summary: in the humid belly of the night, you flee through the wild woods, breathless and bleeding, chased by a monster dressed in the skin of a man, and when he inevitably catches you, it's not to kill, but to keep. What follows is neither rescue or ruin, but a slow, savage claim written in blood, hunger, and heat.
a/n: for this request, where anon wanted me to lean into Remmick's more monstrous side. My inbox is always open if anyone wants to submit more! also, thank you all so, so, so much for all the love, support, and general positivity you've all shown my fics latelyβit genuinely means more than I can even put into words. I'm still blown away by the responses my fics have gotten in the last week, it warms my soul to no end every time I think about it <3 also have to credit axelboneboy for putting the idea of Remmick with a forked tongue in my head
warnings: heavy dubcon, dead dove: do not eat, blood kink, period sex, heavy breeding kink, monsterfucking, possessive behavior, coercive control, demon x human dynamics, religious imagery, breeding/ownership language, filthy talk, cockdrunk reader, forced orgasm, restraints/restraint kink, forced captivity, manipulation, southern gothic horror, explicit sexual content, obsession, violence, rough sex, blood play, dark romance,Β somnophilia undertones (reader too weak to consent properly)
likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!! please enjoy!!
Fic Masterlist/Main Masterlist
Your breath saws raggedly through your throat as you run, legs scraping through the underbrush, branches slashing at your arms, the wet slap of mud against your calves. Your shoes are long gone, lost somewhere back on the splintered pathβthe soles of your feet raw and stinging with every frantic step.
Your dress, once a soft, homespun cotton in faded butter yellow, clings wetly to your skin, torn at the hem, heavy with damp earth and blood from shallow scratches. The thin petticoat underneath is ripped, the neckline torn where it caught on a low-hanging branch. Your bare legs gleam with sweat and dirt under the fevered gaze of the blood moon. The rough, hand-stitched seams bite into your skin with every frantic movement.
The blood moon glowers overhead, a bruised red eye in the sky, bleeding sickly light through the skeletal trees. The mist writhes around your ankles like grasping fingers, every breath clogged with the sour, choking scent of wet moss and rot. The forest feels aliveβthe cypress trees hunching closer, the swamp water sloshing in unseen black pools, the night thick with the buzz of unseen insects and the sticky slap of humidity against your skin.
You tear through a thicket, thorns slicing your thighs, the pain sharp but distant beneath the roaring panic. Your dress snags againβthis time you rip free with a sob, fabric tearing in your frantic escape. You don't stop. You can't stop.
Your lungs burn. Your heart pounds a frantic, desperate rhythm against your ribs. Your hands are scraped raw where you shove branches aside. You don't know where you're goingβonly that you have to keep moving.
You think for one stupid, precious second that maybe you've lost him.
The sound rolls across the mist like thunder, like a beast amused by the futile thrashing of its prey.
You shove yourself harder, feet slipping in the mud, the trees spinning in dizzy circles around you.
You should have listened.
The warning plays in your mind now, mocking and mercilessβthe old women in town, whispering in the feed store, their wrinkled hands making frantic crosses over their chests.
Don't go out on the blood moon.
There's something that walks these woods. A devil dressed in skin, hunting for its next meal.
You had laughed it off. Old wives' tales. A story to get unruly children to behave. Of course you didn't believe it...
Not until the heavy footsteps started following you.
Not until the woods seemed to shift, herding you deeper and deeper.
Not until the laughterβlow, rich, and terrifying.
Your foot catches on a root hidden beneath the mist. You go down hard, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Dirt and dead leaves cling to your palms as you scramble up, only to be yanked backwards by an iron grip around your ankle.
A scream rips from your throat as you're dragged across the ground, nails clawing uselessly at the earth, the taste of dirt and blood thick on your tongue.
"Well, lookie here," a deep, amused voice drawls from the shadows, thick with a Southern slur, soaked in heat and hunger. "Thought you could outrun me, lilβ hare?"
You kick, thrash, cry butβbut it's useless.
For the first time, you see him. Truly see him.
Broad-shouldered, wrapped in the kind of strength that speaks of old blood, of violence written into the bones. His bangs are slick with sweat and sticking to his forehead, catching the moonlight in glints of silver and soot. His mouth is a slow, cruel curve, teeth flashing when he smilesβserrated and sharp, dangerous in their promise.
Deep, burning red, like fresh blood spilled on freshly fallen snow.
They glint at you through the mist, pinning you in place, drowning you in a voracity so raw it almost hums against your skin.
You whimper, trying to crab-crawl backward, but he just tilts his head, slow and mocking, one hand reaching lazily down to wrap around your ankle again.
"You run real pretty," he murmurs, accent thick and sweet as sap dripping down the bark of a Maple tree, "but you ain't got nowhere left t' go, sugar."
The gnarled woods close around you, the mist swallowing your pitiful cries, the trees bending low to listen.
The one you were warned aboutβ
The world spins in a dizzy, mud-slick blur as he crashes into you, the full weight of him knocking the breath from your lungs. His hands are everywhereβrough palms sliding up your trembling thighs, your waist, trapping your wrists above your head with a grip so strong it aches.
You thrash, wild and panicked, but itβs like fighting against a landslide.
Every frantic buck of your hips, every desperate twist of your wrists, every teary plea for help, only seems to amuse him further.
He straddles you easily, his thighs like iron on either side of your hips, his body radiating impossible heat. His breath ghosts over your neckβslow, savoringβand when he inhales, itβs with a deep, shuddering drag, as though heβs drinking you in.
