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he's sooo

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Thinking about this stance again...

Unauthorized sequel to this post by @mcpayne

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Me asf

how it feels like refreshing the "john marston x reader" or "javier escuella x reader" tag every 5 seconds

guys im so desperate </3

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TWICE LOVED ONCE CURSED

a/n: decided to rewrite or more revise my work on "twice loved once cursed." I hope y'all enjoy. reader is mixed. English is not my first language.

Summary: Bound by blood, promised and carved in flesh. As nights drifted by, the bat slumbers through daylight. Remmick still awaits the end of his restless longing for your rebirth. His long lost lover.

"Burn me, and I’ll haunt thy sons’ sons, 'til their bones know my name. But to thee, my love... I shall come back, by blood or by moon. So swear I now.”

Genre: dark romance. gothic-southern horror.

Warning: themes of death. dark religious imagery. forbidden romance. morally complex relationships. power imbalance. emotional manipulation. switch!remmick, switch!reader. reincarnated reader.

Pairing: Remmick x fem!reader

dividers by @uzmacchiato

Part I: Pray With Me

The sun kissed the horizon; long gone, leaving the moon without a kiss. The Mississippi air tonight was humid and thick. The crickets didn't sing late this evening—not a single note in the hush of the dark. The streets calmed into a quiet hush of mystery. Bells chimed in from afar, where your feet had long dragged you away toward nowhere.

The city that used to be bustling is now slowly dimming; lights went out one by one, the curtains were closed, and mankind footsteps had begun unheard from the streets.

You bailed.

The first sin you've constantly committed was the lie—over and over, the untrue spilled from your lips like second nature. Lying about the fact that you had been drinking with Isaiah. Lying about being sick to miss church—ignoring God's calling.

Lying about where you were past midnight. Lying about repentance, you never meant. Lying about the voice that answers you in your dreams.

And God knows what else you have lied about.

Isaiah couldn't be your companion tonight. He tends to his observance where it's held in that cold, unloved church, with your father as the sermon weaver.

You downed a bottle of vodka, washing away the drying sin on your throat of falsehood prayers. Two bottles out. You grew dull all alone out here without Isaiah.

With a heavy sigh, you stood up, leaving another full bottle underneath the bamboo based gazebos—a hidden spot reserved only for you and your friend—Isaiah. Might he find himself blasé and in need of something to take his mind off the bull crap from people around.

Reluctant to leave, you felt like carrying your own corpse all the way back, preparing to meet your father's wrath.

Nevertheless, you turned on your heels.

Your steps were heavy, crushing the grass and making a crisp crunch underfoot. The path you took wasn't exactly the most secure for a girl like you to walk all alone into. Yet, you were too fatigued to even care. After all, you equipped yourself with a weapon; a gun strapped tight along your thigh.

The tall grass in the fields you passed seemed to come alive and move to trap you for the demon that ruled the territory. The branches seemed to hiss and whisper to each other. The wet and strong smell of earthy soil after the rain seemed to swallow you whole.

After what felt like the eternity of walking, you heard a noise. A crack.

You heard a strange, unfamiliar sound that certainly isn't the one you made. You must be tripping—or so you wish.

It was almost like a heavy breathing of someone, something..and you swear you could hear a growl. Whatever it was, no human could throat a feral and animalistic sound as such. It rather belonged to something… hungry.

Has the devil finally come to collect his damned sinner's soul? You should've seen it coming.

A pair of bright red eyes glinted from behind the bushes, its breath came ragged and dry like it had been running without rest. Evil stared back at you—mocking your fear with a sly grin. His lips smeared of crimson liquid. You swore you could spot pointy teeth.

What kind of abomination creature is that?

You observed—there was something otherworldly about him, you can feel it. His looks were deceiving. Though enough to make people believe he was merely a man, and yet something about him was deeply inhumane. Before you took another breath, the man suddenly lunged out of the bushes—savage. Your heart almost bursts free from your chest. Your legs damn near gave out when he flashed an all-teeth smile toward you, eyes preying like you were his next meal—and you knew for certain that blood wasn't his.

