit your lip and ran your palms over your tits, pressing them together gently. It made you feel special that he broke up with some woman while he was there with you, sliding a condom onto his dick, fucked up as it was. "You're a lot nicer than I thought you'd be."
The smirk that worked its way up on his mouth was almost villainous as he brushed his tip through your crease and pressed it just to your opening. "Is that what that was? Nice?"
"Well… yeah. Wasn't it?"
He breathed out a laugh and shook his head. "Was it nice of me when I made you choke on my cock before the call?"
You opened your mouth, but your response was cut off when he pushed himself in past your tight muscle, your insides opening up for his cock as he went. Inhaling sharply, you reached to close your hands around his biceps as he nudged deep into you.
"But you liked it. That's all that matters to you, isn't it? Like taking men from other women. Spoiled brat behavior."
You whined quietly, your mouth still opened wide as he forced himself in further, taking the back of your knees and pushing your legs apart for him.
"Think she'd agree it's nice that I'm fucking a cute young thing with a pretty, wet pussy just minutes after breaking it off with her?" He spoke low, rocking into you. "Feels really fucking nice," he moaned under his breath. "But this is far from nice, Y/n."
You puffed out a breath, and he reached down, taking your breast into his palm, squeezing. "She loves nice guys, but you? You don't want a nice guy, do you?"
You blinked, shaking your head, the breath of a no falling out of your mouth as he pushed himself in and dragged back, your insides splitting apart for him when he drilled down into you. It was hard to answer the question when he was plunging in the way he was, when he had you bent in half under him, one hand gripping tight under your knee and the other over your tit to hold you in place.
"Hm? Tell me. You want a nice guy, Y/n? Or are you lookin' for someone to sort you out? Someone to fix you?" He spoke quietly as he fucked into you, pushing his dick to the hilt every time he bottomed out.
"Hnnhh—" You wobbled out some kind of noise and gasped. "Yes… Fff… Need to be fixed."
He moaned, hips pumping into you harder, making the bed creak under your back. He slowed his thrusts, and the mattress springs went silent again. You watched his eyes flutter shut and his mouth drop open as he released your breast and placed his hand back to the underside of your knee, holding your legs apart. He dipped his hips shallowly, and you were so wet that the sound of his cock dragging in and out of you couldn't be disguised by the white noise coming from his phone. But he kept going.
When he opened his eyes again and looked down at you, the expression on his face was tight, pained. You'd seen that look on men before. When they were getting lost in lust. Lost in the way you felt around them. He panted a breath as he pushed his big dick deep into your tummy and ground down on your pelvis. You both inhaled, your body clinging snugly around him.
"Oh, baby. Shame I can't fuck your brains out like you need me to. Hear all those pathetic noises you want to make, turn you into a slobbering little mess on your knees for me."
"I want it, please…" You moaned, stretching your neck out as you gushed around his thrusting dick. Suddenly, his palm was on your mouth, stopping the noise from escaping further. He rutted into you hard, your body jolting.
"What did I say? You want to go back to your room?"
You shook your head, eyes wide on him, his hand still covering your entire mouth.
"No? If you want to stay here, then you need to be good and keep quiet. Let me work, and you just lie here for me. Should be really easy for you."
Easy? You'd hardly call it easy. Harry's girth pushing into your guts, his strong, solid body, tattooed arms and chest, wicked green eyes, the way he was speaking to you… You pinched your eyes closed and moaned, damp, into his palm when he drove in deep.
Then you felt him squeezing at your cheeks, and you opened your eyes to look up at him just as he slid his thumb past your lips. You sucked around it as he pumped his cock into you slowly, being careful not to move too fast or make too much noise.
"Know how hard this is for me? Having to be gentle with you like this…"
You laved your tongue over his thumb and moaned, his dick nudging to your end. You wanted his lips on yours. You wanted to know what he'd be like with his tongue against your mouth, sliding softly over you. One kiss from him and you'd never ask for anything else again.
"Knowing you like it a little rough, just like I do. Knowing you need something I can't give you right now."
