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dunham-doodles · 4 days ago

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A Picture Worth A Thousand Words

Remmick x fem!reader

2k words | Pure fluff

Summary: (AU - Remmick survived the juke joint.) It’s 1964 and you’re an artist who decides to draw the handsome stranger who keeps turning up at your door every night.

Tags: yearning; soft and sweet; lingering gazes; touching scars; 1960s music; puppy!Remmick; touch starved!Remmick

A/N: I wanted to borrow an idea I’ve seen used with Astarion from Baldur’s Gate 3. I love love love the idea of an artist drawing the face of a vampire who hasn’t seen their reflection in God knows how long.

“Hold still,” you ordered, “I don’t wanna mess this up.”

“This ain’t gonna hurt, is it?” Remmick said playfully.

“It will if you keep moving,” you shot back, only half joking. “Eyes on that horizon, boy.”

“Yes ma’am,” he drawled out, rolling his eyes lightly. He tilted his chin in the direction of wherever horizon meant. Although his tone was sarcastic, a grin curled at the ends of his lips.

The night air was crisp. It was the beginning transition of spring into summer where the days warmed the skin like an embrace from a loved one but the nights remained cool like a reminder of their absence. The town had eased into sleep around you.

You thought the best thing about living out in the middle of nowhere was that there was no light pollution. Despite the dark, the sky was alight with hues of deep purple and blue like an ocean dotted with pinpricks of multicolored stars. In school, they taught you the names of each and every constellation that rotated with the seasons.

You found him right under Polaris. You had been awake after losing track of time. You were locked into your paintings so intensely, you didn’t see the sky turn. The ashtray was loaded with burnt out cigarettes, remnants of smoke curling in the warm glow of the single lamp glowing on the end table. You kept the window open to air out the smell, the soft trickles of a sad guitar playing through your stereo speakers filtering through the pane.

He stood at the end of the dirt path that served as your driveway, hands in pockets, curious, as if he were contemplating going up and installing himself into your life. You weren’t going to get a say in when or how.

You turned down the record as he got closer.

“There’s no need to do that,” he said, hands stretching out in the open air, “I came up here to ask what you was playin’ is all.” His blue eyes pleaded innocent.

“Lonnie Johnson,” you stated, an edge to your words.

He hummed low in his throat. “She sure knows how to play.”

“He,” you corrected, “Lonnie’s a dude.”

“H-He,” the stranger repeated, “He sure knows how to play.” A beat of silence strung between you awkwardly. He shuffled his feet underneath himself. “You wouldn’t mind if I sat and listened, wouldja?”

You chuckled to yourself. A strange white man asking you if you minded if he sat and listened to your records in the dead of night? Your eyes took a precautionary glance over where the trees met the boarder of your land for any sign of unsavory movement.

“You alone?” you asked finally. He nodded his head. You pursed your lips, weighing your decision in your mind. You turned on your heel, away from the window. You crossed to your record player, moved the needle to the beginning track, and turned the sound up a little louder.

You met the eyes of the stranger’s once more. His features reflected his gratitude. He leaned against the strong post of the porch landing and closed his eyes, taking in the music.

You shook your head. What a weird man.

He kept finding his way to your home every night after sundown.

“Whatcha got spinnin’ tonight?” he’d ask you without fail. You’d tell him anything from Etta James to Freddie King and he’d happily sit his ass down on your porch no matter who poured through those speakers.

Some nights he came with some 45s he thought you would like.

“The guy on guitar has to be one of my favorites from this decade,” he said, pushing the small disc into your hands. To be honest, you thought his music tastes were a little too old. Nothing he gave you was dated past the forties. But still, you admired the gesture. In return, you gave him a more modern musical education, opening his ears to the sounds of the 60s. He was floored the first time he heard Hendrix.

“Find a new favorite guitar player, did ya?” you teased.

It was nice having him to share your nights with. He didn’t make too much of a fuss; didn’t ask for anything to eat or drink, despite your offerings. He was perfectly content listening to your music and asking questions about your art. He praised the paintings, kept saying they belonged in the Louvre rather than hidden in this small town. You shooed away his compliments like water off a duck’s back but you couldn’t stop the blush creeping into your cheeks.

One evening, you decided you were gonna join him out on your porch. Armed with your drawing pad and a tin of charcoal sticks, you rocked yourself gently on your porch swing with your big toe. You had tucked yourself into an oversized crochet blanket, preserving your warmth as you waited for the sky to dim. You had the radio on instead of playing a record to save yourself from having to leave your seat. The tinny voices crackled over the sounds of the crickets singing.

