❤︎ Remmick (Sinners) x female reader
❤︎ Remmick lets you use him--lucky for you, he loves lying back time to time and watching his girl get greedy, but it's a win-win for both of you. Cause you're both freaks
❤︎ I <3 fucknasty short and sweet porn I need this man on his back sweaty and desperate moaning and acting like a whhhooorreee and I need it STAT ASAP
Remmick's head thumped back, and he smiled to himself, exhaling heavily while his eyes closed and one hand fell limp to his chest. Left only in his gold chain and one yellowed sock with a hole at the heel, his hair was damp and shiny with the sheen of sweat visible on his forehead and flushed cheeks. A chuckle erupted shortly after his last breath. He then glanced down at the sore sight of your mouth working itself over the blushed and agitated sight of his teased erection, your hands planted on his hips as his belly rose and fell gently. One knee splayed open, his lifted the opposite arm and slung his hand behind his head, groaning as your tongue circled and rolled around where he liked it best, causing a tightness in his chest that trickled deeper down into his pelvis, curling around his balls like the vice of a snake about to pump its venom. You could feel the thumping pulse along the bottom of his length, the silken skin tightening as blood gorged his girth and made it so when you released him with an obscene pop! that your favorite, shiny, strawberry red lolli bobbed toward his happy trail with a slight curve toward it that made you bite your lip again and stare down at with a wideness to your eyes that always told him you were about to start squirming.
He loved it when you squirmed, became fidgety, started edging him not out of malice or intention but out of fascination, awe, and your own greed. For a man of his nature, the longer you played with him and the more worked up you got him, the sounds that came out of his mouth became increasingly and surprisingly high-pitched. You'd called him pathetic once, earning a growl that faded into more huffing and puffing as his brows quirked upward and he gritted his teeth. You knew just how to work him right.
Remmick smirked down at you as these thoughts of his beautiful torture passed through your mind. He reached down with his free hand, turning an open palm so you pressed your cheek to it before his fingers curled around the nape of your neck and he yanked at a fistful of your hair, causing your spine to arch like a kitten's while you whimpered and crawled forward, up the length of his body.
"Now, now, I know how to work ya nice and good, too," Remmick murmured, dilated pupils darkening his gaze and his smirk widening, revealing the jaggedness of his teeth. They were hardly human, even when he hid behind the mask of a man. You merely whimpered at the warning, angling your hips over his cock and grinding them downward so your swollen lips pressed against the sides. You both gasped as the sensitive contact, each curve of your pelvis making his tip graze your clit gentle enough it sent your head spinning. Remmick squeezed his fist again, so you lowered your face toward his and met him in an eager kiss, leading him to cradle your skull--releasing your hair--and slip his tongue between your teeth.
Your hands planted above his shoulders and your knees pressing into his sides, the next time you curved your back and rubbed down into his erection, shivering at the way the mix of your saliva and the drool of your pussy's natural lubrication made his cock slip easily between your folds, you did so so that his head stretched the musculature of your entrance and your walls became filled with the first inch, then two, then three of him before you stopped, already panting.
Remmick had pulled his arm from behind his head. His thumb tracing your nipple, pinching it before squeezing one of your breasts and cupping the side of your rib cage, he kissed you rougher, muffling the beginnings of his more desperate noises, until your lungs burned and you opened your mouth to catch some air. You could feel the movement of him inside you with each flinch of his hips as he fought the urge to slam up into you, knowing you'd need a few more moments to adjust. But you wanted to feel that sweet ache, the sting of his intrusiveness. So you fell all the way down, sitting into his lap with a wince and the straightening of your spine. Remmick seemingly coughed, then lengthened his throat with a strained moan, his hands falling to your hips at the same time, a string of curses fell from his agape mouth. You kept them coming by rolling forward, planting your fingers splayed across his pecs and bouncing yourself on him with the squeeze of your thighs and pushing of your knees, clawing at his skin and causing red to bloom in the wake of your touch.
As soon as he was able to find a way to form words again, Remmick huffed, "mm-fuh-fuck, w-well, damn," his words choppy from the rythmn you fucked him. His hands only helped pull you back down as they kneaded the supple meat and he allowed you to not just fuck him but to fuck yourself on him, use his body to work out anything you needed to. Your face scrunched, your eyes rolling back, brows pulled together in concentration, he didn't have to read your mind or think too hard on it to know you had thoughts going on that needed distraction from. The only thing he corrected was, "look at me, darlin,' if you're gon' use me, look at me," all in his thick accent that swept over you and drew your eyes back to his. "That's it," he praised, "look at what y'do to me," smiling and moaning and giving you a convincing show--because nobody needed convincing. You felt it so deep inside you each time he knocked up into the cushion of your cervix that he was close, his ribs flaring and abdomen tensing, breath becoming more strained, his whimpers, whining, and moaning all becoming pitched higher and mixed together once he stopped trying to fight it. "You-gh-s'fuckin' pretty when y'using-me, all greedy, usin' me up, ah-fuck-fuck! that's, yeah, oh-yeah, that's good, that's so good--"
When he came, he shut his eyes and held you down on him, gritting his teeth and holding his breath, accidentally bucking you up with jagged kicks of his hips before a growl tore from the quivering tension in his body and his warmth leaked from you thick and sticky. His arms then slumped lax at his sides while he tried to catch his breath, all the while you carefully reached down between your legs where he slowly went soft inside you and scooped up a glob of his cum with your fingers.
Holding it out, a few drops dribbled onto his chest, causing Remmick to furrow his brows and look toward your hand. However, without question, once you muttered, "open," and turned your fingers to slip them to the knuckle onto the tender palette of his pink tongue, he wrapped his lips around them and suckled, locking eyes with you and cleaning you up. Not a single heartbeat later, you felt the twitch of him getting hard again, and knew it was your turn to lie on your back and let him work you.
Summary: Based on this concept that I posted awhile ago that really took off. I don't know when I developed the intense need to destroy this man, but here we are. I needed to exorcise this from my brain, so...enjoy.
Warnings: Smut!! Should also add that I have never written smut before lol so sorry if it sucks. Vampirsm, blood sucking, oral sex (f!receiving), sub!Remmick, pathetic!Remmic, begging kink, control kink, praise kink, p in v sex, intense power dynamics, pet names, mentions of religion, obsessive behavior, hair pulling, dom!Reader (sort of), torture, burning skin, cutting, knife play, spit play, drool, monsterfucking, treating Remmick like a dog, I really just want to inflict as much pain on him as is humanly possible.
Reblogs, comments, and likes always appreciated! Please reblog if you like what you read; it helps keep writers engaged in fandom spaces and creating cool shit for you!
Special thank you to @spikedfearn for not only being one of the best writers in the Freaks for Remmick community, but also for beta reading this and encouraging me to write it! Please check her stuff out, she's a fantastic writer!
You sat on your porch in the late evening sunlight, sipping your sweet tea and listening to the soft song of the crickets all around you as they settled in for the night. It wouldn’t be long now. He was fairly consistent; true, if he needed to feed, he’d be a little longer. Crawling up to your door, well into the night, covered in drying blood, claws still showing, fangs barely hidden. Other nights, he’d stroll up right after the sun dipped below the horizon, looking like a true gentleman– clean, composed, in control. You couldn’t tell which version of him you would get on any given night. And that was part of what made it so exciting.
It had gone on this way for months. The sun starts to set. He comes to your door. The two of you fool around– sometimes. Other nights, you didn’t fool around so much as…play games. Oh, you knew what he was. No question about that. There was just something so delicious in denying him. Keeping him on your porch like a hungry dog, begging and crawling and clawing to get in. Knowing that, no matter how desperately he whined or how violently he dug his nails into the floorboards, he could not enter without your permission. He hung on your every word, waiting to hear those two little words that beckoned him in, inviting him to worship at your altar. It was deliciously fun, riling him up, tearing through his humanity, before letting him in. But sometimes…sometimes you just let him sit there. All night. Whimpering. Starving. Deranged. Just for fun.
The sun was just starting to kiss the edge of the horizon. You glanced from the setting sun back towards the parting of trees that opened from your long driveway into the clearing around your house. He would be here soon. You could feel it.
The soft sound of creaking wood catches your attention.
You glance at the clock above your kitchen cabinets. 9:47pm. He’s later than you anticipated.
You freeze. Listen. You can hear him shifting his weight from one foot to the other, the boards of your porch sighing underneath him. You hear his breath, soft and sweet, before–
“Sweetheart. Ya there?”
You don’t say anything. He knows you’re inside. Hell, he could smell a human being from miles away. It gives you an idea.
You quietly walk over to your old recliner and silently lower yourself into the chair. On the ground just next to the chair is where you keep your sewing kit. While you were no expert, life in the Delta necessitated a few basic sewing skills. Thorns snagging at your dress, threadbare patches blooming in pieces of clothing passed down through the generations. But tonight, you don’t reach for any thread– just a needle. You can still hear Remmick breathing just outside your front door, confusedly listening to you move around inside. You take the sewing needle and quickly, painlessly, jab it into your left index finger. Outside, you hear his breath catch in his throat, a sound like he was being strangled.
Wordlessly, you creep towards the door. You wrap your hand around the doorknob, twist, and pull. He’s standing there, as if he had just had his forehead pressed to the door. Eyes wild, fangs barely peeking out from behind his lips. Those lips twist into a stupid, happy grin.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Just, uh, come ‘round to see ya.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, didn’t hear ya. I seem to have made a little bit of a mess.”
You hold your finger up in the tiny space there is between you. It’s beaded with blood, the tiniest bit starting to drip down the side of your finger.
“Oh, uh,” he stutters, eyes now transfixed on your wound. “I could…help ya, y’know…clean that up.”
