iceemochaa

[iceemochaa]

Sinners (2025) dir. Ryan Coogler

[iceemochaa]

Blue rep 😌

blue dividers

credit not needed. recoloring welcomed. feel free to edit as you need!

[iceemochaa]

Need him so bad GAWDDD

PADDY MAYNE SAS Rogue Heroes | 1.04

[iceemochaa]

ᴊᴀᴄᴋ ᴏ'ᴄᴏɴɴᴇʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ (ɪɴ ɴᴏ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄᴜʟᴀʀ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ)

#1 : Remmick - Sinners (2025)

[iceemochaa]

Yeah… I saw God

Raw Urge

explicit 18+, all breeding kink, dirty talk, filth, bareback, also pretend remmick is fertile af and usually has to wrap it up

——————————|||——————————

remmick remembers how often he craved a fuck back when he was still mortal. still had primal urges to mate. to breed.

he hadn’t had anyone human share the same lust, the same drive to fuck over and over until your legs give out and it’s sore to move. and when he sniffed you out, hearing the affect he had on you with how fast the blood rushed in your ears the second he barely made contact touching you.

he lurked behind and didn’t stop following you until you eventually gave in, smiley and flirty while spreading your legs for his tongue in a dark alleyway.

he made it clear it wasn’t gonna be a one time deal. he was gonna keep nagging you to have you more places than one. you satisfied each other. the lingering appetite was mutual.

he loved it, smelling how you sure did love a nice hard fuck. you loved objectifying him, loved bouncing about in his lap — loved slapping yourself in the cheek with his chubby hard on while you rode his face right into the sheets. he never stopped licking his lips after, or cumming in the palm of his hand thinking about the insatiable rides you took him on every time.

after some odd months of fucking each other, he slowly starts to see this hungry, unsatisfied look reveal itself, this new side of you peaking back at him specifically whenever he does his regular safe ritual of rolling a condom on.

remmick would be remiss not to notice it. notice how as soon as he ran out of protection you would grin at him and nibble on his ear, telling him “we don’t need it this time, just this once.”

when you ‘accidentally’ jut your hips down so hard and so fast your pussy lands right on top of him bare. before he could even rip the foil. you’d already started sliding down so smooth. smooth enough to pluck any sense of logic out that should’ve stayed glued to the back of his head. feels how bad you needed it when you took him in, slipped him inside fast, not faltering your pace or even pretending to be shy and take it easy.

he sees you started giving him less and less time to pull out. with one early instance before he could catch on, you’d left a paranoid, skiddish remmick no choice but to shout and rip himself out of your puffy tender entrance before his swollen dick is cumming like a geyser that’s been held back centuries. cums a huge, warm, sticky pool all over your stomach instead. while he’s yelling, clenching, heaving and coming down from the adrenaline, he couldn’t miss how pouty you’d became. how you looked at him so disappointed like he’d just wasted his own load.

after he sees the wanting written all over your face, remmick can’t help but picture what a nice round pregnant belly might look like on you. filled to the brim with his little half-vampire babies that would come out just as bratty and blood thirsty as he is.

at a point he was still trying to keep up the facade that he wanted to be responsible. be a gentleman. not bury himself in balls deep and paint your tight walls in his warm, fertile cum. he had to start spanking you extra hard to get your greedy pussy off of him in time, cutting it so close he thought he wouldn’t make it—thought that even a drop of his poisonous seed might be enough to really get you filled, fertilized, pregnant.

now’s another one of those times. those times where you throw all caution out the window, hopping up onto his lap and playing with his dick, fooling around with it like you owned it yourself. like he’s just a vessel to be your own personal plaything to yank around and ride to get whatever you want out of him.

and he’s already sweating. shiny forehead glistening while he anxiously bites down on his lower lip. trying to keep his composure while you start messing around with him and his tolerance.

“yeah—shit, just rub your clit with it. take hold of the tip. just like that. g’job,” remmick swallows. voice betraying him with interruptions of shakey, helpless breaths while that cock moving between his thighs flushed, gushed. spreading a heated pink color up and down him. going up as far as his ears and his cheeks. ”so you gearin’ up to ride me raw again huh? you need to feel the real thing again? mm—know you always move on it so nice.”

you love seeing how it melts him like butter when you grind yourself all over him, letting his length slide right in between your thighs.

“oh this pussy’s danger baby,” he laughs and heaves. shy humps of his hips meet up at your clit, swirling the bulbousness around your slick lips. he’s getting more impatient by the minute, hyper jolts up of his hips stinging you while he grumbles ”you ever puttin’ me in?”

your breathing sounds as loud and huffed as his when you snatch him up in both hands, positioning him to slant forwards so your pussy has the best angle to take a seat. remmick’s legs squirm as he makes himself physically ready, hoping if he pinches himself hard enough he won’t up and fill your pussy with floods and floods of cum the minute he gets nudged in.

”does it feel all good gettin’ this bare dick all the way up there, up inside your belly?”

two of his fingers dance up towards your belly button, feeling it right through the skin how his girth moves in and out. you’re on him, reckless and relentless like a horny fucking bunny. nodding your head with those eyes mostly closed. you’re clamping down on him hard, sending remmick straight to heaven while the pussy engulfing him hops up and down at a remarkable speed.

”yes, yes, it just feels so good—feels unbelievable.”

”fuck, you keep movin’ like that you really gon’ make me fill that pussy up quick girl. you tryna trap me with a fuckin’ child? huh?”

you don’t answer. mostly cause you can’t—only speeding up to get a more fluctuating rhythm, feeling how delicious his full cock felt pushing in and slipping right back out. he smiles devilishly, moves a piece of your hair back while his thumb squeezes down on your hip.

”y’think I haven’t noticed you latchin’ down on me when I say I’m bout to cum? how much this poor little pussy craves this fuckin’ nut gushin’ deep down inside… you been actin’ like a slut, momma, mmhm… y’don’t know how much a man can take— b-before he gives up and gives right in—“

he whines for a moment, getting higher in pitch when you clench up hard mid way through a deep bounce, gushing a ring around him like his hanging cock was made for nothing except a tool, a tool to use for your orgasms. remmick inevitably slips out in the middle of a hard pump, making his throat strangled with gasps. when he grabs ahold of his cock he pulls one of your lips apart with a thumb to line it back in, loud squelching between your thighs when you’re joined bare together again.

