Forever Fangirling

The light, like a blessing, streams yellow-orange light over glistening glass. It flickers purple, red, orange again, burning strands of light beaming brightly in the bulb, everywhere at once. The booth is plush in the corner of the seedy bar, drinks cheap and in the dim smoky light there is little guide to whose hands are whose. The music thrums like pulsing blood under a new bruise, drumming under a thin veil of skin, warm flush taking over the body.

Rhett sits away, in the corner booth, very close to the wall, the room is dark in this forgotten corner. Powdery light passes into the dim flickering light from the bar bathroom, nestled in a far away crook that is hard to find. The music, pulsing, is too loud to hear clearly. He can’t make out all the words, but he’s sure he’s heard it somewhere before.

He sits in the plush sinking booth and he watches you in the flooding sea of people, dancing to the hazy hard to hear music, feeling the buzz under your smooth skin. He watches the way your eyes shine under the flickering light, the slope of your bare shoulder gleaming purple and blue, yellow hues trailing up the expanse of your tinted neck. It is so early in the night, too early, for you to be defiled by his looking, but he can’t stop himself as you sway and move to the music. Your cheeks, dusted in a faint blush, pull into a grin when you catch him staring, over in the corner booth with a bottle nestled into his rough palm.

He kisses you outside under the flickering bar light, palms pressed to the curve of your spine to arch you into him as he licks into your mouth, a ritual. The splintering wood planks of the wall bite into your skin but he knows you don’t care.

“You didn’t ask me to dance,” you murmured against his lips, forehead bumping up against the brim of his stetson. The perfume on your neck invaded him, his lips brushing under your jaw, “Why do you never ask me to dance?”

“Was gonna.”

“You didn’t.”

He sighs at your indignant tone.

“You don’t want me dancin’ with you,” he presses his lips to the soft arch of your throat, still sticky with sweat, his tongue prodding the salty skin. “Got that whole dance floor wantin’ a spin with you, sweetheart.”

“Waiting for my cowboy to take me for a spin,” you sigh, fingers brushing the nape of his neck where his hair furls out, you hit your lip. “You gonna buck up soon?”

Rhett laughs, finger tipping up under your chin, smeared lipstick coming down the corner of your lips.

“I might.”

“Don’t want a maybe, Rhett.”

His thumb tips under your jaw, eyes flitting over your lips. “Is that right?”

“Can’t just keep watching me in the corner,” you hum, tugging him in by the belt buckle. He hums, still looking down at your lips unabashedly.

“Like watching you in the corner. You look good.”

“Want to be swept off my feet, Abbott,” you murmur, voice lilting when his lips brush the cuff of your ear. “I’m a girl of romance, you know.”

Rhett chuckles as he pulls back, his stetson shadowing over your face.

“Girl of romance, is that so, baby?”

You hum, fingers dipping under the rough denim hem of his pants, “Can’t you tell?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he teased, chuckling when your hand swatted his shoulder, his own hands drawing you in and working up to cradle your jaw, bringing your gaze up to him. “I can be romantic. You want me to be romantic, sweetheart?” His thumb brushed under your eye, over the apple of your flushed cheek. “Nah. Think you got other ideas for me in that pretty little head. Isn’t that right?”

Your eyes gleam under the yellow fluorescents, lips pursed, slick with you and Rhett’s spit. Your hand reaches up and tips the Stetson off his head, unruly locs sweeping across his forehead, placing the hat atop your own head.

“Depends,” you tip the hat back, Rhett’s lips curling in an all too knowing grin.

“And what’s it depend on, baby?”

“On if you’re gonna do what I want, cowboy,” you murmur, eyes flitting over him.

“Don’t I always?” Rhett’s lips quirked up, nudging your nose with his, his breath sweeping against your lips. “You gonna let me take you home now, darlin? Or do I gotta beg?”

A low groan emits from Rhett’s throat as your hips drive down atop of his, cock sheathed completely inside of you, your slick sticky between both your thighs. Your hands claw over his bare chest, glimmering under the street light pouring in from the bedroom window, bed creaking with every rise and drop of your hips, sucking in a breath at the stretch only Rhett Abbott could ever give you. Every time he tries to push himself up, lean his lips up to kiss you, push his head into the crook of your neck and bite on the sweet perfumed skin, your impatient hands shove his chest down against the pillows again.

Rhett is not an easy man to overpower, so you know he’s only letting you think you can, but god you love when he lets you do whatever you want with him. His fingers press harsh indents into the supple skin of your thighs and hips, dragging you along his cock, “Feel good, baby? Look so pretty sitting on my cock, don’t you? Prettiest fucking cunt too,” he husks, hands reached up to grope your tits, your mouth opening to let out a soft mewl, a low moan emitting from Rhett’s lips when he feels you clench around him, “Fuck—can’t do that to me sweetheart, feel too good to—mm—be pulling that shit with me.”

“Not sounding so romantic now—hm—are you?” You smile, hips moving in a malicious slow circle that makes Rhett swallow, hips bucking up off the mattress to push up into you, your hands planting down onto him so you can push your pussy back onto him slowly. His hands desperately trying to drag your hips up and down on his cock.

“Tired of riding already?” He grunts indignantly, groaning when you push down flush against him, unmoving. He tries to fuck up into you, but the push is short and nowhere near what he wants. “Baby, come on.”

You lips curl up into a devious grin, sitting up, yellow street light cast over your tits, “Beg me for it.”

“Baby—” his breath hitches in his throat when you move once, just lifting up to drop back down onto his aching cock, desperate to feel you do it again. But you don’t, you still, a grumble coming from Rhett’s chest, hips wriggling impatiently underneath you, “Just—fuck—please, just fuck me, baby, please just do something.”

You push your hands up and down his chest, trailing down to his hips, fingertips light on the skin, and press forward, your hips shifting just a bit while you press sweet kisses across the expanse of his chest. The rise and fall quickened with his impatience. “Not what I meant.”

“This is something, isn’t it?” you hum, amused, tongue sweeping across his collar before your teeth latch onto the junction of his throat, tugging on the soft skin while his jaw tenses and he throws his head back on the pillow.