He’s staring at the blood inching its way down your finger. You’re staring at his eyes, pupils blown huge, black and gaping. You’ve got him.
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I wouldn’t want to make ya clean up after me.”
Slowly, deliberately, you lift your finger to your mouth. You lick up the stripe of blood running down the length of your finger before taking your fingertip in your mouth, sucking lightly. His face twists with pain, like he’s just been kicked in the stomach. You gently release your finger, examining the tiny injury, no longer dripping red.
“All better,” you smile wickedly. Your heart is already thumping hard in your chest. You’re certain he can hear it– it’s the one secret you wish you could keep from him. Telling him how badly you want him, even as you torture him, sweet and slow.
“Let me in, sugar.” And so it begins. Your favorite game. “Let me in, please?”
“I don’t know…townsfolk always whisperin’ about somethin’ out there in the dark. Somethin’ evil.”
“Oh yeah? Why don’t you let me in, I’ll show you how evil I can be.”
The grin returns to his face, but you can tell it takes effort this time. His hair is damp, sticking to his temples with sweat. He’s clean of blood, so you know he hasn’t fed tonight. But he’s covered in sweat and dirt, the gentle kiss of the Mississippi heat.
“I don’t know…” you tease. Blood starts to swell from the prick in your finger again. You gently rest your hand on the doorframe, noting the way his cocky grin fades as his eyes follow your hand.
“C’mon, baby, let me in. Let me be good to you,” he murmurs, his composure hanging on by a thread.
Wordlessly, you take a step back into your house and grab hold of the door. You go to shut it before–
“Wait.”
Slowly, he sinks to his knees, your porch groaning underneath his weight.
“Please, I don’t want to play like this tonight, baby. Please.”
His eyes stare up at you, still huge, still black. Not a trace of his usual blue left. But no hint of that reflective red yet, either. Hm.
You slowly lower yourself to your knees, eye level with him, never breaking eye contact. His breathing comes in quick, ragged breaths. You lean back, slowly sitting on the floor, right in front of the threshold. The invisible line keeping him away from you, like an electric fence, sizzles under the weight of his want. You raise your left foot to the doorframe, sending your nightgown down towards your hips. Your right knee is crossed in front of you, the last obstacle between the two of you. His hands fly to the outside of the doorframe, connecting with such force that you feel the shock wave travel through your foot and up the length of your leg.
“Play? Who’s playin’?” you drawl, with a sweetness that you know only intoxicates him more. You notice a bead of drool at the corner of his mouth.
“C’mon, sugar, lemme– let me in now, please.” He stumbles over his words. Fucking pathetic.
“You want to come in?”
He’s almost shaking. He nods his head slowly, eyes never leaving your center, as if he could make you move your leg just by focusing hard enough. A wicked idea flashes through your brain. As if sensing it, his inquisitive, almost fearful, eyes dart up to meet yours. You smile slowly, baring your teeth to him as you sink back onto your elbows. You drop your head back, exposing your neck to the incoming cool of the night air. He’s breathing through his mouth, raw and ragged, as if he can’t get enough oxygen into his lungs.
“Pl-please…please…” The word almost sounds like a prayer on his tongue, something uttered over and over, falling on deaf ears.
You let yourself sink so you’re lying completely on the floor. You move your right knee, torturously slow, until you’re entirely exposed to him. You hear a sound, a strangled choking sound, like an animal caught in a trap. Slowly, you bring your hand down between your legs.
“No, no, please, baby, please, let me in, I’ll be so good to you, please, don’t do this, don’t–” his begging is cut off by the gentle sigh that escapes you, and the tortured cry that rises from him in turn. You drag your fingers between your folds while he writhes on the ground, just inches from you. His hands snap from the doorframe to the ground with a loud crack. His forehead kisses the ground as if he’s a sinner begging for forgiveness. You just smile.
You delicately toy with yourself, just out of his grasp. Your eyes roll back in your head as your fingers rub your clit. And the whole time, he’s crying for you.
“PLEASE, baby, I can’t take it no more. Please let me in,” he begs, face still connected to the floor. He sounds wounded, as if you shot him. The raw need in his voice just fuels your fire. You quicken your movements, working towards your release. Your moans, quick and breathy, sting in his ears.
“You want to come in here?” you coo quietly. Affectionate. As if you’re considering it.
He lifts his head to look at you. There’s a string of drool connecting his lips to a small puddle on the porch. He looks like a wreck. Sweat, dirt, heat, drool, desire. Sickening. Delicious.
His eyes gleam red in the darkness.
“Yes,” he rasps. “Yes, please.”
He sounds like a man who’s crawled on hands and knees through the desert, only to be met with a mirage. You grin. His fangs are protruding, like they’re too big in his mouth. His claws are out, and you can see the scratches he’s made on the porch, like a dog locked in a room trying to dig its way under the door. Seeing him like this, undone. A monster, a killer, completely at your mercy.
You drop your head back again as you finish. Your ecstasy washes over you in waves. A choked moan escapes him– half desire, half agony. When you finally come back down, you sit up slowly in the doorway. He doesn’t have any more words. He just sits, stares, pants. You bring your fingers, still wet with your slick, to rest gently on the inside of the doorframe. He presses his cheek against the outside, that invisible line keeping him back by barely a centimeter. His tongue gently grazes over his fangs, his eyes locked on your fingers.
“Please, darlin’, let me clean ya up. Please, I’ll, I’ll be gentle. No teeth. I’ll be good. I promise.”
“You’re pathetic, Remmick.”
Finally hearing your name from his lips, he groans, eyes screwed shut, in that limbo between torture and pleasure.
“I know,” he sighs. “Fuck, I know. Just…please, I gotta taste ya. Please. Just this, just your fingers, just one taste. You’re killin’ me sweetheart, please.”
You almost pity him. You would pity him, you think, if it wasn’t so divine seeing him beg.
You push yourself up to your knees, eye level with him once more, your noses almost touching. The invisible line. The electric fence.
“Goodnight, Remmick.” Your breath blows gentle and sweet and cruel across his face. His features contort in torment as you bring yourself to your feet.
“No, no, please, sugar, please don’t lea–”
Click. You cut him off as you close the door. You cross the floor towards your bedroom, tired and still a little wound up. You swear you can hear him gently sobbing as you tangle in the cotton sheets.
Beautiful sunset.
The oranges, yellows, reds and pinks, all mixing together as if on a painter’s palette. It’s one of your favorite things about living outside of town: this view. Nothing for miles. Just the woods, the creek, the sun, hell, you didn’t even mind the critters. Raccoons, possums, foxes, deer…but your favorite one walks on two legs and whispers your name like it could save him.
You take another sip of your sweet tea when you hear a twig snap off in the growing darkness between the trees. You grin to yourself. He had a tendency to do that. If he showed up late and you decided to torture him, he would be at your door the next day the second the sun disappeared from the sky. Like he was atoning. Like you’d forgive him for making you wait. Putting on a show now, you lift the cool glass up to your temple. The cold condensation dissolves across your skin, bringing at least a little relief in the Mississippi heat. You move the glass down to your neck, letting the ice cold water drip down your neck to the space between your breasts. The woods fall silent. Unnaturally silent, like every living thing has vanished from the dense forest that surrounds your house.
You glance back towards the setting sun. You stand and cross back into the house, letting the screen door slam behind you.
There’s a gentle knock at the door. 8:24pm. That’s more like it.
You don’t move. Don’t even breathe. The knock comes again. You hear him under his breath:
“Shit.”
You can’t help the grin that creeps across your face.
“Baby. It’s me. Let me in?”
He shifts from one foot to the other, the porch creaking under him. He sighs, antsy and frustrated.
“Please, darlin’. Don’t make me keep doin’ this.”
The pain in his voice makes your insides melt. You slink over to the door and gently pull it open.
“Make you do what?”
He’s neat, composed. Light blue button up tucked neatly into his trousers. Suspenders taught over his shoulders. Gold chain barely visible at his throat. No trace of the inhuman mess he was last night. At least, not in his clothes. Not in his body. But the suffering in his eyes tells you everything.
His voice is barely above a whisper.
“Please don’t make me beg.”
“Fine,” you sigh playfully. “I won’t make you.” He’s eyeing the grin on your face.
“But you will anyway,” you whisper, your cruelty crackling through the space between you. “You’ll beg and cry and drool like the filthy animal you are.”
Instantly, he falls to his knees, groaning. He looks up at you through those long eyelashes. You can already see the outline of his cock pressing against his trousers.
“Please, darlin’, I’ll do anything you ask–”
“You will?” you cut him off sharply.
He nods his head with such ferocity you’re almost worried he’ll pull something in his neck. Suddenly, you find a new way to play the game.
“Yes ma’am, anything you ask, just say the word and–”
“Take your suspenders down.”
He reaches up to his right shoulder and gently, slowly, pulls the strap off his shoulder, letting it fall to the floor at his side. He does the same with the left.
“Good. Unbutton your shirt.” Your commanding surprises even you. You’ve never played with him like this before, but something about it lights you aflame. Seeing him do everything you instruct, with the reverence of a dog obeying its master. He fumbles with the top button, despite his claws still being sheathed for now. Just the shape of his hands, his once-human-hands, shaking at the buttons, shaking from need.
His shirt unbuttoned, you stare at him, looking him up and down, while his eyes bore into your skull. When your eyes fall back to his, you can see the question in them. He’s asking you, silently: please?
“Tell me what you want.”
He leans forward, bracing himself on all fours.
“Please, baby, let me in. Just wanna come inside, be with ya, feel ya, anything you want, please.” He presses his forehead to the floorboards, reverent.
“No. Tell me what you want to do.”