“fuck, ohh f-fuck me you got yourself a kink for breedin’ don’t ‘chu? mmmhm—well that’s jus’ fine with me hunny, use me. use me raw all you need. shit, my dick’s gettin’ so fuckin’ wet..”

he can’t help but mewl at this feeling. this primal sensation of his condomless dick pushing around your deep guts raw, his full balls slapping against you with every single thrust.

your pussy lips make wet, swishy noises around while you bump your hips up and down. he groans long and heavy.

“m’gonna fuckin’ bust if you keep at that—god damn girl, just what the fuck’s gotten into you lately? you drippin’ a bigger fuckin’ mess today.. makin’ me sit around while you usin’ my dick so good like this mmmm—don’t you stop on me. don’t you stop what this greedy pussy already started. I know you ain’t on any birth control either. can’t fool me. know you want the risk… go on now, ride this dick, y-you always ride this dick so good—”

you tighten down on him the more he whimpers and slams his hips up to feel as much as he can. scrambles to feel up the sides of your stomach, those beady red eyes rolling back like you took him straight to a place he never thought he’d be welcome—to the clouds in heaven.

“gonna make me b-bust, shit, you gon’ get this dick to fuck a baby in you. ya keep bouncin’ like this there’s gon’ be some c-consequences—“

he shivers. swallows the spit gathering up on his tongue, watching goosebumps riddle his arms while your pussy slides on him in figure eight movements

“pussy creamin’ so hard like this. mmmhm know she love me. she loves lovin’ on this big slab of dick, don’t she? wants to own this dick, wants to feel my cum deep inside, have my baby growin’ in this womb?”

he squeezes until his knuckles turn white onto one cheek, slapping the other while his hips struggle to meet up to your momentum

“slutty pussy like yours, movin’ up and down s‘hard as this wants some baby fertilizer. mmm. yeah you got some baby fever, don’t cha? let’s take care of that. don’t worry. I’ll breed that pussy right up just for you…”

he plunges all the way in while you still yourself and helplessly squeeze around the warm, fertilizing gush of his cum spurting right inside you. his throbbing veins don’t slow down and his hips don’t either, staying deep inside and rutting in little circles until he’s sure he’s fully milked his balls.

the squeal that stumbles out of you was so cute, so genuine—like you’ve finally been fed after being in a famine. like you needed his seed as bad as you needed water in a drought. skin to skin, feeling his leftovers swimming inside you. remmick still can’t shut the fuck up, still relishing in the high off how much your pussy’s needed him.

he croaks, stutters. wails like he’s getting fried up in a goddamn electric chair. raises his hips up pathetically to meet you in the middle, driving his wet cock to cram his spunk up into your favorite tender spots.

”yeahhh, oh that’s how that pussy’s s’pposed to take it—d-deep, deep and bare like this. ohhh hunny m’gettin’ baby fever just feelin’ your pretty pussy ‘round me, think of how good she’s soakin’ in all this cum…”

remmick and you mirror each other’s throaty gasp when he sheepishly slips right out, feeling the cool air hitting him practically like an ice cube after leaving your heat. grinning, knowing his cum’s been pumped deep, now seeping in and swirling around inside.

when he sees a mini dollop of his own cum slowly start to spill out he scrambles to grab one of your legs and puts his open palm up to your pussy to catch anything that drips. fingers it back inside. shushes your weak whining while he makes sure his load is safely tucked inside your womb. he gently taps a thigh, guiding your legs to splay out and point up.

“legs up. feet up too, c’mon. mmm keep that pussy sittin’ up, let that fuckin load sink in. yeah…. shit. you been cravin’ this. pussy looks so pretty after a cream pie,” he hums, swallowing a dribble of drool from the corner of his mouth while you whither and tighten. still squeezing onto nothing now while he curses and wipes up more that threatens to pour out from the movement of your muscles.

”you greedy for more cum already ain’t you? alright then, let’s put it back in,” he takes his wet dick in one of his hands and obscenely smacks it up against your skin. hardening up again.

“that’s it. that’s it gorgeous. that’ll give us some babies in no time momma. better be ready for what comes.”

——————————|||——————————

just a little nasty something something to make up for being gone a bit I’ve been going through a lot a TON of changes in life and im still adjusting but thank you everyone for all the love I always appreciate it:)

[iceemochaa]

No words.

virgin!remmick has plagued my mind

warnings (mdni 18+) : oral (m!receiving), sub!virgin!remmick

remmick has never been touched like this before.

not like this—back pressed to the wall, trembling while your hand holds him in place and your mouth ruins him in the best fucking way.

he’s already flushed before you even get on your knees. already leaking before you even lick the tip. poor thing’s so sensitive—his thighs jerking, breath stuttering the second your tongue slides under the head. and you’ve barely even started.

“f-fuck,” he gasps, head thunking back against the wall. “that’s—i c-can’t—”

but you just shush him. keep him still. suck a little harder.

and god, he tries to last. tries so fucking hard. his hands clench and unclench at his sides, like he wants to touch you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed. wants to pull away, but doesn’t want to lose the heat of your mouth. you look up once, and his eyes are wild—full of panic and pleasure and awe, like he can’t believe this is happening.

he comes embarrassingly fast. with a whimper. with a cry that he bites back too late. hips twitching, thighs trembling. spilling before he can even warn you, the tip of his cock still pulsing on your tongue.

“shit,” he chokes out, shame painting his voice raw. “fuck, i didn’t mean to—i just—i’ve never—”

you lick your lips and tilt your head, grinning like you already know.

“first times don’t last long, baby.”

“hold on a little longer next time.”

tags : @pathetic-remmick @avidreader73 @jimmys-tiara @kentblvd

[iceemochaa]

its important to write fanfiction no one cares about 👍

[iceemochaa]

Do Paddy and his Darling Wife TM get any semblance of a wedding night beyond ice cream before he’s shipped off again…?😉 *hint, hint*❤️

You don’t know how much I giggled reading this and then proceeded to spam Jude about Darling Wife’s first time with Paddy….. hahahahah

I had originally planned it out differently but this version hits way better and makes a lot more sense… anyways smut coming yeahhhhhhh

[iceemochaa]

Hahahahah Feel like I should also tell you guys that I have a DadBestfriend!Paddy X Reader (that I shorten to DBF ) in the works hahahahahah

I just want to put him in every scenario atp

[iceemochaa]

Paddy Mayne who has a Darling Wife…

This is dedicated to my sweet Jude @sinfulteeth who lets me ramble about stuff and in turn they ramble back to me… Guys, I am totally Sane for Paddy Mayne.

