#toxic!remmick

“Mmmm,” you sigh sleepily as you roll over, your hair tangling against the sheets.

With every gentle movement of your body, the scent of your lotion floods Remmick’s senses, the sweet smell of jasmine and hibiscus and you lingering in every breath. You’re curled up against him, your warmth heating his body in a way that feels familiar and comforting. He brings one finger to rest under your chin, his thumb rubbing your lip gently.

You’re so pretty like this, lost in the haze of sleep. Your face is completely at peace, your features softened. Your cheek pressed into the pillow, your hair tousled. He presses his thumb to your lip again, tugging slightly on the skin. He traces his thumb down, stroking along the line of your throat until he’s rubbing gentle circles into the u of your collarbone.

He presses his thumb up higher on your neck, feeling the steady thump-thump-thump of your pulse, slowed by slumber. Your skin is slicked by a light layer of sweat. Even the most threadbare quilt you could find and the old wooden ceiling fan circling above you was never enough to stave off the perspiration of the Delta in late July.

His fingers continue, tracing delicate patterns down the intricate lace at the neckline of your nightgown. He travels further, delicately playing with each button down the front of the thin garment as he goes. He reaches your side and gently hikes the nightgown up around your hips, pressing his thumb into the pressure point of the socket and dragging in slow, torturous circles. The pressure makes you twist and grind your hips in your sleep, rocking against nothing.

He chuckles, a dark sound low in his throat, as you sigh again.

“Feels good, baby?” he teases in a whisper.

You pull one knee up to rest between his legs. He dips his hand beneath your thigh, slowly stroking your warm skin. The slight parting of your legs sends the scent of you cascading through him with every breath. Remmick inhales deeply, smelling your desperation as it washes over you. You let out a puff of air and readjust your hips, still lost in sleep.

“Aww,” he laughs lightly. “She needs me, huh? She need me?”

The hand that’s stroking your thigh quietly finds its way to the cotton panties between your legs, already sticky from whatever dream you’re having. He loops one finger around the fabric and slowly pulls them to the side, relishing the way your wetness makes a slick string connecting you to the cloth as he peels it away. 

“Aww, yeah…she needs me real bad.”

You whine softly. 

In your dream, Remmick runs his hands down your thighs and grips your hips roughly. 

“C’mon sweetheart, promise I’ll make it good,” he grins.

You try to twist out from under him.

“Nuh-uh, sugar, come on…don’t lie to me. Know you want it.”

He brings the tips of his fingers to his mouth and licks, an obscene gesture, before he presses his fingers to your clit, applying rough pressure immediately and laughing.

In your bed, Remmick circles your clit slowly with this thumb, pressing into you roughly as you try to toss and turn against his touch.

“Sh, shh…I’m gon’ make it all better sweetheart, don’t worry,” he soothes. “Gon’ take care’a ya.”

Your breath shudders out of you as he continues, pressing rough, mean circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves at your center.

“C’mon, baby, holdin’ out on me…”

Your breath comes quicker now, making your chest rise and fall. 

“Rem, stop–can’t–”

“Aw, c’mon sugar, yes y’can,” he teases.

“N-no, no, stop it–”

“Y’ain’t got one little one in ya? C’mon baby, I know you lyin’,” he drawls. “Lookit how wet she is already.”

He smears his hand against your cunt, the disgusting wet sounds bringing heat to your cheeks as you twist and shove your face into the pillow.

“C’mon, sugar, ‘m right here,” he husks in your ear. “Just gimme one. Just one, yeah?”

You moan against his chest, a desperate and needy sound that betrays the desires lurking in your dreams.

“Yeahhhh,” he mumbles. “Just one, c’mon baby.”

You shudder against him, your hands clutching at the sheets and clawing at his chest. He slowly and firmly presses up into you, teasing you even more as your orgasm makes your body shake and your breath run ragged.

“Yeah, good girl,” he praises. “Good job, baby. Knew y’could do it. She likes to cum on my pretty fingers, huh?”

“N-no, no, stop it–”

You kick at him, trying to escape his strong grip.

“Let me go!” you scream, your voice hoarse.

“Nooo, sugar, I don’t think so,” he grins, his fangs protruding from his lips. “See, you’re mine. That means I getta take whatever I want, ‘member?”

He roughly knocks your hips apart, spreading your legs. You feel exposed and disgusting, knowing you can’t hide your arousal from him at this angle. You twist your head away, unable to look at him kneeling between your legs. You gasp when you feel a hot, wet, stream of liquid falling onto your cunt, painting your folds. He’s drooling on you, spilling his saliva from his mouth onto your lips before he brings his hand back to you, smearing and spreading and mixing your wetness with his spit.

“Don’t even think you’ll need this, but I thought I’d help ya out,” he smirks.