“Wanna…” he’s struggling to catch his breath. “Wanna lick that pussy so good you’ll lose your voice. Drink every drop of ya. Wanna feel that pussy, so tight, so warm, on my cock, over and over again, all night, give you so many orgasms you lose count, forget your name…please, sugar. Wanna make you mine. Wanna be yours.”
He slowly raises his head to look up at you. He looks like a fucking mess, eyes almost entirely black, sweat and dirt caking his face. There’s thick ropes of drool dripping down his chin, collecting in a dark puddle on your porch.
“What’s that?” you ask harshly.
“Oh, I–”
“Lick it up.”
He stares up at you for a second, uncertain. Finally, he lowers his head to the porch in front of him. He holds your gaze as he sticks his tongue out and slowly laps up his drool.
“Good boy.”
He presses his eyes closed involuntarily, humming in pleasure at the praise.
You smile.
“Come…”
His eyes snap open, all attention on you. His breath hitches in his throat. The sound almost makes you laugh.
“...here.”
His eyes flutter closed and the breath falls out of him, his hope immediately extinguished. Still, he crawls, on his knees, as close as he can to the threshold. You dart your hand out as quickly as you can, giving him no time to react. You snatch his gold chain under one finger and pull it towards you, as close as the laws of…what? Physics? God? The Devil? Whatever force kept that electric fence up. You pull him as close as he could possibly be without being shocked. Your finger and the chain on one side of the fence, the tight skin of his throat on the other.
He gasps, a divine cocktail of shock and desperation.
“You want to come inside?” you tease. He nods again. “Words,” you spit sharply.
“YES. Yes, ma’am, please.” He's starting to sweat, little beads of moisture dotting his forehead. “Just wanna please you. Please. Let me taste you, darlin’, I promise, I can make it so good for you, just let me–”
You give his chain a sharp tug to shut him up. He cries out.
“I don’t let animals into my house, Remmick.”
He drops his head. You feel something wet drip onto your finger. A teardrop falls from his eye to your hand.
“Please.” He shivers, voice almost completely inaudible. The volume reserved for sinners talking directly to their god. “I’ll be good.”
“My, my, my…sweat, drool, and now tears? You’d make a mess all over my floors.” You drop his chain and slowly start to wrap your hand around his throat. His head shoots back and his eyes roll into the back of his head with a moan so vile and animalistic you silently thank whatever God there might be that your closest neighbors live miles away.
You smile. As your fingers close around his throat, he hisses and pulls away. He stares up at you, hurt. The burn on his neck sizzles softly in the damp night air. His gaze darts to your hand.
“Oh, you are evil, ain’tcha? Sweet little girl like you, thought ya had e’rybody fooled.”
“What? You don’t like ‘em?” You coyly show him your hand, fingers adorned with silver rings.
“Fuck, sweetie.” He’s rubbing at his neck, now almost entirely healed. The tiny amount of silver in your rings isn’t enough to do much damage, you know– just enough to get his attention. “You tryna kill me?”
“Maybe,” you coo softly, the sweetness evaporating any lingering trace of his shock.
“Please, baby, let me in. Let me fuck ya proper. Like you deserve. Please. Wanna see those thighs around my head, over my shoulders, fuck, wanna see–wanna see you…” His eyes flutter closed again, like even the image he was conjuring in his head would be enough to make him cum right there.
“Tell me.” Your tone is even. Not mean, not kind. Part of you wants to hear him out.
He leans back on his haunches, his face is wet with sweat and tears.
“I’d take you right here on the floor. Bury my face between your legs. Make you cum more times ‘n you can count and thank you for each one, fuck, whatever you want, I’d do it all night. Then I’d come crawlin’ back tomorrow night, beggin’ you to let me do it all over again. Please, sugar, just say it. Just let me in. Can’t stand these fuckin’ games no more.”
“You know,” you say, crouching down in front of him, still behind the door frame, “when I first moved in here, e’rybody told me about the big bad monster lurkin’ in the woods.”
His eyes meet yours then, huge, sad, pathetic. You can still see a hint of the iris, just barely, the tiniest ring of blue surrounding the endless black of his pupils.
“They said it only came out at night, and the only way to protect yourself was to stay inside. Garlic. Silver. Sunlight. A stake–” you press your palm flat against his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath his ribs “--right to the heart.”
His eyes roll back and he moans, obscene and filthy and desperate. Before he can think to snatch your wrist and yank you out onto the porch with him, you pull your hand back behind the threshold. You rise to your feet, standing over him.
“And now here he is, the Big Bad Wolf, on his knees, slobbering at my door like a dog. Ain’t that somethin’?”
He stares up at you, almost like he knows what comes next.
“Please,” he whispers, pitiful. You smile wide.
“Goodnight, Remmick.”
Click.
The next night, he doesn’t even bother knocking. Doesn’t bother announcing himself. He just sits, cross-legged, on your porch, staring up at your door as if he could will it open with his mind. What he doesn’t know is that you’re sitting just on the other side of the door, a mirror image of his desperation. You don’t know how long you sit like that. Silent, just listening to the soft sound of the cricket song and his gentle, even breathing behind the door. Finally, you give in. You reach up and twist the knob, torturously slow. The door creaks open.
“Hey sugar.”
He looks rough. Not to the untrained eye, of course; his shirt is clean, tucked in, his hair fairly neat, even his boots look pretty clean. But you see deeper than that. The slightly sunken look around his eyes that tells you he hasn’t fed in days. The subtle hollowness that carves out his cheekbones, collarbone, even settles around his knuckles, when he’s gone too long without blood. The hungry glint in his eyes that he can’t help, like an animal looking for its next kill.
“You look like shit.”
“Aw hell, come on now, cut a fella some slack. I tried my best for ya, sweetheart.” His voice sounds the way his clothes look–a façade, a too-perfect, lighthearted sound, disguising something darker underneath.
“When was the last time ya fed?”
His eyes drop to the floorboards below him.
“Remmick. Look at me.”
His eyes shoot up to meet yours, that hungry look winning out above the pretenses. His voice drops, too, into something dark and sickly sweet.
“Five days ago.”
“Then what the hell ya doin’ here?” Your voice, barbed and venomous, cuts straight to his heart. “Go find ya some poor bastard to drain ‘stead of wastin’ my time.”
“I can’t, baby. Can’t do nothin’ else. I walk in circles all night, and I keep endin’ up down this road, endin’ up here. Please, sugar, all I’m askin’ for is–”
You let your head roll to one side, pulling the skin of your neck tight over your veins. His sentence stops in his throat as he watches you, swallowing thickly. His eyes have the dull, hypnotized look of hyperfixation as he stares at your neck.
“All you’re askin’ for is…what?”
“Please. Let me in.” His voice is low, but not quiet.
“Why should I?” You drawl, knowing he’s hanging onto your every word.
“I’ll be anything ya want me to be, please. I’ll be so good to you. I’ll be wicked. I’ll–”
His words catch in his throat again as you, on all fours, crawl closer towards the door.
“Y’know, I went to church this mornin’,” you tease. “Preacher said somethin’ interesting. He said…you dance with the devil…one day, he’ll follow ya home.”
Remmick’s breath, coming in short, ragged gasps, inches from your face, was the only sound flooding your senses.
“That what you are, pretty boy? You the devil?”
His eyes dart down to your mouth and back up to your eyes, his pupils blown huge and black.
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice is half whisper, half confession. “Yes. I am the Devil.”
“That’s what I thought.” You stand slowly, gripping the door frame for support. You leave the door open, but cross the floor into your kitchen, always aware of his eyes on you.
You reach for the smallest paring knife that lives in the knife block sitting atop your counter. His eyes don’t leave you for a second, but now, from the darkness, you see his shiny red pupils reflected back at you. You smile. The Devil at your door, begging to do unholy things to you. At your mercy.
You cross back to the door and stand over him, knife in hand. His hair, sweaty, sticking to his temples, looks almost black in the darkness.
The quiet in the air lingers between the two of you. You want him so badly it aches. You want to torment him, to make him cry again, to stand above him while he worships the ground beneath your feet. Your heart hammers in your chest, and you can feel it thundering in your neck. He notices.
Slowly, you begin to undo the buttons at the lacy neckline of your nightgown. Drool begins to drip down his chin as he stares at you.
“Don’t make a mess all over my porch, now.”
He mindlessly wipes at his chin with the back of his hand, wetting the cuff of his sleeve. Done with the buttons, you drop your nightgown around your ankles. A choked sound gets stuck in his throat. You take a step out of the nightgown, kicking the garment to the side.
“Please, baby. Please, I’m dyin’ out here. I can be anything you want. I’ll follow you around on a leash, goddamn it, just don’t make me sit out here no longer.” His begging hits your ears like a symphony. You bring the knife up to your chest and gently press the tip of it between your breasts.
He whines like a dying thing. A strangled, agonized sound,that, again, makes you grateful for the secluded location of your house.
You drag the blade down, slicing one clean line between your cleavage, just deep enough to break the skin and draw blood, just enough to sting.
“Preacher said the best way to ward off the devil was to wear a cross,” you say innocently.
You bring the blade back up. You carve one shorter, perpendicular line through the first. A cross. A mark. A brand. Beading with drops of blood, collecting and trickling down your chest, across your stomach, towards your heat.
You don’t know when it happened, but his claws are out now. Long, caked in dirt, and scratching at the boards of your porch like a bad dog. The sound of the wood shredding under his claws makes you grin, sweet and sadistic. He pulls his head up, like just the effort of that simple movement is enough to drain all the life out of him. He braces himself with his hands on the doorframe. His eyes glow red, tears pricking at the corners. His fangs poke out of his mouth, sharp and wet with saliva. Drool slicks his chin and foams at the corner of his mouth. This is the monster. This is what you wanted.