The proximity damn near suffocating as he strode down toward you. Every step was purposeful; absolute.

“Nowhere to go, little hare,” he growled against your neck, savoring the faint trace of your scent. He didn't touch you, hadn't laid a hand on you—he didn't need to. Not when you were already ensnared in his grip. There weren't enough dimes in the world to buy you the kind of luck you needed at this moment.

You noticed a pause in his movement. He pulled away slowly—gaze locked onto you in disbelief like you had stabbed him. His lips quivered.

“This.. this mark..” You raised a brow, tilting your head in confusion before the realization of what he might be referring to, hit you like a brick to the head. He's got quite a pair of eyes and ears that wouldn't miss even the smallest, insignificant parts of you. He noticed your breath. He noticed the pace of your heartbeat, the flow of your blood rushing, and now—he spots your—birthmark. A crescent-moon-shape etched like a written contract on your neck and wrist.

“Are those..” he spoke again, never quite finishing his thoughts—trailing off, incomplete.

His gaze switching between your neck to your face; eyes flickering in wonder you've got no answers to.

He was lacking. You were seizing the opportunity. Thus, you plead with him, faking your tears.

“Sir, please, kind sir, spare this poor girl some mercy.. I just wanted to go home..” You fake sobbed, holding up your hand in front of your face, palms meeting. And, to your scarce fortune — somehow it works?

He stumbled back a few steps, sudden guilt washed over him as he heard your pleading—in a blink of an eye, his teeth returned to its normal human size and it's surely fucking up your mind.

This isn't right. He swore once on heaven and hell. He'd rather burn to a crisp than this.

“No I'm.. I'm sorry.. I'm sorry if I scared ye.” words of apology spilled from his lips.

“Forgive me for being.. immodest, young lady.” He tipped his head down. A good sign of respect.

“It's.. It's fine, sir.. Just please, please let me through..”

He rushed to adjust his posture, leaving just enough space for the both of you to stand properly—and for silence to settle between.

“Are you.. hurt, sir?” You asked, hesitant, still with your heart's drumming loud in your ears.

“Oh,” He swatted his hand in front of his face as if there was a fly bothering him. “ain’t no need to be all jittery, missy. Folks just call me Remmick—no last name, no fancy titles. Jus’ plain ol’ Remmick. How ‘bout you?”

“Remmick.” You try his name on your tongue, sounds familiar like a name that had long been forgotten but not yet erased.

“I'm..” You were uncertain if it was wise at all to give this stranger your real name. Therefore, you made up one. He sensed your lie in a heartbeat for sure and nodded. Didn't push you further. He simply folds the lie and tucked it neatly in his pocket.

“Remmick. Are you.. are you hurt? D'ya need any help?” You asked again.

"I… uh… reckon I do.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Kinda need a place to lay low tonight—been, well… evicted." He replied.

Evicted?

“Yeah..” he tried again, this time sounding even more convincing that he was indeed relying on the kindness of a stranger. Someway, he was going to end up collapsing in the middle of the street—bleeding, unarmed, and worst possibilities ahead to come.

“I— I just needed one night to lay low... I swear, I’ll be gone first thing come dawn. Jus’... please—spare me. Spare me a little kindness, that’s all I’m askin’.” He begged, voice coming a little throaty.

“Why dawn?” He froze at the question,jaw tightened. A lump was forced down his throat before he opened his mouth to speak again.

“Jus’.. I don't wanna impose ye for long..”

You consider, examining his look, he took a note of your wary gaze.

“I won't give ye any trouble, I can promise ye that, I'll— I'll sleep on the couch, the floor anywhere.” His puppy-dog eyes chipped away at what little self-control you had left. Deep down, you knew—you were never any good at turning away a soul in need.

Although this might be the worst decision ever, you sighed and agreed to help out the man.