You whimpered around his thumb and he hissed when he bottomed out, stuffing his entire length into you and feeling the tight squeeze of you pulling him in. "Sucking my thumb like a proper baby, aren't you?"
There was a time when he just thought you were an innocent young woman. It had been easy to ignore how cute you were when he met you just after you turned 20 years old, his friend's daughter with sweet eyes and a nice ass under your jeans. He wasn't interested in innocent and cute, especially not when you were Darius's daughter. And especially not when you were so damn young.
But then, as time went on, he started to notice your attitude. The comments you'd make when he'd stop by to see his friend. The way Darius would yell at you and you'd roll your eyes at him but then smile at Harry with a kind of sultry smirk that had blood rushing through his veins. Eventually, it became clear that you weren't so innocent. You were seeking something risky, and Harry certainly couldn't get involved with any of that. So he kept his distance.
Until that night when he walked into his room and saw you naked in his bed… pretty tits, soft hips, dirty grin on your face. He should have kicked you out, like you thought he'd do. He should have sent you on your way and pretended it never happened. But there was something about you that he needed to uncover, and right then, as he was balls deep inside of your warm pussy, he knew he was fucked cause he was thinking with his dick and not his head.
It was a terrible idea to give in to you, but he couldn't seem to help himself. You'd been a bratty temptress earlier, and now here you were all pliable and submissive, needy. You had something he'd been missing in the women he'd dated over the last few years. It wasn't easy to find a woman who liked what he did. A little punishment. A little guidance. He'd pretty much given up, resigning himself to vanilla sex, which was still fun, but didn't fulfill his deeper desires.
"Christ. What am I gonna do with you, hm?" He drilled down into you, hips pasted to yours as you sucked his thumb into your mouth with a whine.
Suddenly, he pulled out, rearing back, and pressed both of his hands down on the bed by your hips, your legs falling flat. You watched him drop his head, shoulders rising and falling heavy like he was trying to recharge himself. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to yours, green irises nearly hidden under blown-out pupils.
He sat back and grabbed your calf, lifting your leg, and used his opposite hand to squeeze your ass, fingers pinching into your skin with a painful bite. You pressed your lips flat to stop the yelp from falling into the room, and he smiled at your restraint.
"Good fucking girl."
Good fucking girl… You would have purred if it were possible. He'd been mixing in little drops of praise between scolding words. You rolled your eyes to the back of your head at the praise and moaned, mouth still closed. Then he let go and his hands were on your hips and then your breasts, fingers pinching your nipples, rolling them between the pads of his fingers and you arched your back from the bed with a gasp.
When he moved over you, he ran his tongue along the edge of a nipple before he pulled it into his mouth, a hand on your other one, pinching. He sucked your bud softly, wetting, tongue swirling, and then you felt the sharp nip. You wiggled, and your hands flew to his hair.
"Harry, fuck…" You breathed his name into the room, focusing really hard to keep your voice quiet.
He moaned against your breast and went harder before he moved his mouth to the other side. The room was spinning as he pinched and sucked. But every time you felt his teeth graze your nipple, everything halted, and your vision blurred.
You couldn't stop rolling your hips up into him. It was involuntary, the way you needed more and more. Little whimpers bubbled from your mouth when he lifted his lips and began to dot wet kisses up to your clavicle, along the column of your neck and then… oh god… when his lips pressed over yours, you grasped onto the back of his neck with both hands and wrapped your thighs around his waist to get him closer.
He grunted, tongue sliding against yours as he closed his mouth over your lips softly. When he plunged his cock back into you, thick head bullying its way through your little opening, it felt different than before with his lips on yours. Like everything you needed. He thrusted in, pelvis grinding against your clit, and you moaned into his mouth.
"Oh, you like that, don't you?" He murmured against your mouth with a smile as he buried in as far as he could go. "God… You just need someone to take care of you."
You nodded, lips brushing his, still clinging tight to him as your thighs began to shake. He lifted his face to look down at you. "This is a disaster in the making," he said, shaking his head. "Open your mouth, Y/n."