“Evenin’ Remmick,” you called when you saw him crest your driveway. He told you his name some nights ago and you kept it on your tongue whenever he was near. You just liked the way his face lit up like Christmas whenever you said it.

“You waitin’ for me?” he asked, a hand pressed to his chest.

“Sure looks like it,” you replied. He crossed over to your place on the swing but leaned against the post of the porch landing instead. “You ain’t gonna sit by me?”

Remmick jolted like he touched an electric fence. “I didn’t know you were offerin’.”

You scooched over to make room for him and patted the empty space. “I don’t bite,” you winked. A smile tugged at his lips as if he were keeping down a really good joke.

The swing groaned under his weight. Your heart flip-flopped at the proximity of him. His brown hair curled at the base of his neck, grown too shaggy. His face was pocked with unkempt whiskers and a white scar cracked the left side of his cheek. You wanted to trace that scar with the tips of your fingers.

His blue eyes watched you carefully. Watched for any indication that his nearness was offensive somehow. He kept himself small, not daring to brush your skin. He moved as if you were on fire and he was trying very hard not to get burned.

“You’re gonna be my muse,” you declared.

“That’s the first time I’ve been called that,” Remmick smirked, “What do I gotta do?”

You picked up a charcoal stick and told him to face forward, keep his eyes on the dirt path ahead. The charcoal scratched the surface of the paper, debris crumbling onto your lap.

Santana crooned over the speakers on your radio lying on the kitchen counter inside. Remmick shifted under the weight of your presence.

“I think I like your music better,” he mumbled.

You breathed out a small laugh without looking up. “You’re too kind. Your taste isn’t too bad either. You just got an ol’ soul.”

Remmick pursed his lips. “You could say that.”

“Did you grow up here?” you asked softly.

He shook his head. “No,” he sighed sadly, “You?”

“Nope. I moved out here a few years ago.”

“How come?”

“Just wanted a change. The city was too loud.” Your eyebrows knit together in concentration. Remmick took this moment to steal a look at you.

Your eyes flicked up at him through your eyelashes. The tips of your ears turned crimson. “Eyes forward, Pretty Boy.”

“Pretty Boy?” he tossed the name around his mouth like a shiny token. You bit your lip to keep from saying much else.

You twisted the length of your charcoal stick to match the angle of his nose before copying it onto your page. His shoulders slowly began to relax. His hands brushed down his thighs, right where your knee almost touched him. He curled his fingers as if to check that they were still operational.

“Can I look yet?” he asked tenderly. His pinkie stretch precariously, bridging the gap between you two. You could feel his nail ghosting on your bare skin. Your heart leapt into your throat, the lightest of touches already turning your nerves into an inferno.

“Just gotta work on the shading,” you replied meekly. He nodded, correcting his head. His finger never dropped. He began to soothingly stroke your knee back and forth, keeping time with the new song that played. It tickled you.

It was harder to concentrate now. From the briefest of looks, you noticed his jaw clenching and unclenching, chewing on words he almost felt ready to say. And what would those words be? What could he possibly say to make your heart race any faster?

To ease it along, you pushed your knee further into his touch. Remmick inhaled sharply in response. He closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to melt.

“Okay,” you said after a while, “I think I’m done.” You pressed the pad of paper to your chest before revealing it slowly to him. He cradled the pad in his calloused hands like it was a newborn.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, “This is me?” He asked the question like he wasn’t sure what he looked like.

“It’s a rough sketch,” you admitted, “If I gave it more time, I could clean up the lines and be more precise with the shadows.”

“When did I-?” he wondered under his breath. His fingers brushed the hair curled around his ears to the hair on his chin, trailing all the way to the scar that marked him. His brow furrowed as if remembering the fresh wound marring his face and the blood and pain that came with it. He covered it fully with his hand, ashamed to have you look upon it any longer.

“How’d you get that?” you asked tentatively.

His eyes tore reluctantly from his portrait. “I, uh…” he paused, “The war.” He locked back onto the sketch, studying it as if he hadn’t seen his own face in centuries.

“Is… Is everything okay?” you whispered. You gently pressed yourself into his side.

“Yes,” he murmured. He straightened his back and finally met your gaze again. “Yeah, everything’s good.”

“Y’know, you can tell me if you hate it,” you chuckled, trying to make it light. “Don’t gotta spare my feelings.”

“No, I love this! I love—,” he started. “You did an amazin’ job.”

“You can keep it,” you said. Your hands met his and you lightly pushed the drawing pad against his chest. You leaned into his space, your touch lingering on his. Your thumb rubbed the side of his hand, returning the gentleness he showed you. Remmick’s lips parted slightly, exhaling a shallow breath.