“You know what I want,” he grumbles, fingers pulling up from your waist to grip your face, hard, and drag you down to his mouth. You don’t fight him, lips parting with his while his tongue shoves itself into your mouth, sliding against yours in a mess of teeth and spit. His hand braces the back of your skull, sucking in the soft sounds you emit when he pushes his tongue further, fucking into your mouth with it. His hips move up the create what little friction he can, arm bracketing around your back to press you down onto him while he fucks up into you with the inch he’s allowed. The sounds he emits when you pull back are pitiful. “No, no—come on, baby, please, please just fuck me, come on I’m beggin’, alright? Just fuck me, please—oh god, yes.”

His lips part in a wrangled moan when your hips finally start moving again, bed croaking with your movements as you raise and drop your hips at a hastened pace. Your own lips part and sweet gasps spill from your lips as the tip of his cock nudges into you, every ridge dragging perfectly into your cunt, “Fuck—feels so good, darlin’, you’re so perfect, look so perfect riding my cock—made for this shit, aren’t you, sweetheart—mm—fuck.”

Your mouth lets out a wrangled cry as Rhett’s hips push up off the mattress to fuck up into you, hands reaching for him desperately as you gush around him. He sits up, arms reaching around to pull you into his chest, his hands pulling you up and down on him, sucking and licking your tits while your hips roll over his twitching cock. He relishes in the way you cry out everytime he bucks his hips up into you, pushing needy little sounds out of your throat with each drag of his hips.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, get your romance after I cum in this pretty pussy,” he grunts, lips dragging along your throat, “That sound alright with you?”

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as you tapped your foot impatiently, the antiseptic smell of the clinic mixing with your scented body lotion. You'd rushed here straight from showering, your damp hair still clinging to your neck as you eyed the clock above the reception desk.

'Twenty minutes late. Great.'  The receptionist's acrylic nails clicked against her keyboard, lips pursed in that universal "you're inconveniencing me" expression.

The receptionist answered the phone in her professional voice, a completely different tone from the one she had used with you when she checked you in. You sighed and glanced around the waiting room. There wasn't anyone else here, which wasn't surprising considering the office closed in an hour. You picked up a magazine, casually flipping through the pages as you waited to be called back.

Finally, the white door creaked open, revealing Nurse Susan, who called you back to take your vitals. You sighed inwardly with relief. Susan seemed nice enough, making small talk as she wrote down the readings.

You smiled as Susan wrapped the blood pressure cuff around your arm. "Hey, uh...I haven't seen Dr. Williams around today—is she running late?" Susan's fingers froze mid-click on the pen, and she glanced at you with hesitation.

Susan's cheery demeanor faltered for just a second, a flicker of something unreadable passing behind her glasses, before she forced a smile. "Oh, honey, didn't they tell you at the front desk? Dr. Williams had a family emergency. You'll be seeing someone new today... Dr. O'Connell." The way she hesitated on the name made your stomach tighten.

'New doctor?'

The pulse cuff squeezed uncomfortably tight as you swallowed hard. "Uh...are they...good?" you asked, trying to sound casual while discreetly wiping your suddenly clammy palms on the paper-covered exam table. The sterile scent of antiseptic felt heavier now.

The nurse's pen clicked three rapid times, a nervous tell, before she plastered on that professional smile again. "Oh, Dr. O'Connell's very thorough," she said, voice lilting upward in a way that didn't quite match her eyes.

The pulse monitor beeped indignantly at your spiking heart rate as Susan peeled the cuff away, her latex gloves snapping against her wrists. "Just undress from the waist down, drape the gown over your lap. Doctor'll knock before entering." The door clicked shut with finality, leaving you alone with your own uneven breathing.

'Okay, new doc, no big deal.'

You slid off the table, fingers trembling slightly as you unbuttoned your jeans slipped off your shoes. The paper crinkled loudly in the quiet room when you sat back down, arranging the flimsy gown over your thighs. At least you had shaved yesterday. You took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm yourself.

It was an awkward length of time, almost long enough to feel a little bored. You take in the room, a computer and desk with a sink in the corner farthest from the door.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly, illuminating the sterile instruments laid out on the counter. The exam table's paper cover crinkled under your shifting weight, a sound somehow louder than your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. Somewhere down the hall, heels clicked against linoleum, growing closer in slow, measured steps that made the hairs on your arms prickle inexplicably.

A knock came just as you smoothed the gown over your knees, three deliberate raps that echoed in the small room. "C-come in," you managed, fingers tightening around the paper sheet as the door swung open to reveal...him. A pristine white coat stretched across shoulders.

Your breath caught. His sharp features that belonged in some Gothic romance novel rather than a medical office. His short, dark hair curled just slightly, and when those piercing blue-grey eyes locked onto yours, you felt your pulse stutter.

"I'm Dr. O'Connell—but darlin', you can call me Remmick. If you'd like." He introduced himself as he shut the door.

His voice was rich and slow with a southern accent as you instinctively offered your hand, pulse fluttering wildly when his cool fingers closed around yours.

'Why is he so cold?'

The overhead fluorescents caught his skin as he smiled, just a flash of sharp canine, before settling onto the rolling stool. "Now, Miss," he started, grabbing his clipboard with fluidity. "Before we begin, do you mind if I ask you some standard questions first?" His blue eyes never left your face.

"No, I don't mind." You replied.

The pen hovered above the clipboard as his lips curled into a soft smile. "Let's start simple—when was your last menstrual cycle, darlin'?" The question rolled off his tongue like honey, his accent thickening just slightly as he watched your pupils dilate when he leaned fractionally closer.

Your fingers twitched against the crinkling paper sheet. "About a week ago," you answered, suddenly hyper-aware of how his gaze lingered on the rapid pulse at your throat before jotting something down. The scent of expensive cologne drifted from him as he shifted his weight on the stool.

He tapped the pen twice against his clipboard, an odd rhythm, almost like a countdown, before he licked his lips in a way that sent heat pooling between your thighs. "Any medications? Birth control, perhaps?" The last word came out silkier than the rest.

You cleared your throat, the gown rustling as you crossed your ankles tighter. "No meds," you managed, then added quieter, "And no birth control either." The admission made your cheeks burn under his intense gaze, though you couldn't explain why.

