Root Cellar: Part IV (Renewal)
Remmick Fic
AO3 Link
๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Summary: A battered and bruised Remmick shows up in your root cellar seeking refuge from hunters. Eventual smut ensues alongside the unknown effects of vervain.
๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Pairing: Remmick x fem!reader
๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Part I | Part II | Part III | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII.1 | Part VIII.2
Tags/Warnings: Slow Burn, Pathetic Remmick, Pathetic Wet Dog of a Man, Threshold Edging, Misuse of Vervain, Switch Remmick, Drunk Remmick, Breeding Kink (if you squint I guess), Vervain is an Aphrodisiac, Blood Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Eventual Smut, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, What the hell is a beta reader, Praise Kink, Period Sex, Pre-Canon
The sky still belongs to the sun by the time you arrive home, but not by much. The gentle blue has started to bleed into that precious golden hour that you love so much. With a soft sigh, you acknowledge that there isn’t an awful lot of time before Remmick is free to roam your property again. The brief disappointment of not having time to wash the new clothes pricks at you, which only serves to confuse you. You wish you could make up your mind on how to feel about it all. Logically, you should have told Joe and Tashka about their missing vampire for all the trouble that he’s caused them. For all his efforts, he is still a monster; you don’t even know if he has feelings. The thought reminds you of finding Remmick crumpled up and cowering from the sunlight, how vulnerable he looked. You chastise the sappy fragment of you that had to rush to someone’s aid so quickly.
‘Cause I reckon you're as lonely as I am, darlin’.’
You stop in your tracks as you stare at the floorboards to your porch, recalling his words. Was that true? It was frustrating and impossible to gauge anything about Remmick other than the fact that he can’t be trusted. Not after he tried to bite you. You muse over your own loneliness as you continue into your home. Today was likely the most people you’ve spoken to in a single day for a while. Do you really enjoy your own company enough, or are you just that used to it now? You shake the thought from your head, not wanting Remmick to be right. Your reasoning dictates that he only took a desperate stab in the dark, saying that because he doesn’t know you.
Really, he’s lucky to be getting any sort of extra on top of letting him stay here in secret. Unnecessary as your gift may be, maybe showing kindness would benefit you in the long run. You just hope it doesn’t come back to bite you.
Dinner crosses your mind as you peer at the sky; it’s probably safer to get the clothes ready first, then food later. As you fish out the wrapped items of your bag and place them on your kitchen table, another idea creeps into your mind. Remmick isn’t battered-looking anymore, but he’s still pretty grubby. He was not stepping foot into your home. But, you could offer him the chance to clean up without what you assume is rainwater, the nearby river, or, honestly, just nothing. The idea of him not bathing makes you cringe as you rip a page out of a small sketchbook. You take your time scribble down a note for him, along with a near-primitive doodle of a deer. It gets slipped under the string of the top parcel and you leave it before you change your mind.
Outside, you find the upturned washtub you keep propped against the wall. It’s easy enough to roll it to the water pump in your garden, not too far from your home. You idly hum a tune as you work. Just some new melody you heard on the cafe radio, but the folksy nature of it stuck in your mind. The large tub lands upright on the grass with a softer thud than you expect, and you use a nearby bucket to start filling it with water. Regardless of how often you’ve oiled this thing, it still takes a while for you to finish up. The water is pretty cold, but it was clean and beggars can’t be choosers.
With the tub filled and the sky becoming a darker pink, you nip inside to look for a bar of soap, a washcloth, and a stool. Unfortunately, the only soap you have is your rose one, but hopefully, he won’t mind too much. Acquiring everything and wanting to be quick about it, you place the bar of soap and cloth on top of the stool alongside the wash tub. No sooner do you remember to retrieve the new clothes does the light begin to slip behind the trees, and you see movement as you get to the tub.