“Fuck, sweetheart, so wet,” Remmick coos at you, his hand still swirling between your legs. You whimper again, your brows knitting together in a way that has him weak. He bucks his hips against you.

“Goddamn, sugar,” he pants, breathless. He’s already hard, and especially bothered from making you cum on his fingers. He brings his hand, his digits still wet and sticky from your release, to rest over your tummy. You cry out at the loss of his fingers over your sex.

“I know, I know,” he shushes you. “Gonna give you somethin’ better, sweetheart, just relax.”

His hands travel to the waistband of his boxers, pulling himself out. He’s hard and flushed, precum already leaking from the tip.

“Where should I give it t’ya, hm?” he taunts.

“S-stop, stop, please–”

“Y’want it down your throat?”

He leans over you and wraps a hand around your neck, squeezing gently.

“Or I could pull out and paint your pretty face,” he hums.

He brings one thumb to your cheek and softly strokes your face. The gesture would be almost loving if he didn’t have you trapped underneath him.

He snakes down your body, his hands tracing gentle patterns, his wet mouth leaving sticky kisses on your chest and stomach.

“Y’want it all over the front?” 

He punctuates this sentence with a loud disgusting slap to your soaked cunt. 

“Give ‘er a little more juice?” he laughs. “I kinda like that…then it’s up to her. Y’get knocked up, it’s just ‘cause she’s so greedy, suckin’ me in.”

You whimper under him.

“Ohh…” he drawls, a knowing glint in his eye. “That’s it, huh? You wanna get knocked up? You want me inside?”

“N-no, no, please, don’t–I’m not…haven’t been taking…”

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” he smiles. “You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout a thing, darlin’.”

Remmick’s traveled down and is now kneeling between your legs, stroking himself lazily. He tries not to squeeze too tight, knowing he won’t last long anyway.

“You want this,” he mumbles. “You want me, darlin’.”

Your eyes are still squeezed shut as he prods your entrance, rocking forward just enough for the tip to enter. A small cry escapes your lips.

“Sh-sh-sh-shhhh,” he shushes you. “Gon’ give ya exactly whatcha need, princess, just be patient.”

He shoves all the way into you at a slow pace, making you feel every inch of him splitting you open. When his hips rest against yours, your jaw hangs open, your breath barely filling your lungs.

“Yeah, betcha feel me all the way up here,” he smiles darkly, pressing a hand underneath your ribcage. He swirls his thumb into your skin and you swear you can feel him bruising your diaphragm.

“Ngh, fuck, sugar, feel so good,” he mumbles. “Suckin’ me in so deep, she’s fuckin’ beggin’ for it.”

“N-no…p-pull, out, please,” you manage to choke out.

“Nahh baby, that’s not what she wants.”

He slowly pulls back and ruts forward again, stretching you out. You gasp and wince in pain.

“See that? She wants me deep. Wants me all up in there. Right there. See?”

He grips your chin and forces you to look at where your bodies are connected. You can see him bulging through the lower part of your abdomen with every disgusting thrust.

“See, can y–ah,” he falters when he twists his hips up at that angle that makes a sob catch in the back of your throat.

“There she is,” he grunts. “There she fuckin’ is.”

You’re crying now, hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Puh-please, please stop,” you cry. “I promise I’ll do whatever you want, just please…don’t…”

He laughs again.

“Oh, sweetheart…I know ya will.”

Remmick leans over you and grabs your hand from your side. He presses your palm to your tummy, the added pressure making your breath falter.

“Want me to give ya a little baby?” he coos at you in your sleep. “Want me to put it right here? Make my girl a mama?”

Tears are running down your cheeks in real life, too, a response to the abuse he’s putting your mind through in your dream and the abuse he’s putting your body through in your bed.

He ruts up into you, deep and hard, feeling himself filling you completely.

“That’s it, sugar, c’mon, you gotta gimme another one,” he huffs. “Gotta help me out here, need ya to open up for me.”

He laughs above you, a sick and mean sound that echoes through your bedroom.

He presses his hand over yours into your tummy, his claws just barely pressing into your flesh.

“Gonna put a little fuckin’ Antichrist in here,” he chuckles. “Gonna give ya what ya want, sugar.”

“N-no–stop–it,” you sniffle. “It hurts.”

“Then why don’tcha fuckin’ cry about it?” he huffs.

He slams into you with a relentless rhythm, chasing his own release.

You let out a scream when he hits that spot deep inside of you that has your vision fuzzing at the edges.

“Yeahh, c’mon, sugar, you got one more f’me, know ya do.”

You stir slightly underneath him, your eyes finally opening as you look around, dazed. You can feel the bed rocking under you as Remmick continues his pace, thrusting into you mercilessly.

“Aww, is she awake?” he whispers sweetly.