A scared little rabbit under the paw of a hungry wolf.
Slowly, he lifts his head, and when your eyes meet his, your heart lurches sickly into your throat.
Red as the blood moon above.
The corner of his mouth curls, a slow, predatory grin, delighting in your overwhelming fear.
"Y' smell it, don't ya?" he murmurs, low and thick with appetite. His nose brushes the curve of your neck, inhaling again, greedily, his voice gone almost reverent. "Sweet lil' thing...bleedin' just f'me."
Your stomach turns over, nausea and terror twining like barbed wire.
He slides lower, his body pressing yours into the soft, damp earth. You can feel every strong inch of himβthe way the metal of his belt buckle digs into your hip, the way his thigh muscles tense against you like a coiled predator savoring the final moments before it goes in for the kill.
His nose trails down, brushing the hollow of your throat, the dip between your breastsβslow, agonizing, torturous.
Something low, rattling. Monstrous.
His hand tightens around your wrists until your bones creak. His other hand snakes between your bodies, grabbing your skirtβwhat's left of itβand dragging it higher, baring your thighs to the muggy night air.
"No use runnin' now," he says, almost gentle, as if talking down a skittish animal. His accent thickens, each word dripping slow as syrup, artificially sweet. "Gotcha all laid out pretty...just how I like ya."
You whimper, twisting helplessly, but he just chuckles deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your ribs.
For one terrible, breathless second, he freezesβnostrils flaring, whiffing deeply, body tense as a drawn bowstring.
His gaze drops between your legsβto where your petticoat is soaked through, a dark, spreading stain betraying you to the night.
A groan tears from his throatβraw, guttural, almost painedβand when his eyes meet yours again, they're molten red, desperate, devouring.
"God Almighty," he rasps, voice cracking like dry kindling. "Ain't nothin' in this world sweeter than a bleedin' cunt."
You sob, humiliated, terrified, as he shifts lower, his body dragging down over yours.
One hand shoves your thighs apartβroughly, possessivelyβwhile the other pins your wrists like shackles above your head.
"You donβt even know," he murmurs, almost tender, mouth ghosting over your inner thigh, his breath scorching hot, even in Deltaβs sweltering humidity. "Don't even know what youβre doin' to me, sweet pea."
You can feel it nowβhis mouth, open and panting against the sensitive skin of your thigh, the tremble in his hands as he fights the urge to tear you open like a cat stretched over a fresh kill.
He presses his face against you, inhaling, low and deep, the sound of it filthy in the night.
Long, slow, obsceneβdragging his tongue up the seam of your cunt through the blood-slick cotton, a helpless whimper shuddering out of you before you can stop it.
He growls in responseβa sound of such raw, savage pleasure you feel it bone-deep.
"That's it," he croons against you, dragging his mouth over you again, harder now, more desperate. "Let me taste it, baby...let me drink ya down."
You shake your head weakly, gasping, tears kissing along your water lines, vision blurry.
He only laughs βlow and delightedβand tears the soiled remains of your petticoat aside with a quick, brutal rip of fabric.
And then thereβs nothing between you.
Nothing but blood, skin, and his appetite.
Your thighs quake against the rough spread of his hands as he forces you open wider, his breath scorching hot against the most vulnerable parts of you, the parts that have never known a man's touch.
For a moment, he just staresβa low, reverent rumble building in his chest, vibrating through the muggy, blood-heavy air.
You choke on a sob, trying to squirm away, but his fingers dig bruises into your thighs.
"Nuh-uh, sugar," he murmurs, thick with amusement, the sharp scrape of his accent dragging down your spine like a blade. "You gone run enough."
Feel it deep in your marrowβ
When he leans in and lets his mouth part against you.
A soft, wet, sinful sound fills the air as he licksβ
And not just with any tongue.
When he drags it up your slit, you feel itβthe unnatural split, the way the forked ends flick and curl separately, tracing obscene patterns through the slick, blood-slick folds of your cunt.
Your whole body seizes, a ragged, fragmented noise spilling from your throat.
He hums lowβpleased, greedyβand licks again, slower this time, letting the twin points of his tongue tease your clit, your opening, flickering back and forth in a rhythm that makes your back arch high against the dirt.
"Mmm," he groans into you, nosing deeper, breathing you in like he means to fill his lungs with nothing but your scent. "Ain't never had a taste so fine. Like honey drippin' straight from the comb."
Tears streak from the corners of your eyes and down your temples, hot and shameful. You wrench your wrists uselessly against his grip, but he just pins you harder, his hand tightening like an iron shackle around your wrists.
He pulls backβjust enough for you to see the blood slicking his lips, his chinβ
And the red gleam of his eyes as he smiles, wide and mean.
"You wanna know what I was fixin' t' do t' ya?" he drawls, voice syrupy slow, full of wickedness. "When I caught ya runnin', I thought I'd rip that pretty lil' throat open. Watch ya bleed out all soft an' sweet beneath me."
You sobβbroken, desperate.
"Still might," he says, almost cheerfully, leaning back in, his nose nudging your clit so softly it makes your legs jerk. "If ya don't play real sweet for me, darlin'."
The implication settles heavy as stone in your gutβbrutal, absolute.
You nod, trembling so hard your teeth chatter.
He croons a soft, pleased sound, rubbing his cheek against your inner thigh like a cat marking its prize.