୨ৎ Paddy Mayne who has a cute wife at home… Nobody knows who you are let alone knew that you existed. 

Paddy never brings you up—  keeping the details of you to himself because he thinks it’s better that way. He’s not embarrassed by you— why would you ever think that? It’s more because he’s a very selfish and jealous man. 

Why would he ever share his most precious jewel with people who may come looking for more? 

୨ৎ He met you randomly one Night… The men all went to an after-party after this boring ass Military Ball and for a job well done on the frontlines— they found a pub nearby. Paddy decides to join with nothing else to do besides drinking and drowning his sorrows. 

The atmosphere was off the walls, so late into the night everybody had 4-5 drinks in their systems already. People joined at the hip, singing common songs that echoed outside. Paddy tried his best to survey his men, make sure things were smooth and steady but tonight he just wanted to worry about himself. 

୨ৎ You show up, standing next to him at the bar with the shortest dress and this nervous smile…ordering a round for your friends. You kept glancing off to the side, consistently checking to make sure your dress wasn’t riding up your ass. Another man was beside you, eyeing you in a downright creepy way— the type serial killers give when they have a target. 

Paddy turned around, downing his drink in one go and slamming it down on the table— demanded that the bartender give him another refill or so help him—

a loud gasp alerted him.

He turns at the sound, catching sight of your stormy face— eyebrows drawn tight, your hand curled into a fist.

“Did you just touch me?!” you asked, your voice low and burning with fury.

“Touch you?” Paddy snorts. “As if I’d go near a wee girl like you.” He gives you a slow once-over, eyes dragging down until they catch on where your dress cuts off—well above the knees. “Christ— would ye look at that. Dress barely coverin’ yer arse. Walkin’ about like that, yer near askin’ for it—”

His head snaps sideways, the world tilting for a second as his vision goes fuzzy.

You just clocked him— Hard — Maybe the hardest he’s ever been hit.

Paddy is unable to react, all coherent thoughts thrown out the window. The music is still playing, people are still dancing and shouting to the music but the bartender is frozen– Looking between you two. 

You politely take your drinks and turn on your heel, giving him a nasty glare over your shoulder, and leave. 

୨ৎPaddy can't stop thinking about you…Someone so bold and rash but was nervous enough to order drinks was a wonder. 

୨ৎ He finds you again...by pure coincidence, it seems. He was at the same bar again the next night, same chair, same bartender. He didn't exchange any words with the worker serving drinks, just took his loss with pride and politely ordered the same drink from last night like nothing happened. 

He’s by himself, the crowd is dull tonight– perhaps all the party hoppers took a day off. 

He feels a tap on his shoulders and there you are, a nervous look on your face and a box in hand. 

"I... I heard it wasn’t actually you," you said, eyes darting nervously around the room, your voice barely above a whisper. Embarrassment burned on your cheeks. "I’m sorry!" you blurted suddenly.

A few nearby people turned your way, clearly irritated by the outburst, but quickly resumed their conversations.

"I, um… I baked these cookies as an apology—please, take them!" you added, shoving the box toward him a little too eagerly. “I um, have to leave– Sorry again!” You scurried out the door soon after. 

Paddy once again couldn't react, his eyes wide and a look of bewilderment stitched on his face. 

“She's a keeper.” The bartender commented, drying a glass cup in his hand. 

୨ৎ Inside the box, you had left a note…an apology letter, written thoughtfully over several paragraphs, tucked in with a batch of chocolate chip cookies– homemade might he add. When he turned the paper over, he noticed an address scrawled on the back.

You really were something else.

୨ৎ Out there, alone in his quarters, with nothing but the silence and the memories of fallen comrades… his thoughts drifted to you. 

He found your letter again in the front pocket of his uniform jacket, folded carefully. 

Paddy had no one else to write to. So, he wrote to you.

He wrote about the cookies— said they were too sweet, but good, and lightly teased you for pouring out a five-paragraph apology over something that hadn’t bothered him.

That was it.

He didn’t expect an answer. In truth, he didn’t believe there would be one.

...He finds a letter left on his cot when he comes back from drills.

୨ৎYou send letters back to him… It's been two months since he's been deployed and you both write to each other when you both can. Paddy looks forward to that familiar brownish-orange envelope nowadays, it's the only thing keeping him sane. 

You always start with writing about your day, what you do when you're bored, and other delicious treats you've started baking. You promise that when he gets back you'll bake those cookies again– and this time it'll be perfect. 

Paddy writes that you better keep your promise. 

୨ৎWhen he arrives back, a bag strapped to his shoulders and a scowl on his face… He finds you amongst the crowd. Waving him over with a box in hand, and a bright smile on your face.

୨ৎ Paddy has many ideas– terrible yes, but still, many ideas…You were sitting across from him, happily demolishing a bowl of ice cream. You’d invited him out—not a date, you insisted. Just something friends do. That’s what Paddy kept repeating in his head.

Over and over.

Like it would change how he felt.

He hadn’t touched his dessert. Not even a taste. He was too busy watching you—specifically, how quickly you were inhaling yours.

“What’s the rush, then?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out with one ankle lazily crossed over the other.

You stopped to eye him, a small portion of ice cream on the corner of your mouth. Paddy notices but he doesn't say anything. 

“Well, you’re leaving in a few days,” you said, frowning. “Then it’s back to writing letters that never arrive on time! I swear, it takes over a month just for one to reach me. What’s up with that?”

Paddy shrugged, tone flat, as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “GHQ only cares about letters from loved ones,” he said plainly, voice low.  “Saves them time and money sending the mail boys out to us. If it’s not your ma or your missus writing, it’ll sit in a pile till they can be sent.”

“Wait– really?”

“Aye, really.” He glances off to the side then back at you, a smirk on his face.  “Unless yer plannin’ on marryin’ me, don’t expect those letters to arrive on time. They’ll be late as hell, like always. Oh, aye. ”

You peer at him through your lashes, batting them innocently with a grin on your face.