“Thank you,” he spoke. His voice frayed like he hated that he broke the silence. You smiled softly at him. Your fingers reached and stroked the angry crevasse on his cheek.

He looked so fragile being held. His eyelids fluttered as he bathed in the warmth of your hand. He winced like it hurt but his head leaned into you instinctively. A soft trembling sound slipped past his lips.

“You are a wonderful muse,” you said. You leaned in and planted a delicate kiss on that scar. He dipped his head slipping past your ear before nuzzling in the crook of your neck. You gathered him into your arms, wrapping the blanket around his broad shoulders. Your fingers stroked the relaxed curls of his dark hair. His arms lifted with difficulty, still unsure if he was allowed this much, and rested around your waist. When you didn’t fight him, he pulled you in closer. You began to hum along to the song that wept from the radio.

The last thing you remembered before falling asleep was the steady rocking of the porch swing on the light breeze and the feathery trail of kisses tied with promises of everlasting happiness.

#Remmick #remmick fanfic #remmick x reader #fluff fic #sinners 2025 #sinners #sinners fanfiction #jack o'connell #please tell me I’m doing a good job #touch starved

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dunham-doodles · 10 days ago

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Couldn’t Sleep

Remmick x fem!reader

5k+ words | 🌶️🌶️ (MINORS DNI)

Summary: You’re having trouble falling asleep at night so you need to keep yourself occupied. A stranger knocks at your door, asking if you want some company.

Tags: light stalking; mention of animal death; wet pathetic men are my favorite; begging; pleading; p in v; cunnilingus; lots of drool; he’s a little freak but I like him like that

A/N: I’m struggling with my own bout of insomnia this week so I wrote about it. Only God can judge me for this.

Insomnia broke through whatever dream you were having and rattled your body awake. You groaned as you attempted to collect the last remnants of sleep that were stolen from you but finally gave up after five minutes of tossing and turning. You couldn’t clearly read what the time was on your small ticking clock but you knew by the look of the sky that it was still early. Which meant it was going to be a long night.

You hoisted yourself out of your bed and began to pace. The floorboards groaned under your weight and, for once, you were glad that you lived alone, so you didn’t need to worry about waking anyone. You wrung your hands, glancing around the small living room for something to do. If you had something to do, you could work on it, tire yourself out, and hopefully go back to bed. Eventually, your gaze fell on the stack of dishes you had been neglecting.

You flicked on the single naked lightbulb that dangled ungracefully above your kitchen sink and turned on the faucet. The running water broke through the silence. You let out a heavy sigh and rolled your head back on your shoulders. You didn’t get it; you felt tired, so why couldn’t you sleep?

The world outside your kitchen window all looked as if it were resting. It mocked you with how peaceful it was. The leaves in the forest were stagnant. Shadows yawned across the patchy grass of your front yard. No little critters scurried their way from view.

You grumbled to yourself and started scrubbing a plate. You continued monotonously through your dishes, washing, rinsing, drying, praying for your body to finally get the memo and fall right back asleep. Your eyes wandered to the window, now significantly darker outside. There was a sliver of a moon dangling in the summer night, not providing much in the way of light. You almost looked away until something at the edge of the woods made you double take.

Two small pinpricks of red light, like eyes, were burning right through you. Your blood ran cold. You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. The red light never wavered, trained on you with an inhuman stillness.

This is a wolf, you thought to yourself, This is obviously a wolf. You can relax. You were warned by people in town that there were dangerous animals lurking through your neck of the woods at night. They spoke tales of mutilated farm animals, ghastly howls in the air, and long, dripping teeth. You thought, however, that some of the stories bordered on the supernatural, which you didn’t believe.

No, what you were looking at now was an animal. And it was out there. You were in here.

You dipped your head back to your work and convinced yourself that it was a wolf, or a mountain lion, ignoring the screaming alarm bell in your head that told you the eyes were standing too tall to be either creature.

A knock at the front door startled you. Your soapy hands lost your grip on the coffee mug you were holding, sending it shattering to pieces at your feet. Your attention snapped back to the red eyes in the darkness.

They had vanished.

You picked up the pieces of the broken mug with shaking hands. You told yourself that you imagined the knock, no one would be out and about at this time of night. You silently scolded yourself for being jumpy over nothing. It was the damn locals’ tall tales of monsters that caused you to have an active imagination.

Two more knocks splintered through the air. They were heavy, purposeful. Someone was outside.