“Shut up. Come on, stranger. Don’ ever try anythin’ funny with me ‘cause I've got my daddy's Colt 1903 sittin’ pretty on me.”

He lowers his hand, expression amused.

“Wouldn't dare, lady.”

The front door ripped open with a sound that made you cringe. You peeled the robe from your body and hung it by the door, letting the chill of the room kiss your bare skin.

“I— I can sleep on the couch, or wherever, really. Just need a blanket… and maybe a pillow if ye got one to spare.” He stammered, voice unsure as he stood, lingered by the door—haven't yet crossed the threshold.

“Wh—why are you still there?”

“Well, uh—ye didn’t invite me in…” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “Be rude to walk into someone’s house uninvited, ye know?”

You blinked, catching yourself. He’s cute, a stray thought whispered—but you pushed it away like it meant nothing. “Come on in then, Remmick.”

He let out a relieved sigh, grateful that you didn't need more excuse to let him inside. His presence now welcomed inside the house, and he stepped past the threshold, following you behind.

“Wash up first. You don’t want me patchin’ you up filthy, do you? That ain’t your blood… is it?”

You asked, hoping he'd deny it as you handed him a pair of clean clothes pulled from your father’s old dresser.

He offered a half-smile. “Ain’t mine, darlin’. I ain’t that hurt. Just… ran into somethin’ ugly out there.”

Water trickled like rainfall, soft and ceaseless, sliding over his skin in hushed waves. A few rough scrubs, a grunt or two—he was clearly having trouble with something in there. Maybe he needed a hand.

But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t

You hear the faucet turn shut. The water stops running. He steps out of the stall, shirtless, the v-line disappears beneath the towel, wrapping his lower half. He's still drenched like a wet dog. Water streams down his damp hair to his cheek, neck, and to his chest. His skin glistens—the dimming light only complimenting his prominent lines and muscles. He has a slender figure, toned—the kind of body a man owns that would drive a preacher’s daughter to sin.

“Oh—uh, sorry ‘bout that,” he called out, voice tinged with sheepish laughter. “Was havin’ a hell of a time back there… Figured if I tried puttin’ on clothes in that stall, I’d slip and crack my damn skull.”

You shake your head, averting your gaze from him—fear you'd be caught dead staring at him for too long. “Put on some in my room then..”

He nodded obediently, scurrying off like a scolded child, eager to find your room before you could speak up again: “wait, stop right there.”

He immediately frozen in place. Not daring to make any less than a move of his fingertips. You paced to the other room, returning with another white towel in hand, striding closer to him. He stares down at you—his eyes full of longing—searching yours as if he could read whatever thought crossed your mind if he stare hard enough.

“Come here..” You slide to stand in front of him. Tip-toeing just a bit to reach his height—he noticed and buckled his knees a bit to level with you. Without another word, you start to brush his head with the warm cloth, rubbing his hair softly, making sure his hair is as dry as possible. He closes his eyes at the gesture, savoring your gentle touch.

Moving on to his face, you put an even more gentle pressure in wiping it. He let out a low satisfaction grumble, finding no need to be secretive about it. Then, to his chest. His body. Until it's all done, he thanks you for your help.

“Put on some clothes. Jus’ left on the corner.” you say in tender tone. He nodded, quick and quiet, moving toward the direction you pointed.

You decided to change your clothing as well into a more proper, comfortable nightgown before you finally give into the realm of slumber. You drag your feet lazily into the stall. The bathroom is a faint smell of him— distinctively and rightfully his. He smells of Tobacco and rotten copper strong on him. This is not good at all—not for you and not for him. You turn to grab a can of freshener from the living room and spray it all across the corner and edge. You couldn't describe the feeling of a part of you already missing him with every spray that fades away his scent—the reminiscent of him.