Then, quietly, so quietly you almost think your mind might be inventing it, he whispers:
“Please, mo chuisle. Let me in.”
You sink slowly to your knees in front of him. He’s not looking into your eyes anymore. He’s staring at your blood, red, hot, and wet, dripping freely just inches from his mouth.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Want you to let me in, please–”
“No. That’s what you want to happen. What do you want?”
“You. I want you.” His voice is ragged. Broken. Like he’s been screaming at the top of his lungs for his whole life. “Please, please, I don’t know any other way to ask, to beg, to scream, to cry for you sugar, please–”
You cut him off when you press your hands to the door frame, just on the other side of where his are. You’re palm to palm, almost, in this half-formed way, dancing along the electric fence. You bring your forehead to the invisible line, so you’re face to face with him, taking in the sight of him unravelled before you.
“You want me?” you whisper cruelly.
“Yes,” he says through shaking breaths.
“Come get me, then.”
It’s all he needs. His hands fly to your waist as he topples you over. He presses his tongue to the blood that’s dripped down to your stomach, working his way up to your chest. When he reaches the incision, he sucks and laps at the cut. At the spot where the two cuts meet, the center of the cross, he presses a kiss, soft and gentle to your sternum. It makes you gasp.
“Gonna treat you so good, darlin’. Gonna make you forget your own fuckin’ name,” he rasps against your chest. You rake your nails across his back, careful not to let yourself touch him too much–not yet.
When he’s done sucking the blood from your chest, he begins to leave a trail of kisses back down your stomach. Sitting back on his knees, he grabs your thighs and traces his claws across the flesh, making you shiver. He hoists your legs just enough to nestle himself in between them, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your left knee.
“Dreamed of this every night, every fuckin’ night, you slammin’ that door in my face. Kept dreaming of this. Of you.” He works his way up the inside of your thigh, kissing and licking your skin. “Taste so fuckin’ good.”
“If you think that’s good, I got somethin’ I think you’re really gonna enjoy,” you drawl, deliberately grinding your hips upwards in a small circle, catching his attention.
He growls. Like a fucking animal standing over its kill. It almost makes you sob. The pure, electric feeling of his desire.
He licks one slow stripe up your center, making you cry out.
“Sweet girl. You think you were the only one playin’? I could smell you every night, every night you shut that door in my face. Could smell this sweet little pussy cryin’ for me.”
His grip on your legs tightens as he picks up the pace. Lapping and kissing at your core, he devours you like you’re water in the desert. What was that saying? Something about well-fed sinners and famished saints?
He presses one thumb to your clit and your head begins to spin. The only sounds in the heavy air are the crickets, your gasps, and the obscene noises coming from where the two of you are connected. He slowly rubs circles on your clit, not even coming up for breath as he does. Your fingers tangle in his dark curls. He hits a particularly sensitive spot and you jerk him back by his hair.
“Ah, ah, easy, sugar. Not gonna hurt ya. Not unless ya ask real nice.” The smile he gives you is enough to nearly send you over the edge. Your drying blood at the corner of his lips. His fangs covered in your slick. His chin wet with– well, it was impossible now to tell where his drool ended and your juices began. You shove his head back down with a huff and he just chuckles, attaching himself to your cunt once more. When he opens his mouth, you can feel the tips of his fangs ghost over your clit, over and over, as he devours you.
Electricity lights up your entire body, starting in your core and sizzling through your limbs. You grip his hair as if it’s the only thing tethering you to Earth. Your legs twitch around his head, and Remmick? He just continues lapping you up, desperate, as if you might kick him back out onto the porch the second your orgasm passes.
When your breathing finally returns to normal, he’s over you, his hands on either side of your head, his chain dangling in your face.
“How was that? Was it good?”
You stare up into his face, so desperate to please you. His eyes are wild, his chin still wet.
“So good. Such a good boy for me,” you coo, melting him instantly. He hums in pleasure. You bring your hands back to his hair, and he leans into your touch, letting you play with his sweaty locks. You scratch behind his ear and his head drops in ecstasy. You trace a finger over the top button of his shirt.
“Ain’t you hot? All these clothes on…?”
He growls again, animalistic and raw. He sits up and rips his suspenders from his shoulders, letting them hang down around his sides in that way he knows you like. He goes to unbutton his shirt, but his claws make the dexterous movement impossible. You sit up, still under him. Gently, you place your fingers over his. You trace the length of one of his claws with your fingertip gingerly. He rests his forehead against yours, sweat mixing on your skin, your breath hot and mingling between you two as you delicately undo the buttons on his shirt.
“The Devil ever had anyone be gentle with him?” you whisper, almost afraid to break the silence.
“No,” he whispers.
You tug the shirt from his shoulders. He finishes the job and tosses it aside. He grabs at his tank top, torn and already soaked with sweat, and adds it to the pile of clothes that will, hopefully, go neglected until morning. His chest heaves with every labored breath, the gold chain glinting and reflecting in the moonlight. You rake your nails down his chest, making him drop his head back again. He groans again, loud, lewd, and lustful.
A grin creeps across your face. When your fingers reach his waistband, you flatten your palms against his stomach and drag them back up towards his chest, pressing firmly against the taut skin, slick with sweat.
“FUCK, baby, shit!”
He curses and snaps his head forward. When he does, you grab his jaw between your fingertips and hold him still, forcing him to look at you. The skin on his chest sizzles quietly.
“You’re a little fuckin’ sadist, ain’tcha?” he spits, somewhere between furious and turned on. You press the silver ring on your finger to his jaw in response. He hisses and bares his fangs before you shove his face to the side.
“Fuck. Fuck, sugar, I–” he breathes, still recovering. You stare down at the burns that are streaked down his chest, your hunger growing. You want to run your tongue over the burned skin.
“Let me…let me feel you darlin’. Please,” he gasps. It makes you smile. He’s still begging.
“Didn’t realize you needed permission to enter down there, too,” you tease. He doesn’t waste any more time. His hands fly to his trousers, undoing the button and zip as you lie back. You see him then, long and hard and already weeping for you. The feeling of him lining himself up makes your breath catch in your throat.
He pushes in gently, like he’s still asking permission for every inch of closeness. When he’s finally inside, his eyes, red and gleaming, roll back into his head.
“Ah–ahh, feel so fuckin’ good sugar. Feel like you were made for me.”
“Ya gonna gab all night or ya gonna fuck me like you promised?”
He laughs, the vibrations sinking in all the way to your bones, as he begins to move.
“Gonna make you cum so many times you lose count. Gonna fuck you so good you’ll be stumbling for days.”
And fuck, you think he might be right. He’s stretching you, hitting deeper than he ever has before, hitting a spot that’s making your cheeks flush and your head spin. Pleasure builds in your center as you reach up for him.
“Ah, ah. Keep those hands to yourself, pretty girl,” he scolds. You chuckle.
“Afraid of a little silver?” you coax.
He stills inside of you. You whimper, frustrated.
“That’s what I thought. Keep those hands to yourself and that pretty little mouth in line, and I’ll fuck ya like the good girl you are,” he promises. You groan under him, but whether it’s from pleasure or defeat, even you don’t know.
He resumes his pace, relentlessly ramming into you. You turn your head to the side. You see his right hand, bracing against the floor next to your head. You stick your tongue out and lick one clean stripe from his wrist up his forearm, as far as you can reach. He moans above you.
“Fuck, ‘s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout sugar,” he croons. “So good to me.”
He leans down over you until his forehead is pressed against your collarbone.
“Let me taste you, darlin’, please. Haven’t fed in days, let me be full, let me have you, please…” He pulls back just enough so you can feel his hot breath on your neck, desperate. “I’ll be gentle, I promise, won’t bite too hard. Please.”
Before you can speak, he leans into your neck.
“Remmick–”
He recoils from you as quickly as if he was bit by a snake.
“FUCK!”
You can see the burn searing on his chin in the shape of a cross. He looks down at your neck to see the only thing you’re wearing– a silver cross on a silver chain. You smile up at him wickedly.
“I guess there’s somethin’ to be said about askin’ permission, huh?” you whisper. His glare looks like he’s contemplating ripping your throat out with his teeth.
“You really want me dead, huh?” he asks hotly.
“Maybe just a little bit,” you retort through a devilish grin.
Then, his gaze softens. He looks down at the necklace and back at you.
“Will you take it off?” he asks weakly. “Please. Wanna taste you…please?”
You reach up and grab the cross, playing with it daintily between your fingers. His eyes follow your every move. You could toy with him like this forever. Finally, you firmly grip the cross and tug. The chain snaps behind your head, and you toss the silver aside. You smile up at him.
He sighs, a sound of pure bliss, and falls back down to your chest, resuming his rhythm one more time. His breath is hot in the crook of your neck. You feel his fangs ghosting over your throat, his lips brushing against your pulse point. Then, something wet and dripping. He’s drooling all over you, thin, warm, wet ropes of his spit dribbling onto your neck. You tangle your fingers in his hair and yank him back so you can see his face.
The creature looking back at you barely looks human. His eyes, wide and red, darkness lurking behind them. His fangs, spilling out of his mouth as if they’re too big for his jaw. Drool all over his chin.
“What?” he growls, frustrated from being interrupted.
“Just wanna see you like this,” you whisper.
“Like what?”
“Like the goddamn animal you are. Like the desperate, whiny, pathetic creature that keeps comin’ to my door. Like the Devil that’s lovin’ me so good it’s sendin’ me to Hell.”
It sends him over the edge. He snarls and bites down on your neck, hard. He thrusts up into you with similar ferocity. The pain, the pleasure, all building in you, sending heat through your body. He reaches down with one hand and drags the tip of one claw across your clit. You’re seeing stars.
“Oh God–” you moan, your orgasm rocking through you.
