So I saw Sinners fell completey in love with Remmick <3 😩
Sinners: “The Devil’s Lamb” Part 1: Let Him In
Summer was alone in the house again, barefoot on the hardwood floor, the hem of her nightgown whispering around her ankles like an old prayer. The air was thick with the scent of burning wax and old books—her father’s sermon tapes still played like ghosts in the corners of the room. “The devil walks like a man, but you’ll know him by the way he makes you feel…”
She ignored the voice. She always did.
Her fingers drifted to the silver cross nestled between her breasts, the chain warm from her skin. It was the only thing her father ever gave her that felt like hers.
And that’s when the first knock came.
Three slow, uneven pounds against the old front door.
She froze.
The town was quiet this time of the day —nothing but crickets and the low hum of cicadas in the dark. This wasn’t a neighbor. This wasn’t human.
She opened the door.
The man standing there looked like he’d crawled out of hell. His skin was blistered, smoke trailing from every inch of exposed flesh. His shirt was torn, soaked in blood. His lips were cracked, and when he looked up at her, his eyes—green, glowing, ancient—pleaded without a word.
“Help me,” he rasped. “Sun got me… please…”
Summer, trembling, stepped back and let him in.
She didn’t ask herself why.
He stumbled inside, falling to his knees just beyond the threshold, hands clutching the wood like it burned. When she reached for him, his skin hissed where her fingers touched. He didn’t flinch. He just breathed her in like salvation.
Then came the second knock.
This one was hard. Urgent.
She opened the door to find a man—tall, brown-skinned, sweat beading down his temple, gun drawn and ready.
“I’m tracking someone,” he said. White male. Medium build. Looks... wrong?”
“You’d know if you saw him. He burns in daylight. He’s not… right.”
Summer blinked slowly. Her voice came out like velvet. “I haven’t seen anyone.” Summer blinked. The voice in her head screamed yes. But her lips said: “No one’s here but me.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “If you see him—run. He’s not what he looks like. You understand me?”
A pause. He stared at her, like he could smell the lie. But she just smiled, sweet and disarming.
The man cursed under his breath, turned, and left.
She closed the door.
When she turned around, the stranger the man she let in was standing now. was sitting in her father’s old sermon chair,
The wounds were gone.
His back was straight.
And his smile was inhuman.
blood soaking through the worn leather, steam still rising off his skin. Her father was at his feet—throat torn, eyes open. Dead.
Summer didn’t scream.
The man—no, the creature—smiled. Fangs flashed like ivory sabers in the candlelight. Claws. Eyes like burning red emeralds.
“You let me in,” he said, voice low and lilting. Not Southern anymore. Irish. Deep and old. “Most don’t.”
“My father said monsters would try to charm their way past the door,” she said, voice flat.
“Then he was right.”
She backed up. Her cross swung between her breasts.
Her trembling fingers reached for it, but he was already on his feet.
“I hate those things,” he muttered.
With a sudden motion, he ripped the cross from her chest, the chain snapping like thread. The cool metal left a red scratch between her breasts.
He leaned in, nose brushing her neck. “You smell like purity... like wine that’s never been sipped.”
“Let’s see,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over her like fire licking at paper, “just how much of a sinner you really are.”
She stood her ground.
“You gonna kill me?” she asked.
The vampire rose to his feet, slow, deliberate. His shirt clung to his body, wet with blood and ash. His eyes drank her in.
He smiled—hungry and unholy.
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “Not yet.”
His hand lingered against her collarbone.
“I’ve tasted centuries,” he whispered. “Kings. Whores. Martyrs. But you… you smell like something that’s never been touched.”
Summer didn’t step back.
She stepped forward.
“In the name of the Father,” she whispered, tears in her eyes, “forgive me.”
He laughed. Low. Wicked. Not kind.
“Too late for that, dove.”
Then his hand was in her hair, and she was dragged forward—not gently, but with purpose, the breath stolen from her lungs. His mouth crashed into hers, lips bruising, tongue forcing its way past hers like a storm through stained glass. She whimpered, but he didn’t pull away.
He groaned like it hurt to touch her. Like she burned him from the inside out.
“You’ve no idea what you just invited in.”
Her nightgown ripped like tissue in his hands. One vicious pull, and the fabric was gone—her bare body exposed to the flickering candlelight, to the creature that stood over her with his chest heaving and fangs glinting.
She shivered.
He smiled.
“Scared?” he rasped.
Summer shook her head. Her breath came fast, uneven. “No.”
“Liar.”
He shoved her back against the wall, her bare shoulder slamming against the wood hard enough to sting. She gasped, eyes wide, but he was already on her—grinding against her, teeth at her throat, clawed fingers bruising her thighs as he forced them open.
“You wanted a monster,” he snarled. “You get one.”
She cried out as he grabbed her hips and lifted her like she weighed nothing, impaling her on his cock in one brutal thrust. No warning. No tenderness. Just possession.
She screamed—and he groaned, deep and primal, biting down hard on her shoulder as he bottomed out inside her.
“Fuck,” he growled, head thrown back. “You’re so tight it hurts.”
He didn’t wait. Didn’t slow.
He fucked her.
Hard. Fast. Cruel.
The wall shook behind her. Wood creaked. Candlelight flickered as her body bounced against him, as he took her like something owed, like her very soul was beneath his skin now.
“You let me in,” he hissed against her neck, fangs dragging lower. “You think that cross was gonna save you?”
She clawed at his back, moaning, sobbing, her body betraying her with every clench, every slick cry of pleasure.
“You think you were pure?” he snarled, thrusting harder. “You were waiting for me.”
Summer’s head fell back, tears streaking her cheeks—but her mouth opened in a scream as she shattered, her orgasm ripping through her like a damnation.
He wasn’t done.
He bit her.
Right where her neck met her shoulder—hard. Deep. She screamed again, more in ecstasy than pain, as her blood spilled into his mouth and he moaned, grinding into her as he drank.
“Sweet little thing,” he groaned. “You taste like guilt and grace.”
He came inside her with a snarl, hips slamming forward as his nails dug into her thighs, his body trembling against hers, still feeding, still moving until she was limp in his arms.
And even then, he didn’t let her go.
Not yet.
Not ever.