"That's my girl," he says, thick and low, tongue flickering out to taste you againβslower now, more savoring. "Gonna treat ya real nice if ya stay still f'me."
The twin forks of his tongue work you open mercilesslyβteasing, dipping, thrusting, flicking over the swollen nub of your clit in relentless, devastating licks. The sensation is too muchβtoo sharp, too wet, too filthyβand you sob against the onslaught, your hips bucking helplessly beneath his iron grip.
He groans against youβfilthy, hungryβand the vibrations make your vision white out at the edges.
"You taste like a blessin'," he mutters into your cunt, grinding the words into your skin with his mouth. "Sweet lil' Sunday sacrament, all laid out f'me t' worship."
You gasp, legs trembling violently, as the first orgasm buildsβfast and brutal, cresting through you with the same merciless inevitability as the hunter pressing you down into the dirt, refusing to let up.
But your body betrays youβspasming against his mouth, a shuddering cry breaking loose from your throat as you come, helpless and raw, against the wickedly incessant flicker of his tongue.
He moans as if your climax is the answer to damnation.
When you finally sag against the ground, limp and wrecked, he rises up over youβhis mouth and chin slick with blood and slickness, his chest heaving, his cock straining hard against the rough denim of his trousers.
And for the first timeβ
Thereβs something in his face thatβs not just hunger.
"Didn't think," he says roughly, almost to himself, "you'd be this damn sweet."
He leans down, pressing his forehead to yoursβa rough, possessive, almost tender gesture.
"Ain't lettin' ya go now, sweet pea," he whispers, voice cracking like a prayer. "Ain't never lettin' go."
His hands trail down your bodyβcalloused, devoutβand you realize with a sick, fluttering horror that heβs not finished.
Heβs only just getting started.
Youβre barely aware of him movingβtoo dazed, too wreckedβuntil the earth suddenly tilts wildly beneath you.
He rises to his feet in one smooth, terrifying motion, hauling your limp body up like you weigh nothing at all. His arms lock around your thighs, hoisting you over his broad shoulder, your face bouncing helplessly against the curve of his back.
The rough weave of his shirt scrapes your muddied cheek, damp with sweat and the humid Mississippi night. His scent floods your noseβsalt and soil, blood and musk, something darker, wilder, something inhuman.
You whimperβtoo weak to fightβas his hand slaps possessively against the back of your thigh, holding you steady like a trophy kill.
"Shhh," he croons, his voice a low rumble vibrating straight through the very marrow of your bones. "Ain't no good wigglin', sweet pea. Y'belong t' me now."
Your fingers scrabble weakly against his shirt, nails catching on the coarse fabric, but he just laughsβa low, satisfied growl that rolls through the mist like thunder.
He starts walkingβlong, lazy strides deeper into the woodsβfurther from the safety of town, further from anyone who could possibly hear you scream.
The trees lean in overhead, their gnarled branches clawing at the blood-colored sky, the cry of the cicadas like a chaotic choir, being taken deeper into the ugly underbelly of the forest.
The swamp breathes heavy and wet around you, the thick reek of stagnant water and moss closing over you like a suffocating shroud.
You can't see where he's taking you.
Only feelβthe slow, relentless sway of his body, the iron strength of his arms locking you in place as you look at the passing blur of gnarled foliage and plant litter every which way you twist your neck.
Low, filthy, almost tenderβ
Whispering promises against the slope of your thigh, each word branding itself into your skin.
"Gonna keep ya," he mutters, almost to himself. "Chain ya up nice 'n' sweet...keep ya all soft an' wet f'me...pretty lil' plaything, made jus' fer me."
You sob quietly, the sound muffled against his back, not that anything other than things that go bump in the night would hear anyways.
Just keeps carrying you deeper and deeper into the black heart of the woods, where no one will ever find you.
Whether you want to be or not.
The world sways sickeningly with every step he takes.
Your body hangs limp over his shoulder, the thin fabric of your torn dress sticking to your skin, soaked through with sweat, blood, and the sticky breath of the Delta night. Every time he shifts you higher, the calloused drag of his palm across the backs of your thighs sends a tremor through your aching muscles.
The woods are different here.
The trees older, skeletal and gnarled, twisted into shapes that look unnaturally human in the bloody moonlight, the knots in the bark large and gaping like mouths frozen mid-scream. The air thickens, heavy with the reek of standing water, mold, the cloying sweetness of rotting flowers.
You choke on itβeach breath a struggle, sticky and wet in your throat.
He walks without hurry, the heavy tread of his boots sinking into the soft, muddy earth. The mist clings low around his legs, swallowing the ground whole. Crickets scream somewhere in the black, distant and frantic, but otherwise the world is eerily, horribly still.
You try to lift your head, try to see, but it only makes your vision tilt crazily, a low moan of sickness rising from your gut, feeling the bile trying to crawl up your esophagus.
He chucklesβlow and knowing.
"Easy, lil' thing," he drawls, one broad hand stroking up the back of your thigh like a man soothing a spooked filly. "Ain't no sense gettin' y'self all riled."
His bloody fingers trail higherβunder the torn remains of your petticoat, brushing the damp, sticky mess between your thighs. He hums, pleased.
"Still drippin'," he mutters almost to himself. "Still sweet."
The mist parts ahead like a curtainβand then you see it.
A crumbling ruin of warped wood and sagging stone, half-swallowed by ivy and moss. The windows are shattered, jagged teeth of stained glass glinting in the blood moon's light. The steeple leans drunkenly to one side, bells long since stolen or fallen.