Across the grass, the door to the cellar eases open, and your breath hitches in response. Remmick watches from the safety of the cellar, no doubt waiting for the darkness to spread out to the outside completely. It isn’t easy to see his expression from here, but his looming presence has your feet glued to the ground until you urge yourself to move. He looks in your direction like he has already been watching you. You manage to blink away the faint panic as you place the clothes next to the stool. Somehow, you completely ignore the polite wave he gives as you scurry back across the threshold to your cottage.
As the door slams shut behind you, the fact that you got caught makes your cheeks heat up. It’s near silence as you wait there, until the sound of rustling packaging grabs your attention and has your breath softly catch in your throat. You worry your lip with your teeth at the following quiet, but you don’t hear so much as a scoff from the other side of the door. Self-doubt convinces you that he’s just too far away to hear any of his disapproving tones. Then you think you hear an approving whistle. It has you feeling more curious than brave, so you turn to peek outside the window.
━━━━━━━━━━━
Remmick stands there with suspicious eyes locked onto your front door. He’s been listening patiently with his ear pressed up against the cellar door since he heard you get home, but this isn’t what he expected. He isn’t certain where you were all day, but it brings some odd level of comfort to see you back again. With pursed lips, Remmick strolls over to the items piled up in front of what looks like a tub of water. There doesn’t seem to be a smell of anything untoward, no explosives or poison… though the thought makes him smirk. He wouldn’t put either past you to try it on with him. The only thing that stands out to him is the faintest hint of tobacco smoke on the brown wrapping paper. He hadn’t noticed you smoke, but that could just be down to timing.
When he picks up the top parcel with the note, his smirk melts away into a puzzled look. His other hand slowly reaches up to the paper, gingerly thumbing the edge of the paper. The message is so short, but it makes him swallow to alleviate the sudden dryness in his throat.
‘Remmick - Much obliged for the food.’
He stares at the drawing, turning it upside-down and back again until he spots what it’s supposed to be. Realising it’s a deer has his thumb ghosting over the page until he eventually snaps out of his daze. His fingers are so careful with the note as he opens the top parcel. There's a shirt in here, a new one with the price torn from the tag. With a creased brow, he looks down at the other parcels. They were all new clothes.
A broken exhale leaves him, and his eyes soften as he glances towards your door. This was by far the last thing he expected, especially after your outburst this morning. He taps the side of the parcel in thought before opening the others. Despite his initial reaction, a performative whistle sounds at the new threads. He doesn’t need you to have any insight into his thoughts, so he puts them on hold until later. In an effort to hide that he cares, he holds the different clothing up to himself in a bit of a show. It amazes him that not only is it an accurate fit, but it’s astonishingly perfect. The only thing he disregards is the boxers, he’s never worn them and doesn’t intend to start now. With a chuckle, he places them back down, though it’s generous that you thought about it.
When you walked away in a huff this morning, he heard your heart beating quicker and assumed that you were lying about not remembering making a deal with him. But this gesture here, you must have really been tired to forget. Though your anger had been palpable through that door, the wordless ‘thank you’ of the gift must hint at your overall feelings. It would seem that you had reflected on his words and were indeed ‘grateful’. A pensive smile pulls at his lips; he couldn't recall the last time he received a present from somebody outside of this hive. If he were a dog, his tail would be wagging proudly.
He sees the washcloth on the stool alongside the soap and realises you've offered a convenient way for him to bathe. Remmick takes the washcloth in his dirty hand, bringing the fabric to his nose. A faint, unexpected heat pools in his stomach when the scent of rose and clean skin hits him, your scent. Of course this is yours. His eyes close as he slowly inhales at it. Remmick doubts you know how strong his sense of smell is compared to yours. He certainly doesn't expect you to know he can smell you woven into the fresh cloth. The ignorance of it sends a thrill through him.
The clean water and soap are a pleasant find, more so because they don’t seem harmful either. He tests the water with his hand. To anyone else, it would likely be freezing, but it’s a pleasant enough temperature for him. An amused exhale sounds through his nose when he catches you peeking through your kitchen window, and his eyes drift back to the water. He pretends not to notice as he starts removing the shredded clothing, until he’s wearing nothing but his gold chain. Interesting that you may not be as full of hatred for him as he previously considered.