You willed the person at the door to go away, to leave you alone, but there was another part of you—albeit a stupid part—that was morbidly curious to find out who would be awake with you at this time of night. Besides, it would be rude not to answer.

You tip-toed around the minuscule amount of debris and carefully unlocked the deadbolt. You kept the latch chain on and it rattled as you pulled the door open.

Sure enough, there was a man standing on your porch. He was tall and slim but with the build of someone who had worked on a farm all their life. Even in the weak light the moon cast, you could see his skin was a sickly white. He was rough looking, unshaven, clothes disheveled; not unattractive to look at but you still found his presence deeply unsettling. His brow cast a long dark shadow over hooded eyes, making it appear as if he was wearing a mask. But his mouth was twisted into an impish grin, as if he always knew he was going to end up right here with you in front of him.

He spoke, “Evenin’ ma’am.”

You didn’t reply.

He continued, “I’m terribly sorry to wake you. Didn’t wanna disturb you, but my car-,” he threw a thumb behind his shoulder, indicating some far off place beyond the stone path leading to your house, “-broke down a few miles back.” When still you said nothing, he pressed on. “It’s awful dark out and I was wondering if you and your husband wouldn’t mind if I came in to rest my head? I’ll be gone before sunrise, y’won’t even know I was here.”

He craned his neck, to get a better look at the interior through the view you allowed through the door. “ ‘S your husband home?” he asked.

“He’s asleep,” you replied, “Don’t wanna wake him. He gets cranky.”

A twinkle caught in his eye and a wicked smirk tugged on the corner of his lips. Your pulse quickened, worried that he knew you were lying. You tried to keep your face free of emotion.

“I see,” he said evenly. He pressed his hands together, pleading you. “If it wouldn’t be any trouble, Miss, can I stay the night? I promise, I won’t touch nothin’.”

Your breath hitched when he called you “Miss”. He knew you were alone.

“I can’t help you,” you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Please, Miss,” he tried again, voice softer, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I said no.” you said, sterner this time. “Please leave.”

He held your gaze for a beat and it took everything in you not to look away. “Alright,” he sighed, “I hear ya’. Just was hopin’ for a bit of hospitality is all.” He waited for a reply that didn’t come. He turned on his heel, making a small show of doing it, keeping his eyes trained on you. He started to take his leave down the steps onto the path, walking intentionally slow.

You finally felt you could breathe again when his boots crunched on the rocky ground.

“G’night, Miss!” he turned and called to you. You answered with slamming your door shut. You could forget about sleeping tonight.

There’s an old saying that goes, if you find yourself unable to fall asleep, it’s because someone is thinking about you.

Your insomnia returned the next night. You thought you might be able to get some sleep on the beat up, threadbare couch that was lying under the window near the front door. You just needed a change of scenery. You grabbed a book from your humble collection, something you’ve read already because you didn’t so much care about paying attention to the contents inside. You lit a tall candle, fluffed a pillow your mom had embroidered for you and leaned back on the cushions. The book creaked when you opened it, the smell of the withered pages wafting out.

You were going to fall asleep in no time.

The candle light flickered as you turned the pages, the wax weeping down the side. You felt a yawn coming on when, all of a sudden, a small rapping came from your front door.

Terror shot through your veins. You hadn’t forgotten about the stranger that came to your door, no matter how much you tried. You found yourself looking over your shoulder constantly in the stillness of your home in broad daylight. You abandoned your plans to go into town this afternoon, fearing he might be lurking in the trees, waiting to catch you off guard.

And now he’s back. You could see his lean frame in the window, standing with his hands behind his back, expectantly. His eyes flitted from the front door onto yours and you could’ve sworn his irises glinted red. He actually waved at you.

You shot off of the couch and bolted towards the door. The chain latch screamed against the lock.

“I thought I told you to leave,” you spat.

He held his hands up and stumbled back a little. “And hello to you too.” he said, a hint of a smile curling at his lips.

“Why are you here?” you hissed.

“Well,” he said, almost sheepishly, “I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about ya. Being here all by your lonesome.”

“I told you, my husband is sleeping,” you said. His eyebrow quirked. He wasn’t buying it. You clenched the frame of the door timidly, preparing yourself for whatever this might turn into. If you had to fight, you would, even if you didn’t know how.

“I-I don’t have anything of value to you,” you stammered.

“Why’re you up so late?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t sleep,” you answered honestly, “I have insomnia.”

The Stranger whistled low. “That’s a shame,” he said, “You lookin’ for some company?”

“I’m looking to finish reading my book, if you don’t mind,” you grumbled.