It should have been abandoned.
The mist coils around its dirty white skeleton, hugging it tight, the trees bending low like penitents around a grave.
He shoulders through the warped doors, boots echoing hollowly against the splintered floorboards. The air inside is thickβchoking with mildew, smoke, old blood, the slow, sweet rot of something long dead, something long past salvation.
He carries you down the nave like a groom bearing a brideβif the groom were a wolf and the bride a carcass.
In the very center of the chapel, where once an altar might have stood, thereβs only a low, crude bedβlittle more than a frame of old wood lashed together with vines and rope, a soiled mattress bowed low in the middle. Chains dangle from the bedposts, dark with rust, heavy enough to hold an ox.
Your heart stutters against your ribs.
He stops at the edge of the bed and lets you slide from his shoulder like a sack of grain, dropping you onto the mattress with a grunt. The springs wheeze under your weight. You scramble weakly, trying to push yourself up, but he just watchesβarms folded, a slow, wicked grin playing at the corners of his bloody mouth.
"Look atcha," he says, voice dripping slow and fond. "All scared and pretty."
You whimper, trying to scoot backβaway from him, away from the bed, away from the chains meant to shackle you to the floor. To him.
Then he movesβfaster than you can trackβgrabbing your ankle and yanking you back down the mattress with a savage jerk that knocks the breath from your lungs, chuckling low and mean under his breath, smiling like a predator playing with its food.
He looms over youβall broad shoulders and hungry red eyes, his chest heaving, his hair sweaty and sticking to his face. The crumbling roof of the chapel overhead caved in like a skylight created by time and erosion, the moonlight streaming in creating a bloody halo behind his head.
You kick out at him, weak and feeble. He catches your other ankle, spreads your legs wide with ease, and pins them to the bed.
"Y'know," he says thoughtfully, almost conversational, "I ain't never done this before."
You stare up at him, wide-eyed, chest heaving.
"Usually," he drawls, slow and deliberate, your blood dark and drying to his jaw, teeth sharp and daggered like the canines of a beast. "I catch my prey...an' I tear it open. Bleed it dry. Toss what's left t' the buzzards."
His hands slide up your calves, over your knees, rough palms mapping the shivering muscle of your thighs.
His grin widens, sharp and wicked.
"You got somethin' special in ya, sugar. Somethin' sweet. Somethinβ addictinβ.β
His hands move higher, pushing the torn hem of your dress up around your hips.
"Gonna make a pet outta you," he murmurs, almost worshipful. "Gonna keep ya chained up nice and proper. Keep ya fed, keep ya warm...keep ya wet and loose."
You sob, twisting against the hold he has on your legs, but it only makes him chuckle low in his throat.
"Not just a meal, no sir," he says, voice thick with something like wonder. "Ain't never turned a meal inta a pet before."
He leans down, his mouth brushing your ear, his breath hot and damp and hungry.
"Gonna fuck ya every which way," he whispers, each word sinking into your flesh like thorns pricking your skin. "Gonna break ya in nice and slow. Make ya forget y'ever had a name b'fore me."
You shake your head, tears spilling over.
He just laughsβlow and delightedβand kisses your temple, obscene in its mockery of tenderness.
"You'll see," he croons. "Ain't nothin' sweeter than bein' wanted, sweet pea. Nothin' sweeter than bein' kept and cared for.β
He shifts, reaching for the chains.
You hear the clatter of iron against wood, the heavy clink of rusted links.
This isn't a nightmare you can wake from.
The chains rattle in his fists, thick and rust-bitten, heavy enough to feel like fate.
You kick again, heart thundering in your chest, but itβs nothing against him.
He grabs your wrist with one hand, slamming it down against the splintered wood of the bed frame. The iron cuff closes around your wrist with a brutal finality, locking tight with a groaning snap of the old metal.
You cry outβa broken, pitiful sound that nothing but the cicadas will hear.
He shushes youβa low, almost tender croonβas he grabs your other arm, dragging it above your head and shackling it too.
The chains clink as you struggle, the cold bite of them against your bruised skin making you tremble harder.
"There we go," he murmurs, stepping back to admire his work, red eyes gleaming under the dripping shadows of the ruined chapel. "All trussed up like a good lil' prize hog."
You sob again, humiliated, terrifiedβbut he only grins, predatory and bright, his chest rising and falling with heavy, panting breaths.
Slowly, leisurely, he kneels over you.
His hands trail down your bodyβdirty palms leaving streaks of blood, sweat, and swamp filth over the ruined silk of your dress. He hooks his fingers into the ripped neckline and tearsβa wet, brutal sound of fabric giving way.
Your dress peels open like fruit skin, baring your chest to the swamp-choked air.
He makes a sound thenβnot quite a growl, not quite a groanβsomething broken and devout.
"Goddamn," he breathes, one palm spanning your ribs, feeling your heart rabbit helplessly beneath the thin shell of bone and skin. "Y'look sweeter 'n a sunrise after the flood."
His thumb brushes one nipple, watching it harden instantly under the humid chill.
You try to twist awayβshame burning hotter than the blood in your veinsβbut the chains rattle uselessly, locking you in place.
He chuckles, low and dark.
"Ain't no hidin' from me, sugar," he says, rough and sweet, dragging his knuckles down your trembling belly. "Ain't no shame neither. Y'was made fer this. Made fer me."
His hands find the bunched remains of your petticoat around your hips.
Slowlyβcruelly slowβhe tears the rest away.
Until you're laid bare before him.
