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sweeneysshit · 4 days ago

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rest at my door

fem!reader x sub!remmick

word count: 2671

Synopsis: 1930s. You had met Remmick long ago, and over time, you began to fall in love with him—unaware that he was actually the creature that terrorized the small Irish community. And, to your misfortune, you had also been glimpsed by his horrific beastliness.

a/n: I wrote this while eating toast and drinking my black coffee just because I was bored and so in love with this pathetic man. I love making him whiny and needy because I live my life through indecent fanfics. (I apologize in advance if my story isn’t perfectly written; English isn’t my first language.)

warnings (mdni 18+) : fem!reader x sub!remmick, manipulation, blood, non-explicit sexual mentions, submissive remmick, reader being gently manipulated, prise kink, the reader fears for his physical integrity, hungry remmick, the vampire here is a damn crybaby, soft perverted comments, feverish reader, protective feeling, the reader is sick and susceptible.

Remmick spent his time contemplating the idea that you, his beloved T/N, would finally open the door for him. That you would end his torment of being something like a stray dog who had grown fond of a human from a simple scratch behind the ears and now lay on their porch. Except that you hadn’t petted him and didn’t even want him around, yet he still wouldn’t leave your doorstep, wanting at least the comfort of feeling your presence and smelling your sweet vanilla-and-spice fragrance. But you were cold, resilient, you didn’t give in to silly persistence; the men you’d met always flattered you or pretended to suffer for you. But he was different; he really suffered for you. In fact, he’d often pester you behind your front door, trying to get you not to reject him again, warning you that if you didn’t give in, he’d die from staying there, since the cloudy days would soon end and the sun would burn him like dry, black grass. That sun, which for everyone else was a blessing in the cold, damp landscapes of Ireland, was for him a reminder that he had no right to live like mortals, that even if he pretended to be one, he could never adapt to earthly conditions to exist comfortably. No. He was a beast, a bloodthirsty animal characterized by his hemophilia... He didn’t belong in this world, and yet he found himself crying over a girl who barely gave him a second glance.

When you first met, it was at one of those fairs filled with music and local vendors, bathed in the warm glow of old streetlights, amid the childish chaos, the tipsy, laughing drunks, and the ladies strolling with their husbands or sisters, devouring delicious, unhealthy fairground treats. When he, with his intriguing clumsiness and silly suspenders, approached you to talk, he instantly captivated you; you liked quirky men, and he—far from it sounding like a compliment—was very, very quirky, so even tho he did have that southern Irish accent, you knew he was unlike any of the guys you’d spoken to. Days and weeks passed, and with them their interactions became more frequent; they began to get to know each other, and when they finally shared their first kiss, you believed he was the one. You’d even thot about how tender it would be to follow his strange, utterly unconventional idea of retreating to the woods near the fairs to make love... Of course he held back; you weren’t an animal…

You finally realized your mysterious lover was a vampire when you found him one nite feeding on some old horses near the stables of Mrs. Marcia, the town foreman’s wife. Horror washed over you, not so much because you had discovered that truth—after all, the villagers already knew about the non-humans. Those beings with the appearance of men and women who fed on blood and flaunted their power by parading thru cities and towns as if they had no regard for life, ending everyone’s lives. Rather, what horrified you was that you were already in love with him, but you hated yourself for it, because you hadn’t realized it sooner, because you had become drawn to evil, to the apparent human flesh adopted by the demon. And you saw him as beautiful, yes, you had even seen him as beautiful covered in blood, with the hands that had once caressed you with love now blackened, sharp claws. Even his eyes, once crystal blue, were now red like those of a beast, and yet he still looked damn beautiful, guttural, dangerous, and fuck, you loved everything dangerous. But you forced yourself to reject him, convincing yourself that if he was capable of harming the city’s inhabitants, it was only a matter of time before he killed you, or worse: turned you into what he was. And you didn’t want to; you had no intention of dying and wandering thru life immortally, feeding on others’ lives and quenching your bloodlust with people who had once offered you a helping hand. No, you loved humanity. And you were grateful you’d never invited him to your house, not once. Usually, their outings and dates were always outdoors, but well, now that you’d rejected him, Remmick hadn’t lost hope that you’d touch him lovingly again, that you’d look at him with the tenderness of before and not with that absurd, unexpected resentment, because in the vampire’s twisted mind there was no such thing as empathy or “concern” for humans; in fact, he believed you should be grateful and flattered that he didn’t look down on you like all the others and wanted to spend time with you selflessly. Of course, the other part of him did feel a need; he couldn’t be satisfied unless he had you. He wanted to drink your blood and sate his boundless passion with your very existence, to take you in the deepest sense—not just your body, but your life, your will to live. He wanted you to need him as desperately as he needed you, for only then would he feel capable of love. But you insisted on displaying your strange philanthropy, and that infuriated him. What had humanity given you? Why were you so concerned with a monotonous, graceless life when, with him, you could feel euphoria, candor, and the privilege of eternal life? All you had to do was resign yourself and cry for him. But no, you were damn difficult. You loved your human integrity more than you loved him, and that made him want to die. So he’d go, knock on your door, bring flowers, sweets, and serenades sung in his raspy, sensual, talented voice—along with that stupid banjo. But nothing—not a word, not a glimpse thru the window, not the slightest sign.