The tub itself is too small to be used as a bath, but Remmick is happy to use a mix of hands, soap, and the nearby bucket to bathe. The moment that he inspects the soap bar, it’s like a lightbulb moment as to why you smell of rose. He can’t say it suits him, but the thought of smelling like you… Did you even realise that’s what that could imply? Of course not, or none of this would be here… Any thought of such is quickly rinsed away by dumping icy water over his head. When he’s finished with every nook and cranny, the water is a lot murkier than previously. No mirror could reveal the thin level of grime he’d accumulated since fleeing from the hunters, but it felt invigorating to be scrubbed clean of it. The drops of water run down his face as he leans his hands onto the side of the tub. He doesn’t register any towel nearby, not that he’s particularly fussed about it.
A cocky grin returns to his mouth as he turns to your home, calling out to you as he slides his wet hair back with his fingers. “Did you happen to forget that towel on purpose, darlin’?”
━━━━━━━━━━━
Seeing Remmick inspect the clothes by holding them to his body makes your chest tighten. You aren’t certain why, perhaps it’s simply the relief of trying to please somebody and it going right. The reaction to seeing the boxers makes you wince, but he seems happy enough with the rest after he carefully places the clothes to the side. Your eyes widen as he removes his tattered vest, followed by his trousers, and it forces you to peel your attention away.
You turn back to go and brew some vervain tea to help relax, sitting with the window in your peripheral view to at least monitor his whereabouts. From where you’re sitting, you can just about make out Remmick’s chest and head if you look over. As you sip away at your drink, you’re tempted to spy over just in time to see his head bob out of view, followed by the sound of pouring water. The way he throws his head back to shake the water from it reminds you of a wet dog. You don't even realise that you're smiling at the thought as you watch him scoop back the short curls and give a contented sigh. His human appearance hadn’t really crossed your mind before now; you hadn’t gotten a proper look at him until now, but he wasn’t as fierce-looking as you recall. He looks relaxed…friendly, even. Realistically, you know that the teeth and claws are hidden underneath somewhere, but it’s easier to forget than you thought it would be. You wonder how many others he’s fooled with the unassuming facade.
The daydream of it is abruptly shattered when he calls out to you, and your face falls in response to the question. How did you forget a towel after all of that? The arrogant lilt to his question makes you fear how your own voice will sound back, so you refuse to answer as you stare at the floor unblinking. You do, however, compose yourself enough to retrieve a clean towel for him. While making it abundantly clear that you aren’t looking at him, you open the front door with your head turned away. The folded material is dropped onto your porch so that it purposely makes a thud. As soon as you let go, you go to sit back at the table.
━━━━━━━━━━━
He watches the towel fall, unable to help but smile as he notes the way you're trying not to look over. More than that, he picks up on the fact that you're still hesitant to be outside, rightly so. He doesn’t feel in a rush to turn you, not when he has the apparent mess of his hive to clean up. The remnants of some survivors were starting to dimly poke at his consciousness. It was clear he was going to have to search soon when he got a stronger direction of where to look. Aside from that, watching your human form squirm brought an unmistakable feeling of delight, enough to delay biting you for now. He was more inclined to try and convince you to let him in. There was no denying it, even if it meant sharing the cottage with someone with the capacity to shoot him, your home looked a lot more comfortable than his current residence.
━━━━━━━━━━━
You look away as you sip the last of your drink, making a mental note that you'll need to get more vervain soon. The sound of footsteps to the side of you alerts you that Remmick is standing completely bare, no less than fifteen feet from your kitchen table. Your thighs gently press together under your dress as you hear him retrieve the towel. You try not to picture him dripping water all over your porch.
"You're usually so mouthy, I wouldn’t have guessed you the shy type." His voice is a soft purr from the doorway.
Though only on the fringe of your vision, it’s obvious he’s standing watching you. Suddenly, the empty teacup becomes very interesting to look at. Through sheer will, you watch the dregs that made it into your drink, instead of responding straight away.