He chuckled softly as he scrawled something illegible on the form, the pen's tip catching slightly on the paper. "Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully, gaze flicking up to watch your reaction as he dragged the next question out slow "Any allergies? Like latex? Food or environmental?" His free hand rested on his thigh.

You shook your head, "uh...no. No allergies."

He crossed one ankle over his knee gracefully, the clipboard balancing effortlessly on his other thigh. "Now," he began, those blue eyes darkening as they traced the nervous flutter of your pulse, "these last two are important—any chance you might be carrying?" His thumb brushed the clipboard's edge in slow circles. "Either from protection failin'...or perhaps no protection at all?"

Your breath hitched at the implication, fingers twisting in the paper sheet as you shook your head vehemently. "N-no, I'm definitely not pregnant—I haven't even..." The confession lodged in your throat as his knowing smirk widened, forcing you to swallow before finishing weakly, "been with anyone in over a year."

He leaned forward, the stool creaking as his elbows rested on spread knees with the clipboard dangling between them. "Is that so?" he murmured, his gaze dropped pointedly to where your thighs pressed together under the gown. His tongue clicked mock-sympathetically against teeth. "That's a damn shame, darlin'."

The snap of latex gloves being pulled on echoed sharply in the small room as he stood, his white coat brushing your bare knee. "Now, let's get you situated," he murmured, fingers cool through the gloves as he gestures toward the stirrups. He leaned in to adjust the exam light. "Relax for me."

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you hesitantly lifted your legs into the cold metal stirrups, the gown slipping dangerously high on your thighs. The crinkle of paper beneath you was deafening as you settled back, fingernails digging into your palms as you rested your hands on your stomach.

His gloved fingers lightly traced along your inner knee before gently guiding your foot into position, the leather creaking softly as he adjusted the stirrup height. His breath was unnervingly cool against your bare skin as he leaned over the exam light's warm glow. "Tell me if anything hurts."

The stool groaned under his weight as he settled between your spread thighs, the overhead light casting his shadow across your trembling body. His gloves made faint squeaking sounds as he reached for the speculum, but paused, tilting his head with sudden amusement. "Lord, you're tense as a coiled spring," he chuckled, fingertips brushing your knee. "Breathe."

His laugh sent a jolt through you, you nervously bit your lower lip and willed your body to relax.

The scent of you thickened, musky beneath the sterile antiseptic as he slowly rolled closer on his stool, the wheels catching slightly on the linoleum. "That's it," he coaxed, his gloved fingers trailing feather-light up your inner thigh while his other hand casually flipped open the speculum kit with a metallic click.

Remmick's knuckles brushed the sensitive crease where thigh met pelvis, watching goosebumps erupt across your skin as he murmured, "I'm gonna start now." The overhead light gleamed off the steel instrument when he lifted it, his thumb pressing gently against your labia. "Part for me, sugar."

The pet name caught you off guard as you felt your body grow warm. You followed his instructions and spread your legs. The cool air hit your exposed flesh, heightening every touch.

He guided the speculum forward with practiced ease, his other hand spreading your folds with deliberate slowness. He noticed your knuckles whiten against the exam table. His southern drawl thickened as the metal kissed your entrance. "Just scoot down toward me a bit, let gravity help you settle proper against the edge."

A shiver ran through you as you slowly inched downward, the paper crinkling loudly beneath your shifting weight. The cold steel pressed against your sensitive flesh, making you gasp softly despite yourself.

The metallic click of the speculum adjusting echoed in the small room as Remmick's fingers worked with unhurried precision, his breathing oddly absent while yours came in shallow bursts. The overhead light reflected off his dark pupils, too wide for the brightness as he murmured something Gaelic under his breath.

Your thighs twitched involuntarily as the cold steel pressed deeper, a gasp escaping you when he angled it upwards. Causing it to brush against your G-spot. The contrast between the frigid metal and the heat pooling between your legs made you squirm, the paper tearing slightly beneath your fingers.

The speculum clicked open, flooding your core with cold air and clinical light. Remmick's breath hitched at the scent of you as it perfumed the sterile room. His thumb stroked the inside of your thigh in slow circles while his other hand adjusted the instrument, the movement deliberately grazing your clit.

"Beautiful," he murmured, too soft for mortal ears.

Your hips bucked as he lightly touched your clit again.

His fingers pressed firmly against your thigh, effortlessly keeping you spread wide despite your reflexive jerk. "Easy now," he murmured, the words dripping with amusement as he leaned in closer, his breath unnaturally cool against your damp skin. "Wouldn't want you hurtin' yourself, darlin'."

The speculum remained locked open, completely exposing you to the harsh clinical light and his darkening gaze. His pupils swallowed the icy blue of his irises as he tilted his head, murmuring something low and melodic in a language that ran along your spine like a cold chill.

Your breath hitched as his fingers traced patterns just above your knee, too high for medical necessity, too deliberate to be accidental. The words he spoke curled around your mind like smoke, making your eyelids flutter.

The Gaelic phrase rolled off his tongue as he watched your pupils expand, your breath slowing to match the rhythm of his words. His thumb pressed into the soft flesh of your inner thigh just hard enough to leave faint marks as he murmured, "There now, sugar. Doesn't that feel better?" The speculum remained motionless between your legs, forgotten as your muscles went pliant under his compulsion.

Your mind felt foggy, the clinical smells of antiseptic and latex fading beneath the rich notes of his cologne, something dark and ancient beneath it. The fingers clutching the exam table loosened their grip, your legs falling open wider without conscious thought as his voice wrapped around you like velvet restraints.

'Why am I not afraid anymore? Something doesn't feel right...'

The speculum clicked shut, the sound barely registering as he slid it free and discarded it onto the tray with an idle flick of his wrist. His gloved fingers traced higher up your thigh now, past where any medical exam would require—his thumb dipping just beneath the gown's edge to brush the damp curls there. "Much better," he purred, watching your hips lift instinctively toward his touch.

Remmick's lips parted in a slow, feral smile as his fingers found the hot pulse point on your inner thigh. So close to the femoral artery it made his ancient instincts hum. The scent of you thickened as he leaned down, his breath chilling the sweat-slicked skin there.