“Marriage you say?”

୨ৎ Court house marriage was the plan…and it was probably the best day he’s had. You were so giddy, a small white tiara on your head that you bought from a run down costume store. You told Paddy that you should at least look the part. The process didn't take long, a few signatures here and a few “Yes, I do.” there and you both were married within thirty minutes. 

How did you two celebrate this important night? More ice cream of course. Same chair, same flavor and this time Paddy ate his ice cream. 

Secret Admirer: @pearlstiare

[iceemochaa]

Hahahaha Your Paddy Maynes darling wife who he dots on and is selfish and jealous enough to keep your love hahahahaha.,,, unless?

[iceemochaa]

Guys I am not okay— they hit the pentagon!!

going public with rockstar!remmick

haigh tumblrinas. a very happy r!r update to all who celebrate

Marcia tosses a tabloid on the table. 

You’re meeting in her office– much earlier than you’d prefer, with your new night owl sensibilities.

“I’m not reading that,” you tell her, shaking your head.

She scowls and two more join the pile. The usual drivel about Remmick being a Satanist, the Devil, or the antichrist himself. There are a few standout revelations, about the girls in the rock genre he’s burned and– notably– his strange, murky past. You’ve talked extensively about your childhood. You know he has Irish roots, and he’s from North Carolina. 

The articles also touch on the cultish nature of his band and circle of friends. How all of them have the same answers to certain questions, always harping on about how important the music is, how the music is something special. Using odd words like fellowship, all things you’ve heard Remmick say before. You admire that about him, his devotion to the craft and the art. You do think the band is weird, but you figure their brains are scrambled from all the drugs they take. 

“You want to go public? With this?” 

“This? Marcia, I love him.”

“Oh my God,” she sighs, pinching her nose bridge. “Look, this was still cute when you were still Sweetie Love, but now?”

Sweetie Love– or Lovey– was your nickname in 2*Sweet. Your other groupmates were Sweetie Boss, Sweetie Smart, and Sweetie Bad. You all had your manufactured personalities. Bossy was the oldest, she’s a mother now, happily married and largely out of the spotlight. Smarty was the brainy one, she does science programmes for children. Baddie was the tough girl with an edge, and she’s a professional wrestler. 

You were the only one who truly embodied your role, even in private. You were the youngest in the group, the cute one, the crybaby, the lovergirl. You loved the other girls so much, they were like big sisters to you.

You remember crying over some PR relationship you had with a boyband member– you were only sixteen– in private, he’d made it very clear that you were only dating in public, not for real. You bawled like a baby to the three of them.

“He was a jerk anyways, kid,” Bossy said, waving her hand. 

“I’m sorry he said that to you, Lovey,” Smarty comforted you. 

“Can you let her cry? You’re the one who set her up with the dickhead in the first place!” Baddie shouted at your group manager, barring him from entering the room. 

“I just… I really liked him,” you sniffled, looking at your hands.

You’re grown up now, but damn it if you’re not still a romantic.

And you’re hopeless about this guy. 

You slump back in your chair.

“I mean it, Marcia.” 

You feel those childish tears pricking at your eyes.

“I just…” you can almost feel yourself at sixteen again, made to feel small and stupid. 

You see her soften, huff and shake her head.

“Fine. But I want to meet with his publicist.” 

“Yes!”

You pop up in your chair and embrace her. She smells like cigarettes and hairspray and drugstore perfume, but you adore her at that moment. 

“Yes, oh, you’re the best, Marcy!”

“Alright, don’t push it.” 

Remmick is coming late, and you wait for him, watching as the clock turns to 10:45, playing with the ties on your shorts. You see a car pull up in the drive and open the door, running out to hug him and kiss him. He came straight from his show at Dodger Stadium, and he’s still sweating. 

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. 

You thank and tip the driver, and Remmick listens to you babble as you walk him to the door. He examines the threshold until you giggle.

“Oh, won’t you please come in?” you joke. 

He grins at you and passes through. He follows you through the house, amazed at the way you can talk all the way until you reach your bedroom, when his bag and suitcase are tossed on the floor. You’re still chattering when his hands grab you by the face and pull you to him, giving you a dizzying kiss.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes against your mouth. 

“Hm?”

“Shut up.” 

You giggle nervously as you push him back on the bed, crawling over him and kissing him all over his face.

“Oh, you missed me, huh?”

The teasing tone of his voice has you feeling wild. You sit back and admire him for a second. Still sweating, smudged eyeliner on his face, you can see under his shirt he’s still covered in red handprints from the fake blood they use at his shows. 

You perk up and pat his chest.

“Will you put the fangs on for me?”

“What?”

“The fangs you wear at the shows? Please?”

Remmick’s stomach flips. He hasn’t felt that in decades. He doesn’t wear fake fangs. They’re his own, which he allows to slide from their position in his mouth and uses for a few key moments, always hiding when he does to make it seem like fake teeth. 

“Please? It’ll be fun!” 

You feign distress, the back of your hand pressed to your forehead.

“Oh, no, don’t suck all my blood,” you joke. 

You giggle and don’t notice when Remmick swallows nervously. He has to hold back every single time you’re around each other, when he smells your warm blood, the sound of your heartbeat making his ears ring.

“Can I bite you?”

“Won’t they pop off?”

“They’re uh… pretty well-made.”

“Fine. But don’t bite too hard… if I show up at the office tomorrow with a bite mark on my neck Marcia will literally die.” 

“Oh, I can think of somewhere else to bite you,” he murmurs, his hand squeezing your thigh. 

You grin at him and nod. He sits up and you climb off, letting him go to his bag. He takes it to the bathroom, shutting the door. He lets his fangs slide down, willing his claws to stay short. He reenters the room and parts his lips, letting you see the gnarled teeth between them.

You bite your lip, giggling. 

“They look so real up close,” you murmur in amazement, sitting up on your knees. “Can… can I touch them?”

He nods and you reach up, dragging your index finger down his front teeth. Your manicured nail touches his lips and he jokingly snaps at you. You pull back your hand and giggle. He can smell you getting wetter and he shoves you back on the bed, kissing down your tummy as your shirt rides up. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts and drags them down your legs, sinking to his knees. He tosses them to the side and clenches his jaw, trying to maintain his control.