“No God here, darlin’, ‘member?” he teases, darkness in his voice. “Just the Devil, fillin’ you up this good.”
You have no idea how much blood he drains from you. Enough to make you lightheaded, even as you come down from your high. He follows you soon after, detaching from your neck and rutting into you, chasing his own release. You feel it a second later, hot spurts of warmth shooting inside of you. You claw at his back, anchoring your nails into his flesh, certain that he’ll have marks there for at least a few days, accelerated healing be damned. You can feel him go soft inside of you, but he doesn’t pull out. He stays there, above you, panting, eyes still wild, chin dripping with your blood. A drop falls from his fangs to your chest. He leans down, still holding eye contact, and slowly, obscenely, presses his tongue to your skin, licking it up, making you shudder.
“Thank you,” he whispers, face buried in your chest. “Taste so good when you’re cummin’, heart fuckin’ beatin’ for me, pussy hangin’ onto me, fuck, baby, thank you, thank you…”
You hum in response. He picks his head up, looking at you desperately.
“Was that good? Was I good?” he asks, still craving your approval. You laugh, your hands flying up to cover your face. He stares down at the silver rings still decorating your fingers. You reach for his face and he instinctively pulls back.
“Oh,” you say gently. As much as you love torturing him, all you want right now is to touch him, sweet and soft. “You want me to take these off?”
He nods wordlessly, eyes huge, looking like a wounded thing.
“Why don’t you take them off?” you coo. “Those teeth oughta be good for more’n just this.” Your fingers graze over the bite on your neck. It’s oddly smaller than you expected.
You raise one finger. Slowly, he opens his jaw and takes your finger in his mouth, careful not to graze the metal. He bites down, his fangs gripping your ring, and pulls your hand back by the wrist, gently working the ring off your finger. When it’s completely free, he turns and spits, sending the silver clattering across the floor. He does this a second time, and a third, until you can feel him start to get hard inside of you again. You smile up at him.
“Good boy,” you praise as he works on the fourth ring. His eyes gently flutter shut.
When he’s successfully removed all the silver from your body, you grab his face between your hands. Your foreheads pressed together, breath leaving his mouth and entering yours. You press a kiss to his mouth, wet and sloppy, tasting yourself all over him– the sweet, coppery taste of slick and blood. His hands ghost all over you, as if he’s trying to memorize your body so he can reconstruct it the next time you shut him out.
He starts to move again, gripping your hips and pressing into you. He takes your hand and places it over your lower stomach, pressing gently.
“Feel me? Right here? Fuckin’ tight, fuckin’ sweet, fuck sweetheart, you have no idea what you do to me.” His voice is dripping with lust and something else, something like gratitude.
You feel him hitting you slow and steady and deep, and the sinful sound of him fucking his own cum deeper into your pussy makes you feel faint.
“Please don’t make me go. I’ll stay here, I’ll be your dog, your animal, walk me around on a leash, leave my water in a bowl on the floor, please, I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t make me leave, sugar. Can’t stand it, please.” He sounds close to tears. Your eyes glance up to his face, contorted somewhere between pleasure and agony.
“Remmick,” you say, forcing his eyes open, making him look at you. “You gonna keep grovelling, or ya gonna fuck me like ya mean it?”
A wicked grin illuminates his face. He picks up his rhythm. You have a feeling your back is going to be giving you hell for a little while.
You wake in the morning, and there he is. You don’t remember how late it was when you both finally tumbled into the bed. He looks peaceful. You’re struck with something– not sympathy, not pity, something else. A feeling, deep in your chest, seeing him lying there. Looking…human.
You roll over and check the alarm clock on your nightstand. 1:37pm. Damn. Well, you suppose, to be expected after a long night. The curtains are drawn in your bedroom. On instinct, you swing your feet down to the floor, pull your robe around you, and cross to the window to open them. You grab the two pieces of fabric and pause.
The only thing between him and sudden death. You. The only thing keeping him from frying alive. You. The only thing taking enough pity on him to let him keep sleeping. You.
You cross out of the room and shut the door quietly, sealing in the darkness. In the kitchen, you pour yourself a glass of water and gulp it down. You prepare your coffee, filling the old iron pot with water and setting it on the stove. You turn the heat on as you wander across the room, opening the curtains at each window, letting daylight stream into the room. It’s like something from a postcard, you think, the warm afternoon sun, the gentle underscore of birdsong, the familiar and comforting smell of fresh coffee. The pot whistles on the stove and you take it off the heat, pouring yourself a cup. You hear a stirring from the bedroom. A delicious idea takes root in your mind.
You quietly pad across the floor to the bedroom door. Gingerly, you turn the knob, and throw the door open. Sunlight bathes across the first few feet of the floor, but doesn’t reach the bed.
He screams. Screams with true terror in his voice.
“Mornin’ darlin’!” you crow. “I made coffee, if you want any.”
His eyes, terror-stricken but slowly adjusting to the sudden light, peek up at you from the sheets. It’s odd, seeing him during the day. It’s like two separate pieces of yourself colliding at once. You turn from the door, leaving it open, and jaunt back into the sunlight of the kitchen.
“You gonna stay in bed all day?” you call. When you stick your head back into the bedroom, he’s out of the bed, on all fours, on the floor. He’s as close to the patch of light on the floor as he possibly can be without catching any of it. You chuckle darkly and turn to sit on the couch, in full view of the bedroom door.
You lean back on the couch, coffee steaming from your mug on the coffee table. Your robe falls open just a bit at your chest. You see his eyes, not yet red, but gleaming in the darkness. You let your hand fall between your legs and let your head fall back against the couch, soaking in the afternoon sunlight.
“Please, sugar. No more games.”
Thanks for reading! Check out part two here and part three here. As always, likes, comments, and reblogs highly appreciated!
He fucks you on your bedroom floor with a force that shudders through the boards, his hips driving into you so hard your breath leaves in broken gasps against his shoulder. His cock is thick and heavy inside you, sliding through your slick with a wet, messy sound that fills the whole room, each thrust louder than the last.
His chest is pressed to yours, hot and damp, his mouth open against your throat as he pants through deep, rough moans that spill warm breath across your skin. He smells like mud, rain, blood, and raw hunger, every inch of him trembling with the effort not to tear through the room like an animal.
You don’t even know his name. You only know he’s the shadow that guarded your land for months, the creature who gutted pests near your coop, who scared off the men who wandered too close, who took every scrap of food you left out, from cooked leftovers to bloody cuts of meat. He watched you each night from the tree line, feral and silent, and you felt him there even when you pretended you didn’t.
Tonight he stepped over your threshold dripping with rain and shaking with hunger, and all you did was back up until your knees hit the bed frame. He dragged you to the floor instead, pinning you beneath him like he’d been waiting for this moment since the first scrap you offered.
Now he thrusts into you with frantic rhythm, fucking you so deep your stomach flutters with every sharp push of his hips. His hand presses down on your lower belly to feel himself inside you, thick and swollen, and he groans at the way you squeeze around him, a rough, broken sound that vibrates into your shoulder.
His teeth scrape along your throat as he licks sweat from your skin, drool dripping onto your collarbone as he ruts harder, losing whatever thin restraint he arrived with.
Your pussy is soaked, cream smearing across his length and dripping down your ass, slicking the floor beneath your bodies. He moans louder every time the mess gets wetter, hips snapping faster, balls slapping against you with low, rhythmic thuds that mix with the slap of skin and the wet sounds of your bodies grinding together.
He growls your name against your throat, voice raspy from disuse, and tells you you’re warm, soft, open for him. His fingers bruise your hips as he drags you back onto him, cock battering deep enough that your legs tremble uncontrollably.
You feel the stretch, the ache, the desperate need in his body as he fucks like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he slows down. He pants into your ear, breath shaking, hips grinding deep as your walls clench around him, milking him, pulling him deeper.
When he comes, he shoves you down against the floor and holds you there with his whole weight, cock buried to the hilt as thick heat floods you in heavy, pulsing waves.
He growls through every throb of release, hips jerking helplessly, cum spilling so much it leaks around the base of him and slides down your ass onto the hardwood. He stays inside you long after the pulses fade, chest heaving, lips pressed to your neck as he breathes you in like scent alone keeps him alive.
He fed on your scraps. He guarded your land. And now he fucks you like claiming your body is a right he earned in blood and hunger.
WARNING : You will need twt to access all of the videos! Sometimes twt links will expire (or become inaccessible so if you don’t see it, that’s why!)
·⠀⠀ 𓈒 ⠀⠀ㅤׂ18+ MDNI, Links will contain explicit content so viewer discretion is advised! If you don’t like it, scroll away.
⭑.ᐟ NOTE : I wanted to make sure my black girlies were included so some of these are mixed. I promise, if you’re not black, the video is still hot! Porn is porn 🫶🏾
▸ Pornstar! Remmick is too big but that doesn’t mean you can’t try…
▸ He’s an ass man!
▸ He’s pussy drunk actually…
▸ Using your mouth as a fuck toy!
▸ Show the camera how good you take his fingers
▸ Pussy slap tease
▸ Sucking him off and he wants a taste too!
▸ Pussy tastes like heaven!
▸ He fucks you so good, you squirt on the camera…
▸ Fucking outside of the studio before the shoot!
▸ He may actually like you more than a co-star…
▸ The director yelled cut! But he heard fuck!
▸ Pornstar!Remmick with a breast kink…
▸ Sitting on his face
▸ Creampie!
▸ Remmick thinks you look too pretty sucking him off.
Summary: You and your costars were called back for some reshoots, and one night after a long day of filming, something unexpected happens.
Pairing: Jack O’Connell x fem!Reader (and technically Remmick x fem!Reader?)