His tongue dragged a wet stripe up the trembling flesh, tasting salt and musk before his fangs grazed the surface, not quite breaking skin yet, just enough to make you gasp and arch against the exam table. "Christ," he groaned against your thigh, the vibration traveling straight to your cunt, "you taste...incredible."

His fangs pierced your skin with a swift, practiced motion, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips as pleasure-pain lanced up your spine. The first drop of blood hit his tongue, spiced with arousal and adrenaline, and his hips jerked forward involuntarily against the stool, the fabric of his slacks tightening obscenely.

Your back arched off the table, fingers scrambling against the crinkling paper as wave after wave of dizzying heat crashed through you. The sting faded into something molten, thighs trembling around his shoulders while his mouth worked at your skin with obscene wet sounds.

Remmick's grip tightened on your hips as he drank deeper, the metallic tang of blood mixing with the slick arousal dripping from your untouched pussy. Every swallow sent vibrations through you, his low moans muffled against your skin as his fingers dug bruises into your soft flesh.

He withdrew his fangs, tongue lapping lazily at the twin puncture wounds as he gazed up at you through half-lidded eyes. "Sweetest thing I've tasted in too long," he growled, pupils blown wide with hunger as he nudged your gown higher with his nose.

Your thighs trembled violently, your body arching instinctively toward his mouth as pleasure coiled tight in your belly. Every rational thought drowned out by the pulse of blood rushing through your veins and the sinful press of his lips against your inner thigh.

His fingers traced wet paths up your trembling thighs, the scent of you mingling with the coppery tang of blood still lingering on his tongue. "Fuck," he growled against your skin, his breath chilling the dampness between your legs as he nudged the gown completely aside with his nose, "you're drippin' for me, sugar." His thumb circled your swollen clit with agonizing slowness, watching your hips jerk off the table. "This what you wanted when you walked in here?"

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as your back arched, fingers tearing through the paper sheet. Every nerve ending alight with sensations too intense to process. His compulsion slithered through your veins like liquid heat, dissolving rational thought until all you could do was whimper and spread wider beneath him.

Remmick's chuckle vibrated against your inner thigh as he dragged the flat of his tongue through your dripping folds, savoring the way your entire body jerked like a marionette with its strings cut. "There's my good girl," he murmured against your clit before sucking it sharply between his lips, fangs carefully retracted as he worked you with centuries of practiced precision.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you down against the exam table as his tongue delved deeper, alternating between broad, wet strokes and pinpoint flicks against your swollen clit. The scent of your blood still lingered in his nostrils, mixing deliciously with your arousal as he growled against your skin, "Gonna make you cum so hard for me."

Your thighs quivered as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, each expert flick of his tongue sending electric shocks through you. Rational thought dissolved into pure sensation, your entire world narrowing to the sinful heat of his mouth and the mounting pressure low in your belly.

He groaned against your dripping cunt, the vibrations traveling straight to your clitoris as he slid two fingers inside with obscene ease, curling them upward to stroke that sweet spot that made your back arch violently. His free hand clamped over your mouth just as your thighs clenched around his head, muffling your scream as your orgasm ripped through you with enough force to make the exam table rattle.

He drank down every twitch and tremor of your climax with greedy lips, his fingers continuing their merciless rhythm inside as he watched your eyes roll back. Only removing his hand from your mouth when the whimpers subsided into shaky breaths. His own arousal strained painfully against his pants as he withdrew his glistening fingers with a wet sound.

Remmick's tongue dragged lazily along his own fingers, tasting your climax with a low hum of appreciation, eyes never leaving your flushed face as his other hand finally moved to undo his belt with a metallic clink. "Christ," he growled, the southern drawl thickening with want, "you're sweeter than honey, darlin'." His cock sprang free, heavy and twitching, already dripping precum onto the sterile floor as he stroked himself.

He adjusted your position so your head was where your lower half had been. Head hanging off the edge of the exam table, perfectly aligned with his cock.

His fingers tangled in your hair, guiding his throbbing length to your mouth. Pushing past your lips with a groan that rumbled through his chest. "That's it, sugar," he murmured, watching tears well in your eyes as he pushed past your gag reflex with slow, relentless pressure. "Take it deep for me."

Your throat spasmed around him, saliva dripping as he held your head in place. The scent of his musk flooded your senses, overwhelming and primal.

Remmick groaned deep in his chest, fingers tightening in your hair as he pulled back just enough to watch your lips stretch obscenely around his girth before pushing back in with slow, inexorable pressure. "God damn," he growled, tasting the salt of her tears when he licked them from his thumb, his hips rolling forward until your nose pressed against his pelvis.

"So hot and wet, fuck." He moaned. "That mouth—"

His cock pulsed visibly down your throat, the outline of him standing out against flushed skin as he held himself deep for three agonizing seconds. Just long enough to feel your gag reflex flutter helplessly around him before withdrawing with an illicit sound. "Breathe, sugar," he murmured, thumb swiping across your spit-slicked lips while his other hand strokes himself lazily, watching your chest heave.

Suddenly, his hips snapped forward without warning, burying himself to the base in one smooth motion that made your vision blur, your nose crushed against his pelvis as his groan vibrated through both your bodies. The scent of your tears mingled with his musk as he held you there, savoring the convulsive spasms of your throat around him.

His fingers tightened possessively in your hair as he pulled back just enough to let you gasp for air, your lips swollen and spit-slick, before thrusting forward again at a languid pace. "Easy now," he murmured, though his own hips betrayed him with tiny, involuntary thrusts that kept his tip nestled against your spasming gag reflex. "Just take it nice and deep for me, sugar." His sac pressed hot against your face with every shallow rock of his pelvis.

The scent of him was intoxicating yet equally overwhelming on your senses.

His free hand moved to palm your breast, thumb circling the stiffening nipple with agonizing slowness as he fed you another inch of his cock, watching your throat bulge obscenely around him. The scent of your arousal still clung thick to his tongue when he leaned down to murmur, "Feel how hard you make me?" His hips rolled forward in shallow pulses, each movement dragging another choked whimper from your swollen lips.