When you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out for him, he groaned softly at your obedience. He grinned and dipped down, licking your tongue, before you felt his saliva sliding into your mouth. Then he was kissing you again, making you swallow his spit.
You felt one of his hands smooth down your side to your hip and squeeze to hold you still, his other sliding under your neck as he worked his mouth against yours. He felt so good on you like that… his body pressed to yours, cock slid deep, pelvis pressed to your clit, lips smearing against yours…
Your insides were twisting, pulsing, gushing with every dip, every lap of his tongue. The muscles in your body began to tense as your orgasm slowly swelled in your tummy. And Harry seemed to notice it. He kept his pace and moaned, the bed squeaking quietly under the weight of his thrusts. But he didn't stop because your grip felt so good around him, tightly squeezing in little pulses that were making his cock throb.
And then your body gave in completely, limbs shaking, loud moan that he captured with his mouth, pussy shuddering and spasming around him with every wave of pleasure that leaked through your guts. Your nails carved the smallest little half moons into the nape of his neck as he pumped his hips, working you through it all the way until you went limp.
When it was safe, he pulled away to look down at your face, eyes closed, lips parted. He moved his hand around to brush his knuckles on your cheek. "Did good for me, Y/n. Gonna flip you over, okay?"
You knocked your head up and down, fluttering your eyes opened slowly as he moved, cock slipping out of you, his warm body lifting away. It felt so gentle the way he helped you to your tummy, hands gripping at your hips and waist and carefully laying you down flat as he whispered to you how pretty you were when you were coming, how good you'd done. Your heart was kicking hard in your chest at his words and the way his hands were holding you.
Then he squeezed the round of your ass and pulled you apart before you felt his cock dragging into you with a tight push. He inhaled as he went, lifting your hips up just enough that he could angle himself down into you properly and fuck into you a little harder. The plap of his skin against yours filled the room, and his moans were slowly getting deeper, breathier. You felt him faltering, hips jerking, breaths jagged.
He pressed a hand to the back of your neck and worked into you in deep, languid strokes. "Fuck baby… I'm coming… fuck…"
He slid his hand around to the front of your throat, lowered his chest to your back, and pressed his lips to the curve of where your neck and shoulder met as he pumped into his condom, cock throbbing heavy against your walls. You moaned into the blanket, a smile on your face. His release was your prize.
When he relaxed over you, he slowly kissed the skin at the back of your neck, and the weight of him pressed you hard into the mattress. You sighed, content. The sound of white noise from his phone filled the room again as you both quieted.
You could feel his heart pounding against your back, your own heartbeat racing with his. Your body felt like melty, gooey happiness as you closed your eyes and felt him lift off of you. He didn't kick you out of his bed and send you back to your room like you thought he might, which would have been totally fine given the circumstances. Instead, he slowly flipped you over, hands sliding over your skin before he wiped a clean t-shirt between your legs and then shut off the bedside lamp, pulled you into his arms, and let you drift off to sleep against his chest.
.
"Y/n. Wake up, honey."
You blinked your eyes open slowly and saw the shadow of Harry just above you. The room was still dark, and you had no idea what time it was or what time you'd fallen asleep as he shifted next to you.
"Gotta get you back to your room. Before Darius wakes up. Come on. Sit up."
You nodded, eyes fluttering shut and then open. He pulled your shirt over your back, helping you slide your arms inside, and then buttoned up the front for you. You were pulled to your feet, an arm sweeping around your low back to hold you upright before he walked you to your room quietly.
When he lowered you to your bed, you held tight to his forearms. "Gotta let go, Y/n. Can't have anyone seeing us."
You blinked up at him in the dark, suddenly aware that this was probably the last time you'd ever get to see him like that, and you sat up. "Harry, don't leave."
He sat down next to you. "I have to. You promised me you'd be good. Now let go."
"This is it, isn't it? Got what you wanted and now you're done with me."
"I shouldn't have even touched you, Y/n. But I did." He reached up to your face, thumb running gently over your cheekbone as you kept your hand gripped on his forearm. "And I should end it here. But I don't think I'm done with you yet."
You lifted to your knees, hands reaching up to his face. "Really? Don't lie to me."