The shrug you give back is as casual as you can muster, considering the insult he threw over to you. "I'm just trying to be polite."
You think you hear him towel-drying his hair before he pauses, you can practically hear the suggestive lift of his brow. “Didn’t know ogglin’ through windows was polite.”
"I ain't trying to og-" The accusation makes your head whip around to see Remmick leaning his forearms on the doorframe, the towel resting over the back of his neck and shoulders. Your heart jumps at the sight of his bare chest, and the faint scars that adorn his skin make your mouth go dry. To your complete shame, your eyes are enticed down for a fraction of a second. You didn’t see anything you shouldn’t have, but it’s obvious that he noticed. When you force yourself to make eye contact with him, the predatory look he gives makes you feel like you’re the one naked.
"Put some damn clothes on." You bark at him, wrenching your gaze back to the table. The worry that he may come into your home makes your chest tighten with nerves.
Remmick snickers at your retort, but it isn't until you hear him turn towards his new clothes that you dare to risk another glimpse of him. You feel those silly butterflies again at the way his shoulder blades move, and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling at his ass out on display. A few blinks manage to rip your curiosity away from him, and you look anywhere else you can while he tries on the clothes.
Remmick calls out to you, sounding impressed at the purchases. “These fit a treat, must’ve been watchin’ me real close to guess so well, huh?”
Assuming he's had enough time to change, you peer back to watch him rolling back the sleeves of his shirt as he saunters back over. You cross your arms at the table and can’t help but roll your eyes. You doubt Remmick meant what he said, given that you’ve spoken to him more than you’ve actually seen him up close. It wasn't like you'd been looking that much… besides to check on that cellar door consistently…
You only smile back, feeling smug that you get to burst his bubble. “Wasn't a guess. Figured they’d be too big, truth be told…”
He throws you a puzzled look as he buttons the sleeve in place. “How's that?”
“‘Cause the hunter I spoke to said you were about five feet, nothing.” It's your turn to try aggravating him as you smirk in his direction. He feigns a hurt look, though his eyes do seem to flicker at your insult.
You take it as a small win and stand to wash your cup, feeling pleased with yourself as he continues the conversation. “I'll have you know I'm five seven, last I looked. Plus a hair’s width, that’s about five eight.”
You almost snort at his preciousness about the extra height or so. “Sure. Least I ain't gotta hitch up no baggy clothes.”
“Oh, no need, doll. I'm plenty big enough.” His tone is still joking, but there’s a promising edge to his comment that unnerves you.
The suggestion makes you clear your throat before muttering, mostly to yourself, “Law, that’s gross...” You don’t bother trying to see if he heard, you don't even know if you meant it or if you were just defensive.
Trying to think of anything other than how his clothes fit his body makes your lips press into a thin line. When you turn around to walk over to the front door, Remmick is reaching down for the pack of boxer shorts that he must have placed on the porch at some point. He holds them up to show you them, giving a little shake before he lightly tosses them over to you. You catch them and slowly look up at him when you spot that the box hasn't been opened.
“I ‘ppreciate the effort, but I don't got a need for those.” If you were to guess, it’s probably the closest to a ‘thank you’ you would get. Not that you really mind, you couldn’t say it either.
“Why? You ain’t got a dick? Or is it just too little to fool with?” You blurt out the words without even thinking, and you regret them as they fall out of your mouth. But Remmick is laughing. Full, sharp, deep-chested laughter that has his head thrown back. It seems he hadn’t expected that reaction from you. You certainly hadn’t expected to feel the faint heat that the sound brings to your face.
The need to backpeddle on your comment consumes you. “Sorry… don’t know why I said that.” Perhaps being so used to having to deflect crap off of your mental walls made it difficult to see when you didn’t need to.
Remmick’s laughter simmers down, but he holds a genuine-looking smile as he shakes his head and puts a hand to his chest. “Nah, don’t. It ain’t as funny if you take it back, darlin’. I just feel better goin’ without ‘em, if you gotta know.”