You had no control over your body as his cock stretched your throat beyond what should've been possible, tears streaming down your temples while your body burned with conflicting sensations. His thumb on your nipple sent electric jolts straight to your throbbing clit, the dual stimulation made your hips buck uselessly against the air, your muffled moans vibrating around him.

He growled low in his throat, releasing your hair to hook two fingers into your mouth alongside his cock, stretching your lips obscenely wider as his free hand yanked the gown up past your waist. "Gonna fuck this pretty throat while I finger that greedy cunt," he rasped, already sliding his fingers between your folds with a wet sound that echoed in the small room.

Remmick's fingers curled just as he thrust deep again, the dual penetration wrenching a muffled scream from you that vibrated deliciously along his length. His hips pistoned faster now. "That's it, take it all," he groaned, watching your throat bulge around him with rapt fascination.

Your vision blurred from tears and lack of oxygen, every desperate gasp through your nose drowned out by the obscene wet sounds of his fingers pistoning inside you. The stretch burned so good you couldn't tell if the tremors wracking your body were from pain or pleasure anymore. His cockhead bumped against her uvula with each thrust, the salty-bitter taste of precum flooding your tongue as your hips jerked uselessly against air, clit throbbing with every curl of his fingers.

His growl vibrated through your skull as his pace turned brutal, fucking your throat with short, punishing strokes while his fingers crooked upward to stimulate your G-spot. The exam table rattled against the wall with their combined movements, his sac slapping wetly against your face as he murmured darkly, "Gonna cum down this tight lil' throat unless you beg for it somewhere else, darlin'."

Your thighs trembled violently as his fingers worked in tandem with his thrusts, each curl inside her hitting that perfect spot with pinpoint accuracy. A garbled moan escaped around his cock as your hips jerked uncontrollably, the pressure building impossibly fast until white-hot pleasure lanced through you. Your walls clamping down hard on his fingers as your body arched off the table in silent ecstasy.

He snarled when your throat convulsed around him mid-climax, his hips stuttering as he freed himself from your lips with an obscene wet sound, cock glistening with your spit as he flipped you onto your stomach with inhuman speed. "Should've known you'd be a squirter," he growled into your ear, one hand pinning your hips down while the other guided himself to your slick folds from behind.

The exam table shuddered under the combined weight as Remmick sheathed himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust, his groan vibrating through your spine while your breathless cry muffled against torn paper. Your cheek pressed against the cold vinyl as his fingers tangled in your hair, forcing your head back at an angle that exposed the throbbing pulse in your neck as he withdrew halfway while his other hand palmed your bouncing breast possessively.

His fangs grazed the delicate skin of your throat as he bottomed out again with a growl that shook the cabinets, the sting of his bite lost beneath the overwhelming fullness of his cock stretching you to the brink. "Shit," he snarled against your sweaty skin, hips already pistoning with precision, "you take me like you were made for it, sugar." The slap of skin against skin echoed off the walls as your dripping arousal slicked his thrusts.

Remmick's fangs pierced your neck, pain dissolving into pleasure as your back arched violently against his chest, fingers scrambling against the torn paper sheet while his cock hit depths that made your vision strobe with every brutal thrust. The mix of blood loss and overwhelming pleasure left you dizzy, your moans breathless and broken around the sensation of him everywhere at once.

He drank deep between thrusts, keeping you in a deep arch, your blood richer than any vintage he'd tasted in centuries. His grip on your hipbone tightened enough to leave bruises as he ground against your swollen clit with each snap of his hips. He withdrew his fangs to murmur against your damp skin, "Gonna ruin you for any mortal man," before sinking his teeth in again just as his cock stroked that sweet spot inside.

The exam room filled with the sounds of torn paper and slick flesh, your moans muffled against the vinyl where your cheek was pressed. Your body pliant beneath Remmick's relentless pace. His fangs pulsed in time with your racing heartbeat, each swallow sending dizzying waves of pleasure-pain through your trembling form as his cock stretched you impossibly fuller with every thrust, the exam table's wheels squeaking against the linoleum with his violent rhythm.

His fingers tightened in your hair, yanking your head back further as his hips snapped forward. Your throat arching beautifully under his lips while your cunt clenched around him in helpless spasms. "Fuck, you feel like heaven," he growled, the southern drawl roughened with centuries of hunger as he withdrew his fangs to lick the twin wounds, his tongue curling possessively over the marks.

Your vision swam with every pulse of his cock, the sharp sting of his bite fading into liquid heat that pooled low in your belly. Your moans broke free as his hand slid down to circle your sensitive clit.

Remmick groaned against your throat, his thrusts turning erratic as your walls fluttered around him, the taste of your blood rich on his tongue. "Gonna mark you inside and out, darlin'," he growled just as his hips stuttered forward, burying himself to the hilt with a snarl that rattled the instruments on the counter.

You felt his cock throb against oversensitive walls while his thumb continued it's torture on your abused clit. A silent scream tore through your chest as another orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, muscles clamping down hard enough to make him curse and bite your shoulder again. The metallic tang of blood flooded your mouth where you had bitten your own lip, your body trembling through waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on pain.

His growl shook the glass cabinets as his release ripped through him. Whatever restraint that remained was shattered by the way your convulsing cunt milked him dry. His fangs sank deeper into your shoulder in primal claiming, hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself inside with ragged groans that echoed off the tiled walls.

Every long and hard stroke was illicit and obscene. You could feel your inner muscles gripping him, desperate to keep him inside as he slowly withdrew. Your whimpers dissolved into shuddering breaths against the ruined exam table, every twitch of your overstimulated body drawing another thick pulse from his still-hard length.

He slowly withdrew with a wet sound that made you whimper, his still-hard cock glistening with your combined release as he licked his fangs clean of your blood. "Christ," he rasped, thumb brushing the fresh bite on your shoulder while the other hand casually adjusted himself back into his slacks, "staff's gonna notice if I keep you here much longer." His smirk returned as he helped you sit up, the gown hanging off one shoulder to reveal his marks. "Though I can't say I mind them knowin'."

Remmick moved with preternatural efficiency, damp paper towels whisked away the worst of the mess between your thighs before warm water wiped away the tear tracks on your cheeks. His fingers lingered at the hollow of your throat where your pulse still fluttered wildly, tilting your chin up with unexpected gentleness.