He placed his big hands on your thighs and slid them up under your shirt to your hips. "Really, Y/n. Trust me. We'll talk about this later, okay? But your dad gets up early, and if he sees me in here with you, then there will be no later for us."
You wrapped your arms around his neck and grinned so wide your cheeks started to hurt when he had to peel you off with a huff. He gave your bottom the softest swat and spoke quietly into your ear, be good, before he got up and walked out of your room, closing the door behind him.
.
You rolled over to see the bright sun shining through your balcony doors and stretched your limbs. It was after 11 am so you were positive all the men were already up. You sat up and grinned, squealing quietly to yourself, throwing your body back down to the bed as you kicked your feet when you remembered Harry's promise of "later".
But you also remembered your promise to him—And in the morning, you are polite and distant, and you don’t make me a liar in front of your dad.
When you finally made your way downstairs in your little pink bikini, you could hear their voices in the kitchen. Taking a breath, you stepped in, eyes sweeping over everyone before you opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice to pour a glass for yourself.
"It's almost noon, Y/n. Do you really have nothing better to do than sleep the day away?" Your dad spoke.
You took a long drink of orange juice and put the carton away before you turned to look at your dad and sighed dramatically. "No. I don't. You guys are all boring, and WiFi barely works. My choices are limited to sleeping, drinking, and lying out by the lake."
"Just like your mother," his words cut through to your bones, and he laughed, looking at the other men.
Everyone laughed. Except Harry. You glanced at him quickly before quietly putting your glass into the sink and stepping past them to go outside.
“Beer's in the cooler, ready to go if you want one now. Or... later,” Harry said, casual. But nothing about it was casual. You understood it was an attempt to quell your dad's harsh words for you.
With your fingers on the sliding door handle, you turned to look at him and blinked, flicking your gaze to the other men and then back to Harry.
“Later,” you said, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “I’ll come grab it when I’m thirsty.”
You slid the door open and stepped into the wash of sun, the men’s voices dissolving into background noise. Outside, it was only the lake and the heat on your skin, but your insides churned with the sound of his voice. Later. It was a promise you were already restless to keep.
. .
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𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨/𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙨: smut, reader slaps rafe, Rafe slaps reader, degradation, really mean rafe, reader is crying like the whole time, dom!rafe, sub!reader, unprotected piv, rafe is pretty soft at the end, rushed,
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“Fuuuck” Rafe groaned as he brutally slammed into you
“I-i” you were speechless.
Rafe was way too big for you but oh, he made it work alright
Pain was overtaking the pleasure and you didn’t know how to deal with it so you just held tight onto his biceps, nails digging into his skin making scars
“Thats it thats it shiiit”
“Rafe! It h-hurts slow down please!!” You manage to tremble out staring up at him with tears running down your face
“Aww poor little y/n can’t handle this fat cock?”
You shake your head even though you couldn’t process what he was saying
“Slow slow slow!” You try push his lower abdomen away but just can’t
your cries and begs make him go even more crazy.
he groans and somehow speeds up Making you scream
“No!” Your eyebrows furrowed and you couldn’t take it anymore
You slapped him across the face
It went dead silent. You started up at him with an angry face as he looked to be unfazed, just staring right back at you
you panted as you felt relief, you finally felt in control, powerful, the tension was intimidating
but that intense moment ended very quickly
he slapped you back, not too hard, just to return it
Then he carried on
All the control you had just felt now long gone, your mouth dropping open, tears and snot immediately rolling down your face
You cried and cried
“Fuckin brat”
You dug your nails deeper into his skin but he didn’t care, and if he was being honest he loved the pain and pleasure
“Can’t just fuckin take it huh?”
You went to go yell something at him or slap him again
but as soon as he sensed it he flipped you over onto your stomach
“I-it hurts!” You screamed
“It’ll feel amazing soon baby, we just need to,” he panted “need to get this tight little cunt stretched out huh?”