The attempt to reassure you works and the air between you is soothed to a quiet pause. The only noise you hear is the crickets in the tall grass and you give a small smile as you place the unopened box on the counter. Remmick leans a forearm against the doorframe and traces small circles into the wood with his fingers.
His eyes haven’t looked away from you, and he breathes in and out slowly, thoughtful. “You shore are somethin’, ain’t you... Mind if I come in now?”
The worst thing about his friendly exterior is that you almost fall for it. You open your mouth to say ‘sure’, and you’re pretty certain that you catch a look of something expecting in his eyes. But then you stop yourself, force yourself to remember he isn’t even a man. He’s just dressed in the skin of one.
You cross your arms to soothe your upper arms as you approach him, and the cautiousness is clear in your voice. “Why would I go and do that, Remmick?”
━━━━━━━━━━━
He shivers when he hears his name. It’s a shame that you already know about his secret, but at least there’s a lesser degree of dishonesty in trying to get permission now. He holds a cheeky smile and gives you a coy shrug. “‘Cause of how polite I’ve been, and I’m such good company.”
Your lack of response other than a sudden knowing smirk speaks volumes, but he pushes past the silence. “So, how’s about it?” His feet lazily trace the threshold and it only illustrates his inability to get in.
Something deepens in your expression and it almost makes him nervous, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. He swallows in anticipation, and a brief part of him actually believes that you’ll let him in.
“Remmick… How come you seem to need an invite to come on in?” Your probing is slow and your eyes scan him for any reaction that you can find.
The hope is ripped away from him at your question and he brushes it off expertly. “I’m just showin’ I can be decent, is all.”
“Prove it.” You challenge him and he holds your stare.
A shallow laugh escapes him, tapping on the doorframe and splaying his hand up in question. “Ain’t I bein’ decent just askin’?” It’s plain to you that he’s lying, even with his cool composure.
You mock gasp at his inability to come inside your home. “Gotcha… Can’t do it, can you?” There’s something about you poking fun that makes his jaw tighten, not entirely disliking it.
He folds his arms and finally breaks eye contact for a second to sigh. When he returns it’s with a small grin of his own, like he just let you in on some gossip. “No. I can’t just waltz in. Reckon you was lockin’ your doors for nothin’.” He might as well address it, rather than string this out.
━━━━━━━━━━━
Perhaps locking your doors wasn’t all for nothing, but your triple-checking of the doors was certainly moot now. You roll your eyes with a quick laugh when he purses his lips; you’ve never been so thrilled to be right about a complete guess.
The reinforced safety of your home is a warm feeling and you finally feel like you can relax inside. “Then no, I won’t let you in here tonight.” You hear the unintentional implication in your words that there could be a different night. Neither of you push on that aspect, though he does question you.
“Why's that~?” His pesky tone is drawn out and you sigh at how he’s playing with you.
“How come? ‘Cause you want to kill me. And I don’t trust you.” The words are plain and without too much accusation, purely matter-of-fact.
He blinks at you in faux surprise, you expect. “You figure I’d be nice to you just to kill you?”
“That's exactly right. You tried to hurt me the day I met you.” You look away as you recall the flash of teeth before you shot him. His mouth scrunches to the side, looking a little uncomfortable at the memory too.
“Right… Well, I'd best formally apologise then. I was just..starvin’…” A shiver ripples through you at that, but you nod slowly. You aren’t entirely certain how to take the information.
There’s another uncomfortable gap between you until he speaks up again as he idly drums his fingers. “How’m I gonna get you to trust me, doll?”
“You want to know how to work me over?” You lean back against your kitchen table as you talk. There’s no chance he’s asking for your benefit.
“That ain’t what I asked.” There’s a subtle shake to his head as his eyes look hurt, like the accusation of manipulation offended him. You can’t decide if it’s genuine.
You try not to fall for it, but it’s easier said than done. Your voice shrinks in the process. “No, but I can read between the lines, Remmick.”
━━━━━━━━━━━
He runs his tongue over his back teeth and lets his head drop as his smile lessens. He was trying to manipulate you to get inside, sure, but can’t two things be true at once? The fact that you’d gifted him something still weighs heavily on him, and the allure of your trust appeals to him. A challenge he might be up to without the aid of a hive.
