Guys ima write a remmick x chubby fem reader in a minute, the storyline is that the two are at a fair and obviously they had to go during dusk, and when the reader feels embaressed about eating some unhealthy food, remmick decides he will eat the rest for her even though human food makes him sick. Is it good or nah? (Totally not based on how I felt eating fried oreos and funnel cake at the fair I went too today)
Multiple times he’s lifted up your skirt in public so he could nose your clothed cunt and lick you through your panties.
When you’re home he’s practically glued to you, begging to knot your fat pussy because “that helps him sleep the best”.
You don’t get to cover up your tummy around him, he NEEDS to bury his face in your soft belly and cuddle with you. He’s so damn clingy that people get worried when they don’t see him hanging off of you.
He’s been eager to knock you up, every time his knot swells inside of you he coos and rubs your bulging belly, saying that this one will work for sure, you’ll give him a whole litter…
⚚ when higuruma’s boss called him late notice, and told him he had a case that would last twelve days, he nearly ripped his own hair out. how the hell would he survive being away from you for that long? he didn’t even like taking too long using the bathroom for fucks sake, always afraid of missing any word you said.
at some point he started a habit of taking you in there with him, making you sit on the sink and continue your yap sessions while he did what he needed to. part of him seriously thought about stuffing you in his briefcase to come along whenever work called.
many of your friends were concerned with how clingy he was.. and the amount of aggression he’d show when he couldn’t be, but you quickly waved them off. higuruma just loved you so much! maybe a lot more than the average person should, but you didn’t mind it, which is why you always rushed to his defense.
higuruma was flattered you were so protective of him, but your friends really weren’t wrong to be worried, he was downright obsessed with you. everyone could see it but you.
guilt washed over him constantly— here you were thinking he was the best boyfriend in the world, but mostly the guy was just a selfish over thinker. what if someone tried taking his place beside you while it was empty?
oh helllll no.
“aht keep your hands off baby,” his low voice was soothing but it had a slight sternness to it. your legs wrapped around his waist while you were pinned in a mating press, forced to feel every inch of him.
“if you push me again, ‘m gonna have to spank my princess. y’want that angel? hmm?”
you started drooling when your eyes locked on his droopy ones, he hadn’t stopped staring and it was driving you quite insane. you couldn’t stop your hands that instinctively started pushing him again, “ngh- hiro! n..need you s’bad!”
the smack that followed was loud, and your clit was stinging before you could even process what had happened. “cmonn pretty don’t be bad please, i leave soon. please?”
something about his begging had your walls squeezing him even more. higuruma leaned down, tucking his head into your neck to the point his lips grazed your ear.
you were babbling a bunch of nonsense but it sounded damn near poetic to him. he could listen to you for hours.
“daddy’s gonna miss you soo much princess. s..so much-” his whispers slowly turned into whimpers, every sound only pushed you further over the edge. “w..will you miss me? tell me please, need to hear you..”
“im g..gonna- mm- miss you too! always miss youuu!” you couldn’t believe you were slurring out words like this. and it was even harder to believe that he actually understood them.
his free hand crept down your thigh— only stopping once it got to your foot, kissing the heel before putting your white toes to his lips.
he was silent aside from a few grunts, and when higuruma got quiet it never meant anything good. it meant he was up to something.
the man started thinking about not pulling out. the thought came on a whim and it kept growing the more he looked at your fucked out face.
would you be mad? maybe try to leave him? well, its not like he’d ever let you do a silly thing like that.
he couldn’t have you going anywhere, or ever try to walk out on him. you’d already agreed to be his forever, what’s the harm in a little extra precaution? you did always love nanami’s kids..
“need to m..make you a mama, yeah? get you all filled with my babies, walking ‘round with that belly, showing everybody you’re mine- shit shit.” you nearly cut the circulation off in his shaft when you heard his words.
he chuckled low and rubbed your pudge, imagining all the ways your body would fill in while carrying part of him. “i see my pretty pussy likes the idea… now 'm just waiting on my pretty girl.”
when he slapped your thigh you knew he wanted an answer. in an instant you nodded mindlessly— not caring much about anything besides his tip that brushed against your womb. or the fat thumb that circled your clit with purpose. “ohhh my goshh yes! i want it, want my baby, pleasee!”
ᰔ tojis chubby girlfriend is secretly a little freak! ♡
꒰ cw/tags: established relationship, smut, chubby reader, appreciation, smut. ⋆˙⟡
a/n: i love to imagine toji loving women who are thicker and softer. aka me LOL
toji has always had a general impression of his sweet, soft girlfriend.. you. that for the most part, you were rather innocent from his more lustful nature, and didn’t quite indulge as much as he did or have much knowledge. yeah, you guys would have sex, but you were always so shy about it, and he was the one to teach you quite a lot during intimacy.
but he found himself very much wrong one day.
he was visiting your little cozy apartment after you both had went on a date to watch the horses race, and you were in the bathroom, leaving him alone in your room for a spell. toji was settled on your bed, about to grab your laptop to put something on for you both to watch, knowing you would want to relax and snuggle with him soon.
that’s when he saw your phone on the bed, and it was unlocked, on the lock-screen which had a picture of you both during one of your cute little dates. “tch, figures.” toji murmured to himself fondly, finding it endearing that you’d have him as your lock-screen.
toji wasn’t much for invading your privacy, he knew to respect any boundaries you would place, but fuck, who would he be to lie to himself? he wanted to know your secrets, what you did on your phone when he wasn’t around… a tiny part of him was nervous that maybe you would be talking to another man, but no— he trusts you, wholeheartedly.
. . .
five minutes on your phone, and the way he used to see you had shifted quite a bit, in the best way possible.
smutty fan-fictions, saved porn videos on twitter, lustful thoughts you would post on your social page in an anonymous account about getting dicked down… you weren’t the innocent little thing he thought you were after all.
toji had a feral grin on his face. “shit, princess. you’ve been hidin' from me.” he murmurs, his free hand groping his already hardened cock beneath his black jeans. this was his best discovery yet since the day he had tried pork ramen for the first time.
and so, when you had stepped out of the bathroom, you saw the way toji looked like he had just found treasure, all mischievous and clearly up to something. so with a soft, confused expression, you closed the bedroom door and addressed your boyfriend. “toji? what has you so… giddy?”
“you tell me, dollface. what has me so “giddy”?” he repeats your question rhetorically, before slowly standing up, approaching you and looming over your shorter form, your eyes widened as he then backed you up against the wall. “t-toji?”
that’s when he held your phone screen right to your face, the screen showcasing your secret social account, where your most recent post was talking about “being folded into a full nelson while being dicked down like a bitch in heat.”
“t-toji! you went through my phone?!” you squealed with embarrassment, trying to snatch it. but of course, being the meanie he is, he held the phone up high, way out of your reach with a shit eating grin on his handsome face. “give it back, please!” you whined. “you can’t just—“
“give it back?” he firmly interrupted. “give it back when i just found out that my pretty girl is such a dirty lil' thing? fuck that.” he smirks, before tossing your phone onto your bed and gripping your plump hips, then pulling you right against his erection. “baby, you owe me for keepin' this from me… tell me, why have you been hiding from me?” he whispers in your ear, nipping at your earlobe, making you shiver.
“i saw them videos ya saved to your bookmarks… of sexy lil' things like yourself being fucked proper by a real man. saw the things you were saying on those blogs…” toji continued, grinding his prominent bulge against your soft tummy. “t-toji, you…” you stammered over your words, feeling flustered and defeated.
“i just… i dunno. i didn’t know how to… act like that in real life.” you tried to explain, your chubby thighs quivering with fearful excitement as you felt his hands rubbing up and down your hips. your panties we’re already soaked. “i feel confident on my phone, b-but… not so much outside of it.”
“then let me help you, doll.” toji growls as he then suddenly lifts you up as if you weighed little to nothing, a cute gasp escaping from your lips. “ah!” your limbs wrapped around him tightly, already knowing you were in for a long, long afternoon.
“we’re actin' out every damn post you’ve made. from the full nelson, to doggy style. you ain’t gettin’ out of this, baby.” toji chuckles as his large hands slide down to roughly grab onto the soft, plumpness of your ass as he grunted, holding you up effortlessly. “gonna have to fuck ya until you can’t think anymore. gotta show this sexy body some love.”
two hours. two hours, and he was utterly relentless, not giving you any mercy. no breaks, no nothing. you had already came at least… 4 times now? each orgasm becoming more and more intense as he milked them out of your system.
“hah— f-fuck! toji, please!” you squealed, tears and drool smeared over your pretty, flushed face. hell, you still had some of his cum on your nose from when he face fucked you just an hour ago.
you were both in bed, and you were positioned to be on your trembling hands and knees, your plump ass in the air and face shoved into the soft mattress. toji was grunting and panting like some beast, his sweaty chest pressing against your quivering back as his thick cock drove in and out of your clenching, creaming pussy. “fuck, can’t get enough of this sexy body. can’t get enough of you. do you see what you’re doin' to me, babygirl?” he growled, his large hands sliding from your hips and up to your jiggling tits to roughly grope them as he thrusts in, and out, in, and out— with a relentless pace that was abusing your g-spot.
sex with toji was always intense, was always draining and so utterly satisfying, but this… this was just insane. you could feel your mind going fuzzy, you couldn’t think straight. what even was your name? where were you? hell if you knew.
the sound of his heavy balls going “fwop” and “slap” against your skin, the sensation of his veiny cock itching your overstimulated walls with each, mean thrust, and the way his hands were groping your softness like he could never let you go, not leaving one part of you untouched… it was all you ever wanted. all you could think about.
not even five minutes later, after making you orgasm a record-breaking fourth time in a row, he was sitting on his knees in the bed, his muscular arms branded around your waist. you were positioned to be laid upside down in bed with your lower body being supported by his strength, your chubby thighs uncontrollably trembling around his head as his face was buried between them, feasting on your slick, sensitive cunt. his tongue was bullying your poor little clit as you loudly moaned and cried out so shamelessly, a contrast from your usual, kitten-like moans.
“mmph— fuck.” toji groaned heavily against your pussy as he slurped and tongue-fucked your poor hole. his knuckles were nearly white from gripping your hips so tightly, his dark, green eyes never leaving your face as he feasted on you. you were a vision of beauty, a vision of bliss.
“never fuckin' hide away from daddy again, you hear me?” when you didn’t respond, too invested in the painful pleasure he was providing, his hand roughly smacked your ass, making it recoil and bloom with his red handprint as you cried out. “i said, do you fucking hear me?”
“y-yes! yes daddy, never, ever again!” you loudly cried out. you were just a cute little mess, face damp and flush, pussy sloppy with mixed-fluids and clenching against toji’s skilled mouth. if there was a heaven, this would be it.
by time another hour had passed, you were now laid on your back in the sweetest, meanest mating press. but it wasn’t rough or dominating like these past two hours have been. no— toji was fucking you with slow, deep strokes, letting every long inch of his cock slide innnn, and out of your desperate cunt.
you couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. poor you, you were just taking it so perfectly, his leaking, slick tip kissing your g-spot with terrifying aim. your sweaty bodies were rubbing and pressing together, your noses brushing against one another as he whispered to you against your pretty lips.