“Wha- how…you’re…”

“Shhhh, shh, ‘s okay sugar,” he comforts you, still driving into you in the dark. All you can see are his red eyes gleaming down at you.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I know, I know,” he dotes. “I woke y’up. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You don’t even have the energy to fight him. Your whole body feels weighed down by sleep and pleasure.

“Feels so good, though, huh princess?”

You moan into the pillow, feeling your body, limp under his touch, responding to his every move.

“Shh, shh…won’t even remember this in the mornin’, angel, promise.” 

You can feel an orgasm approaching you, not even building in tension as it would if you were chasing your own ecstasy. It creeps into your body, against your will, a physical response to his ravaging.

He leans up over you and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“Well, you won’t,” he laughs. He brings his hand to your clit and roughly circles you once more. “She will.”

You gasp as his touch finally sends you over the edge. You can feel the nerves in your body dancing and relaxing as you sink into the bed, warm and pliable as he continues.

“Yeahhh, good girl,” he praises. “Open up f’me, gotta make sure I get nice and deep in there.”

A few more rough thrusts and you feel him release inside of you, his cum spurting deep into your womb.

“Y-yeah,” he groans. “Riiiight there. Fuck.”

He continues rocking his hips, like he’s afraid to waste any final drops he has to give you.

“R-Rem,” you whisper hoarsely.

“No, no, no, ‘s okay, baby,” he coos. “Jus’ tryna give ya whatcha want,” he says with a sick smile.

“N-no–”

“Shhhh, yeah. Yeah. Y’want my little baby growin’ inside’a ya. S’whatcha were dreamin’ ‘bout, right?”

“No, I–” you wince harshly when he pulls out, feeling the disgusting gush of his cum and your juices leaking out of you, dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets.

He brings his hand down between your legs again, playing with the mess that leaks out of you, painting it over your skin with his fingers. He takes two fingers and uses them to shove his release back inside of you, making you sob at the overstimulation.

“Shhh…I know ya want it, sugar,” he hums. “This way, y’ain’t even gotta ask. Jus’ lemme do all the work, yeah?”

“Rem-mick, how…how long, you…” you can’t form a coherent sentence.

“Shhh, sweetheart. You not even gon’ remember. Promise.”

You’re toweling off after your shower when you glance down at your legs.

Shaving was always a bitch; it took you forever, you always seemed to miss more than one spot, and the smooth, soft feeling of freshly shaved and lotioned skin only lasted a day or two anyway before you had to do it all over again. But to make matters worse, you always seemed to nick yourself with the razor. And tonight was especially rough.

Your legs looked like you’d decided to go swimming in a pool full of glass shards, decorated all over with tiny red cuts. You weren’t even sure how it had happened. It was difficult to feel the razor slicing you as it was happening, especially with the slickness of the soap making it so easy to glide the blade over your skin in quick, sharp motions.

The tiny scratches each bloom with beads of your blood, the bright crimson clinging to each wound, only one being large enough to send a small drip down your leg.

That’s how you ended up on your back, Remmick cradling your calf, sucking the blood from each tiny cut. 

“Mmmfh,” you puff when he sucks a little too hard, the sharp points of his teeth pressing into the soft flesh on the underside of your knee.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, the sound of his voice muffled against your skin.

“Don’t bite,” you retort.

“Sorry, not tryin’ to.”

“Well, try–ah–try harder.”

“Jus’ lemme kiss it better, yeah?” he coos, his voice sweet and syrupy.

He presses his tongue to the inside of your thigh, drawing a small gasp from you.

“Yeahhh, there’s my baby,” he teases.

He brings his lips back to the cut and sucks, drawing your flesh into his mouth.

“Taste so good I could eatcha,” he whispers.

“Don’t,” you mumble halfheartedly. 

You were almost convinced there was some kind of weird vampire toxin in his saliva that made you want him even more. Every time he presses his tongue to your broken skin, his spit smearing into your cuts, his soft lips pressing against you, sucking and swallowing the sticky combination of his drool and your blood, it drives you crazy. 

So crazy that you almost forget that you had grabbed a fresh razor from your drawer before your shower. 

So crazy that you almost forget that a fresh, sharp blade is supposed to minimize nicks.

But not quite crazy enough to let it go.

“Rem,” you lilt, your voice soft and dreamy under his touch.

“Hmm?” 

He doesn’t even look up from where he’s gently mouthing at your ankle, looking like a dog gnawing on a bone.

“That was a fresh razor…”

“Mmhm?”

You notice the slight peak in his tone as he pitches up slightly.

“Sharp razors aren’t supposed to leave cuts,” you continue. You try to keep your tone even, to lull him into a sense of security. Not an accusation, not an insinuation. Just an observation.

“Maybe it was dull,” he mumbles.

“For it to–”

He cuts you off sharply with a deep kiss, smashing his lips into yours. He parts your lips with his own, and you can feel his spit seeping into your mouth. Oh, fuck him. There was definitely some weird vampire toxin in there.