"Easy now," he murmured, smoothing your hair back into some semblance of order, "don't want you staggerin' out lookin' like I ruined you completely." The wink he gave was pure Southern charm despite the fangs still peeking from his smile.

His compulsion settled over you like a weighted blanket, every muscle relaxing against your will while your thoughts drifted pleasantly. The lights blurred into soft halos around his face as he crouched to put your underwear and jeans on, followed by your shoes, fingers lingering just a second too long on each foot.

Remmick's knuckles brushed your inner ankle as he tied your sneakers with exaggerated care before he murmured, "There now, sugar—good as new." The bite marks throbbed beneath your hoodie, his smirk widening when you shivered at his fingers tracing the concealed wounds. "Might wanna wear turtlenecks this week," he added with a sly grin.

He produced a crisp prescription pad from his coat pocket, his pen scratching elegant loops across the paper before he tore it free with a practiced flick. His fingers lingered against the pulse in your wrist as he tucked the slip into your hoodie pocket, close enough that his breath stirred your hair when he exhaled.

His fingertips pressed gently beneath your chin, tilting your face upward until your hazy and glazed eyes met his. "You'll go straight home after this, darlin'," he murmured, the words curling through your thoughts like tendrils of smoke. His thumb brushed your slack lower lip, pupils swallowing the ice-blue of his irises. "This was just another routine check-up—nothin' worth rememberin'."

Your lips parted, the phrase "just a routine check-up" slipping out in a flat, dreamy monotone while your fingers absently traced the fresh bite marks beneath your hoodie collar. The scent of antiseptic and sex still clung to your skin, mingling with the musk of his cologne that lingered in your nostrils.

Remmick chuckled low in his throat, adjusting his lab coat with practiced ease before smoothing a piece of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your flushed cheek. "Atta girl," he purred, the southern drawl thick as honey as he guided your limp hand toward the door handle. "Nurse Susan'll getcha scheduled for a...follow-up."

After a somewhat long drive, you arrive home. The mind fog from his compulsion gradually wore off throughout the late afternoon and evening.

You feel something in the pocket of your hoodie as you take off your shoes by the door and discover it's a prescription for birth control. You stare at it in confusion. Did you ask for it? You lay it aside and begin undressing to take a shower.

The moment you step beneath the hot spray, the mysterious marks on your neck and thigh begin throbbing anew, a pulsing reminder that sends phantom sensations racing through your body. The water ran pink around your feet as you gently touched the twin punctures, your breath hitching when flashes of fangs and cold hands flood your memory.

Another fragmented memory of cold lips against your throat as you get dressed. Your reflection in the fogged floor-length mirror shows bruises blooming along your inner thighs, the sight making your legs tremble.

Three weeks pass in a blur of restless nights where your dreams taste like copper and sound like a southern drawl murmuring Gaelic against your skin. The bite marks fade to faint scars that throb whenever you pass the clinic on your commute, your body reacting before your mind remembers why.

The sizzle of bacon pulls you from fragmented thoughts, you lean against the counter as you stand in the Kitchen. You shake your hand to clear your thoughts as you assemble your plate and sit at the table. You use your fork to push the scrambled eggs around on your plate, the rich smell of butter, eggs and pork suddenly turns your stomach.

The food, normally comforting, was now nauseating. You swallow hard against a sudden flood of saliva, an unfamiliar memory mingling with the breakfast smells in a way that makes your stomach lurch violently. Before you can process why, you bolt for the bathroom, knees hitting cold tile as you retched into the bowl.

You stay hunched over the toilet long after the contents of your stomach are gone, fingers gripping porcelain while your body trembles with dry heaves. The faint coppery taste at the back of your throat feels familiar, too familiar, but the memory slips away every time you try to grasp it. You pass it off as expired food or maybe the flu or the common cold.

Another week passes with your appetite vanishing completely, any attempt at most solid food ending with you retching into the sink while your reflection grows paler in the mirror. The only thing you could keep down were crackers and iron-rich juices, consumed with an urgency that frightened you. Your dreams were filled with phantom touches and whispered Gaelic you couldn't understand.

You stare at your trembling hands in the urgent care waiting room, the clinical smells triggering flashes of cold metal and hands. The nurse calls your name too loudly, making you flinch as you follow on unsteady legs, your pulse hammering when you spot the familiar layout of exam rooms.

'This feel like déjà vu.'

The phlebotomist's gloved fingers feel like sandpaper against your skin, each vial of blood drawn sending a shiver down your spine. The nurse pats your shoulder with sympathy. "The Doctor will be right in."

Your nails dig crescent moons into the palms of your hands as you stare at the door, the paper sheet crinkling louder than your shallow breaths. Every molecule of sterile air feels unnaturally heavy. You wait patiently as an inexplicable feeling grows in the pit of your stomach. Like your body wasn't sure if you should stay or leave. Your heart raced erratically when a soft, rapid knock came from the door before an oddly familiar face you couldn't place entered the room.

The door clicked shut with finality behind him, his lab coat pristine but his smile anything but professional. "Well now," he purred, his icy gaze raking over you, "looks like someone didn't take her prescription." His fingers trailed along the clipboard as he approached, the scent of his cologne flooding the room until it drowned out everything.

Remmick perched on his chair, the clipboard forgotten as he rolled over to you. His knuckles grazed your knee as he reached for your wrist. The fluorescent lights caught the hypnotic blue of his irises as he murmured, "Darlin', you look like death," his thumb pressing just hard enough to feel the racing beat beneath your skin while his free hand casually flipped open your chart. "Though I do believe we both know why."

Your breath hitched as his touch sparked a cascade of fragmented memories: cold steel beneath your thighs, torn paper, fangs glinting under the lights, a prescription slip in your pocket. Your stomach lurched violently again, your free hand clutching the exam table's edge until the paper tore.

"You—" you whispered, the word thick with realization.

His grin widened impossibly as he leaned in close enough for his cold breath to fan against your cheek. "Surprise," he says, the southern lilt curling around you like a noose as his other hand tapped the positive pregnancy test results in your chart. His fangs flashed briefly before he added with mock solemnity, "Guess we're gonna need more than birth control now."