“Ew, they’re all slimy,” you whine. 

He’s drooling now, really drooling, dripping onto his leather pants as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your clit. As much as he would love to drink from your cunt– our soft, warm, drooling cunt where the blood would be so sweet he’d get a sugar rush– he knows he can’t. Knows he won’t be able to control himself, knows he’ll turn you prematurely. He pretends to take off his fangs and shove them in his pocket, where he’s actually stuffed your panties, and dives in to eat you alive the acceptable way. Fingers deep in your cunt, tongue lapping at your clit like he’s dying of thirst. Every raucous, slurping sound he could make leaves his mouth as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. 

His teeth scrape at your thighs– hard enough to leave streaky bruises– in a desperate attempt to draw blood by accident. He tries this several times until you push on his head, whining. 

“Rem, that hurts…”

“Sorry,” he pants against your skin. “M’sorry, baby, you just taste so good.” 

When he’s finished, when you’ve cum twice and he’s ruined his own pants, he lays in bed with you, his head on your chest. He listens to your heart, constructing melodies in his head to the thrum of you. 

Soon.

You tap your foot as you sit in the office with your publicists, Marcia and Remmick’s guy Richard. They work for the same PR agency, even though you and Remmick are signed to different labels. 

Something that should be a declaration of love is turning into hostile business negotiations. You impatiently watch the sun as it slowly bleeds into a sunset, disappearing behind the hills of Hollywood, the lights under the sign illuminating it. 

Finally, when it’s that cool purple tone, Remmick opens the door. Sunglasses over his eyes, hair a mess. You know he just woke up and– from his twitchy manner and the way he’s sniffing– just took a bump. You’re not even mad at him for being here so late and high, you’re just relieved you don’t have to listen to this much longer. 

“Christ, there he is,” Marcia grumbles.

“Marcia, good to see you again,” he greets her sarcastically.

“Oh, this is nothing. I usually meet with him at two in the morning.”

Remmick hands her the letter you two wrote the night before. She skims it quickly and gives you a look.

“What?”

“This is ridiculous.”

“But I really mean it,” you whine. 

“Is she always this sensitive?” Richard mutters.

“Always,” Remmick and Marcia answer at the same time.

You pout at the three of them. 

“You really want to print this? This is so sappy,” Richard grimaces at the words. 

“She wrote it.”

“We wrote it together,” you correct. 

“Can you two just be honest?” Remmick huffs.

“She makes you look like you’re losing your edge.”

“Oh, I still have a fuckin’ edge.”

“He’s ruining your reputation.”

“I don’t want that reputation. I don’t even wanna be that girl anymore! I’m not Sweetie Love, I’m just… me. And I love him and I love the music I’ve made because of him. And th-the music we make together? Oh my God! You know it’s his voice on Right to My Face?”

Remmick hides a smirk behind his hand at how passionate you are. He takes a slow, calculated breath. He can feel his heart swell with that sick, ancient blood that flows through him. Your growing care for the integrity of the music and the importance of it is clear in the way you speak. 

“Oh, I know. I was the one dodging questions about it for you. For weeks.”

“Because it was on the charts for that long! Everyone was talking about us- they’re still talking about us because they love us!”

You catch yourself in a moment of such intense emotion and slump back in your chair, dragging your hands down your face. You arrived bare-faced, mostly just to go a bit incognito. 

“We’ll tweak this. Make it sound less… dear diary,” Richard mutters.

“Dear diary?” you pout again.

“A little more polished, hon. We love your enthusiasm.” 

“One more thing,” Remmick says.

“Yeah?”

“We’re doing a pap walk for my show tonight.”

After the blur of camera flashes and the feeling of Remmick leading you through a crowd, you sit on the cozy chair in his dressing room backstage. 

You sat in his lap while the band and crew discussed the minor changes to the setlist for the evening, and you agreed to add your voice to Tongue Out, with a microphone offstage.

“And ladies and germs, do not forget that we’re endin’ with Dirty Blessing tonight, cause tonight my lady is joinin’ us,” he had joked, squeezing the arm around your waist. 

The band was strange as ever, hardly adding their own ideas as he leads the conversation. But even the crew seemed to be part of this weird, reverent energy in the room. None of them looked at you, focused only on him. 

“So… what’s their deal?” you ask once everyone leaves.

“What deal?” 

“Are they all just, like, whacked out?”

“Well, probably. But um… it’s different tonight.”

He looks at you. He’s serious, red eyes full of want and locked on your own.  

“This one is gonna be…”

His eyes trail down to your chest, like he can see your heart through your skin.

“Fuck, it’s once in a lifetime.”

You watch the show from a box in a far corner, mostly hidden. Some of the people around you notice you, and you do get flipped off a couple times. In a few cases– mostly with men who brought their cute girlfriends– the girlfriend sees you and waves wildly. You send them back a wave and you blow a few kisses. 

You’ve seen Remmick perform before, mostly in videos. He gifted you a VHS of his performance at Woodstock ‘94. You’ve probably burned a hole in the tape, how many times you’ve rewound to see him grinding against the stage while he sang Coming In. 

He takes a drink of water, leaning against his mic stand as he shakes out his sweaty hair. He wipes off his face with a towel that he tosses into the crowd. 

“Don’t sell that! Now, in a moment we’re gonna get to singin’ Slippery up here,” he holds out the s again, interrupted by cheers. “Now, I have been fuckin’ hounded by reporters, by paparazzi- shit, even by you motherfuckers! Everybody wants to know about this song. Everybody’s always askin’ me, ‘is it about… say, a certain pretty ‘lil popstar who I was wildcattin’ with in the news last year?’ And I am just here to put those rumours to rest, alright? Because this song… is absolutely about her. Well, a certain part of her.”

He laughs as the band starts to play, and he climbs up onto the platform with the drummer. A few people turn back to see you giggling behind your hand, body already moving to the thrumming bass line. 

By the end of the show, the stadium is wrecked. There are trampled-on signs, discarded wristbands, the odd ticket or two. You see the empty package of a condom, which makes you shudder to think where the thing itself ended up. The crew packs up, and Remmick requests that you stay with him and the band while they have a drink to celebrate the end of this group of shows. 