He delivered a hard smack to your ass probably making a red hand print
“Please…. Y-you’re too b-big to go inside me rafey” you cried while rubbing your cheek where he hit you back before,
He grabbed your arms and held them still in one of his so u would stop squirming and focus on the intense burn and stretch happening
“Fuck, gonna cum” he groaned
For some reason you felt yourself about to cum as well but didn’t want to admit it so you just cried into the pillow even harder
He held you still and groaned as You felt his warm cum painting your insides
you unwilling released yours at the same time but the feelings you felt earlier over powered the five seconds of pleasure you had
And for some reason as soon as he pulled out you ran to his arms sobbing into his chest
“You lied… you said it will feel good”
You mumble as he cradled you
“It hurt” you hugged him tighter
He shushed you caressing your back
“I know, i know,”
“I stretched you out good. so it will feel better next time, alright?”
You nod feeling relieved that it’s over and your back in rafes arms, forgetting like nothing just happened
“And i felt you cum before i did” he smirked
You looked up at him, a little smile spread across your face
it’s late in the compound. wanda comes home after a long day of exhausting missions. she’s frustrated, and in need of something to let out her energy and anger on. she does it with you, but with such tenderness.
ʚ・ tags and warnings — mommy!wanda x fem!reader :
mostly smut, slight fluff, stress relief, wanda slightly angry, soft wanda, dirty talk, overstimulation, light choking, wanda called mommy, reader called dove, angel, princess, some aftercare
ʚ・ author’s note — first fic on here. please enjoy, feedback appreciated. i’m quite interested in doing a lot more fluffy/angsty stuff… lmkk !!
your hips buck, twitching erratically. your fingers dig into your sheets in a desperate attempt to anchor. you press your knuckles to your lips, letting sound die before it could even slip past you. your legs tremble from exhaustion, from pure pleasure.
her head bobs between your thighs in a delicious rhythm. a forgotten movie murmured in the background, dialogue and static blurring the edges of everything else. swallowing anything—any whimper, any moan that might escape.
it was late. far past lights out at the compound.
she wasn’t supposed to be here.
not between your legs—not again.
“wanda,” you gasp as she catches one of your slick folds between her lips and sucks. her thumb presses against your clit, rubbing furious circles and only heightening your pleasure.
her rough fingers dug into your thighs, holding you in place. “shh, dove. i told you to stay quiet.” she mouths against your bare heat. “mommy’s had a very long day.” her voice is low, almost impatient. like she’s trying to suppress the urge to force you down and take you until you’re screaming.
because her movements aren’t gentle—not like they usually are. they’re fueled by some intense heat. you remember is her coming home: eyes focused and low. blood staining her knuckles, from her mission earlier. she didn’t say much about it, didn’t even let herself think much before she was pinning you to the wall.
“breathe, honey. relax for me. let me use this pretty pussy, hm? you taste… heavenly, baby. so sweet for me.” she coos, licking from the base of your most sensitive area to the nub.
“now, quiet. you don’t want a punishment.”
you clench and tighten around an unbearable absence, trying with everything you had to hold back even the smallest wince.
your jaw locks in an effort. tight. but it’s still not enough. she plunges her tongue inside of you: suddenly. it’s overwhelming, in the best way, and so unfair. a scream—louder than any other of the pathetic noises from before—tears through you.
when you look down, eyes wide, please already breaking into a whisper, you see it. her expression isn’t tender anymore. its anger. frustration that had built up throughout the day. and god, she would use you to forget it all.
she’s moving before your head even stops spinning.
her hand trails up your skin until it catches your throat. wrapping around it, so sweetly. her thumb brushes against your pulse. not tight enough to struggle; not ever. but just enough for you to be conscious of every breath you take.
“mommy—” you try. “no, baby. no ‘mommy.’ what did i tell you, hm?” she interrupts. her grip on your throat loosens enough for you to comfortably reply.
your eyes avoid hers, shoulders sinking from sheer embarrassment. she tilts up your chin and you respond, “… to be quiet.”
“that’s right. and you disobeyed.”
yet, the smallest curve still tugs at her lips. “look at that pretty face. flushes even at the smallest correction.” she chuckles, then sighs deeply.