“my perfect girl. so fuckin’ beautiful, so mine.” he moaned, continuing his sensual thrusts. the haze of lust wasn’t gone, but now, it was electrified with genuine appreciation, with love. “toji loves you, ya hear me? i love you so damn much.” he whispered in your ear, before pressing hot, wet kisses down your neck and shoulder, his breath hot and heavy against your skin, causing you to whimper and get goosebumps, a little chuckle rumbling in his chest.
“gonna fill this soft tummy with my baby. you’re gonna take it, yeah?” he breathed heavily as he stares down at you. you nodded desperately, your words slurred and a bit incoherent as you moaned. “g-gonna take it… mmh—!” right as you replied, he increased the pace, his cock throbbing deep inside of you as he pounds you with all he’s got.
“fuck fuck fuck— gettin' close again, doll. take it, take this dick.” he growled loudly as he fucks you harder and faster, holding your plump, hickey-covered thighs on his broad shoulders as he trembles, his hips beginning to stutter and twitch. he was losing his goddamn mind.
toji stares down at you, god— you were so fucking beautiful. your curves, your stretch marks, the way your soft skin jiggled with the force of his thrusts. it was the perfect, final push to the finish line.
“uuh— shit!” he groaned and gasped as his thrusts became shorter and more desperate, before slamming into you one last time, his hips pressing snugly against yours as he trembles and groans. “fuckkkk… take it, baby. that’s it…” he hissed through his teeth as you squealed and whimpered, cumming in tandem with your beloved. your pussy pulses rapidly and releases a slick, slimy warmth against his shaft, sucking him deeper inside of your womb as his tip releases his hot, fertile seed deep inside of you, ultimately marking you as his. his cock was like a fountain, spurting so much copious amounts of his cum deep inside of you.
now, the both of you lay panting, trembling, and utterly spent. toji squeezes you close into a bear hug as you had just passed out beneath him, into a needed slumber after being fucked so good. toji kept his dick deep inside of you as he catches his breath. “shit… love you so damn much.” he murmured softly, admiring your peaceful, sleeping face.
one thing you knew for sure, you were definitely gonna need some proper aftercare.
Note: take this as my formal apology for being inactive for so long :') exam week had me hanging on by a thread and i'm also suddenly moving so. yay. expect some more action after like... this week i hope
John Price
Listen. Getting eaten out by Captain Price is not, in any way, meant for your pleasure. No, this is him disciplining you. It hardly even matters what for. Maybe you have been teasing him, sliding your hand up his thigh under the table, rubbing your ass against him while passing by him. Maybe you've been a brat all day, complaining and huffing and puffing about everything, barely listening to any of John's requests and/or demands. Either way, sit on his desk and spread your fucking legs, doll. He'll be edging you for what feels like hours, tongue moving so torturously slow that all coherent thought has seeped from your brain aside from how badly you want to cum. Too bad, bad girls don't deserve to finish this easily.
Simon 'Ghost' Riley
With Simon, it's always a surprise what position you'll end up in. The only certainty you have is that it's definitely not what you'd expect, and sometimes you wish that for once he'd just lay you down and get busy. But alas, he'll have you kneeling with your face in the pillows, or bent over the back of the couch. Maybe he'll have you hanging off the edge of the bed so all the blood flows to your already overheating brain. You're clinging onto whatever you can get a hold on, mostly in pleasure, and sometimes in fear of falling when he has you up on his shoulders and leaned against the wall. Well, he doesn't exactly hear your complaining over your moans and whimpers, he argues, and he wouldn't dream of dropping you.
Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish
As with Price, this has little to do with your pleasure: it's all for his own benefit. Please, lass, he loves your cunt, and she loves him, doesn't she? Come on, let him have a taste. He could give two shits about where you are or how convenient it is— if he wants to lick your pussy, he's going to. He's down on his knees while you're desperately clinging onto the kitchen counter, or the shower wall, or the shelves of your pantry. Hell, you'd have to hope and pray a sales associate won't come by your changing room in fear of them hearing all of his moans. Oh, and you quickly find out you cannot wear a skirt around him, because it won't come down from your hips if he has any say in it.
Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick
He's devastatingly methodical. He knows your body better than you do at this point, and he's not afraid to use this to his advantage. He can work you just right, but the worst part is that he will refuse to. Unless you kindly ask him for it, that is. Tsk, pretty girl, use your words. Let him know where you need him, what you need him to do. He's hovering close enough that you can feel his breath on your neglected clit, your cunt clenching around nothing in desperate search for friction of any kind, but he won't do anything until you tell him in excruciating detail what you want. And be aware, any time you stop talking, he's pulling away in a second.
König
Oh, König... Sweet, wet-rag-of-a-man loser that he is, will completely lose his mind any time you allow him near your pussy. He can practically feel his brain melting while he's drowning himself in your slick, and he looks like it too. His eyes have rolled back, face flushed and his eyebrows scrunched in pure, unadulterated pleasure. His body has turned to complete mush, his cock leaking against the sheets and hands clawing onto any part of your body he can reach (which, with his arms, is basically everywhere). Unintelligible mumbles made into your cunt, teetering the edge between praise and begging. He is a little inexperienced, Schatz, so you'll have to show him how you like it. Shove his face between your folds and ride his nose, and you'll have him moaning like a bitch in heat. When he finally comes back up for air you can tell you're not the only one that reached heaven just now.
Philip Graves
I'm going to speak my truth here, he does not strike me as the kind of man to give you oral all that much. I am SORRY, but it's true. He usually prefers to get you nice and ready for him with his fingers, or by having you ride his thigh, or simply from the absolute filth he spews into your ear while dry-humping. However, on the odd occasion that Phil does get down and dirty, he aims to make it special. It's strangely sentimental, actually. It'd be outside on a picnic blanket after his homecoming, or in your shared bed after your anniversary dinner. Anything that reminds him how much he loves you, and how much you mean to him, and he's going to show you with his tongue. There's reverence in every suck, praise in every lick and prayer in every word he murmers into your core. You're his goddess and he's just here to worship you, baby.
Alejandro Vargas
For Ale, it'd be a form of gratuity much in the same way it is for Graves, though the difference is that he'll use that as an excuse even for the most menial things. His belly nice and full after your homecooked dinner, grin on his face and asking when his dessert is being served. You've been so good to him, amor, welcoming him home with a smile and a kiss and a plate waiting for him, now let him thank you properly. You fixed the button on his shirt that had fallen off? Well, put it on and lay yourself down, time to lap at your cunt in thanks. It's gotten to a point where you're convinced he just decided his goal in life is to pull as many orgasms from you as possible. Not that you're complaining, of course.
Rodolfo 'Rudy' Parras
Eating you out is, in many ways, a means to an end for Rudy. He wants to make sure you're properly prepped and ready to take his cock, so it's almost instinctual for him to bury his face between your soft thighs for a while before inching himself into you. It's part of the routine, the way he thought sex was supposed to go. It's not until you explain to him that it can actually be the main event, and that you'd thoroughly enjoy it if he maybe put in a little more effort, that it dawns on him just how much he can actually do down there and how much time he's wasted not doing it. Now, tesoro, you may have shot yourself in the foot with that one, because he now can keep you pinned down for hours, just suckling away at your clit and fucking you on his tongue, dumb grin on his face after your fifth orgasm renders you basically comatose.
Valeria Garza
The only way Valeria will actually relax for once is with your pussy in her face. Seriously, you've tried everything else: lavender baths, deep tissue massages, even trying to get her to meditate. But no, the only time you actually see her shoulders lose all their tension is when she's between your folds. She's had such a long day, vida, come sit on her face. She's not even groping you the way she usually does during sex, hands instead playing idly with the fat of your thighs and ass while all her worries melt away. There are no thoughts running through her mind aside from how good you taste, how pretty you sound and how nice you feel under her hands.
yk what is the saddest part about soaps death? the fact that he thought everyone died with him. beacuse he didn't defuse the bomb our poor baby thought he could meet up with his team in heaven this is so sad :(
Soap is deaf in one ear, btw. The result of years of being too close to explosions and gunfire. He didn't really mind, I mean, there was basically nothing he could do, might as well accept it.
He didn't really mind until he met you. You, who even when he's making you feel the most intense pleasure of your life, are quiet. Not completely quiet, sure you make some sound, but it's never loud enough for Johnny's liking. He just can't hear you :(. That's why whenever you fuck, he makes sure to grip your jaw and force your mouth open right next to his good ear. He makes sure to do everything in his power to make you feel as good as possible, to hear your quiet moans and shaky breaths. He loves every sound you make, no matter how small :)
The secondary designation of the members of the 141 is a well kept secret that only a very small number of people know. By the way the pack acts nobody would think them as anything other than alphas, the patches over their scent glands nothing unheard of for aggressive alphas in the military. They know how to take care of each other without outside help so maybe that's why your transfer to the task force comes as a threat. John tries to fight it until the last possible moment, but Laswell doesn't budge. She sees what they refuse to acknowledge, their heats are not properly handled (especially Ghost's) and sooner rather than later this will start to affect them on missions.
Laswell asks you to send ahead a box with scented items, mostly blankets and maybe a shirt or a hoodie, so the guys have some time to get familiar with your scent and maybe be a little less hostile when meeting face to face. The box sits untouched in the farthest corner of the barracks, the four omegas refusing to look at it, let alone touch it even if with every day that passes their curiosity grows. They want nothing to do with it, yet they can't bring themselves to throw it out, every time one of them enters the room, glancing to the corner a moment too long.
Surprisingly it's Ghost that breaks first. On one of his bad nights when the shadows on the walls start resembling faces and hands he thought he buried deep enough to never see them again, but still catch up with him, he's feeling desperate. While peeling open the tape on the box, Simon tells himself he just needs another blanket, the one in his room soaked up with sweat and balled up at the foot of the bed. He expects his stomach to drop and lips curl in displeasure when he gets the first whiffs of your scent, but nothing like that happens.
The first thing he thinks when inhaling is gentle, he espected smoke and gun powder, anger and violence from an alpha. This is how his father and all the other men that ever hurt him used to smell like so the difference shocks him. It's something woodsy like pine and a vague note of citrus. An unusual combination that his omega seems to not dislike it, his erratic breath slowing down as he breaths in the material again. The smell is fainter then it would have been a few days before and he finds himself dissapointed by that. Suddenly feeling vulnerable and worried that someone might catch him, he closes back the box and takes the blanket to his room.