He never tours, not like you have. Just announces short bursts of shows, a handful at a time in random cities, before not performing again for a few months. 

You join him backstage, hugging him tight, kissing his mouth with those silly fangs in it. The corn syrup blood smudges on your lips and you giggle, swiping it away and licking your finger clean.

“You’re gonna be all sticky if you don’t wash off,” you tell him.

“Mm, you still let me fuck you last time.”

He kisses you again, differently. His hands hold your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“I love you too, Rem…”

“I love that you came tonight… that you got to share the music with us all…”

“Yeah, of course, I was so excited to see you play. You guys were awesome!” you chirp to the band, who smile politely.

“Thanks,” one of them says. 

You see their white contacts close up.

“Whoa, can you even see anything through those?”

“I can see you fine, sweetheart,” the bassist answers.

You don’t see her hand gripping the sofa cushion so hard she could rip it in half. You don’t miss the way she calls you sweetheart, however. 

“Rem,” you say softly.

“Yeah?”

“Is this like… like an orgy thing?”

“No, do you want it to be?” he answers you in a jokey tone.

“No, I… what’s with everybody? You guys are freaking me out,” you laugh nervously. 

“Baby,” he says, his voice in a different tone, his cold, sticky hand gripping your shoulder.

“Wh-”

“You know I wanna be yours.”

“You are mine,” you tease him.

“Wanna be yours forever. Wanna make music with you forever.” 

“Is this…” your voice drops, “a-are you proposing right now?”

Fellowship and music.

You whip your head to see who whispered in your ear, finding nobody. He turns your head back to him, holding your chin in his hand. 

“Oh, this is bigger than marriage, sweet thing.”

No pain.

He doesn’t let you move your head again, his grip– suddenly so strong– keeping you in place. 

“Rem, wh- you’re scaring me-”

“Baby. C’mon,” he laughs. “C’mon, you can’t be that stupid.”

You feel like your feet are glued to the floor as he circles you like a shark.

“Never seen me in the day. Never seen me eat. You never ever questioned how I just show up in the middle of the night? No, why would you? Huh? You want it so bad… you’ll make up any little excuse. What’d you think? Hm? Drugs? Maybe I’m just the asshole everybody says I am… me and these morons, we ain’t no two-bit cult, baby, oh no. No, they’re all me. And I’m all of them and now… you’ll be me and I’ll be you, pretty thing. Make you part of this beautiful band, make you me.”

You can’t speak, your voice caught in your throat. You make a pathetic little whimpering noise and he puts a finger to his lips. You watch all of his digits grow, bones pushing the skin out longer– slow, gory, and painfully– into long, razor-like claws. 

A tear rolls down your cheek and he swipes it away, licking it off of his thumb. 

“So sweet. Don’t cry now. Don’t cry, baby, this was always how it was gonna happen. Well… see, when I started that little fight, I was just feelin’ nasty… but now? Oh, darlin’…”

His clawed hands cup your face. Delicately, like you’re something precious and priceless but his. 

Only his.

The candlelight in the room bounces off the reflective eyes of the band, who wait in patient silence while their maker claims his bride.

“I never thought you’d be… you. The way you talk about the music, the way you love it, baby.”

He puts one hand over his heart.

“You’re perfect.”

From behind you he leans in, taking in the fragile floral fragrance of your perfumed neck. He snarls, you feel the cold puff of his breath against you. 

“God, I been waitin’ so long for this.”

It doesn’t hurt at first. Your body goes into shock and numbs the pain of his bite. 

Then it blooms. Your shoulder is on fire, his teeth dig so deep, ripping the skin, the muscle, the tendons and every little fiber of your taught body until you finally find your voice and scream. You fall to your knees but he’s there to catch you, easing you down as he drinks down your blood greedily. 

“Oh, fu-ck,” he gurgles. “Goddamn, s-so sweet, baby, y’so fuckin’ sweet,” he pants, his mouth coated in your blood. 

Your body goes limp, unable to hold yourself up on your elbows, sliding until your Remmick t-shirt touches the carpet. You’re bawling, hot tears streaming down your face as you gasp for air, his weight crushing you against the floor. You can feel the throb as blood gushes from the wound and into his waiting maw– it almost feels like he’s trying to bite your whole arm off. 

This is it. 

No more tours, red carpets, fashion shows, parties, photoshoots, songs, albums, TV spots, scandals, or lovers.

There will be no 2*Sweet Reunion Tour when you’re fifty-five. 

You will never be a princess on your wedding day. 

You will never be a mother or a grandmother. 

You will never win a Grammy or an Oscar or do anything else because you are dead. 

You’re bleeding out behind a locked door, in a closed stadium, in the middle of the night, where nobody will find you unless they want you to be found. 

Your eyes close and you take a shaky breath.

A split second later, your eyes shoot open. The pain is gone, morphed into something else. The blood spilling from you seemed to reroute itself, and has rushed down to pool in a needy warmth at your belly. Your body is hot, so incredibly hot. You try to speak, only choking.

He turns you over. 

You see Remmick for what he is. Eyes glowing, claws gripping your leg, fangs on display. You’re not afraid. You know him, you’ve known him. You see through your eyes, through his own eyes, as every drooling thing around you does.

You can’t speak, your mouth pooling with saliva. 

“No, just breathe.”

You focus your breathing, in through your nose and out through your mouth.

Drool and blood make a sickly cocktail, dripping from his mouth. Something takes over your body, you immediately crane up to lick his face clean, tasting that coppery tang of your own blood and the unsatisfying sweetness of the lingering corn syrup. 

“That’s my girl,” he purrs, helping you sit up with him on your knees. You can feel his hands on your skin and feel yourself grabbing your own skin. “Whoa, girl. Relax.” “I… I c-”

Instead of words, spit dribbles from your lips.

“I know, shh, I know, baby. Hivemind’s a lot at first… gotta ease you into it.” He looks to the band.

“Leave,” he commands, his voice echoing in your head. 

They get up and exit the room, and you try to join them. Remmick keeps you on the floor with two hands on your shoulders. 

“No, not you, sugar. Not you. You stay here.”

You paw at his chest, still trying to speak. 

“What, you need somethin’? Huh?”

He’s teasing you. He ate you and now he’s fucking teasing you. 