“let me see those eyes baby. look at me.” she hums. and you do, immediately. as your eyes lock on hers, you feel the tips of her two fingers glide across your pussy. your already wet folds peel apart at the smallest movement and she smirks, slowly pressing into your warmth.
your face contorts into one of bliss as her fingers curl into your slit. you buck your hips at the feeling, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream.
“you’re going to keep those eyes on me as i fuck you. and you’re not going to look away until i say you’re allowed to.” she whispers.
two fingers plunge into your tightness. you gasp as she curls them inside of you. “mmh, princess… look at this beautiful pussy.” she sighs.
“you don’t know how badly i’ve been needing to see you ruined again.”
her lips latch onto your neck. her kisses are hot, open-mouthed, and all teeth. her arm suddenly jolts out, scarlet threads curling around her fingers, drawing something out. the drawer of the nightstand beside you flies open, and a strap floats to her hand.
a deep red dildo, thick, and bigger than what she usually used on you. your breath come out a little heavier at the thought of it stretching you out.
she slide the harness on, securing it around her waist. one hand slid under your thigh, holding it up and pinning it in place. the other braced herself beside your head.
you barely had time to think before she was pushing into you. your breath hitched, fingers holding onto the bedsheets beneath you. wanda moaned slowly, “that’s right, detka. clench around me.”
small whimpers escape you. your hands find her, wrapping around her neck. your nails dig into her spine, leaving delicate indents. “fuck—fuck, too much. god, you’re—stretching me…”
“too much?” she asks, already slowing down. you only yelp at that. “no—no. i need more. just, just don’t stop.” you exhale.
her hips start up again, rolling into you and letting you feel every bit of it. she grinds the base of it inside you. every little whisper, every thrust, and every breath brings you closer to your edge.
she notices. of course she does.
the way your breath hitches.
the way you hold on tighter, clenching.
the way you moan—higher pitched than before.
“give it to me. come on,” she moves faster. you feel her chasing her own release.
her arms wrap fully around your waist, firmly holding you. allowing you to go limp, to simply be held. she’s thrusting into you faster now, groaning in your ear. mumbling curses, half in english and half in sokovian. her accent so heavy she can hardly even understand herself.
“god. you’re so fucking tight,” she grunts. her head falls onto your shoulder, hips roughly fucking into your pussy.
you feel tears collect in the corner of your eyes. it isn’t uncomfortable—not even in the slightest. it’s all you could ever dream of. it’s overstimulation, in the best way you could’ve ever imagined.
her forehead presses against yours. red wisps flicker, and she reads you. every thought, every craving you have right now. watching, protecting, as always.
she knows just how much you want this.
it empowers her to moves faster, kissing your cheek in a way that still manages to make your stomach flutter.
“that’s my girl. so perfect for me. letting me use this sweet pussy,” she whispers. her hips grind.
your climax hits in waves, the first stronger than the rest. stars fog your vision, body twitching under her. you dig your nails into her back, and she only responds by holding you tighter, fucking you through your orgasm.
“that’s right… my pretty girl… doing so good for me.”
you pant heavily, sweat beading down your forehead. her movements are slower now, but somehow feel so much more intense. you’re so much more sensitive now.
she’s riding you through it, and prolonging your release.
she hits her own climax just like that.
knowing you’re taken care of.
seeing the way you whimper for her. under her.
her hips buck into you, her strap filling you. she moans in your ear, soft curses and praises.
“that’s my girl. my sweet little girl.” she pants, kissing the top of your head and slowly pulling out. you curl against her, comforted in her embrace.
the rest of the night is a blur.
her rough hands bringing a damp towel to your thighs, wiping away the stickiness and cleaning you off. handing you a glass of water, cuddling you when she was all done.
raking her fingers through your hair, whispering praises into your ear. telling you just how beautiful you looked, and how good you were.