If he would have been a bit more throughout and maybe if Kyle wouldn't have been secretely checking out the box every morning, perhaps the younger man wouldn't have noticed that the tape wasn't placed properly on the cardboard. Maybe someone else wouldn't see anything out of place, but Gaz knew better, it was his job to pay attention to things like that. If someone were to ask him what was going on through his head when he slipped his hand inside the box, balling the shirt in his hands and making a beeline to his room, his coffee forgotten in the kitchen, he wouldn't know how to answer. Hours later when he gets back from training, rummaging through clothes, his hand hovers for a moment over the same shirt before stuffing it further inside the closet. By morning it ends up stuffed inside his pillowcase.
Johnny tells himself that it's only because he's late on doing laundry again that he ends up taking the hoodie from the box. He's just borrowing it, any smell probably long gone he tells himself and yet when he puts it on before going to bed, tentatively breathing in at the collar, the faint scent still lingering there helps him fall asleep.
In the morning he's sprinting to the showers, afraid that traces of your scent might be lingering to him, feeling like a guilty child trying to cover up his mistake. He's surprised to see Ghost at a nearby shower, but doesn't have the chance to question it before the man is already out. His body stalling for a moment when passing him and Johnny holds his breath, afraid at being discovered and reprimanded, but his lieutenant doesn't do or say anything else before getting out.
Price thinks that his boys are not as slick as they think they are. Well, Simon was a little bit more careful, but Soap and Gaz have a specific look in their eyes when they know they did something they shouldn't, but don't regret it. That's how the now significantly lighter box ends up on his desk, the signs of it being repeatedly opened visible to the naked eye. He told himself he'll throw it out right after finishing his cigar, but despite the ashtray being half full, the box is still there.
He tries busying himself with paperwork he doesn't care about, eyes passing over rows of words without grasping any meaning from them. Finally feeling defeated after reading the same paragraph thrice, the captain opens the box and takes out the last item. Price is surprised to find a handkerchief, he didn't think anyone still carried those around. It's a plaid pattern with green and white, a pair of initials stitched in the right lower corner that he finds himself tracing with his finger.
When he puts it in his pocket John tells himself it's for practical reasons and yet when drops of sweat are gathering in the creases of his forehead or when his palms are dark with grime and gun powder, the thought of wiping them with the handkerchief doesn't sit right with him. When he finally has enough and decides to just use it as a rag to clean up some spilled coffee on his desk, his hand brings it to his nose instead. Under the smell of his cigars the faintest scent of something else can still be traced. He sits like that until someone knocks at the door and John has to compose himself. He keeps carrying around the piece of fabric long gone after it lost its scent, the shape of it in his pocket grounding him, even if he would never admit that out loud.
The day of your arrival is finally here and as you get out from the car, the four pairs of eyes watching your every move aren't hostile, they're not necessarily friendly either, but polite enough to hide their displeasure. As you're talking with Laswell, you don't notice the slight way they're angling their bodies towards you. Their handshakes lasting just a moment too long and the not so subtle way their expressions form into something resembling dissapointment when noticing the patches over your scent glands, but Laswell does and that further proves to her that she made the right choice.
Btw you cant be fatphobic or misogynistic and like/love Remmick, before you ask why, i want you to know that because of the 800 YEARS of hurt, starvation and death the irish people faced because of the english colonizing Ireland, caused majority of Irish people to have a variety of health issues that affect Irish people STILL TODAY, a lot of irish women suffer from reproduction issues and a lot of Irish people have issues with loosing weight due to genetic mutation to avoid starvation.
Majority of Irish people (yes that includes people with a lot of Irish descent) have a genetic mutation in their bodies that makes their body hold onto uneeded body fat, and a lot of Irish women suffer from a variety of reproduction and/or health issues, which include but not limited too pmos (pcos), endometriosis, chronic illness' that cause reproduction issues.
Btw I am saying this as a chubby irish American person who was pmos(pcos) and hasn't been able to loose much weight unless I take a lot of meds or abuse my body through way too much heavy exercise. Diets dont work for me, they only make me gain more weight because my body holds onto the fat I have instead of letting it go, so I have to eat normally while abusing my body with way too much heavy exercise.
𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 . . . HONEY BELLE : the sweetest daughter south of memphis, left entirely alone when daddy travels into town. see her welcome a handsome stranger ! see the jealous farmhand discover them ! see precisely how much hospitality one foolish little farmer’s daughter can offer two determined men before the film runs out ! 𝒓𝒖𝒏 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 . . . 4.3k
𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 . . . remmick x reader x stack, modern-ish au, human au, very much inspired by the ‘x’ film, threesome, established sexual / professional relationship, amateur porn and sex filming, sex work, exhibitionism, voyeurism, farmer’s daughter / farmhand / cowboy roleplay, manhandling, light restraint, light spanking, dirty talk, praise, degradation, dumbification, bimboification, objectification, scripted slut-shaming, fingering, oral sex (blowjob and cunnilingus), deep-throating, gagging, drooling, face-sitting, messy sex, unproteced p in v and anal sex, double penetration, rough sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, crying, creampies, cumplay, cum eating, exaggerated vintage-porn tone.
[ PLAY ]
“This is goin’ in the end scenes,” Remmick announces from behind the camera, his voice carrying through the cramped upstairs bedroom as the lens follows you across the faded floral wallpaper. “Show everybody how serious our little actress takes her craft.”
You turn toward him with one false eyelash already glued into place and the other pinched between your fingers, rolling your eyes dramatically. The yellow sundress they picked for you hangs open at the back, its halter ties dangling against your bare shoulders as you lean closer to the vanity mirror and carefully press the strip of lashes along your lid.
“Keep talkin’, farmer boy,” you murmur, smoothing the lash down with one painted nail. “You’re the one who forgot his line six times last week.”
Remmick lowers the camera enough for you to catch his crooked smile above it. He’s already dressed for the scene, though calling it dressed seems generous when his faded overalls are hanging from his hips without a shirt underneath. A red handkerchief sits loosely around his neck, his boots are dusty from walking around the property earlier, and somebody—Stack—has rubbed a little dirt across his chest to make him look like he has spent the morning pitching hay instead of helping you arrange camera angles.
“That scene required concentration,” he says, adjusting the focus as you reach behind yourself to fasten the sundress. “Hard to remember dialogue when you’ve got your mouth full.”
“You weren’t the one with your mouth full,” you remind him, catching his reflection in the mirror.
“That was the concentration problem.”
Remmick has been unbearable since Stack bought the Super 8 from a man outside Memphis and declared that enough lonely perverts owned projectors for the three of you to build a business around them. Stack handles the advertisements, the mailing list, and the plain brown packaging meant to keep curious postmen from learning what is hidden inside. Remmick develops every reel in a washroom he converted himself, spending long nights hunched beneath red light while the films dry from lines stretched above the basin. You provide the pretty face stamped across the catalogues and the body responsible for nearly every repeat customer they have.
Honey Belle is supposed to be your most ambitious picture yet, complete with costumes, an actual plot, and a title card Stack painted by hand after three beers.
You play the sweet farmer’s daughter left alone after her daddy drives into town. Remmick plays the quiet farmhand who has spent all summer watching you carry baskets across the yard in your little dresses. Stack arrives in a pearl-snap shirt with a story about car trouble, and Honey Belle’s understanding of Southern hospitality becomes increasingly indecent after she invites him inside for lemonade.
By the time Remmick carries the camera downstairs, Stack is waiting beside the front door with his hat tilted low and his shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose the chain resting against his chest. He glances up when you descend the stairs, his gaze sweeping from the ribbons tied into your hair to the way the sundress clings to the soft give of your hips.
“Well, damn,” Stack drawls, reaching beneath the brim of his hat to scratch his temple. “Ain’t you just precious.”
You spread the skirt of your dress and give him a small curtsy, keeping your smile sugary enough to suit Honey Belle even as his eyes settle shamelessly on the tops of your breasts.
The costume department consists entirely of the three of you and a closet full of things purchased from yard sales, though Stack has treated his cowboy role with the seriousness of a Hollywood leading man. He even polished his belt buckle.
Remmick checks the film, points the camera toward the front door, and gives Stack a lazy signal with two fingers. Stack steps outside, waits until you have taken your place in the parlor, then knocks three times against the screen door.
You open it with your hands folded sweetly over your skirt, blinking up at him beneath your heavy lashes as the camera rolls from across the room.
“Afternoon, miss,” Stack says, removing his hat and pressing it over his chest. His other hand hooks through his belt, the pose practiced enough that you know he tried it in the mirror before coming downstairs. “Hate to trouble you, but my car gave out a ways down the road. Reckon I could use your telephone?”
Your character does not have a telephone, though she does have a pitcher of lemonade and very little sense when a handsome stranger smiles at her. You invite him inside, take his hat, and guide him toward the kitchen with your fingers wrapped around his wrist. Remmick follows with the camera, capturing Stack’s eyes drifting toward your ass each time the dress sways above your thighs.
The first part goes nearly according to plan: you pour lemonade, Stack asks whether your father is home, you tell him Daddy has gone into town and will not return until supper, pausing to suck a drop of sugar from your thumb as Stack watches your mouth.
Then you lean across the table to refill his glass and give the camera a perfect view down your dress.
Stack clears his throat before setting his glass aside. “That farmhand of yours always lurk around?” he asks, gesturing toward the window where Remmick’s character is supposedly spying from the yard.
“He’s sweet on me,” you explain, slipping fully into a breathy little voice as you move around the table. “Daddy says Remmick’s got more muscle than brains, but I think he’s awful handsome.”
Remmick makes a quiet, offended noise from behind the camera.
Stack catches your wrist when you pass his chair, drawing you between his spread knees with an ease that makes the lemonade tremble inside the glasses. “Maybe you oughta quit teasin’ that poor boy,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb across the soft underside of your wrist. “Fellow might get ideas.”
Honey Belle only giggles, resting one hand against his shoulder as his other palm travels beneath your skirt. The flimsy cotton lifts around his forearm, hiding what he is doing from the camera until your knees part and your expression goes pleasantly vacant. His rough fingers find the soaked crotch of your panties, pressing the fabric up between your plump lips so the wet heat coats his skin.
“Mister,” you breathe, gripping his shirt as his fingers slide beneath the white panties chosen specifically because they show up well on film.
Stack angles his body so the camera can catch his hand moving between your thighs, two fingers stroking through the slick gathering there. Your clit is swollen and sensitive under the pads of his fingers, and every slow circle makes your hips twitch. “All this hospitality for a stranger,” he says, tugging you closer until your legs press against the chair. “Your daddy know how friendly you are?”
You shake your head, lips parting when his fingers find your clit.
Remmick circles the table, lowering the camera toward the place where Stack’s wrist disappears beneath your skirt before raising it again to capture your expression. The ribbons make you look especially soft and oblivious, which only becomes more convincing when two rough fingers sink into your cunt, walls soft and greedy as they suck at his knuckles, and the line you were supposed to say dissolves into a breathless little moan.
“Thought you said you were a good girl,” Stack remarks, glancing toward the camera as he curls his fingers inside you. “You’re drippin’ all over my hand.”