Suddenly, you feel white hot rage bubble up inside of you and boil over, reaching up to swipe at him with your own claws. He catches your hand before it even gets near his face, pinning back to the carpet. 

“That wasn’t very nice,” he snarls at you. 

“What the fuck am I?” you spit at him. 

“Sweetheart, I know you know what you are.”

His low voice is reminding you of that insistent need, that throbbing between your legs. You would love to fight with him but instead you just part your legs, skirt riding up your thighs.

“There she is,” he coos, running his hands down your thighs. “There’s my girl.”

You watch his hands return to their human form, gagging at the way the skin shifts and the bones crack back into place. Your disgust subsides when you realise you can grab his hand and bring it to your mouth, licking the blood from his fingers ravenously. 

“That’s it. Yeah, lick all that up, c’mon. Good girl.”

He settles between your legs, his leather pants grinding against your soaked panties as you scramble to hold something. Your claw nicks him by accident when you try to grab onto his arms. He hisses and you cower.

“No, no, that’s alright. That’s okay, baby, you’re learnin’. You can scratch.”

He drags your panties down your legs and undoes his belt, shoving down his pants, his cock springing free. He twitches and grips himself at the base, pushing into you. You gasp, claws digging into his shoulders as you hold on for dear life. 

“You feel that? You feel yourself, baby?” 

The feel is something entirely new, the familiar stretch of him in you but the phantom sensation of just how damn tight you are around his cock, just barely there.

“Oh, f-fuck… mm, you always feel me this deep? Goddamn.”

You shudder when he bottoms out. He hovers over your face, panting.

“Show me your fangs,” he says. “Let ‘em out.”

The fangs moving is slow at first, slimy and agonising as they lengthen and come to points in your mouth. You bring your hand down to touch them, distantly remembering the feeling of his teeth in your house. 

He starts with shallow thrusts, just hardly pulling out of you. Your legs are hooked over his hips, ankles crossed behind him.

“Yeah, take it like that. Take it deep for me.”

He laughs at you, drool running down the side of your face, smudged with blood and corn syrup.

“Dirty girl. Got you all messy, huh?”

You can’t speak, just moan and sputter as he rubs your clit in tight, mean circles.

“R-Rem-”

“You close, honey? Yeah, I know you are, I can feel it now. My pretty bride… you cum on this cock, baby, you show me who you belong to.”

You whimper.

“I’m right behind you, right there fuckin’ up in you so deep-”

You both moan when he lifts your hips and angles up, his tip grazing the spot inside of you that has you crying.

“Oh, baby… that’s what th-that feels like?” 

He rocks his hips, just pushing himself against that spot again and again, feeling it through you. He keeps going until he’s gasping for air, whimpering.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum for me, please, please, claim me. Just claim me, tell me I’m yours.”

“You’re mine, Remmick,” you sob. 

“Oh, God- I’m all yours, sweetheart.”

Testing your newfound strength– and also because he lets you– you turn him over, his back slamming onto the floor as you bounce on his cock.

“Yes, yes, fuck, yes! C’mon baby, c’mon baby, please, please,” he chants desperately, breathlessly. 

You feel the muscles in his abdomen pull taut as the pressure in you releases, simultaneously feeling yourself gush on him and him cumming inside of you. You keep going until he lifts you off with a snarl. You wince like a dog, wriggling from his grasp to touch him again. You need to be on him, skin to skin. You nuzzle against his cold, empty chest. You hear a single heartbeat and look up at him.

“Old thing like me, I’m lucky it’s that fast.”

“But… you…”

“Just a ‘lil glamour, baby. Man’s gotta have a heartbeat.”

He cups your face.

“What am I?” you ask quietly. 

“You’re in the band, darlin’.” 

taglist

@pinkpantheressluver @thisbastardneedsafatherfigure @cyberneticangel777 @h1ghw4y @sociallyawkwardamoeba @jukesjoint @fr0ggieth1nk @fveapplestall @budgiefeatherboa @idlephantom @i-love-boobs0 @juleswrld0 @pom3granates @thatonegirlthatlikesthings @therosequartzwitch666 @4--eyez @the-preachersdaughter @zylmyl @pearlstiare @uh-oh-hemmeo @bunnistorm @creamqvvn @decayingearf @yummi3 @killora1708 @m4llu @suckmysnakeplants @mrmountainman @mangobellini @lycantrocanine @miss-hollister @chelzaa @ap0n1

mo chairde mutuals @bleedingsunlight @prettyliittleviolets @faestunna @roomiesoreo @porcosjaw @angelickks @theabhartachsbride @vcmpbyt

[iceemochaa]

Okay, Taking a break from writing these one shots because I have no motivation right nowwwww

I've been reading so many fics on here and man, I'm inspired to write imagines than full fics and its driving me CRAZY. Smh

Ill update soon if the boredom doesn't kill me

Developing a strange mental illness that if I don't post often I should end it all… someone help

[iceemochaa]

JUDE WHERES THE RESTTTTTTTTT GRRRRRRRR

Lamb to the Slaughter

Pairing | Remmick x Farmers Daughter!Reader

I didn’t forget about you all I promise !! Work has been a little hectic and the original fic I’m writing became way longer than I originally intended but I still wanted to write a lil smth to hold y’all over until I post it hehe. I fully intend on flushing this out a lot more eventually but for now have this short little teaser <3

as ALWAYS thank you @bloodandbutts and @flixpii for beta reading. a very special thank you to bubs specifically for letting me bounce my ideas constantly off of them

Now playing: Hayloft - Mother Mother

Farmer’s daughter! Reader who is the last one left at home with her overprotective father. You grew up sheltered as the only daughter among a house full of sons who are now all old enough to go to war and start families of their own.

It left you daydreaming under your daddy’s watchful eye. Hoping that one day a handsome man would find you here and whisk you away from all you’ve ever known – a scene straight out of some cliche romance movie you’d seen once when you snuck into town. You yearned for it, staring off into the treeline as you tended to the chickens roaming in their pen and the only thing breaking your fantasy was a yell from the porch to snap out of it. As you tuck the freshly laid eggs into your apron, the thought stayed nestled sweetly into your mind.