“I’ll be quiet as a church mouse.” He made a motion of zipping his lips.

You gave him a hard stare. Through the light of the candle in the window, you could see his eyes. They were a kind of blue that reminded you of tornado season, as the sky started to turn. They felt equally as unpredictable. His hair was dark but less unkempt from the night before. In fact, he looked altogether more presentable, almost as if he were trying to make a better impression than the one he made prior. His eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. He seemed human to you.

Human or not, you knew the implications of an unmarried woman letting a strange man into her home at the dead of night.

“I’d rather be alone,” you admitted quietly.

“As you wish,” The Stranger responded, “Although, I’d scarcely call myself a gentleman if I were to leave a pretty thing like you to fend for herself at this time of night.” His smile went crooked, “There are strange creatures prowlin’ around.”

You set your jaw, your heartbeat quickening. Couldn’t this guy just leave you be?

“If you’re gonna lose sleep over it, there’s a rocking chair right there.” Your eyes darted to the dusty old thing in the corner of the porch that your dad had carved when he was your age. “You can sit.”

The Stranger’s eye flicked to the rocking chair and then back onto you. You could’ve sworn he looked disappointed. He nodded curtly before lowering himself onto the seat.

You closed the door softly and returned to your place on the couch. Only a window divided the two of you but it felt like you were sitting shoulder to shoulder. You could hear the creaks of protest from the rocking chair as he rocked himself back and forth, as if he was deliberately reminding you of his presence.

The candle you laid out had died and you figured now was as good of a time as any to try and sleep. You curled up on the couch and closed your eyes.

There was a light tapping on the window above you. You sat upright and pushed the window halfway open.

“What?” you hissed.

The Stranger stuck his hand out to you, fingertips barely kissing the threshold into the house.

“I never introduced myself,” he said, “I’m Remmick.”

“I didn’t ask,” you muttered.

Remmick’s expression turned sour as he pulled his hand back. “Well, ain’t you a ball of sunshine.”

Like clockwork, every night for the past week and a half, Remmick appeared at your doorstep and sat in that rocking chair. At first, it was jarring to have someone sitting out there while you maintained sleeplessness but then it slowly worked into routine. As soon as you lit a candle or turned on a light, he was there. It felt like having a guard dog. And, with that red-eyed thing that lingered in the woods somewhere, maybe it was better that he was around.

Sometimes he came with things to keep him occupied as he waited for you to sleep; a banjo, a pit from a fruit that he whittled away at. You especially liked when he played. On those nights, you’d leave the window open just a touch, listening to the melody as it lulled you to sleep.

Mostly he just liked to talk. You were beginning to think the only thing he liked to hear more than music was the sound of his own voice. He never let up on asking to be let inside, though. Once, he even tried to coax you out to him.

“It’s a lovely night,” he mentioned offhandedly, “Be a shame to waste it cooped up inside.”

“Hm?” You didn’t look up from your sketchpad. You were doodling the flower pot that rested on your circular kitchen table. It’d been a while since you put fresh flowers in there. The ones that currently resided were already withered and brown with age.

You could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Come outside with me,” Remmick said, “Let’s take a walk.”

“I thought you said there were strange creatures prowlin’ about?” you countered, meeting his gaze from the opening in the window.

“Yes,” he folded his arms on the windowsill ledge, “But I’m here to protect you.” His eyes were beckoning. He leaned in as much as he was able without crossing the threshold.

You inched back, a flush reaching your cheeks. You weren’t used to him being this close. He smelled of campfire smoke and soil, an intoxicating mixture that tempted you to bury your head in his shirt and inhale.

Remmick’s brows creased in discontent and he exhaled through his nose. He pulled back from the windowsill and stood out of the chair. “Well, I’m gonna take a walk. You can join me if ya want.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and hopped off the porch. You listened to his crunchy footsteps recede.

You felt… bad. You pride yourself on being responsible and headstrong but with this… with him? Are you being headstrong or just avoidant?

If he wanted to, he could easily have broken in and done whatever he wanted with you already. It’s not like you were close to any neighbors and your family lived states away. He definitely looked stronger than you. It would be so easy for him to take advantage of that.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t get too close to you at all, like something’s preventing him from attempting to reach out and grab you.

You felt innocuous in that security, in whatever invisible barrier that was put between you two. It weirdly felt powerful to be able to deny him and yet, he still kept coming back to the porch. Back to the chair. Back to you.

However, it also felt terribly isolating.

You ran into your small bedroom and threw on an old coat. You shoved through the front door, running barefoot through the gravel, not caring about the sharp edges digging into the pads of your feet.