Blood-slick, shaking, eyes wide and wet.
He stares at you for a long momentβdrinking in the sight of you like a starving man at a banquet that hasn't been permitted to feast yet.
You can feel the weight of his gazeβheavy and hungry.
"Mmm," he hums deep in his throat.
"Prettiest lil' pet I ever seen."
He palms your thighs, rough thumbs pressing bruises into the soft flesh as he pushes your legs open wider.
You sobβmortified, helplessβbut it only seems to please him more.
"Lookit that," he murmurs, dipping his head down, close enough that his breath fans hot across your cunt. "Still bleedin'...still so damn sweet."
The twin points of his forked tongue lash out, slick and obscene, stroking along the weeping seam of your cunt.
You gaspβbody jolting violently against the chainsβa sharp, helpless cry tearing from your throat.
He groans deep, low and guttural, as he licks againβslow, deliberateβtasting the blood and slick pooling between your thighs.
He moves with maddening patienceβthe split tips of his tongue teasing either side of your clit, circling, flicking, taunting.
"You hear that?" he mutters thickly, rubbing his mouth over your cunt, tongue dragging up every inch of you. "Hear how messy y'are f'me, sugar?"
Your thighs quiver against his shoulders, muscles locking and spasming as he devours youβslow, relentless, merciless.
He pulls back only long enough to watch you squirmβyour face flushed, your lips trembling, your hips jerking up helplessly as if chasing the wicked flick of his tongue.
"Poor thing," he croons, mock-sweet. "Y'bleedin', cryin', achin'...and ya still openin' them pretty legs f'me."
He laughsβlow and pleasedβand dives back in, feasting like a man who'd been starved for a hundred years.
You can already feel yourself unravelingβ
Can feel it building againβ
That terrible, traitorous heat coiling low in your belly, shame burning so brightly it tastes like iron on your tongue.
He tongues you deeper, forked tongue writhing against your soaked, blood-slick entrance, and you sob, straining against the chains as your body gives in.
Your cunt clenching helplessly around nothing, your blood and slick gushing against his mouth.
He groans, hips grinding into the bed, rutting against the mattress like he can't stand it, like the taste of you is killing him.
He pulls back, panting hard, mouth and chin dripping in a fresh coat of crimson.
"That's it, baby," he rasps, voice raw, shredded with want. "Give it all t' me. Ain't gonna leave nothin' behind."
You whimper brokenly, chains rattling as you pull uselessly at your bonds.
The clink of metal, the low rasp of fabric sliding down heavy thighs.
His cock springs freeβthick, veined, flushed redβalready weeping at the tip.
Your mouth goes dry with terror.
He crawls up the bed like a predator stalking wounded prey, his glowing eyes locked on you, his smile wide and merciless.
"Gonna claim ya proper now, sugar," he says, his voice low and trembling with barely-restrained hunger. "Gonna fuck ya bloody, fuck ya dumb...make ya forget the whole damn world 'cept me."
You sob, head thrashing weakly against the mattress.
He just laughsβlow, light, lovingβas he fits the head of his cock against your slick cunt.
The first push of him inside you is a shockβ
Stretching, burning, splitting you apart on the thick, heavy drag of his shaft.
You sob, twisting against the chains, but he just groans guttural and filthy, shoving deeper with a slow, brutal roll of his hips that forces your body to open up for him.
"There we go," he pants, sweat dripping from his brow to your heaving chest. "Takin' me real sweet, ain't ya, darlin'?"
The stretch feels endless, unbearableβevery ridge and vein of him dragging against blood-slick, swollen flesh.
Your body tries to resist, clenching tight, but he's relentlessβgrinding deeper, forcing himself past the trembling, fluttering grip of your cunt.
"You fightin' me," he groans, voice ragged with pleasure, "but ya can't stop it, can ya? Body knows. Body knows who owns it now."
Tears spill from your eyes, hot and helpless.
The chains rattle with every shuddering breath you take.
He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his skin sweaty and warm same as yours, trapping you together in the sticky, blood-sweet air.
"Y'made fer this," he whispers, voice breaking on the edges of worship. "Made fer me."
With a slow, grinding thrust, he bottoms outβburied to the hilt, your body stretched taut around him, trembling with the effort to contain him.
He doesn't move at first.
Just breathesβhard, shudderingβhis cock pulsing hot inside you, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you'll wear the bruises for days.
"Sweetest cunt I ever had," he murmurs, almost dazed, rolling his hips just enough to grind against the blood-slick walls of your cunt. "Sweetest thing I ever tasted."
You whimper, wrecked, overwhelmed.
He starts to moveβslow at first, almost lazy, dragging his cock nearly all the way out before slamming back in with a wet, obscene slap of skin on skin.
The bedframe groans under the force of it. The chains rattle. The chapel breathes with the rhythm of itβan old, rotted cathedral witnessing your ruin.
He keeps his forehead pressed to yours, breath coming hot and ragged between clenched fangs.
"Fuck," he snarls, thrusting harder, grinding deep. "Ain't never...fuckin'...lettin' you go, sugar."
Each word is punctuated by a savage snap of his hips, driving you higher up the mattress, making the iron cuffs bite deeper into your bruised wrists.
Your world narrows to the brutal stretch of him inside you, the thick heat of his body pinning you down, the filthy grind of his cock dragging more slick, more blood from your battered cunt.
He groans againβa raw, broken soundβand pulls back to stare down at where your bodies meet.