Warnings: it is filth y’all, oral (m receiving), thigh riding, there be’est role play involved, some swearing, i’m not great at writing smut unfortunately
Note: this is an rpf (real person fic) so i encourage that if you don’t like that, please keep scrolling. i’ve never wrote one of these before but i felt compelled to lol. also if there are any mistakes pls let me know 🫶
The tension could, almost literally, be cut with a knife on the set. Everyone could tell, but no one would say it. They wouldn’t speak about how you and Jack had scenes just barely near each other, but you both gravitated closer. No one would dare mention how hard you locked in on him when filming the scene with vampire Bert, how he sat in the rocking chair covered in fake blood.. there was something about it. Something, dare you say, carnal, was awakening in you.
The nights you yearned to touch him, yearned to just have your hands on him, sexually or not. The nights just hoping he felt the same way. Just watching him in his element, such a talented actor and great man, having the honor to work alongside him. He just had that charm about him, and that charm resonated into Remmick. You wanted him, and you wanted Remmick. Two birds, one stone.
There were just a few nights of filming left, and the two of you had spoken earlier in the day about how sad it was to say goodbye to a wonderful cast and to people you’d grown to call friends. Some scenes needed some touch ups, and others need reshoots due to new ideas flourishing from the director.
—————
Walking past the set to your makeup artist’s camper, you noticed a figure in the dark. Leaned back in the rocking chair, in the corner of the darkened room used for a reshoot earlier that day. The light in the corner cast a slight shadow onto the figure and you stopped to get a better look. It was Jack, still dressed in the bloody Remmick costume from the scene filmed earlier with Joan and Bert. The way he looked at you after ran chills up your spine. He caught you staring from the sidelines of the crew. Tensions were already high due to your character and Jack’s being romantic partners, and having to say filthy shit to each other had you reeling, yearning for it to have meaning behind it.
“Hey baby,” he spoke, that thick southern drawl that Remmick had came out. Your mouth dropped slightly, your hands holding your belongings slowly lowering. He was staring right at you, that was meant for you. He slowly began rocking, eyes never leaving you. “You gonna come on over here, darlin’? I’ve been waitin’ for you.”
Oh, what the southern drawl did to you. You didn’t think it’d corral you into him like this but it did. That thick accent made you swoon, in and out of character. Seeing him calling out to you, and you alone, warmed you up.
“Come on now, lass. You just gonna leave ol’ Rem hangin’?”
Ah. So this is how he’s gonna be. Jack wants you, and he’s going to do it in true vampiric Remmick nature. He’s luring you in.
Realizing you’d better play the part, you close your eyes and get into character. You dropped your items and starting making your way to him.
“There she is… there’s my girl. I’ve missed you,” shaking his head slightly, still rocking in the chair. Your feet clicked against the concrete floor almost antagonizingly slow, your eyes never left his, and you felt your body heat up. Crossing onto the wood, the change of energy set the mood. There he was, still covered in that fake blood from earlier, dripping right over his face and down his neck. The lights of the set were all either off or dim, save for this one hanging overhead. Just enough to hit him like a spotlight.
“I’m sorry, Remmy. I didn’t mean to make you wait on me. Are you upset at me, baby?,” you spoke to him. You could watch as those words made every hair on him stand up, the gulp traveled down his throat, and his hand gripped the armrest. His foot started to shake a little. You put on those big puppy dog eyes your character has when she looks at her lover. Slowly, you stepped closer and closer to him, walking behind the chair and putting your hands on his shoulders. You leaned down to his neck, right beside his ear and said, “I’m here now, baby. Did you need somethin’?”
“I just missed you, darlin’. Missed your touch, your voice… your face. Lord, that face of yours,” he admired as a hand reach beside him and held your cheek. The tension you two had all lead up to this moment. You took your hand and ran it up his arm and over his that was placed on your face, locking your fingers into his. Taking your other hand off of his shoulder, you walked in front of him, and used your free hand to touch his face in return.
“You’ve made a mess, Rem. But you look just as handsome as always.”
“Nah, darlin’, this ain’t no mess. A mess is what you’ve made me into, and I think you know just how to clean it up.”
Did you? Did he want you to touch him? Fuck him? Be with him? This is all new to you, this role playing thing. Not to mention it being with a man you’ve admired for so long, and just hoped that one day you’d be able to have him this way. This was your chance to finally have what you wished for.
Your eyes left his, scanning down his body in that outfit that made you an unstable wreck, and stopped at his pants. Smirking, you nodded, and stood between his now open legs. He took his free hand and grabbed your waist, bringing you closer to him. His body was practically calling out to you, you could feel how badly he wanted you, and he could feel you the same way. You bit your lip, and got on your knees.
“Oh, Rem. You got this worked up over me? I can’t just let you suffer, can I, my love?”
He gulped hard, biting his lip and hardening his lock on you.
“Nah, I don’t think that’d be very kind of you.”
“I didn’t think it would.”
Your hand left his face, running down his neck, chest, then stomach, and finally ending at his suspenders and pants. Your fingers got to work fast on his buckles and buttons, as you wanted him more than you could imagine. You wanted to taste him. You were going to. That was certain between the two of you.
Pulling off his pants and underwear in one movement, they fell to his ankles. He was hard for you. Thinking about how you walked on the set each day, head held so high and you were so passionate about your work. So passionate about the project.. about your characters. About him, he wished.
You kissed his tip, making sure to keep that eye contact. A guttural moan left him and you felt your heart flutter with pride, excitement, and admiration for the man in front of you. Your right hand came down to wrap around him, moving it up slowly, taking in what you’re about to do to him. Stroking him for a few more moments, you grew impatient. You wanted the taste of him, and you wanted the feeling of having the man you’ve pined over for months in you finally. Leaning back down, you opened your mouth and ran your tongue down the length of his dick. Stopping at the top after a few times of going up and down, you sucked, letting your tongue roam around him. You hummed against him, the sensation making him let another low, sexy moan out. Your head began to bob up and down, and your cheeks hollowed out as you went as far as you could. Your eyes closed, humming as you sucked on him. You felt his hand trace your jaw and entangle itself into your hair, grabbing a loose fist full of it and guiding you.
Deciding it was enough, he used his grip on your hair to pull you off him, and got a good look at your face. Your eyes filled with lust met his eyes, matching the same level of desire that you had.
“Stand up, I want you to try somethin’ out for me,” he said, breath shaky, as he ran his hands up your costume dress, and pulled your underwear down, “good, now we’re even.”
He put a hand on your waist, guiding you down to his thigh, using his grip to rock you back and forth over it. You grabbed his shoulder with one hand, and the top of the chair with other, now guiding yourself across with his assistance still being used.
“Oh, yeah. You like that, huh? Grindin’ on my thigh all desperate like. ‘Cause that’s what you are, desperate, right?” That drawl invoked a loud and, like he said, desperate moan from you, right into his ear. The hand on his shoulder now gripped his hair, holding him closer to you.
“I saw you watching me from the sidelines. You wanted me so bad, now you’ve got me. This is what you wanted, right? You’ve made me a damn mess, girl.”
His façade as Remmick was now gone, and it was his pure intentions coming out of him. That accent change damn near made you release then and there, but you were too lost in the feeling of his warm thigh against your pussy as you took out your sexual yearning on it. His other hand ran between your body and his, rubbing your clit, and he took his fingers to his mouth. He made sure to get your eyes to look into his as he savored your arousal. The fake blood mixed into his mouth a little as he finally got a taste of the beauty before him.
“You couldn’t be the only one that got a little taste, huh, darling?”
That was enough to get you off, and you came hard onto him. His moans from seeing you getting yourself off to a part of him that wasn’t even sexual filled your ears as you moaned into his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck as you came down from your high. You stayed like this for a few minutes until you both calmed down. You raised up, running a hand over his chest before placing it around his heart.
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted you. Not even just like this, you know? You’re special, you’re beautiful. Absolutely perfect. D’you want to go out sometime? Properly get to hang out?”
You smiled, nodding along with the idea.
“I’d love to. I hoped for so damn long that you felt that way, too, you handsome devil.”
“Handsome vampire, get it right.”
You giggled, leaning in to give him a kiss.
“Oh, and for future reference, just know that was hot as fuck.”
Navigating through life as Remmick’s darling vampire wife—basically follows the events of Sinners
wc: 4096
warnings: toxic relationship (not reader and remmick), small mention of domestic violence (not reader and remmick), b*rt and j*an/klan mentions, small mention of infidelity, remmick is a bit of a freak ball (🤤) , reader is bratty but she lovesssss her husband
an: hey guys….😀 ik i’m supposed to be working on the stack fic but i got bored sooo here! i get random spurts of writing energy srry guys! the stack fic will 100% be done by the end of this month tho
divider credits: @/uzmacchiato
feedback is always appreciated and welcomed!
“…I thought I could trust them—and they’re trying to kill me,” Remmick fumbles with his words.
The man beyond the threshold tightens the grip he has on his gun, “Slow down,” he commands.
“Who’s trying to kill you?” The woman clad in a blue dress questions.
All Remmick replies with is, “Choctaw.”
“They took my wife—oh, God,” Remmick whimpers. “I’m a coward, ain’t I?”
You hear his desperate, faux cries from your spot behind the couple’s cabin. You look down at your ring finger and admire the band that adorns it.
Such a charming man, your husband Remmick is. Always doing the heavy lifting so that all you had to worry about was sinking your teeth into your newest victim.
You also faintly heard the not-so-friendly words they were using. If anything, it fueled your desire to turn them. Normally, you prefer to make the vampirization process as quick and painless for the individual on the other end of your bite, for you still have a sense of “humanity”, as Remmick calls it.
You think it’s just common decency, but to each their own!