Remmick turned, hearing your hurried gait close behind.

“Look who decided to come out!” he shouted, a grin spreading on his face. You approached him, gasping.

His teeth were long. They looked like teeth belonging to an animal. They gleamed in the moonlight. You suddenly felt cold.

When you abruptly stopped in front of him, he closed his lips into a tight smile.

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” he said, finally. He sounded sincere.

“I-,” you started. Was what you just saw a trick of the dark? “I didn’t want you to be alone. S-strange creatures prowlin’ and all that.”

You started to shiver, despite the coat. Remmick breached the unspoken barrier and strung his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

“That’s why I’m here, darlin’.”

He didn’t feel warm.

You woke up that morning to find a bundle of bright orange azaleas at your door. There was no note but you could guess who they were from.

You scooped them up and replaced the dead flowers with the new ones. You caught yourself faintly smiling. Then you remembered the teeth.

Against your better judgement, when you went into town that day, you inquired with the locals about the “animals” that were spotted roaming around your woods.

“I could’ve sworn this thing was as big as a bear and just as hairy,” one man down at the drugstore whispered.

“My Nettie told me that she saw somethin’ out there watching her with shiny eyes. It were walking on two legs like it was human,” another woman revealed. “Whatever it was, she didn’t stick around long enough to find out.”

“It’s best not to invite strangers into your home,” one older woman had said. She was sat on a bench cooling herself with a handheld straw fan. “They say the Devil roams them woods. A devil with as sharp of a tongue as he has teeth. Can’t go letting just anybody through the door.”

Armed with the superstitions from the townsfolk, you sat at your kitchen table. Your leg bounced nervously as your mind ran through the events of your evening walk, trying to pick up clues that something was amiss. That he was wrong somehow.

Nothing had happened that night, outside of just walking. The woods had been eerily silent, like every living thing was holding their breath, watching you pass by. Remmick filled the silence with polite conversation. He asked about you, your family, your hobbies and hung onto every word as if you were the most fascinating person he’d met in a long time. At one point, he asked about your favorite color.

You told him it was orange.

You asked him if he had ever got his car fixed. He looked at you, puzzled for a moment, but then brushed it off and changed the subject.

He dropped you off back at your house. He watched you walk through the door and, for once, didn’t ask to tag along inside. You quieted the part of you that was disappointed by that.

The sun had set, flushing the sky red, to orange, to a deep purple. You found yourself sitting outside in the rocking chair, staring down the rocky path to your porch. The crickets began to sing, mixing with the hollow rush of summer air that tussled through the long grass. You lazily sipped at your coffee that you had prepared two minutes ago, eyes watching for a figure in the distance.

The darkness loomed over the house like a thick blanket. You strained your senses for any sign of your stranger making his way back to you. You sat there waiting until the choir stopped singing.

Your eyes grew heavier and heavier. Your breathing slowed.

You woke up at the pale beginnings of dawn. Your body ached from having been curled up in that damn chair all night.

You found yourself covered by a long jacket that smelled faintly of smoke and copper. You peeled it from your body, your feet finding purchase once again on the boards of your porch.

Bloody footprints stained the wood. It made a path up the steps and curved right where you lay sleeping. A small pool had collected at the base of the rocking chair before the footprints turned around and went back where it came from.

Remmick plucked out a song in the still night, humming to himself. His voice was raspy and he sung from deep in his chest. The strings on his banjo twinged. The song wasn’t something you recognized.

You found him with his back to the door, sitting on your porch step. You watched him from the window. He looked to be in better spirits than you’ve ever seen him. He seemed more youthful and strong, his back straighter. His skin looked less sallow and bones less gaunt. Even his hair seemed to have a fresh shine to it.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself. You needed answers.

You pulled on your door and let it yawn fully open. No barrier. No hiding.

“There’s my girl,” he declared happily. Remmick swiveled his head towards you. His eyes sharpened at the sight of you, his neck tensed. He breath hitched and pressed his lips in a tight line.

You wore the jacket over your shoulders. It covered your arms down to your fingertips. The bottom hem brushed the meaty part of your thigh just above the knee. Underneath, however, you chose to wear a silk shift. It was the color of vanilla ice cream and felt as soft as purity. You felt naked out there in your underwear but with the way it made Remmick buckle felt worth it.

You stripped the jacket from your shoulders, keeping your breathing slow and even. You breeched the door frame, gingerly coming near him one step at a time. You folded the jacket over your arm and kneeled down to where he sat.

“Thank you for this.” you said softly, draping the jacket onto his lap. You kept yourself from smirking when you saw how it badly you were affecting him.