The dark silk thin-strapped gown hanging over by the door as you pull it from its hanger and strip yourself bare in front of the mirror. The reflection of a girl across the silver oracle was unblinking, staring back with a wavering gaze. As you slipped the gown over your head like it didn't belong to you. The length itself couldn't quite reach above the knees. You felt bare—like the flesh didn't belong to you, like your skin was borrowed, and you felt a resurgence of something familiar, ancient, and otherworldly.

You catch up after a few seconds stopping at your room and knocking gently; “Rem, you decent already?”

His voice muffled through the door, “oh yeah—clean as a whistle, I'm comin’out.” Before he could reach the knob, you're already stepping inside, crashing right into him—your forehead square against his chest.

“Oh, are ye okay?” He asked, surprise laced with a chuckle. Arms instantly supporting your back. Preventing you from falling.

“Yeah, yeah.. I'm fine.” You rubbed your forehead, concealing your embarrassment with a stifle laugh. His hand instinctively came to run a thumb over where you bumped your head.

“I'm alright —don't worry..” you said, reassuring him. He took a final glance at you, examining if you were truly in fine fettle before finally breaking physical contact with your skin.

“Alright then.. I'm comin’ out. Sleep tight, missy.” He moved to open the door, but you stopped him—your hand wrapping gently around his wrist, tugging him back inside.

Confused, he followed without protest as you turned, closed the door behind you, and slid the lock into place with a quiet click.

The silence that followed was thick. He stared, lips slightly parted, his brow knitting ever so faintly.

“My father's gon’ kill you if he sees a strange, white man sleepin’ on his couch.” You explain, grip tightening around his wrist with worry. He could tell. His own fingers enlaced around yours, tracing circles on the back of your hand.

The slight gesture was enough to bring you back into the moment. Your gaze locked with his—breath slowly coming to a steady pace as you opened your mouth, unsure of the words that were going to fall past your lips. But you eventually speak.

“You can sleep on my bed… I’ll sleep on the floor,” you said, the words slipping out more breath than voice—too fast, too unsure.

He reacted instantly, shaking his head, “No fuckin’ way, missy. No.”

His hands came to rest on your shoulders—not forceful but firm. Grounding.

“Ye sleep like ye usually do,” he added, softer this time. “I'll sleep right by yer feet. Don’t mind it none.”

You sighed in defeat, and the weariness from the long day took over your stubbornness. You collapsed onto the bed, peering at him through your eyelashes. You gesture with your fingers for him to come close, which he instantly complies with, waiting by the edge of the bed for your next command.

You pat the spot next to you, a silent invitation for him to lay down next to you. He was uncertain at first, but after your reasoning of not having a guest sleeping on the floor and that you'd rather be the one to sacrifice and switch position instead, he quickly dismissed your consideration. With halting movement, he settled on the spot next to you—his level was a bit lower than yours; matter-of-fact, he practically slept right by your feet as he had told you earlier.

“What are you doing?” You asked, brow raised.

“Sleepin’” He simply responded, turning to face you, wide-eyed wondering.

He kind of gives off an impression of a pet at this moment. The way he obediently sleeps by your feet, how his gaze softens when you call out to him. You have zero idea where all of this was coming from; he was a feral animal when you first saw him, frankly you truly believed he was the grim reaper that had finally come to collect your soul.

But right now, he is nothing but a poodle. With a jerky push of your hand, you took the courage to run your fingers through his hair. He immediately closes his eyes, like he is drowning in the touch. You could feel him shiver beneath your palm. The way he's letting you touch him caress him, reliant fully only to you. You massaged his scalp gently, hearing him purr under your touch.

“Do you pray, Remmick?” You started, fingers gliding over his cheekbone.

“Sinners never pray, my darlin’” He uttered.

“Are you a sinner?” You ask again, glancing down at him. And he answers with three simple words, yet it couldn't be more true.

“We all are…”

“I suppose so.. you're very wise, Rem. Guess I'm a sinner who prayed.” he only responded with a hum.

“You're a Christian?”

“Well—I wouldn't say willingly.”

“Pray with me.”