Blood coats his cock, painting the base of it slick and glistening in the crimson moonlight.
He growlsβa deep, vibrating soundβand slams in harder, hips jerking.
"Bleedin' all f'me," he mutters, awe bleeding into the filthy cadence of his voice. "Markin' me proper. Good lil' bitch, lettin' me ruin ya."
You sobβdon't know if it's from the pain, the shame, the unbearable rush of something darker pooling low in your belly.
He leans in, dragging his split tongue up your throatβslow, languidβtasting the salt of your skin.
"Gonna fill ya up," he rasps, thrusting harder now, the rhythm getting ragged, desperate. "Breed ya good. Chain ya to this bed and fuck ya full every night till y'don't know nothin' but my cock."
Your hips jerk helplessly against him, legs trembling, blood and slick dripping down your thighs onto the ruined mattress.
He bites down suddenlyβnot hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to bruiseβright over the frantic pulse at your throat.
You keenβa high, broken noiseβand the orgasm hits you like a lightning strike.
Your cunt clamps down around him, spasming violently, drawing a raw, broken snarl from his chest.
"That's it," he growls, fucking you through it, his cock thickening even more inside you. "That's it, dove, milk it. Milk it good."
Body locking, heart hammering, chains rattlingβ
As he drives you through wave after wave of brutal, bloody pleasure.
And with a hoarse snarl, he slams deep one last time.
The hot, thick flood of him spilling inside youβ
Coating your walls, mixing with the blood already slicking your thighs.
He stays buried deepβpanting, shaking, his arms trembling where they cage you in.
For a long moment, the only sound in the chapel is the labored, broken gasps of breathβhis and yours, tangled together in the hot, heavy dark.
He nuzzles into your throat, murmuring low, senseless things against your skin.
"My girl," he breathes, over and over, as if trying to convince himself. "My sweet girl."
You lie limp beneath himβwrecked, used, ruinedβyour body claimed in every way it can be claimed.
Buried under the terror, the humiliationβ
A dark, terrible heat begins to flicker in your chest.
The one you were warned aboutβ
Whispers that maybe, just maybeβyou donβt want to.
The world feels soft and hazy when he finally moves.
Youβre barely aware of itβjust a weak, blood-warm ache where your legs sprawl open, your wrists burning raw from the chains. Every nerve ending feels stretched thin, humming with the aftershocks of being wrecked and claimed and ruined.
He shifts over youβhis cock sliding free with a wet, filthy sound that makes you flinchβand you feel the thick, sticky mess of blood and come seeping down your thighs.
You whimper weakly, body too used up to fight.
But instead of leaving youβinstead of walking away like the monster you thought he wasβ
He kneels between your ruined thighs, the broken mattress sagging beneath his weight, and for a moment he just looks at youβhead cocked, hair wild and dripping sweat, red eyes burning.
Something like awe flickers across his face.
"Sweet lil' mess," he murmurs, voice thick, almost tender.
One large, calloused hand cups your kneeβthumb stroking slow, idle circles into your bruised skinβas he leans in.
You feel the first press of his tongue before you can even gasp.
He drags that wicked, forked tongue up the inside of your thigh again, lapping at the blood and slick smeared there like itβs the finest ambrosia.
He groans deep in his chest, his hands tightening on your trembling legs to hold you wide open for him.
You sobβbroken, humiliatedβbut he just keeps licking, slow and steady, cleaning you up like a beast grooming his mate.
"Can't waste none of it," he mutters between licks, his breath damp against your skin. "Every drop...mine."
You twitch beneath him, wrists jerking weakly against the chains, but thereβs no strength left in you.
Thereβs no fight left at all.
He licks higherβover the tender, battered folds of your cuntβgathering the mixture of blood and seed with obscene thoroughness, his tongue darting deep, savoring every taste.
You shudder violently, a broken whimper escaping your throat.
He shushes you againβso softly, so lovingly it makes your heart twist.
"Easy, sweet pea," he croons against your skin. "Ain't hurtin' ya now. Jus' takin' what's mine."
His tongue splits and flicks, teasing your clit, making your hips jolt despite yourself.
"That's it," he murmurs, smiling against you. "That's my good girl."
When heβs satisfiedβwhen every drop of blood, every smear of slick has been licked from your trembling bodyβ
He pulls back, wiping his mouth lazily with the back of his hand.
He looks down at you sprawled out on the soiled mattressβswollen wrists chained, thighs open, skin sticky with sweat and tearsβand his smile softens.
"Pretty lil' thing," he murmurs, reaching out to thumb the tear tracks from your cheeks. "Took it so good. Knew ya would."
You try to flinch away from his touch, but itβs patheticβa trembling, fragmented twitch.
He hums low in his throat, pleased.
Slowly, purposefully, he reaches for the shackles binding your wrists.
For a sick, dizzy second, you think heβs going to tighten themβpunish you for even thinking of pulling away.
You hear the click of old iron locks giving way.
The weight of the cuffs falls from your wrists, leaving raw, angry bands of flesh behind.
You sag back against the mattress like a puddle of liquid bones and flesh, too stunned, too hollowed out to move.
He watches you for a momentβhead tilted, red eyes gleamingβlike a man admiring the final brushstroke of a masterpiece.
He scoops you up with terrifying easeβone hand under your knees, the other cradling your backβlifting you like you're weightless.
You make a weak, pitiful sound against his chest, but he just hushes youβsoft and sweetβpressing a rough kiss to the crown of your filthy, sweat-drenched hair.