‘These is Klan folk, angel’ Remmick speaks to you through your hive mind. Of course they were, you couldn’t even be surprised at the surplus of hatred in this world, especially here.
Your ears nearly perk up once you hear the sound of horse hooves clicking against the hot dirt.
‘Hurry on up, Rem. They’re comin’
‘I got it—I got it. Don’t worry yer pretty lil head, honey’
You roll your eyes, even though you know he can’t see it. ‘I ain’t worryin’, I’m hungry’
“Hey, I got gold,” Remmick abruptly says to the pair, who still wield their weapons. “They ain’t get all of it, you can have it,” Remmick holds out the gold coin, in need of some sort of truce. “Jus’ don’t let ‘em hurt me,” he murmurs weakly.
You peek from around the cabin–still making sure that your body resides fully under the roof’s shingles–and you’re just barely able to make out the frames of the Choctaw that we’re hunting you and your husband.
You still hear the woman’s voice, meaning the man is with Remmick. Exactly how you planned.
What transpires in the next 5 minutes is truly a blur to you. You’re famished, so much so, that your head starts to ache. But you eventually peer over the wall and you’re met with the distant sight of the Choctaw’s backs.
‘How’s it lookin’, honey?’ You question your husband, but you’re met with no answer.
It was done.
You quickly glide to the front of the house as the hot sun beats down on your large hat that you stole from the next town over, your heel-covered feet float over the ground. You don’t want to scuff them up any further–not until Remmick gets you another pair, that is. You take a seat on the rickety chair that rests on the porch, you cross your legs and lightly pick at your nails to cure your boredom.
A sharp, piercing scream resonates within the vicinity of the cabin, the loud intrusion breaks the peace that the birds once had as they now scatter through the wind. You smirk at the sound, you look up and devilishly grin at the only winged-body that remained perched on the edge of the roof.
Rapid footsteps bounce off the wooden floors, you assume Remmick’s chasing her, leading her out to you. You adjust your hat as soon as she slams open the front door. She pants and shuts the door, keeping her hands on it as Remmick yells threatening nonsense at her.
A tear slips down her now rosy cheeks, you can tell when her soul leaves her body once she caught a glimpse of you in her peripheral vision. You tilt your head at her and just blink slowly at her, “Hey there, sugar!” You chirp.
She screams yet again, her voice raw, as red claws up her flushed skin.
You then pounce on her with ease; you jump on her and her back meets the floor boards immediately. You hold both of her hands with just one of yours, and your tight grip has her hands losing circulation. You don’t bother teasing or toying with her, not with your undeniable thirst consuming your mind.
You sink your pointed teeth into her flesh. You groan as she yells for what seems like the hundredth time.
God, isn’t she tired of doing that?
The door creaks open, but you don’t shift your focus from the blood that pools down from the side of her bulging neck. You do pout, however. ‘Klan folk always taste weird’
Remmick pauses and sighs blissfully, seemingly disregarding your statement, "I ever tell you how beautiful you look while feedin’, angel?”
You lick your lips as you finally get your fill, you look at him, your pout turning into something more cheeky, “Once or twice, yes. Don’t mean I don’t like hearin’ it, though.” You jump up onto your feet, and your heels thunk on the planks next to the woman’s head.
You walk over to the Irish man, who watches you lovingly, with crimson dripping from his grinning mouth and staining his ripped undershirt.
Remmick takes your hand in his, and his other arm wraps around your waist. He holds you tenderly, before slowly turning the embrace into a waltz, “Well, you look divine, baby,” he says before spinning you. You yelp as he dips you, before laughing and smiling like a madwoman.
He presses his bloody lips to yours, and you hum into the kiss while lightly tugging at his gold chain. Remmick’s hand slips out of yours and moves down to cradle your cheek. Remmick’s slight stubble lightly scratches against your chin in the best way possible as he deepens the kiss. Unfortunately though, you’re forced to part from your husband once the woman who you bit moments prior now rises up to a stand.
“Oh! My apologies, am I interuptin’?” She exults with a smile. Remmick plants you back on your feet as you both look at her, which is when you realize that her husband is also gazing at you both.
“So are they both jus’ gonna stare at us all damn day?” You huff.
“Awwe, don’t be like that, baby!” Remmick coos, making you scrunch your face up. The couple also let out similar words of approval. Remmick grabs your chin and guides your beaming red eyes to his with his thumb and pointer finger, “Y’see, with them here, we can finally get what we always been dreamin’ for.”
All you can do is sigh, as you look between the pair, who nod at you vigorously. You grumble some more before stepping off of the porch and leaping into the air.
You look down at Remmick before speaking, “Don’t bring ‘em home ‘til you got ‘em straightened out, don’t need none of their foolishness in my house, y’hear me?”
Remmick beams at your brightly, “Yes ma’am! Anythin’ for you, darlin’!”
Your dog, Beau, whimpers next to you, you pet him before he hops up and begins barking at the front door. Somehow, it’s like he had a sixth sense for his vampiric father. You listen intently; you hear one set of footsteps.
…And then two more.
You sigh without looking up from your book initially when your front door eases open. The scent of your husband floods your nostrils.
“Honey, I’m home!” Remmick jokes, making you huff.
“Take them shoes off if ya wanna keep ‘em,” you chide half-heartedly as you turn the page of your book. “That goes for our guests as well.”
“Lovely home y’all got here!” The same feminine voice that had screeched in your ears earlier exclaimed. You look up at this; Remmick’s cooing and rubbing Beau’s fuzzy stomach, the woman wearing her blue dress smiles at you, as well as her husband, who stands behind her in the door frame awkwardly.
You don’t say anything, opting to give a look to Remmick instead, and that’s when you notice his new attire: the button-up he’s wearing is slightly oversized, as well as his pants, which are so large, they have to be pulled up and held with flimsy suspenders.
“What in the hell—are you wearing his clothes?” You exclaim incredulously.
Your husband looks at you sheepishly, obviously searching for the right choice of words. “We-well, we had t’go through town—‘cause Bert ‘n Joan here ain’t strong enough to fly yet, honey, will be soon though!”He mumbles as you squint at him with fire in your eyes.
“That’s us,” The man who you assume is Bert, says eagerly.
“Will be soon!” Joan cheers.
“Washed sum clothes ‘fore ya came in..Come ‘n take these off,” you gaze up at the Irish man lovingly as you slide the suspenders down his arms; the way you look at him while murmuring softly has him hypnotized. He hums in response and you turn away, trekking down the hall with a light sway in your hips, never looking back at him once.
Remmick finally realizes that you wanted him to follow you, so he quickly dashes to the bedroom. He has to remind himself that the two of you don’t have the house to yourselves right now when he makes it to the door, so when you wink at him, it takes everything in him to fight the urge to ravish you in ways only he knows how.
He looks out down the hall to Bert and Joan, “Please, try not to touch nun…The missus likes her organization.” He smiles tight-lipped. He steps into the bedroom and closes the door, where he’s met with you: bent over in your soft and clean house gown, rummaging through a basket filled with freshly-dried clothes.
If Remmick actually had a live, beating heart, he thinks it’d be leaping out of his chest.
His breath does skip a beat, though, and despite his cold skin, he feels his pale cheeks warm.
He thinks about sneaking up on you—rushing over to you with supernatural speed without a sound even ringing out against these four walls of your shared sanctuary, but he knows you’ll sense it.
You stand back up, hands full with a shirt and matching pants for Remmick. You turn around and smile at him, already knowing that he was standing there, watching you.
“Seo dhuit, mo ghrá,” your tone is sugary sweet as you peer up at him through your lashes, but Remmick knows that look is everything but sweet.
“Here you go, my love”
If only someone had told Remmick that emotional restraint wasn’t a skill acquired once you’ve turned, because God—did he wish he could refrain from chubbing up in his large slacks when he heard you speak Gaelic.
It wasn’t a new thing, no, you’d been learning bits and pieces as soon as you met Remmick, since you had been enchanted with how effortlessly the foreign words rolled off of his tongue. But Remmick swears he falls deeper and deeper in love with you every single time he hears the familiarity.
It makes him feel like he’s at home.
Actually, it makes him proud to have a home with you: someone who makes life feel easy, especially given the fact that you both weren’t the typical couple that you’d find in this day and age—for numerous reasons.
‘Done fantasizin’ ‘bout me, handsome? Mighty tired of seein’ ya in these rags’
You speak, yet your mouth remains shut, and your eyebrow raises at him expectantly. Remmick chooses not to speak, instead, he grabs the clothes out of your hands and places them on the bed before starting to strip. You huff out a chuckle at his sudden shyness.
Fuck—you’re so obsessed with your husband, it’s unreal.
You decide to give him some privacy, even though he looks as if you threatened him with an arms-worth of silverware as you walk away. When you shut the bedroom door behind you, you walk down the lengthy hallway and unfortunately Bert and Joan are sitting on your antique couch, hands folded in their laps, necks craned to look at you.
“Y’all ain’t no friends of mine, y’friends of Remmick, so don’t go expectin’ nun from me,” you speak firmly, leaving no room for discussion or debate. “‘N get the hell off my couch,” you scold, making them jump up as if they were popping corn kernels. Their squirming made you laugh.
“Darlin’…Hope we’re not scarin’ our new friends too much now,” Remmick teases as he places his cold hands upon your shoulders in a calming manner, and his head rests against yours.
You exhale, “Maybe your enhanced hearin’ ain’t so enhanced, ‘cause I just told these folks they ain’t gettin’ no welcome party from me—anytime soon.” Remmick feels you tensing, and it doesn’t hurt his heart, it hurts his soul.
“I-I know, I know—but it’s only temporary, baby, I swear it.” Remmick whispers sweetly to you; some of his words wrapped in desperation. He turns you around so that you’re facing him.