“you did so good for me, baby. my perfect angel.” she whispers, pressing little pecks to your cheeks. your eyelids flutter shut, heavy from exhaustion. she smiles at that. “get some sleep, honey. i’ll be here in the morning.” she assures you.
sevika is mean. it’s no secret; you knew it getting involved with her. she’s oh so handsy, making sure anyone with eyes can see who you belong to whenever she’s around, and she ensures your neck is covered in hickeys for the rare times when she’s not. hell, within the first two weeks of you hooking up, she’d already gifted you a necklace with her initial on it.
“you’re lucky it’s not a collar,” she’d smirked then, and you had laughed it off, but the lack of humor in her tone made your laugh more nervous than anything. you’d joked about her being pussy whipped, and she made sure the words died on your tongue when she slid hers between your legs that night.
it’s why you shouldn’t have been surprised when cuddling against a tree after your sweet little picnic date turned into you sitting on her lap with a blanket draped over you two, hiding the fact that she’s two fingers deep in your soaked cunt.
she bullies her fingers into you as you gasp, immediately slapping a hand over your lips to muffle the sounds as you feel her chuckle against your back, her breath fanning your neck. “feel good, princess?” she mocks condescendingly, stilling her hand momentarily to allow you to catch your breath. you almost thank her for a moment, that is, before she begins thumbing at your clit and you can’t help throwing your head back on her shoulder.
“be careful baby, someone might see,” she hums, nipping at your earlobe before trailing kisses down your neck. she sucks roughly at your skin, and you can only imagine the deep marks she’s leaving behind.
“you’re so fucking bold,” you hiss, your eyes fluttering and breathing going shallow. “we’re in fucking public, sevika.” you glance around the park swiftly, though your attention is almost immediately captured again by sevika’s thrusting into your cunt.
“we have a blanket,” she murmurs with a kiss to your neck. “besides, i can tell how much you like it baby, you’re dripping all fucking over me.” a dark chuckle escapes her lips as she adds a third finger. your hand immediately shoots down to grasp her wrist, and she bites down on your neck. hard.
“try that again and see what happens.” a gruff warning, and you can’t help clenching around her fingers at her dark tone. “fuck princess,” she chuckles, her free hand slipping from your waist to grab your chin, squishing your cheeks together and turning you to face her. “you’re so fuckin dirty — you like when i threaten you, huh?” she mocks, cocking her head to the side. “i can feel you clenching around me.” as if to prove a point, she squeezes your cheeks until your mouth opens involuntarily before spitting on your tongue. “swallow,” she orders, lifting a brow as if to dare you to disobey. and of course you listen, it’s sevika. the only one who can make you feel this fucking good.
“fuck,” you moan, and at this point it’s to hell with being discreet. you lean your head back against her shoulder, your breath coming in short pants as you start grinding against her hand, chasing it for more.
“that’s my fucking girl,” she chuckles, her ministrations growing quicker. “taking me so fucking well — so greedy for it too.” you can hear the grin adorning her features, and it does nothing but turn you on more to know you’re pleasing her. she always knows just what to say to get you oh so close ——
“sevika,” you moan, and are cut off by a moan of her own.
“fuck baby, say my name again, just like that.” a harder thrust as she begins nipping at your neck once more, and you can practically feel the soreness beginning to set in already.
“i’m so fucking close — .” it’s a plea at this point as you begin writhing, the friction of her palm against your clit too much to bear. “i’m gonna, fuck, i’m gonna —,” and a loud moan escapes your lips as you squirt all over her fingers, leaving a very visible wet patch on the baby blue blanket covering the two of you. “fuck.”
“you sound so pretty when you’re cumming for me,” she murmurs as she slides her fingers out of your cunt. “open,” she orders, and you’re too fucked out at this point to even pretend to be a brat. your lips part obediently, and she slides one of her fingers into your mouth. “you’re so fuckin’ good for me. see how good you taste, baby?” she slips her fingers from your mouth, a string of your slick trailing behind as she slides her other two fingers between her lips, moaning at the taste before leaning in to meet your lips with her own. “feelin’ okay, baby?” she mumbles, her hand rubbing circles into your hip as she holds you close.
“mhm,” you mumble quietly.
“good, ‘cause i’m getting more than just a taste when we get home," she smirks, hand palming your thigh all the while. god, she's so fucking insatiable.