"Shhh, baby," he croons. "Ain't gonna hurtcha. Ain't gotta run no more."
He carries you to the far corner of the chapelβto a weathered old pew tucked into the shadowsβand settles down onto it, shifting you into his lap like you belong there.
Your thighs straddle his hips, your chest crushed against his filthy shirt, your legs dangling uselessly on either side of his body.
He rocks youβnice and easyβthe way a man might rock a newborn calf.
And all the while, he talks.
"Got a place fer ya," he murmurs into your hair. "Back in the bayou. Little cabin where nobody'll never find ya."
His hands roam lazily over your battered bodyβsoothing, petting, possessive.
"Got a bed there," he goes on, voice almost dreamy. "Big enough to tie ya spread-eagle. Big enough t' keep ya wet and ready all the time."
You shudder in his lapβa broken, helpless thingβbut he just rocks you harder, nuzzling into your neck.
"Teach ya how t' live on nothin' but my cock and my seed," he whispers. "Keep ya full, keep ya heavy...make ya forget the whole damn world but me."
You sob softly against his chest.
He smiles against your hair.
"That's it," he croons. "That's my sweet girl."
His hand slides between your thighs againβunhurried, filthyβand cups the used, swollen heat of your cunt, thumb stroking lazy circles into the mess he left behind.
You twitch helplessly in his lap.
"Always knew I'd find somethin' special out here," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "Didn't reckon I'd find my forever meal...my lil' blood-slick pet."
He presses his mouth to your templeβa kiss, obscene in its tenderness.
"Mine now," he whispers. "Mine 'til the river runs dry."
The chapel groans around youβold wood settling, whispering, watchingβas he rocks you slowly in his lap.
Youβre weightless against him.
The chains are gone, but youβre no freer than you were before.
Your body has surrendered.
God help youβisn't far behind.
He hums low under his breath, a tuneless, lazy thingβsome old hymn twisted into something darker. Something damned.
His hands roam over you without hurryβstroking your bruised thighs, cupping the raw stretch of your hips, smoothing down the arch of your spine.
One of his palms cups the back of your head, pushing your face against his chest, holding you there like a possession too precious to lose.
"You feel it, don'tcha," he murmurs against your hair. "Way y'body melts into mine. Way y'cunt still pulses f'me even now."
You whimperβsoft and splinteredβand he smiles, wide and slow.
"Don't fight it, sugar," he says, low and coaxing. "Ain't nothin' left but me now."
You feel the slow, lazy roll of his hips beneath youβthe thick, heavy press of his cock, still slick and blood-warm, nudging insistently between your thighs again.
You sob weakly, your body jerking against his.
He shifts you higher, lining himself up, one broad hand guiding your hips as he pushes back insideβslow, deep, claiming.
You choke on a whimper, trembling violently in his lap as he fills you againβstretching your battered, blood-slick cunt to the limit.
"There we go," he croons. "There she is."
He rocks you on his cockβgradual, thick, obsceneβgrinding deep with each lazy roll of his hips, never pulling out, never letting you escape the feel of him inside you.
His mouth finds your ear, breath hot and heavy.
"Y'ain't even know my name yet," he murmurs, almost laughing. "Been takin' ya, ruinin' ya, bleedin' ya dry...and you don't even know what t' call me."
You shudder helplessly against him.
He presses a kiss to the hinge of your jawβfilthy, tender.
"That's what ya call me, sugar."
Another slow grind of his hipsβanother thick, aching thrust deep inside your ruined cunt.
"Say it," he whispers, voice breaking sweet and sharp against your skin. "Say my name."
You sobβmind reeling, body burningβbut the word tumbles out of you like a rejected prayer.
He groans, raw and reverent, and rocks you harder, the weathered pew creaking beneath the slow, punishing grind of his body.
"Good girl," he pants, forehead pressing to yours. "Sweet lil' thing...mine now. Mine forever."
A brutal, clumsy thingβ
Mouth crushed against yours, tasting of blood and salt and something older. Something primordial.
You sob into the kiss, legs trembling against his hips, your body clinging to him without thinking, without reason.
Remmick smiles against your mouth.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Ain't no runnin' now. Ain't no leavin'."
He rocks you againβslow, deepβevery thrust branding you, sinking you deeper under his spell.
"You got my name now," he whispers, voice thick with triumph and devotion. "And soon enough, baby...you gonna carry the rest of me too."
His hand slides down, splaying wide over your lower bellyβ
Possessive, filthy, promising.
"You gonna carry me inside ya, sweet pea," he breathes, voice almost shaking. "Gonna grow fat an' heavy with me...my blood, my seed, my babies."
You sob against his chestβwrecked, overwhelmedβas he rocks you through it, slow and relentless, every movement carving your fate deeper into your body.
The monster, the devil, the manβ
Just holds you tighter, crooning low and filthy against your skin.
"My girl," he whispers. "My sweet, bleedin' girl."
The slow grind of him inside you never stops.
Remmick rocks you lazily in his lapβthe pew creaking under the weight of his possessionβeach slow thrust pushing you deeper under, erasing everything but the burn and the stretch and the unbearable, filthy tenderness of him.
Your head lolls against his shoulder, sweat-soaked hair sticking to your temples, every nerve frayed to a live wire.
He strokes your back in long, rough sweepsβthe calluses of his palms rasping over every bruise, every bite mark, every blood-smeared inch of you.
"You feel it, don'tcha, sugar," he breathes into your ear, voice sweet and sticky as syrup. "The way yer body listens to me now. Way it wants me even when you don't."