Stack works you until the heel of his palm is slick, then removes his fingers and holds them apart for the camera, thin strands of your arousal shining between them.
Remmick keeps the lens trained on his hand before cutting.
When it resumes, you’re bent over the kitchen table with your dress bunched around your waist and your panties hooked around one ankle. Stack stands behind you with his jeans pushed beneath his hips, his shirt hanging open and his cock jutting thickly from the shadow of his belt. The head is already wet by the time he takes himself in hand, rubbing it between your folds until your slick coats the flushed skin.
“Make sure you get how wet she is,” Stack tells Remmick, slipping briefly out of character as he spreads you open with his thumb.
“Oh, I’ve got it,” Remmick answers from near your face, and the low amusement in his voice makes your cunt clench before Stack has even entered you.
He angles the head against your entrance and pushes, letting the swollen ridge stretch you gradually until it slips inside. Your mouth falls open toward the camera as the rest follows, each thick inch forcing your cunt wider until his hips finally settle against the soft curve of your ass.
Stack had joked earlier that a stranger with a broken car ought to fuck like he has somewhere else to be, and he commits to that idea with enough enthusiasm to send the table grinding across the kitchen floor. His belt buckle knocks against the back of your thigh each time his hips meet your ass, the sharp clink joining the filthy sounds spilling from where his cock disappears into you, the dark hair at the root of his cock already shiny.
“Thought farmer’s daughters were supposed to be shy,” he pants, curling one hand around the back of your neck as your cheek presses against the tablecloth. “Look at you, takin’ a stranger’s dick before the lemonade’s even warm.”
You attempt to answer in Honey Belle’s breathless voice, though Stack drives into you harder and turns the words into a moan. Your tits are mashed against the table, the soft flesh spreading under your own weight, nipples dragging against the rough cloth with every thrust.
Remmick zooms in on the wet mess coating Stack’s shaft—cream already frothing white around the thick base—then slowly moves the camera along your body until the lens settles on your dazed expression.
“Tell the folks watchin’ what happened,” Remmick whispers, amusement roughening his accent as Stack holds you still for the shot.
“M-Mister Stack’s car broke down,” you manage, your lashes fluttering as Stack grinds deep and makes your voice climb. “So I’m helpin’ him.”
“Helping me plenty,” Stack groans, resuming his pace as he pulls your hips back against him. “Sweet little thing’s squeezin’ me like she wants me stranded here all summer.”
Remmick sets the camera on the tripod, grabs the prop, and swings the door open on cue. He pauses in the doorway with a feed sack thrown over one shoulder, staring at you folded over the table beneath the stranger who arrived less than half an hour earlier.
You gasp and try to push yourself upright, though Stack’s hand returns to the back of your neck and keeps your cheek planted against the cloth.
“Remmick,” you whine, reaching toward him as if the devoted farmhand might rescue you. “It ain’t what it looks like.”
Remmick drops the sack near the door and crosses the kitchen slowly. “Looks like Daddy left his sweet girl alone,” he says, stopping beside the table as Stack continues fucking you. “And she went spreadin’ her legs for the first stray that wandered onto the property.”
Your eyes widen at the accusation, though the offended little pout you offer him disappears when Stack lands a firm smack against your ass, the sharp crack echoing. Remmick cups your chin, turning your face toward him as the table rocks beneath you.
“I was bein’ hospitable,” you insist, your voice growing softer when Remmick’s thumb presses between your lips. You suck it in without thinking, tasting salt and dirt and the faint metallic tang of the camera gear he’s been handling.
“Course you were, honey,” he murmurs, watching you suck the dirt from the pad of his thumb. “That empty little head couldn’t think of another way to help him.”
Stack laughs behind you, slowing into deep grinds that force his cock against every sensitive place at once. “You gonna stand there sulkin’, farm boy, or help me teach her how to entertain company?”
Remmick glances toward the camera to ensure all three of you remain in frame, then unhooks one strap of his overalls. The other follows, denim falling to his boots before he steps free and moves around the table. You stare at his cock with theatrical amazement, though the expression becomes considerably more genuine when he wraps his hand around himself and taps the flushed head against your lips.
“Been watchin’ you prance around this farm all summer,” Remmick says, smearing precum across your mouth. “Reckon it’s time you did somethin’ useful.”
You open for him obediently, letting his cock slide over your tongue as Stack begins fucking you harder. The thick head pushes past your lips and the salty taste floods your mouth. Remmick keeps one hand beneath your jaw and uses the other to gather your hair, holding it away from your face so the camera catches every inch disappearing between your lips.
Your throat works around him as he feeds himself deeper, the stretch making your eyes water and your cunt clench hard around Stack’s cock. The coarse hair at the base of Remmick’s cock brushes your nose when he bottoms out, and his balls rest warm against your chin.
The rhythm settles quickly, Stack driving you forward onto Remmick before Remmick eases back and gives you enough air to moan. Your lipstick stains the base of his cock, spit gathering beneath your chin as he feeds himself deeper.
When you gag, Stack groans and tightens his hands around your hips, clearly feeling the way your pussy clenches around him. The wet sound of your throat taking Remmick is continuous, mixed with the wet slap of Stack’s hips against your ass.
“There she goes,” Remmick praises, pulling out until only the tip rests against your tongue, a thick strand of spit connects your lip to the head of his cock. “Pretty thing can’t remember her daddy’s rules, but she knows how to take cock.”
You try to protest around him, though Remmick pushes back into your mouth and turns it into a muffled whine. Stack leans over you, his open shirt brushing your back as he whispers against your ear, “Ain’t enough room left in that head for talkin’, sweetheart. We’re fuckin’ every useful thought right out of you.”
The camera catches your eyes rolling upward as Remmick’s cock slides down your throat and Stack pounds into your swollen cunt. Your hands scrabble uselessly across the tablecloth before finding Remmick’s thighs, nails pressing into his skin whenever both men thrust at once.
They keep you there until your mascara begins to run. Stack pulls out before he comes, leaving your cunt stretched and shining as Remmick guides you down onto the kitchen floor. Honey Belle kneels between his boots with her dress gathered at her waist, lips swollen and face streaked, looking considerably less innocent than she did when she answered the door.
Stack stretches out on his back beneath you, sliding between your spread thighs so his face is right under your dripping cunt. He grips the soft backs of your legs and pulls you down onto his mouth, exposing everything to the camera as his tongue drags slowly from your entrance to your clit, collecting the slick he fucked out of you. Remmick groans when you whimper around his cock.
The flat of Stack’s tongue is hot and rough, lapping up every drop before he pushes it inside you, fucking you with it the same way he just fucked you with his cock while your thighs frame his head.
“Got the farmer’s girl leakin’ all over the floor,” Stack mutters against you, pushing two fingers inside as his mouth closes around your clit.
Your hips jerk against his face, though his forearms pin them down as he eats you with no concern for keeping the scene pretty. His tongue presses inside you, his nose grinding against your clit while Remmick continues using your mouth. Spit runs over your lower lip and down his shaft, mingling with the lipstick already smeared across his skin. Your clit is swollen and hypersensitive under the suction of Stack’s mouth, and every time he curls his fingers you feel another rush of wetness spill out of you and onto his chin.
The orgasm catches you hard enough to make the ribbons slip loose from your hair. Your pussy tightens around Stack’s tongue as your thighs tremble on either side of his head, and Remmick pulls out just in time for your cry to reach the microphone. The sound is raw and broken, your cunt pulsing so hard that Stack has to hold you open with both hands to keep licking through it.
Stack holds your hips against his mouth and licks through every helpless pulse, groaning as you soak his chin. Remmick crouches beside you, brushing damp hair from your forehead before guiding your hand to his cock.
“Think Honey Belle learned her lesson?” Stack asks, lifting his head with his mouth shining.
Remmick studies your unfocused eyes and the drool clinging to your chin. “Don’t look like she learned a damn thing.”
Between the two of them, they ease you forward onto your hands and knees on the kitchen floor. Stack slides underneath you on his back, positioning himself between your spread thighs so the head of his cock presses up against your soaked entrance while Remmick settles into a half-crouch behind you, one knee down, the other braced so he can thrust.
It took several attempts during rehearsal to arrange everyone correctly.
Stack had complained about Remmick’s knee digging into his side. Remmick had accused Stack of taking up the entire floor. You had laughed so hard during the first test that neither man stayed hard, and the three of you eventually abandoned the camera to practice properly on the bedroom rug.
Remmick’s thumb presses against the smaller, slick opening above your cunt. The muscle gives gently beneath him, already softened by the careful preparation he insisted upon yesterday and repeated before filming. He had spent both mornings bending you over the edge of the bed, working oil into you with one finger, then two, then three, refusing to hurry even after you began begging him to.
“Farmhand’s been savin’ somethin’ special for you,” Stack says, tapping his cock against your inner thigh as Remmick opens you slowly. His fingers slide in with almost no resistance now, the slick heat of the earlier oil and your own arousal making the tight ring of muscle flutter and accept him easily. “You gonna let him have it?”
You nod, leaning forward to kiss Stack as Remmick adds another finger. “Wanna make him happy.”
“That’s our good girl,” Stack praises, sliding his fingers beneath your chin. “Always so eager, even when she ain’t got the brains to know what she’s askin’ for.”
Remmick removes his fingers and positions himself behind you, his slick cock pressing carefully against your ass, and when he pushes forward the muscle yields for him the way it was trained to, familiar and overwhelming all at once. Stack enters your pussy from below first, letting your wet entrance swallow him until your body remembers his size, and Remmick follows, pushing into the prepared muscle.
The stretch makes your arms buckle.
Stack reaches up and catches you beneath the shoulders before you can collapse, drawing your chest down against his as Remmick pushes deeper. Your mouth falls open against Stack’s neck, your face tightening at the overwhelming pressure of both men filling you until there seems to be no space left between their bodies and yours. The thin wall between them is pressed so tight you can feel them moving against each other inside you.
“Christ above,” Remmick groans, his hands trembling where they grip your waist. “Can feel him through you.”
Stack’s breath leaves him in a strained laugh as he rolls his hips carefully upward. “Knew our girl could take us both.”
They begin slowly, learning the angle even though the three of you already practiced it without costumes or cameras. Stack thrusts up as Remmick presses in, their cocks sliding against each other through the thin wall inside you, keeping you stretched without granting any relief from the fullness. Every movement is a deep, continuous grind that makes your belly feel tight and full, the pressure so intense that your thighs shake and your cunt and ass both flutter helplessly around the thick shafts splitting you open.
Your head drops against Stack’s shoulder, mouth open and wet as the men work you between them.
The camera waits in front of you three, its reel turning steadily as your tits bounce and sway with every hard thrust, the soft flesh jiggling between your bodies.
“Look at the camera, honey,” Remmick urges, one hand sliding around your throat to lift your face. “Show all those perverts what happens when Daddy leaves his dumb girl home alone.”