He nodded dumbly. “You-you got all dolled up for me?” he asked timidly. The banjo sat abandoned at his side, thoughts of playing it thrown out the window.

You searched his face for any hint of trickery. Anything that revealed what lurked past the surface of his skin. His pupils were dilated, engulfing any stormy blue that you’ve grown to love. Something beat behind the inky blackness of those eyes. Like an afterimage you get from staring at the sun too long, a strange red hue diluted the black. It pulsed stronger as if fanning a lump of warm coal.

“I know those eyes,” you whispered. “I’ve seen them before.”

“I- I’m not sure what you mean,” he fumbled. He licked his lips, removing the drool pooling at the sides of his mouth.

“You’ve been the one lurking outside the woods, haven’t you?” You reached your hand up, brushing your fingers against his cheek. He whined like a dog. He leaned his head into your touch, resolve wavering. The heat behind his eyes became brighter.

“What’re you doin’ to me?” He gasped. His hands trembled against his thighs, his fingernails digging into his jeans.

You leaned in close, your lips caressing his ear. “I want to know what you are.”

Remmick shot up from the step. He staggered away a few paces. “You don’t know what you’re messin’ with,” His voice cracked. “I don’t want to do nothin’ I can’t take back.”

He refused to look at you. Not as if he were ashamed from the lewd way you were acting but because looking at you would be like looking at the sun. Burning, painful. As if he would break apart from your gaze alone.

“Remmick.” Your voice was lithe, coaxing him towards you.

“Stop it,” he moaned. His whole body shook,

You glided down the steps to where he stood. He visibly tensed.

You relished in this newfound power you had over him. You felt about as wicked as the monster failing miserably not to shine through. He screwed his eyes shut as you reached for the folds of his shirt. Your nails dragged lazily across his collarbone, tracing the gold chain he wore around his neck. You couldn’t feel a heartbeat under his ragged breathing.

“P-Please,” he whimpered. “I don’t know what to do.”

Kissing the muscle on his neck broke him. He clenched your waist with his rough hands, nails digging into your flesh. He hoisted you up in the air and you wrapped your legs tightly around his torso, locking him to you. His lips latched onto yours with a hunger of a man who was told he was going to die. One hand straddled you between your shoulder blades, pushing you even further into him, like he wanted to swallow you whole. He clawed at the fabric of your shift, bunching it up in his grip as if he were deciding whether or not to rip it off of you.

Your tongue pierced through his mouth, feeling the edges of his teeth scrape against it. Your hands grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his neck to you.

He looked at you now. His eyes were red fire in a pit of black. His teeth poked under his top lip. You stared at him, stunned.

He was terrifying. He looked at you with hunger, half-lidded with lust. His mouth watered freely. His breath came out in quick spurts, rattling his lungs against your stomach.

“You’re beautiful,” he croaked. “You’re so fucking beautiful. I could cry.”

He nuzzled into your breasts, his hot breath penetrating your shift. He wanted you. You realized with horror that you wanted him just as bad.

You slipped down from his waist, praying that your legs weren’t weak enough to buckle underneath you.

Remmick whined. “Where’re you goin’?”

You turned on your heel, making a show of it, and cantered slowly away from him.

“Now h-hold on,” he staggered after you, “You can’t just leave me like this!”

“Tell me the truth and maybe I’ll let you finish the job,” you replied.

He groaned weakly. He stumbled over the porch steps, crawling on his knees. “Stop, please! P-please just stop,” he cried. “Look at me, baby, please.”

You turned as graceful as a dancer, one foot already behind the doorframe. Remmick’s knees scraped across the length of the porch towards you. He let out a cracked sob when you stepped fully behind the doorway.

“Tell me,” you said sternly.

“You won’t like it,” he blubbered. “I promise you, you don’t wanna know.”

“Humor me,” you replied coldly.

Remmick dipped his head low into his lap, bowing. His fingers curled on the wooden boards of the porch, fingernails leaving scratch marks in their wake.

“Let me in,” he whispered, broken. “Let me in and I’ll tell you everything. I swear to you, I’ll tell you everything you want. All the details. The blood, the hunger, the pain. Anything. Please, j-just let me in.”

“Goodnight, Remmick.” You started to close the door, frustrated.

“No! Wait!” He shot up, “Dammit! Alright, you win! I’m a killer! I had been watchin’ you from the woods. You were gonna die that night.”

You froze in your tracks.