But everything changed one stormy nite when you were sick, a high fever gripping you, and with it Remmick’s hunger grew, because now you were more vulnerable, weaker, and what does a human expect most when sick if not ambiguous, sweet care? A touch of humanity that he could clumsily imitate. When he knocked on your door, you opened it, after weeks of being fed up.

"Don't you get tired of sleeping on damp, muddy wood? I'm starting to get tired of you.

"No, I could never tire of waiting for you, Mo ghrá," he said, his eyes shining and a broad smile on his face. "Even now, when you finally let me look at you again, is when I’ll give up on you the least."

"I just want you to get out of here, stop bothering me, get over this little whim, and leave... Just as I’ve gotten over you."

"You can tell yourself that pathetic lie at nite, when you’re tossing and turning in your bed, sad and bored because I’m not by your side..." Even tho he apparently adored you, he no longer needed to use condescending words to please you; you had made him angry, and he needed to humiliate you as you had humiliated him.

"You're a victim of your ego..."

"You want me, Y/N. Drop the lies and let me keep you company." His eyes narrowed with a sly smile that made him look like an exasperating seducer. "Let me in."

You placed your hand on his chest, pushing him away from the porch frame; his hand, with its dangerous, black fingers, wrapped around your wrist, almost pleased that you had touched him. He was a real 'crumb collector'.

"You're trembling and your skin is burning... You’ll die if you don’t get properly checked out; I can be your doctor, darling." he said, tilting his head with concern.

"Of course, and you're going to make sure it's okay, right?" you scoffed.

"I won’t just take care of your health; I can also take care of your cravings. You’re very, very needy, darling."

You opened your eyes indignantly; you didn’t want him to talk like that, not only because it embarrassed you that he was acting like any pervert, but also because there was a damn truth to his assumptions: the fever and the dreams had played a cruel trick on you, and you’d been fantasizing about him being in your bed, in your arms, inside you. And you hated him, you hated him for wanting him because you didn’t understand why your mind was failing you like this. You didn’t want to love and desire a monster, and yet there you were.

"Please, don’t be ridiculous. Beside, I’d be stupid if I let you in; I’d just be guaranteeing you’d kill me."

"Oh, Gods, you know better than anyone that I don’t want to end your life. I need that fluttering heart beating for me, baby... I could do so much for you if you’d let me, you naughty little girl…" he whispered that last phrase in an unknown language, but frankly, you didn’t really want to guess what he’d said; his predatory, smiling face said it all.

"Why don’t you find someone else to bother? Don't you realize I don't want you here?"

"I think you do want me here. Here, there, on the couch, on the floor, in the woods, in a bed, everyplace you fucking look. I KNOW you want me and how much you love me…" he taunted, pointing to those imaginary places with his fingers, making your cheeks burn. You knew I was right; I was your downfall.

"I don’t know why I even spoke to you; if I’d known you were foul-mouthed, I never would have looked at you in the first place."

"You’d actually love that detail if you weren’t so stubborn. I’m a box of surprises, and you can have everything in it, even the most unpleasant stuff."

"You’re a piece of shit, Remmick; you’re only good for causing harm, you can’t love."

"I can love you, in fact I do, but maybe not in the way you expect. But I can do whatever makes you happy, I can give you whatever you want... Except for walking away from you, that will never happen. I can’t be complete if I don’t have you. You are my love, my reason."