Remmick thinks back to earlier when he heard you setting up the bath for him. The cheery facade is propped back up with the help of a proposition forming in his mind. “Say, I heard you hummin’ a tune earlier. You like music?” He looks back up to you with some hope that you’ll bite.
━━━━━━━━━━━
His question catches you by surprise and your eyes harden, wondering what he's up to. The memory of having to sell your family's gramophone for money one winter surfaces in your mind. It leaves you feeling sad. It wasn't often you got to hear music, despite being able to play the fiddle. You rarely felt like it anymore.
“Everyone likes music…” You note with a small shrug. That wasn't strictly true, but you do have a fondness for it. The light glints across his eyes at your answer and his subtle head tilt makes you wonder if he noticed something had upset you. It’s the first time tonight that you think you notice his eyes don’t reflect a shade of red. The first that you consciously take note of them, anyway. They look to be a nice tone of blue in the light from your kitchen.
Remmick puts his hand up to dismiss the vagueness surrounding your comment. “I ain’t interested in everyone, just you. What sort do you like?”
You can’t help but give an incredulous laugh at him, but you don’t deny you feel yourself being pulled in. Additionally, you suppose it’s nice to talk to somebody who you don’t have to wholly pretend to be different around. Not the way you were convinced you had to at first, or with the discovered safety of being inside. “Where are you going with this?”
“I'm schemin’, just answer the question.” He chuckles back to you, seeming genuinely interested in it.
You shrug, struggling to think of any specific musicians on the spot. You hated the kinds of questions where you would think of a million better answers an hour later. “Well, most of it is just fine. But a less boring answer is that I guess I'm partial to some blues or folk music…”
“And here I thought you'd be a Vaudeville fan.” You can tell he's being sarcastic, but you respond with a light laugh as you reminisce about the one and only time you had been to a show.
“Ugh, no. Thomas took me once, it was fun but he must be the only person who went for the songs.” You visibly cringe and Remmick's squinted eyes don't go unnoticed despite the otherwise friendly expression.
“Thomas? That someone special to you?” Remmick's forwardness doesn't faze you, it doesn't seem like he's one to dance around a question. His face doesn't frown but you've seen that type of expression before. Like someone who's hurt and doesn't want you to know.
You don't give your response too much time to linger, not wanting to give the wrong idea about your friend. “An old friend, I don't see him much now.”
His eyes relax and you think about where his mind is at. No sooner do you internally question it does Remmick manages to steer things back on course.
“Blues and folksy then, fair choices if you ask me. You didn’t ask me, but I'd have said the same… Shame I ain’t heard Baroque in a while… “ You don't quite catch the last part but he doesn't give you a chance to question him.
“So, bet I'm right in guessin’ you wouldn't go to listen somewhere with me? Say, any clubs or somethin’?” He raises a brow like he already knows your answer.
You consider it for all of a second, he was correct. “You'd guess right. Why~?” You draw out your question, imitating Remmick from earlier and feeling yourself getting lured into whatever this was.
He nods and licks his lips, grinning to himself after the fact. “Had to be sure. Can you play anythin’?”
You suddenly get the inkling of his plan and you don't know how to feel about it. “The fiddle, badly. Haven't picked it up in years.” God, has it truly been so long since you last played?
There's a sudden vigour to Remmick and he's running his thumb across his bottom lip in thought before pointing his pointer vaguely towards you. “Well I'll tell you what, I'm headin’ out for a couple of things and then I'll be back tomorrow night.” He nibbles the corner of his lip like he's excited about something. “Better dust off your fiddle and get to practicin' darlin’.” He holds your stare for a moment and you're pretty certain his gaze drops to your mouth for a fraction of a second. You wouldn't have spotted it if you weren't paying attention, and it makes your cheeks heat up.
Remmick lightly pushes off of the doorframe and backs away, smiling. “Sleep tight, ‘cause tomorrow'll be fun."