You attempt to focus on the lens, though Stack drives up into you and your eyes cross instead.
His mouth catches yours before another moan can escape, kissing you messily as Remmick pounds into you from behind. Their pace grows rougher, the careful rhythm giving way to something greedy once your body softens around them. The wet, filthy sound of both cocks working your holes is continuous—slick, rhythmic, the slap of Remmick’s hips against your ass and the soft, wet suction of your cunt and ass taking them both.
When Stack’s thumb finds your clit, you’re crying without noticing.
Remmick wipes the tears from your cheek with two fingers and pushes them between your lips, letting you suck them clean as both men keep fucking you. The pressure on your clit is almost too much on top of the relentless stretch, every circle of his thumb making your walls clamp down harder around both of them.
“Too much?” Stack asks against your mouth.
You shake your head quickly, tightening your arms around his shoulders. “More.”
Remmick’s laugh breaks into a groan as he thrusts deep. “Empty-headed thing still wants more.”
They give it to you until your legs no longer hold you. Stack supports most of your weight from below, keeping your body upright so the camera captures your ruined expression, and Remmick grips your hips from behind with enough force to leave handprints beneath the yellow dress.
Your ass and cunt are both stretched wide and shiny, the lips of your pussy puffy around Stack’s shaft, the tight ring of your asshole gripping the base of Remmick’s cock so hard that the rim follows his cock outward whenever he withdraws before swallowing him again.
Words have become breathless pieces that never assemble properly. Your mouth rests open near Stack’s throat, saliva dampening his skin as both men work you toward another climax.
Your cunt clamps around Stack as your ass tightens around Remmick, drawing broken sounds from them while your body shakes helplessly between their chests.
The climax is deep and continuous, wave after wave of pure pressure that makes your vision white out and your voice crack into something wordless and raw.
Stack comes first, burying himself deep as warmth spills into your cunt. Remmick follows after several rough thrusts, holding you still while his release fills you from behind. The sensation of both men pulsing inside you sends another smaller climax shuddering through your already exhausted body, leaving your head tucked beneath Stack’s chin and your mouth moving around words that never become anything intelligible.
They remain joined long enough for the camera to capture the aftermath.
Remmick withdraws carefully, watching cum begin to slide from your ass before Stack eases out from below. Your holes stay open for a moment, soft and used, the pink insides visible and glossy with their combined release before the muscle slowly begins to close.
You sink onto the floor with your knees spread, dress bunched around your waist and their release dripping together over your swollen cunt and across Stack’s skin.
Stack reaches down and gathers some of the mess onto two fingers, bringing them toward your lips. You accept them with a vacant smile, sucking slowly until his fingers are clean.
Remmick moves behind the camera again, zooming in on your flushed face before following the trail of cum running down your thigh. “Give us one last line, darlin’,” he says, his breathing still uneven as he steadies the lens. “Tell everybody whether you enjoyed showin’ our traveler some Southern hospitality.”
You look directly into the camera, mascara smudged beneath your eyes and one ribbon hanging loose beside your cheek. Stack’s hat sits crooked on your head, placed there sometime after your second orgasm, and the smile spreading across your face is too pleased to belong to any respectable farmer’s daughter.
“His car can break down here anytime.”
Remmick’s laughter shakes the camera so badly that the final few seconds will be nearly unusable, though he insists on keeping them when the film is developed.
HONEY BELLE : FARMER’S DAUGHTER SHOWS A STRANGER SOME SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY !
First printing : sold out in three weeks.
Second printing : ordered before the first month ends.
Stack spends the next several days answering letters from men who want to know whether Honey Belle has any sisters.
Remmick keeps one copy of the final reel hidden in the converted washroom, tucked behind the developing chemicals where Stack will never think to look.
You catch him watching it alone less than a week later.
He doesn’t even pretend he was studying the camera angles.
AO3 Link 8.5k words
๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Summary: A battered and bruised Remmick shows up in your root cellar seeking refuge from hunters. Eventual smut ensues alongside the unknown effects of vervain.
๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Pairing: Remmick x fem!reader
๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII.1 | Part VIII.2 | Part X
๋࣭ ⭑⚝ a/n: I wrote the majority of this fic back in April after watching Sinners a few times. It has lived on my laptop ever since, and ironically, it was not intended to see the light of day. It started as some smut with a term I'm coining, "Threshold Edging", if that isn't a term already, and I babbled enough that it just kept growing. (I will be updating some of these chapter designs at some point)
๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Tags/Warnings: Slow Burn, Pathetic Remmick, Pathetic Wet Dog of a Man, Misuse of Vervain, Switch Remmick, Drunk Remmick, Vervain is an Aphrodisiac, Blood Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Praise Kink, Period Sex, Pre-Canon, Handjob, Some smut in this chapter
The warmth of the bath still cradles you by the time Remmick finds you.
Ten minutes have passed by your estimation. For half of that time, you only soak and let the heat of the water soothe your body while your mind races. Your eyes slip shut as you embrace thoughts of Remmick that infiltrate your senses. Soon, you can't tell the difference between the heat from the bath and that from your images clouding your mind.
It isn't clear how long Remmick has been looming in the doorway when you finally notice him. You can't help but notice that his eyes seem distant, and you spy a fresh smear of red around his mouth.
"Did you find something to eat?" The question feels awkward as it leaves your mouth, and Remmick's head is sluggish as it shakes 'No'. You let your gaze travel down to the slight tent in his trousers; seeing them completely ruined has your eyes widen a fraction.
The sight of him so dishevelled makes you carefully inhale through parted lips. After you manage to pry your eyes away, you run some water over your shoulders to warm them as you add. "You should probably wash up too…" Remmick's reaction doesn't come to him straight away. In fact, it takes a moment for his expression to flash with recognition, as though he suddenly remembers where he stands.
His cautious movements, the drag of his feet across wood; they remind you faintly of some prowling animal. One rather unfamiliar in its whereabouts, particularly as he lowers himself to the ground. The motion is silent, unnervingly smooth as he kneels to rest the side of his face against the cool enamel of the bathtub.
You can see part of his back from this angle; curiosity tugs at you with the varied scars you can see. Some look fainter, much older than others. You briefly wonder about the stories behind each of them, whether most were like the scar you had given him on his shoulder. The thought of Remmick enduring that sort of pain twists in your chest, but as your eyes sweep over to search for the scar, you realise it doesn't appear to be there anymore.
Remmick's lips part, and you hear his breath ever so slightly hitch before he speaks. "I… I can't stop-" The edges of his voice are frayed as he struggles to gather the words like loose yarn. "-thinkin' about ya." The way his brows draw up would have made his expression entirely pained, were it not for the half-hard length pressing up against the confines of the fabric. It seems as though Remmick is caught in a state between shock and admiration. You can only seem to blink in response, unsure how it's even possible for him to be somewhat hard after already going through so much.
The thought has you wetting your lips, and you let a hand carefully reach out to stroke Remmick's hair before he notices. There's a shaky exhale that leaks out of him from the touch, and somehow, you find it in yourself to ask. "Is this…" You swallow in an effort to clear your throat. "…is it a 'vampire' thing?" Your voice is delicate as you sense the atmosphere begin to venture into something unknown.
His distant gaze tries to fix onto the bathmat underneath; the fog of his mind has eased, but not entirely lifted. "No. Not like this." The unsure reply lifts unintentionally as it tapers off. The thought of his stamina briefly crosses Remmick's mind; his refractory period has never been an issue previously, but this was much different to anything he has experienced before. He hasn't felt so compelled to keep going by forces beyond his means, or felt drawn to someone in a way that concerns him that it might hurt to stop.
Remmick's vision flickers between the bathmat and your face as he leans into your touch, his head giving the barest shake as he considers it. "I-I've never-" He cuts himself off, unable to find the correct words. If you peer down, you can spot the way his hips are failing to resist the shallowest thrusts as he fails to form the sentence he wanted. It makes your face warm more than it already was. "-not sure what's happenin'." A rasp borders Remmick's voice that he can't mask, apparently genuine as he struggles to admit the situation.
Behind the dampened fury you have shoved underneath somewhere for being left, you almost pity Remmick now. Even with the sly bites and the blood drinking that should be more off-putting.
And yet.
Rather than being deterred like you ought to, you feel a strange pull towards him for reasons you can't explain. You shouldn't have any reason to trust Remmick when he already bit you so quickly. Though… The images of Remmick on his knees and obeying you flash behind your eyes; he sank his fangs into his own forearm instead of biting you. For no reason other than you told him not to bite you again. A light shiver ripples through you, though not from the cold. Remmick really could kill you at any moment with those teeth if he felt like it.
Except, he hasn't. Even after biting you, he wasn't seemingly just drinking to kill.
You pull your hand away to draw your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms lightly around them. "How long's it gonna take to turn..?" For the first time in a while, your voice borders on timid. Remmick's eyes blink up to meet your own, likely noticing it as well. Everything about being at the mercy of someone else makes you feel as vulnerable as he looks.
Despite the growing fear beginning to gnaw at your insides, part of you admires the expression he gives back. Remmick still appears confused, his features have softened, and even with his fangs still on display, there is a somewhat dazed look about him. It shouldn't be possible for those monstrous features to look so devastatingly human to you.
His mouth parts wider, only to close again. The look is recognisable, and you know he may regret whatever is about to leave his mouth. Nevertheless, Remmick forces an answer for you, seemingly unclear about it too. "Should'a turned when I first bit ya, before ya'd even got here…" Ice lurches through your entire body as the words strike, forcing you to swallow thickly.
Remmick would have stolen your life so quickly on a whim.
His brow bunches up as he shakes his head, needing to prop up his defence. "I couldn't stop it…"
He didn't want to stop it, regardless of whether he 'could'.
An unusual guilt begins to filter straight into his gut. Turning you is something he wants. To save you from being so alone, but not quite like how it could have happened. It should have been more special than that.
Remmick stares at you through half-lidded eyes until his breath grows uneven. "…didn't want it to be that way."
You vaguely remember him mentioning something similar earlier, about 'taking his time' with you. A breath slips into your lungs, slow and steady in contrast to Remmick's shallow ones. "And now?"
"I… don't know-" Remmick's eyes are locked onto yours for longer than what would be considered normal, and you can't tell if they're thoughtful or calculating. Even when the dusting of pink that makes his ears look like they've been pinched, it isn't entirely clear. "-Want to kiss ya again." A soft moan cracks in his throat like he's already been thinking of it. "Want to bite ya again." The corner of his mouth twitches into a half, lazy smile for all of a second, like he can't believe he's even admitting it to you. "But, I don't want t'hurt ya either."
You struggle to think of what to say when Remmick continues. "Don't know why ya won't turn but, yer blood's got somethin'." A fang snags on his lower lip for a moment, and you think you see his length give a quick jerk.
"I want more." The way Remmick freely admits it makes your stomach jump, and you lean back away from him. His gaze falls to your neck, then slowly drifts to your chest. The sight of his fangs partially hidden behind his parted mouth sparks mistrust inside you, along with a sick heat to the surface of your skin.