You sob weakly, too broken to deny it.
His arms tighten around youβone locked around your back, the other spreading wide over your hips, guiding you up and down the thick, blood-slick length of his cock.
"You was made fer this," he murmurs, his breath hot and humid against your skin. "Made t'be mine. Made t'be fucked full, bred fat, kept warm an' wet in my bed."
He rocks you harderβdeeperβthe swollen head of his cock grinding up against that raw, aching place inside you, making your whole body jolt and shudder helplessly.
Your wrists curl weakly against his chest, the instinct to cling overpowering even your fear.
Remmick hums low, satisfied.
"Good girl," he praises, voice rough and ragged. "Good lil' thing, clingin' so sweet."
He kisses the side of your throatβa slow, open-mouthed drag of lips and teethβand you feel him smiling against your pulse.
And then his voice drops lowerβsofter, darkerβas he begins to whisper.
"But if y'ever think about runnin'..." he murmurs, rocking you a little harder, his cock dragging thick and slow inside your cunt, "if y'ever try t'leave me, lilβ hare...I'll hunt ya down."
You shudder violently in his arms.
"I'll drag ya screamin' back by that sweet lil' ankle," he whispers, almost lovingly. "Chain ya tighter. Fuck ya harder. Make sure next time ya can't even walk."
You sobβbroken, breathless.
He kisses your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your tears.
"Maybe I'll break that pretty lil' ankle," he muses, his voice so soft itβs almost a lullaby. "Keep ya bed-bound...keep ya needy...make ya beg for me t'feed ya, to fuck ya, to touch ya."
You whimper, hips jerking against him without meaning to.
Remmick groans low in his chest, thrusting up deeper inside you.
"You'd look so pretty like that," he pants. "All bruised up an' cryin'...beggin' me to keep fillin' this sweet lil' cunt."
His hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clitβswollen, aching, blood-slickβand starts to rub slow, relentless circles.
You gasp, high and needy, clutching at him, legs trembling where they sprawl weakly around his hips.
"That's it," he breathes, rocking you harder now, rubbing you faster. "Cum f'me, sugar. Milk me good. Show me who ya belong to."
You sob, mind fracturing under the thick, unbearable pleasureβunder the dirty, endless tenderness of his voiceβunder the awful, overwhelming rightness of it.
Your orgasm slams into youβsharp, brutal, dizzyingβyour whole body clenching down around him, sobbing his name against his throat.
Remmick groans, burying his cock deep one last time, grinding slow and thick against the fluttering spasms of your cunt.
"That's my girl," he whispers, voice cracked and worshipful. "My sweet, bleedin' girl. Mine."
He holds you through itβrocking you gently, slowlyβcooing filthy promises against your skin.
"Never lettin' ya go," he breathes, voice drunk with possession. "Never."
With a dark, shattered certainty β
That heβs telling the truth.
Your body trembles in his lapβused, slick, overflowingβand still, Remmick doesnβt stop.
Still buried deep inside you, he rocks you lazilyβthick, slow drags of his cock against your raw, battered walls, the wet, messy sound of it filling the ruined chapel.
You whimper, limp and broken against his chest.
He shushes you, petting your hair, pressing kisses to your temple, your jaw, your throat.
"That's it, sweet pea," he praises. "Just keep takin' it. Keep takin' me."
His hips move slower nowβdeep, grinding thrusts that make you feel every vein, every throb of him inside you.
You sob weakly when you feel the telltale pulse of his cock thickening againβfeel the way he holds you tighter, groaning low in your ear.
"Poor thing," he breathes, voice shaking with hunger and something darker, deeper. "Ain't built t'keep up, are ya?"
He rocks you harder, the sticky, bloody mess of your body clinging wetly to him.
His mouth finds your ear againβvoice low, filthy, almost laughing.
"Y'know why?" he whispers. "Y'know why ya break so easy f'me, sugar?"
You whimper, unable to answer, unable to think.
He licks the shell of your earβslow, lazyβbefore speaking again.
"'Cause I ain't no man, sweet thing," he says, voice rich with wicked delight. "Ain't no mortal that tires out an' falls asleep after one fuck."
He grinds deeperβhips jerking, cock twitching inside you.
"A demonβs stamina," he murmurs, "ain't like a man's."
You shudder violently in his arms.
"I can do this," he breathes, voice low and full of terrible promise, "forever."
He thrusts againβslow, heavy, finalβand you feel it.
Feel the thick, molten flood of him spilling inside you againβhotter, heavier than before, painting your ruined cunt, seeping out around his cock.
Remmick groans low, deep in his chestβa sound full of brutal satisfaction.
He holds you thereβstuffed full, pinned tightβgrinding the mess deeper with lazy, possessive rolls of his hips.
"There we go," he murmurs against your throat. "Fill ya up good. Mark ya so deep ya gonna leak me out fer days."
You sob, a broken little sound that only makes him hum in pleasure.
He strokes your hair, your back, rocking you gently in the wreckage of the chapel.
"You're mine now," he whispers. "Ain't no priest, no preacher, no god up there that can take ya from me."
He kisses your templeβfilthy, loving.
"Belong t' me, sweet lil' thing," he breathes. "My pet. My meal. My mate."
You lie limp in his lap, broken open, owned.
And you realizeβwith a dark, awful clarityβthat you don't even want to run anymore.
Rocks you slowly into the night, crooning sweet, filthy promises against your skin.