Your eyes are fixed on the floor as you pout without realizing, “‘N how long will that be?” You ask, your attitude never leaving your tone; you didn’t even bother to speak through your shared minds. Remmick shifts his hands from your shoulders up to your cheeks, holding you and guiding your face upwards so that he could get a clear glimpse of you.
‘Just ‘till mornin’, then y’wont have to worry ‘bout them ever again’
You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t think your husband was just telling you what you wanted to hear. You knew of his plans of getting his people back, using music as a connector—so you knew damn well these white folk wouldn’t be gone by morning.
You let out what seems like your hundredth sigh, and walk to the kitchen, where you grab a glass of blood that you had stored for times like these.
Remmick grins lopsidedly, “Try not to drink too much, darlin’! Still gotta visit that ‘ole juke joint!”
“Are we sure that this joint even exists, Rem?” You groan.
“‘Bout as sure as I am Irish!” Remmick chirps, nuzzling his chin into your shoulder.
Tonight was going to be a long night.
“Well I’ll be damned…Y’werent lyin’, honey!” You exclaim, grabbing onto Remmick with just as much enthusiasm. He wraps his arms around your waist.
“‘Course not! What kinda man do ya take me for?” Remmick beams from pointed-ear to pointed-ear.
“Oh I’m just delighted to be here!” Joan giggles, quickly souring your mood.
Remmick immediately takes notice of this, and redirects the conversation. “Alright, now you stay right here sweets, me, Joan, ‘n Bert got this all taken care of.” He squeezes your waist once last time as he pecks your lips; you hum against him.
Remmick secures his instrument that resides strapped against his back, and the three head to the entrance of Club Juke. The music is so loud it pours out the rickety building as if it were the ocean; the melodies meld with the air like a salty tide. You see Cornbread guarding the door, and you can’t believe you’re back here.
The last time you were here, you were living with a man that wasn’t Remmick—you were married to a man that wasn’t Remmick. That didn’t stop Remmick from visiting you every night for months after he met you, though. The ring on your finger especially didn’t deter him when he had found your husband mistreating you in ways he knew he wouldn’t.
Some nights, your husband wouldn’t let you leave the house, no matter how many times you tried to convince him that you just wanted to check-in on the animals on your farm. Remmick used to wait outside, becoming one with the shadows by the barn until you skipped on up to him. If you hadn’t been outside an hour after lights out, he’d walk back into the woods with his head hung low and a heavy weight on his heart.
On one particular night, one where your lights stayed on longer than usual, Remmick hadn’t left. In fact, he had approached your house—specifically the window that led into your bedroom.
It was wrong of him, he knows that, and he’s not afraid to admit it to this day—but he’ll never regret it, because he can still picture your face after your dead-beat husband had tried to lay his hands on you.
You had tip-toed out of your house after your husband had fallen asleep, and you knew that Remmick would be gone.
You had just wanted some air.
But you were wrong, because Remmick was still outside, waiting for you, but closer than he’d ever been before. You figured that he saw, or at least heard what happened, since his face showed both anger and a twinge of sadness.
That was the night you had been turned by Remmick.
And in that same night, you ripped your husband’s throat clean out, and watched as his life drained from his eyes.
You left without a word the morning after; you didn’t spare a single goodbye to anyone that you called family.
Not the Moore twins, not their little cousin who you looked after, not even Grace, Annie, or your best friend, Mary.
Hence why you opted out of going with Remmick to the door and seeing all of the familiar faces that could possibly hate you.
Even if they don’t hate you for leaving, you know good and well you’ll be hated for becoming what you are.
What you are is unknown by most, different, even—and different kills.
You’re so enthralled by your thoughts, you don’t notice your husband slowly walking back over to you with a sullen look on his face, similar to Bert and Joan.
“‘Fraid our plan didn’t work, darlin’,” Remmick trails off as he sits next to you on the log, still holding his most prized possession: his banjo.
“What’d they say?” You ask all too eagerly.
Remmick chuckles sadly, both for you and for him, “They ain’t interested in us comin’ in, though I don’t blame ‘em, I suppose.” You take your thumb and rub between his furrowed brows.
“…Do ya want me to go in?” You ask hesitantly, Remmick immediately grabs your hands and rubs his thumbs over your knuckles.
“No—no! ‘Course not, baby! W-we’ll figure sum out.” He smiles at you both sweetly and crookedly, calming your nerves almost instantly. “In fact, I already gotta new idea! Bert, Joan, get ready to play.”
You tilt your head and your eyebrows mimic Remmick’s a moment prior.
“Y’remember that song I taught ya, darlin’? ‘Cause y’might wanna start warmin’ up.”
Will ye go, lassie go?
Remmick sings, making a smile shine on your face. Seeing him so happy in his element makes you feel as if you’re over the moon.
And we’ll all go together
Out of the corner of your eye, you see none other than Mary walking over, wearing a pink dress and matching heels.
To pull wild mountain thyme
As she gets closer, Mary’s eyes light up in shock as she recognizes your features that she knows all too well.
All around the bloomin’ heather
Will ye go, lassie, go?
Mary looks as if she wants to speak, her mouth opens then closes several times as she gets closer to you. You look at her with love and sincerity in your eyes as you sing.
As Remmick plucks the last few notes, a tear trickles down Mary’s face.
“_______? Is that you?” Mary asks breathlessly, wiping the tears from her rosy cheeks.
“Hi, Mary,” you whisper. You know she wants to say so much more, but then she faces Remmick.
She has a motive for coming out here.
As much love as you have for her nestled within your soul, Remmick is your top priority. Which is why you quickly get your head on straight as she sits down and conversates with your husband.
Remmick offers her the gold you two acquired, and she looks in disbelief, her eyes shifting from you to Remmick.
You can’t help but roll your eyes as Bert and Joan randomly decided to put their two cents in by repeating what Remmick says. But, you hold your composure, because you all have a shared goal to accomplish at the end of the day.
“Loosing a mother’s a hurtin’ feelin’.” Bert murmurs, Remmick hums, agreeing with him.
“And I wish in my heart that we’d met sooner.” Remmick empathizes, and Mary can't help but turn her head to you.
Despite being apart for all these years, you can tell that Mary’s getting riled up due to Remmick’s advances.
“I would’ve liked to have saved your mother from her fate,” Remmick muses, “I can still save you from yours.”
“No, you must have me confused,” Mary says with cynicism. “I’m sad is all, but I don’t need no savin’.”
“Yes. Yes you do. You all do.” Remmick looks at her darkly, his glowing red eyes now on display, as well as his fangs.
Mary jumps up from the log, holding her gun with an iron grip as it points at your husband. You look between her and Remmick, then really taking in his appearance.
“Dammit, Rem—y’droolin’ honey.” You scold him, slowly lifting a finger to his chin and wiping the dripping saliva, making sure Mary doesn’t get intimidated by any rash movements. Though this doesn’t make Mary feel any better.
“Petal, what the fuck is all this?” Mary gestures between you and Remmick, making you put your hands up defensively. Hearing your old best friend call you by your old nickname almost brings tears to your eyes.
Everyone around the Delta called you Petal, since somehow, some way, you always had a flower planted delicately in your hair. Sometimes you’d even leave petals behind where you walked.
“It’s a lot, Mary, ‘n I wish I could explain it all to you. But you have to trust me when I say that this is for the best.” You tread carefully with your words, trying to ease the tension in the air.
“W-what? No—what’s that supposed to mean?” Mary exclaims, seemingly growing more wary by the second as she begins to step back.
You decide to get up gently from your spot on the log, and inch towards her faintly. “I know I got no business comin’ here makin’ demands—trust me Mar, I know that.” There's a slight tremble in your voice.
“But I want ya to join us—me ‘n my husband. We can be a big ‘ole family, Mar, just like the old days. Elias, Elijah, Annie, all of ‘em! Please jus-”
“No! I ain’t joinin’ whatever you and your—” Mary snarls with hesitance, “Husband, got goin’ on. ‘M sorry, Petal, ‘n I love ya, but it ain’t happenin’! Not now, not ever.” Mary’s breath picks up as you continue walking towards her, but then, you stop. Mary’s rapid heartbeat doesn't falter, though.
Your lip quivers as you look back at your husband, sending a message not even through your mind—but through your eyes.
Just as Remmick nods at you, Mary makes her biggest mistake: she turns her back.
You thought you taught her better than that.
Maybe it’s because in a way, you turned your back on her all these years ago.
And right now, you have to turn your back to her once again as Remmick leaps into the air in her direction.
You walk with your arm linked with Mary’s; the music inside the joint sounds both riveting and inviting.
“Cornbread,” Mary greets him at the door, making him look up.
“Mary what’chu doin’ out here?” Cornbread questions as he then notices you.
“Petal? W-Where you been all these years? What’chu doin’ back here girl?” Cornbread’s jaw might as well be on the dirt right now with the way he’s looking at the two of you.
“You gon let us in, or just sit there blockin’ the door?” Mary quickly interrupts with a twinge of sass.
Cornbread uncrosses his arms and moves aside after a beat, “No, come on—come on in.”
You smile at him sweetly as Mary eyes him and guides you into the building.
‘Careful in there, darlin’ let me know if ya need me’ Remmick’s voice echos through your mind. Normally, you wouldn’t admit that his soothing tone grounds you in ways nobody else has been able to, but there’s no use in hiding it since he already hears everything.
If Remmick is interested in you (romantically speaking) there's no way in hell you're getting away from him. Nope, none.
This man is persistent, persuasive and will find away to lure you away with him and his little "family" (yeah you're turning into one of those bee hive minded vampires, good luck)
He's that, a family man, twisted in the head and with rooted need to cling onto something that makes him belong.