You hope to whatever god is out there that Remmick is only acting like this because he can smell your courses. Based on previous encounters that were pleasant enough, you think you're willing to believe it. A sense of danger tingles through your body, and the fear of wrongly placing any faith in him reaches deeper than his fangs ever could.
Impulsively, you decide to take the plunge. Remmick is already inside your home after all, you don't have anywhere else to run to. Not somewhere to feel particularly safe anyway. More importantly, for whatever reason, it doesn't seem as though his bite can affect you the way it should. Realistically, that only leaves the concern for how much blood Remmick could take. Perhaps there is a way to navigate him through it in a way you both come out relatively unscathed. You had been thinking of him for weeks, after all.
"Well-" You start up, and his eyes flit back up to your face, your words seeming to pull his attention back from wherever it was heading. "-You could leave until the week is up, until I stop bleeding." The words don't fit properly in your mouth, too clunky for such an odd concept of it all. His brows tip up like you slapped him across the face, clearly not a fan of that option, and already shaking his head 'no' before you continue. "Or, I could… help you through whatever is going on with you…"
You can practically see the cogs turning inside of Remmick's head as he figures out what you mean. When they seem to click into place, his mouth drops open enough for you to watch him struggle to mask the disbelief. "Ya don't… know what y'er sayin'."
Perhaps he's right, but you aren't sure if Remmick knows any better. "I know it beats you going back to hounding on the front door every night." You can't resist the half scoff that follows your words, and Remmick looks torn.
He blinks up at you to watch so intensely that it makes you want to look away, but you hold your ground. "I.. I can't think straight."
The pause that follows makes you sceptical about whether Remmick wanted anything from earlier or if it was pure impulse. Though you suppose he seemed to be interested before he even drank from you. "Did you not want any of what we did..?" You brace yourself for the rejection, to begin building walls again straight away.
"N-No." His answer is abrupt enough that a dull ache stabs at your chest, and Remmick's claws have found the edge of the bathtub, gripping it in frustration with himself. "That's- No to the reason, not…" A weak stumble of incoherent words comes out as he tries to correct himself. "I don't mean 'no', I… I've wanted to for so long, I just didn't expect it to happen like that." He pauses long enough for you to admire the pink spreading to his cheeks. "I'm happy it did-"
The space between you settles, and you fight the urge to smile at his rambling, only managing a mock grin to try and brush any hurt feelings on your part. "-but I could've hurt ya." He whispers back to you, brows lightly furrowed like he's actually concerned. The thought has butterflies flutter nervously inside your stomach, you want to swat them away when you faintly consider you're being easily led. The thought of fully letting your guard down and there being an ambush waiting scares you more than anything.
A soft laugh rings out of you, one as faint as his words were. "And you didn't." There isn't a 'but'. You aren't going to sit and pretend to be oblivious to the 'could haves'. Hopefully, it shows him that you're prepared to face them instead of blindly ignoring them. Perhaps you're trying to convince yourself as well. "If you want me to help, I can."
Remmick's breath catches in his throat before you watch it bob. You can feel your heart thump hard against your chest, and you're pretty sure you see Remmick's ears twitch in response. It wouldn't have been noticeable had the rest of him not been so unnaturally still; something about it has you feeling a little confident that he would take the offer. Dangerous or not, the thought of being intimate with him again is certainly appealing.
The pink seeping across Remmick's face darkens in response to your offer, unable to stop thinking about your hands on him for potentially an entire week. To say you're supposed to be the prey, Remmick feels as though he's sauntering into something similar to a trap. Your suggestion has his mind whirring, unsure if you're simply taking pity on him or if you might truly want it. He hopes with every fibre of his being that it's the latter.
A small, singular laugh escapes Remmick, despite the way your pulse seems to suggest the offer is genuine, he's dubious of it all the same. After all, if you changed your mind, he could wake up with a stake through his heart. The embarrassment of the situation finally begins to sink in for Remmick, and he simply lets enough time slip by that you're suddenly reaching for him. Though he initially draws back a little from your hand, enough to make you pause, when you push on, he allows you to slide a hand under his chin.
He feels his eyes slip shut at such a delicate press of your fingers. A single touch from you is all it takes for him to relent to what he wants, instead of trying to think about it anymore. "Would you like that, Remmick?" A breathy noise croaks out of him as he chooses to believe that you really do mean it; that you would actually help him with whatever has him all pent up with no clear end in sight.
In the back of his mind, Remmick knows he shouldn't agree, but he's willing to stay ignorant for the time being. He wanted to take things slow, to pretend he could be capable of anything remotely normal by your standards. To do something with the unknown feelings that he's gathered at a pace that alarms him. Anything instead of just gripping onto random pieces, not knowing what to do without shoving them away.
A distant, vague memory of some almost-forgotten conversation screams to him from some recess of his consciousness. It makes him want to choke on his own indecision. If he agrees, then hiding under some swept-away carpet of his psyche, he knows it risks replicating a bond that won't mean anything to you. But this situation is the reality, and it could be easier to accept it rather than fight it.
More than that, he's so selfish that ultimately, he doesn't have it in him to say no. Not when you're sitting there so enticing without even trying. Whatever is in your blood may as well be singing to him with how it thrums in his veins.
When you offer Remmick a small but warm smile, that's the breaking point. He doesn't just cross the line; he's shunted over it mentally. A staggered breath seeps out of him as he slowly nods up to you. Suddenly, he's all too aware of how his knees bite into the floorboards, uncertain if he can't or won't move from the spot. Either way, Remmick is too enthralled by the way the touch of your hand makes his head feel lighter.
It takes a few moments, but he gives in to you; the easiness of it should panic him.
"Yes. I want it."
His response rushes out, sharp enough to cut through his exhaled whisper. The strain of it is so quiet that a strange excitement stirs in your belly with it.
A playful grin plays on your lips. "Then I'll help you… If you don't kill me first." Saying it almost seems pointless to you. "Just, give me time to recover, that was all pretty new for me…" You both share a short grin as you try to lighten things up.
Remmick nods; for him, despite any instinctive urges to drain you, he doesn't want to see you hurt either. He can't place it, but there's something deeper in his gut that makes him agree to your offer. Something familiar to him that he can't quite place. The silence returns to the room as you stare at each other, not with an uncomfortable feeling, but an overwhelming peaceful force that neither would know what to name.
Like you're making another kind of bargain.
You watch each other, and for a moment, the air seems to still through an invisible contract, signed using only your words.
The feeling of a claw brushing over the edge of your palm draws your attention down. Although you still feel sated, you can't deny the creeping warmth inside that the tender gesture stirs. With a smile reflecting that warmth, you try to change the matter. "If you wash up, I can have a look for those boxers…" Remmick's head cocks at first, until a look of recognition settles on his features. You still have the boxers that you once bought for him.
Remmick hums in agreement as he moves to stand up, undoing the buttons to his trousers and grimacing a little as he peels them away from himself. You hadn't registered it before, but in the dimly lit room, you see that there's dried blood smeared over the front of him. The mortification slaps you and forces you to look away. It isn't until you hear the water moving that you whip your head back around and watch as Remmick joins you in the bathtub.
"Hey! I didn't mention you could join me." You protest at the way the water starts to rise and spill over the sides, thanks to how much he overfilled it. Remmick is already situating himself comfortably enough inside, resting his forearms at the edges. You're surprised there's even enough room in here for the two of you.
Closer. Remmick wants to be closer again. "Just followin' orders."There's a small shrug while Remmick's eyes narrow playfully, and he moves a hand under the water to snake his claw around your ankle. "Ya seemed t'like tellin' me what to do earlier." His fingers pull at you gently enough to get you to slide over to him, and against your objection, he pulls you into his lap with ease. "It's so warm." Remmick sighs, foreign to the comforts of hot water, and he relaxes further into it as you're forced to somewhat straddle his lap.
The way his cock immediately bumps against your folds makes your breath catch. "Remmick. We just-" Your tone is as exasperated as you feel, and you don't think you can go again so soon.
"I know. I'm tryin' ta be good." 'Good' seems a little far-fetched. Remmick's hips raise for a brief second, and despite how you feel, you can't stop yourself from grinding back just the once against him.
"It doesn't feel like you're trying to be good." You want to roll your eyes, but the contact is distracting.
"So make me?" The challenging lilt to Remmick's voice has your core pulse, and you do your best not to let it show. As you watch his increasingly smug look drift down your front, you feel he's already fully aware anyway. "I can promise I'd already be inside'a ya if I weren't tryin' my damn hardest." The way he mumbles it makes it seem true enough, especially with the added twitches of cock against you.
Between the 'make me' and the pieces you recall in the kitchen, it doesn't take much for you to think of what would work. Though you feel that's exactly what Remmick wants right now anyway. You can feel your throat go dry as you remember how his words were raspy when he called himself a 'good boy'.
The dried blood on his mouth is a strange contrast to your thoughts; this monster, is that even the right word? Your eyes flick over his claws, fangs, eyes… all traits of something wicked, but here was Remmick, showing the capacity for more than just frightening.
The sight of them still makes you a little uneasy, more so in the low light in here. That said, his demeanour, be it false or genuine, works to lure you in as much as it admittedly thrills you. As you consider what his claws might do if you upset him for whatever reason, you feel your heartbeat flutter. You know you can't continue to walk the fence with Remmick; there is no threshold to keep you safe anymore, and you need to commit one way or the other. You internally suck it up as you decide to trust him.
You rinse out your washcloth and press it to Remmick's mouth to wipe away the dry blood. "I don't have to make you." The words are sharpened to a dangerous point, and you lean closer so that they ghost over his lips. "I think you want to be a good boy for me, Rems." The words seem to make his breath stutter. When you place the cloth to the side and let your hands settle on his chest, his eyes widen as any suggestion of defiance melts away easily.
The feeling of his cock nudging against you becomes too difficult to ignore with how his body moves in response. Your hand traces down his stomach, willing to try and explore things that might make it easier for Remmick to fall apart for you. True to your word, you would help him if he needed it. Clearly, that looks to be the case right now. His eyes drift shut, but when you don't move your hand any lower, a frustrated groan fizzles out of him. A wicked feeling encourages you at that sound, and a new thought of Remmick splayed out for you to play with that crosses your mind.
You feel him fidget with a lack of subtlety that makes you fight off a smirk. "What is it? Was I right?" The flirty whisper from you aims to provoke him, followed by the smooth swipe of your tongue on his lower lip. You pull away before he can kiss you, relishing the way he moves forward to try. His breath cracks at the loss of you before he even got to have it, and his hands find your hips to steady himself. Your fingertips circle his lower stomach under the water, purposefully avoiding his cock that you feel stiffen completely.