“I knew you were alone and I was… I was so hungry. I was weak. But, you didn’t let me in so I thought I’d keep trying. Thought I could get you to cave eventually.” Tears began to well in his eyes. You were stricken back. You had no idea he was capable of crying. “You made me sit in that damn chair for hours and I watched you then, too. I wanted you to trust me. To know that I could be good. But I-.” The words lodged in his throat.

Then he said something that disarmed you. “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry I ever came here. I’m sorry you ever saw me like this. I shoulda’ just left you alone like you asked me to.” His words came out fast and desperate, as if he were running out of air. “But please, please, don’t turn me away. I like it here. I like being with you, like the way it feels.” Remmick’s fingers wove tightly together, his hands trembling. “I can still be good. I won’t touch you or nothin’ without your say so. I just wanna stay. I’ll stay on this porch for the rest of my life if you asked. Please. I can’t get you outta my mind.”

Remmick babbled on, vomiting out confessions, trying desperately to absolve himself to you. He wilted, the monster inside becoming docile. He looked like a kicked puppy begging for food, for shelter, for a touch of kindness. Your name coated his words like an ancient deity.

You watched him writhe with satisfaction. It excited you to see something so dangerous become a puddle at your feet. You felt a spark of longing strike through your heart. He’d answered your question. That deserved a reward.

Lowering to his level, your finger hooked the gold chain at his throat. You met his lips passionately, earning a shuddering breath from him.

“You can come in,” you whispered.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He lunged into your embrace, knocking you clean off of your feet. You were entombed under his body. His lips read your skin like scripture. You gasped at his eagerness to please, melting at his touch.

“Take this off,” you ordered, tugging his shirt out of his pants. Before you could finish the thought, he snapped off the suspenders hugging his shoulders and shucked the whole shirt off his torso in one motion. You took in his bare chest that was glistening with a mixture of sweat and drool. “Excited, aren’t we?” you purred.

He grinned wickedly. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. I promise you, ya won’t regret this.”

Sloppy kisses peppered your face, your jaw, your throat, coating you in a fine, glistening sheen. You could feel his teeth scrape against your pulse—which was fluttering like a panicked bird in a cage—desperate for a bite. He drank in your scent like a drunkard nursing his addiction. Your breath became heavier the lower he got. He took his time with you, drawing out your sighs of pleasure methodically, as if he’d never have the chance to do it again. He hooked your legs onto his shoulders, falling into your warmth. You gasped and jerked your hips as he immediately started circling your clit with his tongue. He hummed against the small mound, the vibrations stimulating you further.

“You taste just how I hoped,” he slurred, “You’re just how I dreamed.”

He raised your pelvis higher and slid a finger into your folds. You gasped sharply as he began to pump. You moaned his name out into the darkness, breathlessly riding the wave of pleasure that was building inside you. You called out to God as well but you didn’t think He was listening anymore.

Remmick slid another finger into you, picking up speed. His mouth still abused your poor clit, lapping at it like fresh water found in a desert. You gripped his dark curls, your voice lodged in your throat, legs losing feeling. You finally came, your body breaking down, quivering in his grasp. He dutifully licked you clean, savoring your taste, toying with your sensitivity.

“Please, darlin’,” he winced, “I-It hurts. Won’t you let me—just for tonight—c-can’t I just-?” He palmed himself against his pants.

If you weren’t spiraling through the remnants of your own orgasm, you would’ve kicked him out just to see what would happen. To watch him squirm some more. But you needed him inside you again. You shimmied the shift off of your body, opening yourself up as an offering. He nearly wept with delight.

He tore off his belt and undid the buttons keeping him contained. He locked you into place underneath him and wasted no time pushing through. You cried out, mouth agape as he fixed himself to you. Your toes curled as he began to thrust, working himself up bigger and faster. His forehead pressed onto yours, leaving gentle kisses on your eyelids. Your hands found purchase around his neck, pulling him down to you. His panting rang out in your ear as he picked up speed.

“S-Shit!” his voice splintered over the sound of skin making contact again and again. He groaned out as he released himself inside you. You could feel the warmth spreading within you, catching your senses on fire.

“Oh, thank you,” Remmick breathed, exhausted, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Each word of gratitude punctuated by a light kiss on your face. You gently cupped his cheek and brought him down to your lips.

You didn’t care if word got out around town. You didn’t care if people looked at you funny as you walked the street or quoted Bible verses at you in an attempt to save your soul from damnation. You made your choice.

You made your choice to let him in.

#remmick #remmick x reader #pathetic!remmick x reader #sinners #sinners 2025 #sinners fanfiction #jack o'connell #remmick fanfic #i want to bite him #monster fucker #vampires

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