The disheveled man moved closer to you, obviously without crossing the threshold that separated him from you: your home. He looked at you as if you were a mythical creature, more mythical than he was, and you didn’t want to believe him; he was a vampire, yes, but he also sounded as flattering as any run-of-the-mill human, wrapping you in words. But something inside you sensed that he wasn’t lying; he seemed to genuinely love you, as if you were his salvation, his safe haven, and his love. Many times when I went out with you, I would hold your hand like any affectionate lover, look at you patiently, and speak as if you were the most special person. I never played games with you; even when I made suggestive jokes about having sex with you, I did it in a way that made you smile and look forward to the day it would happen. But fate blocked that desire, tho now it was there again. And it throbbed within you treacherously. You didn’t want to admit that you’d actually been bowled over by his beauty, which you’d forced yourself not to see for weeks; his strong, firm arms tormented you with the longing to have them wrapped around your waist, and his dark, sinister eyes invited you into a hell you didn’t know when you’d entered, but you didn’t seem to want to find the way out. Your fever had subsided a bit, but Remmic’s energy still made you dizzy; you wanted to grab his forearm, pull him close, and force him to behave, you wanted him to walk in like any other man, pounce on you on the faded rug in your living room, and love you without restraint. But you knew it was wrong... What would you condemn yourself for? But damn, you adored him.

"I'm suffering... and you don't even care," you whispered weakly.

"No, Y/N, I’m the one who suffers because you’re so ungrateful... I can cure your illness, keep you company, and be your only man; you’ll never doubt how much I love you."

Your eyes grow moist, not just from the headache, but because his words are promises you’ve always wanted to hear, the kind of connection you’ve always sought—and, to your misfortune, you’d only found it with a creature from hell. But hey, you always wanted him to love you; you never specified who you wanted it to be.

"You're very good with words... But I can’t accept… That would make me as indecent as you."

"Do you enjoy hurting men’s feelings? Anyone would say you’re a selfish witch... However, I still desire you. Why?"

"You're persistent and stupid."

"And I love you as if you were my goddess."

"What do you want? Why don’t you leave?"

"Let me be yours, my dear. Let me show you what you’ll have if you let me be the source of your life... And your death."

There wasn’t much time to think; just when you least expected it, your body gave way. Your breasts stopped being so firm, and that’s when he grabbed you by the silky lapels of your nightgown, pulled you outside, and once you stepped out, slammed you against the wooden panel where your doorbell was. Once he pinned you with his presence, he examined you with narrowed eyes and drew closer, sniffing like a wild animal, feeling your pulse and the blood coursing thru your veins; the fever made you smell stronger, he licked his lips and whispered in your ear.

"I want to give you my love... Let me touch you; I’m going to make you happy, mo ghrá."

And almost like a punishment, you felt his wet tongue on your cheek, savoring your salty skin, which was flushed with fear and fever. He lowered his hands and held your waist, burying his head in your shoulders in search of an answer, a loving sign from you, but you were still a bit taken aback; you didn’t know what to do or say, because everything was betraying you, and the silence too. And there you were, still, your heart pounding, watching that careless Irish man rub against you like a cuddly feline. You found him both disturbing and tender in equal measure, and there came a point when you couldn’t keep pretending to be the agreeable, sensible human you’d been all along; you wanted him. Too much. Your hand floated up almost without you being able to control it, reaching her head, caressing her messy black hair, feeling her warm scalp beneath your fingers and long, lavender-painted nails. As soon as she felt your touch, her body vibrated like when animals get a shiver and you see their spine and fur tremble—yes, just like that. Then Remmick straightened his face and looked at you with a longing, grateful gaze, and smiled as he felt your approval. You held your hand still at that very moment.

"Don't stop, little one. Please, don’t stop touching me; don’t be cruel to me, darling." As soon as he said that, he slid down, kneeling as his arms and hands roamed over your trembling, burning body, pausing at the long hem of your nightgown. I can only be happy if you love me; you can do whatever you want, I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but don’t deny me the warmth of your hands, my love.

"You have to stop, you’re humiliating yourself, Remmick."

But far from feeling indignant, he was pleased to hear his name on your lips. He pressed his hands into your skirt and tugged, making you duck down by inertia.

"What are you...?"

You couldn’t go on; he hugged you, didn’t kiss you or hurt you. He simply pressed his tall, warm body against yours, and his arms closed around you, not letting go, almost as if he were seeking calm, a mother’s embrace.

"Remmick..."

"Shh... Just let me stay like this; I only want your warmth..." He exclaimed, and for the first time in years, you truly felt real love.

"I... I'll let you stay... But I still won’t let you in…"

And Remmick smiled over his shoulder, accepting, for he knew it would only be a matter of time before he did and finally gave himself over completely.