He jerks on contact with your fingers, and you watch Remmick bite his lip to stifle whatever noise threatens to come out. Your eyes narrow a tad at that, curious while also taking it as a personal challenge. Finally, Remmick wets his lips with a soft whine. "Ya s-said ya'd help, but y'er teasin' me…"
As you patiently wait for an actual answer, you take his hand in yours; the difference in size makes something bloom inside you. You may not be as experienced, but you know exactly what you're doing to him as you bring the claw of his thumb to your mouth. It's hard not to grin around his as you carefully lick under the pad of his thumb, then take him into your mouth slowly. Your lips manage to wrap around the first knuckle, though you don't try to go farther. Instead, you gently suckle on him with a swirl of your tongue underneath, soft enough to draw a throaty moan from him. "Ya really are… such a brat." The word reminds you of the last time you did this, and an oddly pleased feeling surges through you. As he pulls his digit out from you, he takes his time with it so as not to hurt you.
Seeing Remmick reduced to something where he falls to pleasure fills you with that same confidence that you dipped into earlier. "I'll keep teasing if you don't answer me." Your other hand finds the nape of his neck, where you thread your fingers into his loose curls. A delicious sound jumps out of him when you give an easy tug, and you feign a relaxed innocence in your voice. "Do you want to be my good boy, Rem?"
You brush your index finger down the tip of Remmick's cock to his base as you ask, and he squirms under you as he caves faster than you anticipated. "Yes. Fuck, I'll…" He starts to pant out as his eyes crack open a little to find yours, his face a lovely flushed colour. "I'll be yer good boy just… touch me."
The plea makes your own breath rush out as something stirs inside of you. Feeling satisfied enough with Remmick's response, you adjust yourself to fully take his cock in your hand. The moment you wrap your fingers around him to slowly pump, there's a pleased trill in Remmick's groan, and his head tips back to soak in the feeling.
Your fingers explore him, slick under the water as you feel for each vein, your thumb toying with his slit on occasion as you try to work out what he responds to the most. When you hit a rhythm that makes Remmick's jaw go slack, pleasured noises spill out of him. Then you catch the thin line of drool beginning to roll down his chin, and you know you're doing it right. "Are you usually this vocal?"
Remmick's body shivers at the question, uncaring if you see it. You do. He wants to laugh at your question to shrug it off, but he can only fractured moan instead, and it only serves to highlight your point. "D… Don't mean t'be." His claws start to sink into your hip, and you can sense how hard he's trying not to let them cut into you. You feel the pressure of them, but you already chose trust over the bubbling apprehension, and you can only hope that he won't hurt you.
"I didn't say it was a bad thing." You hear your own voice soften as the glide of your palm on his cock has his breathing turn messy and his thighs begin to tremble. The gentle slap of the water beside his panting makes your eyes go half-lidded. "You sound so pretty, Rem."
His eyes shoot up to yours; he expected you to chastise him over it instead of receiving the praise. He manages a soft half-smile, encouraged enough to speak his mind with you. "Ya just feel so good, want to be inside ya."
"Later, Rems. Be my good boy and come like this, okay?" You feel the heat flush over your own cheeks as you say those words to him, unsure where exactly you found them. Remmick's whine makes your pulse jump as he slides a hand up to knead at your breast instead, failing to hide his need from you.
You catch the corner of your bottom lip with your teeth as worry tries to ease into you, the thought that you might not be able to satisfy Remmick. Despite that, you don't let up on your movements, not when you can feel Remmick is as desperate for release as he sounds.
The need to say something forces you to mention that there don't need to be feelings attached, concerned that might be playing on his mind. "It doesn't have to mean anything. It can just be mechanical." They probably weren't the best choice of words in the moment, but you can always attempt to fix that later.
Remmick's lips press into a flat line to prevent him from saying what he really wants. He doesn't want it to be mechanical, or to mean nothing; he wants everything, and it's painful to think you don't. It shouldn't bother him; it never has before. His vampiric life has allowed him to disregard life in general in a way that only got easier as time moved on without him. So why would all of this be the thing that changes that? Why does it stick in his throat to think your offer isn't really based on any real want for him? Reluctantly, he nods as he sits up to rest his forehead to your chest. He can't face that conversation right now. Doesn't want to think about it at all, just you and how you're looking after his needs at all. "Fuck, it's… like y'er wantin' to- hgnh- t..take care of me or some-thin'." Remmick's breaths are erratic as he feels himself jump in your hand at the concept. As if anybody really would. For now, he can pretend.
You fish around in your mind for a response, only finding the threads of praise he seemed to enjoy earlier. It only makes you draw a blank. So, you loosen your grip on his hair to stroke the back of his head instead as you coo down to him. "Shh~ Be a clever boy and just take it like this for me, Rems."
A cracked gasp leaves Remmick that fades into a groan, and you decide praise must definitely work. "Fer.. ya…" For a moment, he sounds more dazed than you've previously heard him. You wish you could grind up against him instead, but you're still a little sore and too tired for another round. "Didn't- Oh… -deny it." His frayed moans against your skin start to snag as he sounds like he's getting close. His claws flex against your hips again with a tremble that makes your eyes soften.
For now, you decide to ignore his words the second you hear your name quietly spill out of him. "Can hear you getting close. Are you gonna come for me, Rems? You're making such sweet moans." His head feels fuzzy with your encouragement, so unused to it that he almost doesn't register the drag of your fingertips down the back of his neck, tracing over just to the side. The spot reserved for a potential mate.
"Not there!" His eyes shoot open as his cock jumps in your palm, and you wonder what the issue is. Nonetheless, you move your hand away from his neck, not wanting to hurt him as you wait for an answer.
All you get in response is some heavy panting "T..Too sen-sitive." Remmick chokes out the lie, and you believe it as you nod in understanding.
"Th-is is pathetic..." His teeth grit as he watches his hips jerk up into your hand without meaning to. A part of you wonders if that's something he likes; it feels like a way of subtly telling without directly asking. The two would probably go hand-in-hand with some practice on your part.
"Is that what you want? To be pathetic, baby?" His breath hitches when you ask, wanting to admit it, but he can feel himself starting to cower under you with it. He swallows thickly as he remembers thoughts of you calling him it, and a moment passes before he gives a slow nod. You wet your lips and feel the realisation make your clit pulse. "Yeah? Look at you, Rem. So desperate to come, you're such a mess."
His eyes shut, tightening as he acknowledges it while his cheeks burn. "I-I know- Please can.. Can I kiss ya?"
You grin at the reaction as you let out a soft "Yes" down to him. Remmick's breathing stutters as you manoeuvre his head by his hair, facing him up so that you can capture his lips with yours.
His lips move hungrily against yours, and you taste the way he whimpers freely into your mouth. Abruptly, his claws move away from you to curl into tight fists, and his hips still as you feel his cock twitch intensely in your palm. You pull away from his mouth as you peer down; you expected something more, but there's barely anything that spills out of him. Heat rushes through you at that, and without thinking, you stop to place a kiss on his forehead with a faint chuckle.
There are a few twitches of his thrusts, like he's too tired for more, and you can only hear the strung-out whimpers under his breath until he finds his words. "Shit…Milked me dry..." Remmick is looking back up at you, surprised, and like you're the first good thing he's ever seen. Wordlessly, his hands slip around your back as he presses his cheek to the middle of your chest.
He listens to the rapid beating of your heart; something about it is oddly comforting, just as it is alluring. The startled look simmers down into awe as you help clean him, and you might not have caught his quiet words if it weren't for the drowsy calm enveloping you both. "Even now, when I've scared ya, y'er still showin' kindness t'me?"
You pause the wipe of your washcloth over his chest, thinking about how to respond to that. He isn't entirely wrong, but you don't want to admit that. So you settle on a half-truth. "I'm a little concerned, not scared."
"Y'er a bad liar, I can hear it in yer pulse and taste it on yer blood." Remmick's voice sounds tired as the pad of his thumb traces the thrum of an artery beneath your skin, deep on the inside of your thigh.
It pulls a soft gasp from you at the feeling, knowing exactly what pulses under his touch. The need to call his bluff is almost instant. "…You can not."
His sated grin stretches over his fangs in return. "Often, I can. Can hear it rushin' around yer body right now. Like y'er excited over… something." You can feel Remmick softening, but he pushes his hips up to you regardless.
The action makes you laugh, it's real and in a way that makes Remmick's eyes soften with the noise. "You're one to talk."
The feeling of him pressed against you like this has your head swimming with ideas for another time. You resist moving much more against him; instead, you lean down to press your chest to his with your cheek resting in his shoulder. His gentle touch surprises you as his knuckles lightly massage into your back. They ease the subtle pain in your hips like he knows exactly where to push and knead lightly, and eventually you sit up slightly before he can lull you to sleep with it. "C'mon, wash up properly. I'll find you some clothes."
******
Eventually, and to Remmick's lazy protests, you exit the tub to secure a towel around you before leaving him to his own devices. As a precaution for the cramps beginning to tug at your abdomen and thighs, you brew some vervain tea to bring upstairs.
At some point while you wait for the tea to brew, your attention drifts over to the chair that has remained in the same spot you saw it last. A sheepish smile pulls at your lips as you remember Remmick's doing, deciding to move it back to where you got it from. Though when you take it by the back and look down, your brows pinch ever so slightly as you look from the seat to the cloth hanging on the sink.
A grimace goes through you when you remember the blood you left, but now it's completely clean. Your washcloth appears to be completely dry. You pull a face at that, looking around for whatever Remmick used to clean it up until you give up. It's too late to think too much about it anyway, and you want to head upstairs.
******
While you finish changing for bed, you adjust your nightgown in the floor-length mirror. It's much later than you usually go to bed, and you know for a fact that you'll regret it in the morning. The intrusive thought of waking up with Remmick's teeth lodged in your neck makes you inwardly cringe.
You hope you won't live to regret your choices. The very paradox of the thought...
"Looks cute." Remmick's voice has your breath hitch as you jump; you hadn't noticed him watching from the doorway behind, towel around his neck to catch the remaining droplets from his hair. He's too quiet for your liking.
You let out a huff as you whip around to look, moving your hand over your chest to steady yourself. "I should get you a bell." Remmick manages a small smile as he stands there with his arms folded against the doorframe. You can't help but think he looks chilly in the boxers and vest that you found for him.
As you turn your head back to the mirror, your brows pinch as you notice something. "You… don't have a reflection…" You say it with a level of wonder. The bizarre nature of it has you as perplexed as much as you find it fascinating.
He gives a soft, sharp exhale from his nose, finding something funny that you didn't catch. "No." When you peer back at him, his crimson eyes slide over from the reflective surface to you. "Not fer a long while."
A while. A part of you wonders if Remmick knows how he looks, how long he could have gone without seeing himself. If it weren't so late in the night, you might have pressed him on it, but right now, sleep is the only thing on your mind.
