A snippet of a pet!Remmick thing I'm unsure whether to post in full
He's sat on the sofa with his head in his hands. The one he isn't allowed on, but he can't help himself; it smells like you. Remmick needs it, needs the shred of comfort it brings to be able to have you fill his mind. You didn't need to be so forgiving with him. Hell, Remmick knows you didn't even need to take him in, probably didn't really want to. He still feels the bite of the cold metal cage from the shelter, just days before he was due to be put down. A light shudder runs through him at that. He'd been so ungrateful for it when you picked him. Usually, people adopting any of the 'beasts' from shelters were looking for muscle. He dreaded being made to fight for scraps again, but you only offered him a warmth he was scared to touch. Remmick didn't mean to react aggressively to it the first time you showed him; he just didn't trust that it came without a catch. Cut to now, and it didn't feel right to be without you for so long. Remmick was worried sick that something might have happened to you. Why else would you still not be home by almost sundown? Remmick's fingers move to furl around his loose curls as he stares at the floor, teeth starting to grit as he tries to stop himself from breathing too quickly. He forces his eyes shut and lets himself slump into the sofa, pressing his nose to the small pillows to try and find your scent. It was something Remmick hadn't expected. He knows that his sense of smell was better than most, but to find such comfort in your scent to the point of him feeling a heat starting to rush through his body… that was certainly new for him. With some frustration, Remmick rips himself away from the sofa to march upstairs, unable to take it anymore. He reaches your room, ignoring the rules to step inside. He wasn't allowed in here alone, but he needs to feel like you're here. Remmick thinks about the consequences for all of two seconds before he gets onto your bed, crawling up to bury his head into the pillows. His nostrils flare, and he groans into the material at how your scent washes through him, a pang of arousal sitting heavy in his stomach.
A/N: Unedited, though I fear it's 'edging' on 6k. Meanwhile, the more I've written, the less confident I am about it.
Why do the joke ideas always end up as longer fics??