You sigh contentedly and feel his mouth move into a smile.

“Taste so good, sweetheart,” he praises. “So perfect sweet girl, all mine.”

Oh, fuck him. 

When he finally pulls away, a string of drool connects you. He swipes it from his lip with his thumb and presses against your lips, shoving his thumb into your mouth. You suck greedily, cleaning the spit from his finger. When he pulls away, you pout and try to follow him to hold onto his thumb in between your lips.

“Ah, ah,” he chides, smiling. “Soon, baby. Be patient.”

He pulls his hand out of your mouth and presses his palm to your shoulder, shoving you back down onto the bed. He returns to the tiny abrasions covering your legs, almost done licking them clean.

He snags the skin on the inside of your left calf between his teeth. The points of his fangs gently press into you, not enough to break your skin, but enough to remind you to stop squirming. 

Enough to remind you of this predator you had invited into your house, into your bed, into your body, holding you tightly in his grip and between his teeth.

The thought shoots a final stream of clarity to your head that cascades past your lips in one breath:

“If it was a new razor, it shouldn’t have cut me.”

He halts.

“Yeah?” he asks darkly, his attention turning to you, the rest of you, his eyes drifting up your body until they meet yours.

The dark red swirling in his pupils, reflecting in the dim light like a bobcat, sends a chill up your spine.

“Yeah,” you squeak, butterflies in your stomach. Part arousal, part fear. A combination Remmick specialized in exciting in you.

“So whatcha sayin’ darlin’?” he asks sweetly. “Y’accusin’ me of something?”

“No…” you mumble helplessly. He crawls over you, those reflective eyes boring into yours. He hovers over you, hands pressing into the mattress on either side of your head, his gold chain dangling in your face, blurring out of focus where it hangs too close to your body.

“No, what is it, sweet girl? What’s wrong?” The sweetness in his voice borderline revolts you as it contrasts the menacing look in his eye.

“Nothin…” you reply, wiggling underneath him.

“Awww, poor baby. Thought I gave ya enough,” he chuckles. “Open.”

He roughly grabs your chin with his hand, and you open your mouth in protest.

He spits directly onto your tongue.

“This should make it better,” he drawls. “Make ya nice and fuzzy.”

He slowly leans forward, creating a tiny waterfall of his drool, tipping it into your mouth.

It’s hot and slimy on your tongue, making your hips twitch.

“Gooood girl,” he breathes, watching you. “Swallow.”

You do.

Your head swims with him. It doesn’t help that he shoves his face into your neck, nipping gently at your ear with the sharp ivory points in his mouth. He floods your senses, the only thing you can see, hear, taste, smell, feel. Him. Your breath gently escapes your lungs under his touch. 

“Good job, baby,” he praises. “Gonna make you feel all better.”

“You…you…” You stumble over the thought that’s evaporating from your brain in the haze.

“I…I…what?” he mocks.

“D’you replace…razors…cuts…” The words are a pathetic string of a half-formed idea. The thought of Remmick intentionally replacing your new, sharp razors with old, dull blades, just so you’d cut yourself, just so you’d bleed for him…it was crazy. Surely.

“Listen t’ya sweetheart,” he laughs. “Won’t even remember this in the mornin’, promise.”

“Wha…?” 

Your vision dances and blurs as he moves back to your cuts. 

“Jus’ lemme take care’a ya.”

He sucks and laps at your nicks, his fangs pressing into your skin each time. Your breath is ragged and irregular, filling your lungs sporadically.

“See? See what yer doin’ t’me?” he slurs around your knee. He brings your hand to his crotch, and you can feel him, heavy and hard underneath the boxers he wears to bed.

“T’s all you, angel. Y’gonna do this t’me and leave me all high n' dry?”

You shake your head lazily against the pillow. You can’t feel anything but him now, not the soft sheets under your back, not the cool breeze of the ceiling fan on your face–just the hot, rough, feeling of his hands gripping your legs and the sticky, cooling sensation where his spit is drying on your skin.

“No? Oh, thank you darlin’,” he coos. “T’s so sweet of you.”

He leans over you again, his breath hot against your ear.

“Tell me y’want me,” he sighs, grinding his hips against you.

“Wantcha so bad,” you whine, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell me y’love me,” he whispers, his lips dancing over your skin.

“Love you so fuckin' much,” you pant pathetically.

“Good girl…not even gonna remember this in the mornin’, sweetheart, promise.”

Four days later, you’re due for another shave. You replace the blade on your razor and shower as usual. When you emerge, you’re somehow still covered in tiny nicks.

You step out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, towel wrapped around your chest. When you enter the room, Remmick looks up from where he is on the bed. His eyes shoot down to your legs, noticing the blood that’s already dripping down your skin.