The stillness between you is palpable, and Remmick's stare makes you shift your weight from one foot to the other. "I've only got the one bed…" You state the obvious, feeling the need to point it out anyway. It's large enough for two, but you aren't certain if Remmick would even want to sleep in it. Not just because of his nocturnal nature, but because even though there was an agreement made between you, it didn't exactly cover any sleeping arrangements. Only that you had said you would help him, though he already seems much calmer than he was previously.
Remmick nods, slinking away from the doorframe to approach you as you perch yourself on the edge of the mattress. "I see…" He wets his lips as he stands in front, and you instinctively lean back away from him to look up. Remmick only follows, lowering himself as his hands find the mattress as if he's never even heard of personal space. "…Can I kiss ya?" It isn't the question you expected.
Instead of moving towards him, your hands press into the bed to steady yourself. "You keep asking me that."
"Ya keep sayin' 'yes'." His breath ghosts over you while your noses barely brush over each other.
Your breath lightly hitches; he isn't wrong. "If I say 'no'?" Dread twists in your gut, trying to work out how scared you should have been previously. How concerned you should be now.
Remmick slowly pulls back to watch you carefully, and there's a flicker of hurt across his features. "I'd've stopped. Plain as that." There's no trace of amusement or a smirk from him. Whether the expression he holds is well-practised or he's being honest, you can't tell from his face alone. From the way he sounds, you want to choose the latter even with your scepticism.
"Didn't seem so easy for you to stop earlier." The thought of him drinking from you specifically crosses your mind, and you can't stop your eyes from trailing to his lips.
A light shiver runs through you at the way his fangs briefly catch his lower lip in thought. "It ain't, but I… I would've." Remmick nods like he's trying to convince himself of it, and all you think of is the first bite he gave you, seemingly not consciously. "Besides. Gone without fer so long, I could've gone a little longer."
It doesn't even seem as though he believes the way he says it. The only other thing he's seemingly needed so much is blood. "…How long?"
There's a drawn-out groan sound as he recalls it, not particularly wanting to share. "Decades. At least. Centuries, at most." His words are hesitant, quieter, and you watch the tips of his ears turn that lovely pink hue.
An airy, dry laugh leaves you at the admission. Centuries? No wonder…
The room stills as you try to wrap your head around that. Remmick awkwardly tacks onto the statement to fill the space between you. "But, it hasn't been like this before. Only sorta since the start-" You assume he means since the start of his vampiric life. At some point during Remmick's rambling, you thread your fingers under the front of his gold chain. "-Yer blood had me riled up so much I couldn't think straight. Been wantin' ya fer so long, still can't beli-" You tug his head down by the chain so that his lips press against yours, shutting him up with the kiss he'd asked for. Remmick's eyes widen a little at the contact, but relax when you move your lips against his, until they slide shut completely.
Eventually, your fingers let go of the chain to slide down to Remmick's chest, and as you slowly pull your lips away from his, you hear a faint whine in protest. Remmick is grinning, eyes still closed until he speaks up. "Ya smell so sweet."
You give an amused dismissal in response. "Probably just the tea." Remmick throws you a puzzled look until you nod towards the bedside table where your teacup sits empty.
He crinkles his nose playfully as he disagrees. "Nah, don't think so." His eyes drift over you, but ultimately, he pulls back to stand up.
You're too tired to notice the small tears in the bed sheet he'd left behind.
"Are you..." Your words trail off as you try to gather your thoughts. Something about there only being one bed that you tried to bring up already. "...going back to the root cellar or..?" You leave the question open-ended so that Remmick can piece together what you're asking without having to do it directly.
"Is that what you want?" Remmick's question sounds empty, hopeful that you'll say no.
"No." You offer a smile, not sure why you feel so shy in the moment. "I mean, there's nothing stopping you from getting in now anyway. I just…"
A pang of something rings out in his chest, and he smiles in spite of it for you. Unwanted. "It's not like y'er turnin' anyways, if… that's what y'er worried about." He forces a small, well-practised chuckle to brush it off, though you can't tell any different. "Tell me if ya want me t'rest up somewhere else fer sun-up." Remmick has zero intention of leaving your home even for sun-up, not now. In this moment, he doesn't even want to leave the room.
You blame your tiredness for your inability to think about what you're saying. "I don't want that." A small sigh huffs out of you as your thumb absently rubs into your lower stomach, easing the pain while you wait for the vervain to kick in. "I'm still mad at you for leaving in the first place." The memory has you peer down, glancing away from him until you feel the back of his fingers moving your face to look up at him.
The movement has your breath stop as you watch him. "I'm sorry. I didn't do it t'hurt ya." His eyes flicker over yours as his voice quietens. "Was always gonna come back fer ya." His expression looks sad, but the seriousness of it makes you nod to him gently.
You stay like that for a moment, until you slowly draw away and his arm settles by his side. In that moment, you decide you can talk about it when you're more refreshed, but for now, you'll accept that. You clear your throat as you peel back the covers to slide into bed, settling in the middle out of habit. "Stay." The way that one quiet word reaches up to Remmick's ears does something to him. It isn't a command, nor a suggestion, just you finally telling him what you want. He relaxes with it, and he feels the calm through his entire being.
Remmick already considered finding something to feed on, but something prevents him from doing so. It feels wrong to even think about leaving you alone. "I don't… think I can leave ya." You can't tell if the sound he lets slip is a laugh or if it's in disbelief. "I don't want to." He really doesn't. Remmick sits on the edge of the bed. He can't remember the last time he slept in one, regardless of whether he was invited to it or if it was just one that he could temporarily call his own.
Remmick's hands brush over the fabric of the sheets, testing them out. He doesn't even realise that he's doing it until you break the silence. "C'mon…" When he peers up to see that you're watching, he straightens up a little.
He takes a slow breath and can hear you doing the same. It takes a second, and it feels like both of you are walking over another threshold together. This time, with each other's permission.
"Scooch up." He ignores how he may have looked as he directs you to move across the bed. Your brow lightly furrows, and it takes a beat of silence plus Remmick to raise his own brows at you, silently repeating himself before you realise you haven't left room for him. You slowly move along and get as comfortable as you can, then you feel the mattress dip beside you as Remmick climbs onto the covers. Notably, not getting inside. It's not enough to just be next to you; he wants to touch you, and not necessarily sexually.
You can practically feel Remmick's hand hovering above your back before you feel the brush of his palm. "Is this alright?" He rubs slow circles into you through the night gown, and you let out a sigh at how good the unfamiliar feeling is. "Saw ya were hurtin'…" There's some hesitation you can feel even through the covers, along with a certain curl to his fingers. It borders on possessive. At the same time, there's something grounding about it for Remmick. Still not certain this is real.
"It's nice." Your face softens as you relax into his touch, trying to ignore the returning butterflies it gives you in your stomach.
Remmick knows deep in himself that despite how he feels, at some point, he should tear himself away to feed on something. Whether it's to himself or to you, you can't quite tell as he says in a hushed tone. "I'll stay till ya fall asleep." You want to question if he means for the night or altogether, but the exhaustion sets in, too much to say anything. Through the pull of sleep, you initially want to fight it, still a tad nervous to fall asleep and in two minds about your 'guest'. When you sense that the light has been turned off, the comforting circles against your back lull you into a state of relaxation. It feels like you only give in to the feeling for seconds before you black out completely.
******
Remmick's stomach tightens with the lie that loops in his thoughts.
'It ain't, but I… I would've.'
He listens to the way your breathing steadies and finds a peaceful rhythm. At some point, he turned the light out for you, surprised that it seemed to only take minutes for you to fall asleep. Remmick can only imagine it's due to his presence, not that he can be too perplexed by that.
You're very lucky his bite didn't take. He really hadn't meant to; he was supposed to have more control than that. If you had said no, Remmick knows he would have begged a lot sooner. He at least told the truth when he said he didn't want to hurt you. As for most other things, he can pretend like he wouldn't have drained your blood if you hadn't shoved him away.
I would have stopped.
Remmick ignores the way the aftertaste of his lie sits across his tongue, awkwardly, but he's prepared to do that until it feels like the truth. He watches in the dark as your breathing comes through softly. The gentle sound has him smiling down as he continues to stroke your back, even if you don't need it anymore. He's been doing this for what feels like hours now. Remmick meant to go and hunt for something to feed on, but instead, he kept forgetting, listening to you instead. It's so peaceful that he can't seem to tear himself away; he doesn't really have any desire to. How could he? Especially when you curve your back into his touch so sweetly. His eyes soften at you through the dark, his smile as genuine and as warm as your skin feels against his palm.
The noise has him feeling calmer himself, until the early hours of the morning, when your breathing begins to become more laboured as you slowly move differently. It sounds like you're in pain.
Remmick tenses, the thin scent of blood has been steadily trickling into the air again. So far, he's done remarkably well to find ways to distract himself from it. He's tried to breathe through his mouth, quietly hum long-forgotten songs to you. At one point, Remmick just let his free hand clench and unfurl as a means to concentrate on the sharp feeling rather than your scent; the fresh air and rose soap that he's so taken with. The bar of soap he left in the root cellar springs to mind, and he absently wonders if you found it.
When the scent of blood thickens to the point where Remmick can't continue to ignore it, his head is filled with visions of you letting him lap up at you. Getting to taste you without even waking you first. Remmick's throat becomes as dry as sandpaper, and his stomach churns at the way his fangs itch in response. He forces himself to move away from you with a murmured sound. "No… don't." Remmick's hand clamps over his nose and mouth when the all too familiar feeling of drool floods his mouth.
He hates his own mind as he considers it; he could just steal a taste from you. It would be so easy. But if you woke up, he doubts that you would forgive him. It's what he tells himself rather than accept any inability to stop.
When you begin to mewl quietly with the pain, his brows crease, and Remmick is flooded with a different kind of urge. He wants to help, to ease the pain of your courses however he can, as he's pulled back in by some invisible force to you.
Imagine working at a monster restaurant where you are the only human staff. Everyone treats you like a little pet, cooing at you and thinking everything you do is adorable. It's infuriating, but the pay is really good and the tips are outstanding.
Especially from the dragon at the back. The one that comes every single night you are on shift and asks for the same salmon with veggies and a glass of your finest wine. He spends hours just staring at you, talking to you in your break and pretty much making you feel like you are the most special girl in the world. And he always leaves a tip so big he can solve your rent in only one night. You have a bit of a crush on the dragon. Or more like a big, big crush.
But one night he doesn't show up. You are kind of worried, but mostly annoyed that your best customer and the one that always makes your night a bit brighter is not there. The night is a disaster, and your tips end up being shitty because you aren't as bubbly as other nights. You walk home that night feeling awful, your whole body tired and your heart feeling too heavy.
Just to stop dead in your tracks when you spy a big figure sitting in front of your apartment. A very recognizable figure. Are you in danger? Do you need to call the police? You try to think of all the ways things could go wrong, but you are too slow. He turns towards you and stares, a big smirk stretching his dragon features, his fangs shiny under the moonlight. You are about to run when he opens his mouth: "about time, darling. I have a different kind of tip for you tonight."