Growing up the way you did had interesting consequences. It made you trusting, too sheltered for your own good even as an adult. You were foolishly naive, always too eager to see the best in everyone. You tried to give out whatever you could, eggs to a man you’d never met, pocket change to someone who was short a couple cents for their groceries, you always had kind heart and it surely would be your undoing. Maybe that's why on that evening as you sat out on the porch by yourself sipping on ice cold tea, a rare moment alone since your father decided to head into town at the last minute, you barely noticed the man inching ever closer to the forest’s edge that surrounds the farm like a suffocating blanket.

Anyone with common sense would know that there would be no good reason for a stranger to be all the way out here, they would’ve ran into town long before reaching your home. That thought never once crossed your mind, squinting into the wall of trees your eyes find a staggering man finally released from the grip of the branches, running the best he can while gripping his abdomen. If you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought he was covered in blood.

Shooting up from your seat, you hike your skirt as your legs begin to run without thinking.

“Hey! Hey sir!! You alright?” You yell before you get to him, waving your hands to attempt to get his attention

You almost collide with the man as he repeatedly looks behind him as if he were being chased and you finally get to take a closer look at him. That's definitely blood drenching his shirt, soaking through his fingers that clutch onto the wound in thick pools. For some reason it doesn’t dissuade you in the slightest. Your hands seem to gravitate toward his arm, hovering ever so slightly over the stranger's skin as you scan him over to check for any more injuries.

He wore a look of worn out desperation on his face, looking you so deeply in your eyes your heart skips a beat as you wonder what he’ll find.

“Ya..ya gotta hide me!.. They chased me all the way from th’ next town over!” He panted as he spoke, clearly out of breath from his run. His free hand gripped onto your shoulder for stability, the man’s hand on you feeling rough and loving all at once.

“They robbed my car travelin’ into town, Please ya gotta hide me here"

His grip on your body felt strong, fingers digging into your flesh with a heavy pressure that seemed unnecessary. You could swear it almost felt good. A smarter person would’ve been more critical of this, asked more questions. But that didn't matter to you right now. Right now the handsomest man you’ve ever seen step foot on your daddy’s farm and that had a strange accent you’d never even heard before that made your heart flutter in ways you couldn't conjure up in your wildest dreams was standing right here before you, pleading for something only you could offer. You’d be a fool to say no to an opportunity to break your loneliness streak.

You take a deep breath in and wrap his free arm around your shoulder to hold him up, pressing your hand against his to put pressure on the wound.

“You can come follow me” You hum with a sweet smile, holding up the man as best as you can as you hobble him toward your equipment shed.

Little do you know you had just found the devil in your garden– and he sure does have a way with words.

© sinfulteeth 2025, lamb divider by @sister-lucifer

[iceemochaa]

Sab im sick and the only cure to my illness is this fic hahhahahahahaah pls I need it bad

❝ pretty woman ❞ — sneak peek

jack solomon x f!reader

WARNINGS: spying/stalking, invasion of privacy (use of bugs), misogynistic comments, infidelity, insinuation of sex (masturbation) (18+ ONLY)

A/N: this is an idea i’ve been working around with for about a month now, and since it’s nowhere near finished, i wanted to give you guys a little snippet! there is also a moodboard and media visualizer to go along with this fic :)

you do NOT have to watch seberg to read this fic

Jack flips a switch on the transmitter so a small, red light blinked on.

“We got her,” Cal smiles to himself.

You leave the music to play throughout the house. Something to fill the silence. Your footsteps trail to your staircase—blocked by a wall.

His eyes glide to the second floor. Through one of the small windows, your figure passes by for just a moment. Sauntering past another wall.

“Where’d she go?” Cal blurts. “Can you hear something?”

Despite Jack’s growing impatience, he politely shushes his partner.

The feed plays static. Music in the distance.

Then, on the far end of the house, a room lined from the ceiling to floor with glass glows. “There she is,” Cal grins. Something about seeing all of his teeth made Jack’s skin crawl.

You hum along to the record faintly playing. For a minute, you disappear behind a pair of doors. The next, you reappear with pink silk in your arms. He only hears your footsteps as you trail down the hallway again.

“What’s she doing now?”

He mentally wishes Cal would stop with the questions.

Water rushes. The humming continues. Both covered by static. “I think she’s showering,” Jack says.

Then, he pulls the headset off.

“Hey, hey, what’re you doing?” Cal reaches for it.

He shrugs, “I’m giving her privacy.”

“Privacy?” His partner’s eyes widen. He starts to laugh like a maniacal bully on the schoolyard. “Brother, we’re the FBI. She doesn’t have privacy.”

Jack doesn’t argue. Though, there’s something in his soul who knows that isn’t right.

But this was the mission. That, and Cal was so large he could practically step on him. If he was going to be complicit in this invasion, he didn’t exactly want Cal to be the one listening to you.

He puts the headset back on. The water no longer gushes from the faucet. Jack listens for a long minute to nothing but silence. Small splashes.

Then, a soft sound. A voice. He doesn’t comprehend it as words until it comes back.

A moan. A sharp, quiet gasp.

He thinks of Linette. He closes his eyes and imagines those sounds coming from her because the ring on his finger left no space for other women.

Linette is his wife. Jack is her husband.

And you are one of the most gorgeous women in the world getting herself off right in his ear.

Another moan leaves you like a breath.

“What is it?” Cal asks. A bit more excitement to his voice.

He takes the headset from Jack’s hand and holds one cover close. Eyes crazed with rapacity. “Ho…ly…fuck.”

Then, he starts to laugh.

“Oh, boy,” he whistles. “You know how many people would pay to hear this?”

Jack grabs his device back from Cal. He doesn’t immediately press it to his ear. And his hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed by his partner.

When he listens again, the air is nearly knocked from his lungs. You let out a whine—a bit louder than the rest.

He doesn’t think of Linette this time.

He imagines your hair soaked with suds. Your brows are knitted, body gleaming and wet. Your hands gripping onto his dancing over your skin.

tags: @jimmys-tiara @kentblvd @polaris-daydreams @vcmpbyt

© faestunna 2025.

[iceemochaa]

So many thoughts…only adds to how much I want him

reading over early interviews with jack o’connell and this girl gets it. the man is charming in an audacious way

[iceemochaa]

How many times should I say “I need him.” Before he appears in my bed??????????????????????

Jack, mate. I apologise for what I say aloud when it's 30°C

Does this account for the previous times I have noticed this fact? No.