I haven’t been inspired to write for quite a while, and I rewatched Sinners and fell into a Jack obsession.
I had this idea for Eric Northman and then saw a similar idea used with Remmick, so credit to @roomiesoreo and @spikedfearn for their inspo + @chrisssiren for the divider.
Remmick x afab!Reader, warnings: smut, small mentions of grief, implied father death, predator prey dynamics, slight f!masturbation, slight religious imagery, unprotected p in v sex, swearing, pet names (darlin’ sweet thing, little devil girl, baby).
𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪 standing on the dirt road just past the gate at dusk- the last rays of light scorching the skin of his collarbones, fine tendrils of smoke dancing upwards into the firefly-ridden air.
You had heard the whisperings in town of the man who drifted through after dark. Whose eyes weren’t quite right, blood drops on his collar. Goats gone missin’ off of Mr. Smith’s farm, the outline of a man and lines of smoke in the air on nights he was too impatient to wait for dark, perhaps liking the thrill of the pain. The goats’ bodies are strewn across the field come morning.
Must be now that daddy’s gone, the man is showing himself to you freely. Can hear just one heartbeat pounding through the house. Can hear just one heartbeat for weeks now. He must’ve been watching you. Waitin’.
You’re sittin’ on the front steps of the porch, trying to control your heartbeat. Not wanting to give away the zing of fear you feel. After so many weeks of grief, the zing is welcome. Exhilarating. Freeing. You want to forget.
He has a knowing glint in his eye. Can tell that you know what he is- a creature your daddy would’ve shot on sight. Not that it would’ve done much. Not that it ever does much. Especially when he sees somethin’ he wants.
He’s unlatching the gate with a single claw, the darkness swallowing him. The bugs and animals gone silent.
The slip of a fang in his smirk.
The red glow of his eyes.
You’re not sure how fast he can move, but the thrill of waitin’ on the step until the last possible second has you rooted to the spot. Fingers flexing on the porch at either side of your hips. Controlling your heartbeat long forgotten- heart sounding like a bunny ready to spring.
He’s walking lazily, stalking, as his gaze flicks from your bare knees up to your eyes, his smirk tilting one side of his fanged mouth.
You snap up and throw yourself through the open front door- the creak of the porch breaking the tension as you whirl to see him standing just past the threshold. His lips are slightly parted, eyes on fire with what looks like desire. When he speaks you almost whimper, his voice deep and ancient, not even trying to pretend that he’s from these parts.
“Aren’t you gonna let me in, darlin’?” He rasps, voice soundin’ like the old country.
Your breath catches in your throat.
“C’mon, sweet thing. Can smell your cunt from here. Know you want me inside.” He whispers, double entendre in his vulgar words not lost on you.
You’re inches apart, only separated by a thin veil of desire and two words.
The thrill of the power in this situation is taking hold, after being out of control and lost for weeks. Wanting a release. Needing to take hold of something for yourself. For your pleasure. And he will let you have it all if you just let him in.
His cocky and collected mask is fading knowing that you can walk away at any moment, door clicking in his face. That what he wants and has wanted for months is just past that threshold and there’s nothing that he can do about it. That his fate is in your hands.
But he knows you won’t walk away now. Can practically taste your arousal in the warm, sticky, air.
You straighten your spine, tilting your chin up. Waitin’ a little longer. Holdin’ out.
He closes his eyes and inhales, deep. “Can smell how bad you want it, baby,” his eyes snap open, fully a deep, longing red now, “let me in.”
You slowly take a step back, hand still on the door for support, chin still high.
“Never said I didn’t want it,” you finally say, no waver in your voice, side of your hand turned inwards, slowly parting your robe. “Just need you to want it more.”
You sink slowly to the worn floorboards, right in the entry to your home, and lean back on your elbows, legs starting to part. He slams his hands on his side of the frame, claws slowly splintering the wood as he drags them, falling to his knees.
His eyes are zeroed in on the tortuously slow parting of your legs, eyes blazing, jaw clenching. Chest rumbling so deep it almost makes you shiver.
Hands finally smacking the ground by his knees he turns to his side, leaning forward on his palms, head cocked, desperately trying to peek under your little nightgown like he lost somethin’ under there. Maybe his sanity. Maybe his self control.
You feel drunk on the power you get from seeing an ancient, horrifically beautiful demon on his knees, losing his composure just getting a glimpse of what’s hidin’ between your legs.
You pause. His eyes snap to yours. Molten.
All at once you drop your legs and he sharply inhales, as if he needs to breathe. Deep growl reverberating around the room as he sees you’re not wearing anything under that dress.
He breaks, lunging forward, hands slamming the invisible barrier in the doorway, snarling with his fangs fully protruding. Restraint gone, barely a sliver of eyes not lost to that deep red darkness.
“Baby,” he growls. “I’m gonna work my cock so deep into that sweet pussy you’ll feel me for weeks,” he hisses the ‘s’, sharply, speaking impossibly deep, as he demands, “Let. Me. In.”
Calmly trailing your dominant hand up your thigh, you recline all of your weight on your other elbow for support as your index finger makes contact with your warm, wet heat.
He can’t shut the fuck up- can’t keep the desperation from showing in the poorly controlled semblance of restraint in his voice as he says, “what will it take for you to let me in? You can see that I do want it. Oh, sugar, do I want. It.” He subconsciously licks his lips.
Perfectly poised, you inch your fingers up to your clit, swirling once, head falling back, mouth parting on a small whimper just for show, hearing the porch wood splinter. Smirking internally at how you literally brought this being to his knees. Your head lolls back forward, eyes opening, hooded and glazed with want as you slowly slide your fingertips back through your folds and inch two inside of yourself.
At the quiet squelch of your wetness, he stands, chest heaving, one clawed hand gripping the doorframe, one ripping his shirt out of his pants, tearing the buttons off until it parts across his glistening chest.
“I’m going to ruin you, you little teasing devil. Make you beg and cry on this cock,” he grits, rolling his sleeves to his elbows.
“‘re you gonna hurt me, Creature?” you ask, mockingly- trying to hide the hint of nervousness starting to creep in.
He smirks. “Oh I’ll hurt ya. But only in ways you’ll like.”
He must see your resolve start to waver as he undoes his belt, suspenders hanging free, shirt long gone now. He’s pulling his trousers down.
He’s flipping you onto your stomach, wrenching your hips up and slamming into you before you can finish saying, “Cum insi-”.
You cry out, the quickness and force of him entering you from behind startling you. He tears the front of your dress down, exposing your breasts and gripping your throat with surprising restraint as he heaves your back to his front.
Your head lolls back onto his shoulder, his nose gliding up the curve where your shoulder meets your neck. Inhaling your scent. Committing it completely to his memory. “You’ve done it now, girl.”