The Boys and yourself had taken the night to relax, spending hours at the nearby bar where you could finally kick back and relax. Hughie and Starlight were first to leave, and shortly thereafter M.M decided to leave too.

Butcher was barely drinking, normally he wouldn’t be concerned with getting drunk, but he always wanted to be clearheaded whenever near you. Too afraid of what could happen to you if he weren’t clear headed. He was sat lounging back in the seat like he owned the joint chatting with Fenchie about how he liked his women.

Meanwhile you sat with Kimiko at the same table having your own more interesting conversation about art. Though unlike Frenchie you didn’t know her specialized sign language so you were both quietly writing to each other on her large pad of paper.

However, Frenchie’s words caught your attention as your conversation with Kimiko naturally tapered off. “No mon ami, clean shaven,” His French accent rang out, his words sounding close together, his lips pursed and head shaking. “What?” You blurt leaning forward on the table, sticking your nose happily into their business.

“This bloody baguette don’ like a bush.” Butcher incredulously scoffed, nodding toward Frenchie before looking over at you, “Eh, not my thing.” Frenchie shrugged watching Kimiko as she signed to him. You scoffed softly turning to Butcher with your drink lifted to your lips. “Good thing I have no hots for frenchie.”

Butcher's bushy brow raised inquisitively, watching as you chased your words with the last of your drink. “What d’ya mean luv?” You shrugged with a smile. “My bush is my pride and joy, if a man can’t part my lushes locks to reach the pearl, he ain’t a real man.” You huffed cockily, your words lighthearted though you meant what you said. It made Butchers eyes darken while he gave you a lopsided grin, his nostrils flaring slightly.

“That right?” Butcher let out a breath of air, readjusting himself in his seat, leaning forward at you a smirk now across his lips. “We’re leaving now captain,” Frenchies hefty accent rang out cutting through the newfound tension between you and Butcher.

Butcher gave a prompt nod, standing up with lazy nonchalance. “Not a bad idea,” He nodded at Frenchie, turning to you, still sat down. “Why don’t I take ya ‘ome birdie?”

ᓚᘏᗢ

“Butcher!” You squealed in both delight and surprise as he pressed your legs up and back, his large fingers digging gently into your flesh. Your hamstrings burned with the stretch, mirroring the burn in your lower belly as Butcher greedily, without modesty or concern, ate you out. He groaned into your pussy, inhaling deeply as your cunt hairs tickled his nose, this tongue flat against your vulva as his nose bumped your clit using the shake of his whole head to give you pleasure.

“Fuck Butcher, s’too much!” You cried, toes curling and back bent upward as the second orgasm of the night was about to be pulled from you by Butchers lips and tongue alone. Your loud voice paired with the wet noises from Butcher lips against your hairy mound filled the apartment, the room dim giving him just enough light to see the absolute sight you were in this state.

Butcher pulled back slightly with a throaty growl. “Fuckin’ beauty, a cunt like this,” His hand leaving your leg to slide through your slick, your other leg numb and falling clumsily against his shoulder. “Look at you, spent already?” He punctuated his sentence by a firm slap to your swollen clit, laughing lowly as you mewled and squirmed against the sheets. “Please Billy, don’t tease,” You begged through heavy breaths, peering down at him looking as wrecked as you. His eyes dilated, his shirt half unbuttoned, beard and lips glistening with your arousal.

“Whatchya need pretty girl?” He crooned sliding his body up to leer over yours. His eyes dark and feasting on the sweaty, nude sight of your body laid out beneath his. He didn’t stop though, even as he adjusted his position, his thumb flattened against your clit giving it a slow circle, before his fingers carded up through your bush, just to press the hot heel of his palm right against your clit. The stimulation from his hand, mixed with the fur caught between, made your body jolt with electricity. “Billy please- please please,”

You frustratedly beg, voice cracking, and hips rocking up against his hand, your own hand reached thoughtlessly to clutch his arm that was holding his body above yours. “Take what ya need darlin’, lemme watch,” You shuddered at his words whimpering as your other hand reached down to hold his wrist before you began rolling your hips up against his hand.

“That’s it, I gotchya,” You shivered looking up into his eyes as he spoke, his pitch baritone and accent thick as you humped up repeatedly into his palm, chasing your orgasm eagerly. “S’close,” Butcher responded physically, the heel of his palm working against you helping the stimulation. “Pretty fuckin’ thing, if I’da known you were such a sight, woulda had ya the first time you made me hard. Struttin’ round, fuckin’ about, gigglin’ all pretty like the world ain’t fuckin shite.” Butcher grit out through his teeth, like he was in physical pain by not being inside you.

Your eyes rolled as you rocked up, your feet coming down to stable yourself against the mattress. “Yes!” You moaned. “Oh god! Billy!” You wailed, dragging out his name as heat exploded against you, your lower pelvis clenching in a familiar way, and before you could warn him, it was already happening. “Bloody hell,” Butcher groaned and you cried out squirting with each rut of your hips against his palm. “That’s it lovie, fuckin breathtaking,”

Butcher groaned watching you come undone, your legs trembling and chest heaving. Sweat gathered along the valley of your breasts, neck and face, making you glow in the amber light. Butcher was enraptured with the sight of you, his head dipping, tongue darting out to lick and kiss up your stomach, chest and neck. His hand, now wet, pawed your breast as he bit and sucked a purple spot on your chest.

“Not done dove,” His voice rumbled against your skin, your eyes fluttering open as you touched down back on earth, feeling lighter than before. “G’na fuck me?” You breathed, your words slurred, as you watched Butcher sit up, pulling off his shirt and aggressively tugging his pants off.

“Y’know I am lovie, gonna make sure your body’s stuck with the memory of me.” He grunted, grabbing you by the ankles, dragging you to the edge of the bed. You fumbled up onto your elbows, the sheets slightly wet from your prior orgasm. Your watched bug eyed as he dropped his briefs, his cock thick, bobbing up against his pelvis stiffly. He also had his own pubic hair worth noting, unkempt, coarse and as dark as his beard hair aside from the occasional silver stray. “Like whatch’ yer lookin at?” Billy drawled smiling down at your hungry expression.

“Love it… you look so big, please don’t tease,” You breathe out pleadingly, causing him to chuckle, his hand holding up one of your ankles, hooking it over his shoulder as he slid his heavy length between your furry folds slick with arousal, the tip of his head nudging at your clit. “D’worry yer pretty little head, I ain’t patient enough.” Slowly he dragged his head down your pussy, making you clench helplessly with need. Thankfully, as promised, he pushed into you with a breathy drawn out ‘fuckkkkin’ hell’.

Your mouth hung open, watching between your legs as Billy took his time, inching slowly into you, then gently back, and then forth again only to push deeper. “Billy,” You moaned, your inner thighs burning from the way you had them pressed apart watching him disappear into you. “Atta’ girl,” He cooed lowly making you choke out a noise of approval.

Now bottomed out Billy leaned forward over you slightly, his hand locking around your neck, but without any pressure, just keeping you there. Then, with a low hiss, his hips rocked back, before slamming forward making you cry out. “Knew you’d be loud,” He said through clenched teeth, his hips following that rhythm of pulling out and slamming back rough enough to make your body jump upward with each thrust.

“Always bitchin’, bossing round the lads, knew I’d be able to make you sing for me. Right birdie?” You were nodding before he even finished the sentence, your hands lifting to feel whatever parts of his sticky skin you could get your hands on. The sound of the bed creaking, mixed with the loud smacking of his hips against yours filling the room, that paired with the way he was jackhammering into you made your entire body feel like it was ablaze.

“N’gonna last!” You exclaimed in delight scrambling to grip his shoulders as his pace got quicker and rougher. “Fuckin,” He grunted choking on his own words, slowing momentarily only to take your leg from his shoulder, tugging both around his hips. Which you quickly caught on, latching your legs around his hips before he was back at his brutal pace panting and puffing.

You couldn’t shut up, the noises leaving you without thought or control as his hands readjusted, one on your shoulder the other on your hips. “Fuck, please make me cum!” You cried, brows pinched together and up as Butcher groaned, his nostrils flaring as he snarled down at you like a dog, his lip twitching upward exposing one side of his canines. “That’s it pretty, cum f’me.” He growled his hand sliding up to your jaw, gripped it roughly before he pressed his lips to yours.

You mewled into his mouth, tongue tangling so sloppily spit gathered at the corners of your mouths, his pace rhythm-less just chasing desire in a primal way. You felt the build up hot inside you, the heat of him inside your cunt too much to handle and you couldn’t help but bite down on his lip your pussy fluttering around him as you came, your moans muffled by his mouth, slick gushing out, with wet slapping noises from his unforgiving pace accompanying it.

He broke away from the kiss, smiling devilishly at you his lip bloody as he fucked you through your orgasm, watching the way your body scrambled against the sheets with overstimulation. “G’na fuck ya full.” He panted surprisingly vocal as he got closer to his peek, his noises consisting of breathless grunts and growls and curses. You were still writhing mewling beneath him, your legs wet with your cum, and your head buzzing but brainless making you barely register his words.

With a crescendo of groaning and needy praises falling from Butcher's lips, he finally came. His hips rutted into you, his hands gripping your hips pulling you down against his cock as he fucked his cum deeper into you. “Shit Billy,” Came your pathetic voice, your legs still locked around his hips even now that they’d stopped fucking into you. Both your chests rose and fell, his breath hot against your neck, beard tickling your shoulder as he carefully relaxed his body down onto yours. His legs still somewhat on the floor keeping himself up.

Even when you’re yelling at him, he likes having your attention. And being a loathsome dick is the only way he knows how to try to get it. It took him a long time to realize the reason you pissed him off so bad was because he was pissed he didn’t have you. The best way to get to you, he quickly learned, was to provoke your anger, which seemed to be his special talent. 

But he’s also mean to you because he gets off on you being mean back. 

He likes it when you’re pissed at him, enjoys that despite your prissy little displays of disgust and irritation, when he finally gets you alone with his hand in your pants, you’re always shamefully wet. That you might push, punch, and claw at him in the heat of whatever argument you’re having, but you always acquiesce when he decides to give you his cock. 

“Thought you said you hated me, dove, wha’s all this then?” He’s crowded into your space, chuckling with casual, arrogant amusement as his thick fingers brush over the damp spot on your panties. You’re gritting your teeth to fight the urge to push your hips down into his hand. You’d rather prolong your own suffering than give Butcher any kind of satisfaction, any indication that you want him half as badly as you actually do. 

“Shut up and-” 

“That’s your problem righ’ there,” He smirks and if you didn’t need him to touch you so badly, you’d consider punching him. “S’always the attitude with you, innit?” 

“Butcher-” 

He withdraws his hand, jutting his hips forward into you instead, so you can feel his erection, as if you had any doubt where this is headed. Brings his lips to your ear, the rough scrape of his facial hair on your soft skin scrambling your brain. 

“Lie all you bloody want, little girl.” He rasps as his massive hands carelessly tug your jeans down. “But this cunt of yours tells me everythin’ I needa know.” 

“You’re actually so fucking disgusting-” 

“Wha’s that say about you, then, letting a disgustin’ old man like me up in your guts?” He grunts, pushing himself inside of you, avidly taking in the way your face contorts at the intrusion. “There you go, isn’t tha’ wha’ you needed, you insufferable woman.” 

He likes watching you battle with yourself, torn between letting yourself feel good at his hands and keeping up this game, where you both act like you can’t stand each other. Even though you’ll run your mouth and act tough, the truth of the matter is you’ll let him do whatever he wants to you, which he fucking loves. Loves that you’ll let him fuck you at the worst times, rough and fast, leaving bloody scratch marks on his neck and chest when you try to hold on for the ride. Loves that you believe you’re too good for him, but will let him bend you in half and fuck you until you can’t form enough of a thought to wipe the drool from your lips. 

And when it’s over, you’ll go back to ignoring him, acting like he’s something despicable, like he’s beneath you, not worth a second look. And it’ll last for as long as it takes for him to decide that he wants you again. All it takes is a few choice words. 

After all, you’re easy to provoke.