His eyes that were already closing slowly fluttered open, darting over toward yours. You locked gaze for a moment with each other before he realized what you were asking was for real.

“Are ye bein’ serious?”

You nodded, taking his hand in yours, gently clasping your hands together in a praying manner; “close your eyes.” You whisper. He did as he told.

“Our Father, who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy name,

thy kingdom come,

thy will be done,

on earth as it is in heaven,”

Another voice whispering the words alongside you, in perfect unison.

“Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom,

and the power, and the glory,

for ever and ever.

Amen..”

The kiss seemed a bit rushed, considering you've only just met the man not long ago. But it damn sure felt right when his tongue slipped inside your open mouth, when his teeth bit down to part your lips wider, when you swallowed his little whimpers and moans. When his hand gripped bruisingly against your hips. He kissed you like there was another day left on earth. His kiss was a claim, a warning of possession, that no one else would have you rather than himself only. He kissed you like you were his lovers lost in time.

He pulled away with an apology for stepping on the boundary. You pulled him once again to seal his apology with another kiss.

“Don't make a noise.” You warned. The kiss felt sacred this time, like you've finally let loose for the very first time in your life. God knows you were sinning tonight—and you, you felt no sense of guilt for the forbidden fruit you defied Him to eat tonight.

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are there any christoph waltz stans out here

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Back in the writers room writing again

1. I’m working on that lion chapter 2, I promise yall I js want it to be perfect because I hate hate hate putting out shitty sloppy pieces of work

2. Tryna get some remmick stuff started—I have ideas I js have to put them down on the doc and get it written well enough

3. I fear I’ve started to write for characters that I’ve never ever posted or talked abt on this acc or anywhere else as well so expect to see that to…(Django and inglorious bastards related 👀👀)

See u guys soon if u even read this

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Sorry that I keep delaying the fics everyone who sees this. I have the ideas but I’m js being lazy rn but I’ll be back soon I promise js give ya girl some time.

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remmick in a muzzle bc im abt to finish my pearl!fic that'll feature it...

PITBULL//TERRIER here you go moot..my hand slipped.

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She came to get him... and take him home.

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Intentions Behind A Smile

Remmick x fem!reader

6k words | suspense

Summary: It’s 1954 and you’re a budding investigative journalist working on a fluff piece for a sleepy town’s bicentennial celebration. When you arrive, the townsfolk seem downright nervous, keeping their heads low and their voices quiet. You’ve been warned not to go out at night and not to follow the music. You chalk it up to simple ghost stories but, on your first night, you hear banjo music accompanied by a strange man luring outside your motel window.

Tags: suspenseful imagery; 1950s sexism; SLOW BURN (strap in folks) ; dark!Remmick

Part 1

Cow shit was the first thing you smelled as soon as you stepped off the silver Greyhound. It clogged your nostrils offensively as if it were an omen. Turn back now or you will forever smell like cow shit. 

Your hands, already slick with sweat from the humidity, gripped the handles of your luggage even tighter. The doors to the Greyhound whined shut as the engine sputtered back to life, leaving you stranded at the bus station. There was no going back.

You were excited in the beginning when you heard this opportunity floating around the office. A small, podunk town right on the Delta was celebrating the bicentennial of the town’s founding. It wasn’t going to be anything major, no parade floats or any such pageantry—the town couldn’t afford it. They were going to send Jeremy Hunt from the features section to cover it but you took initiative and practically begged your Editor in Chief for the chance instead. Besides, Jeremy’s hubris was too big to cover small town events like this. 

This was going to be your big step into journalism—actual, honest to God journalism. No longer would you be writing in the advice column preaching to your housewife audience that a particular soap could clean stains out of virtually any surface better than the leading competitors (your husband’s wallet will thank you!). 

Your Editor in Chief turned you down in the beginning but you remained persistent and obnoxiously optimistic. You even wagered that you’d do the piece for half the pay they were going to give Jeremy, (not a great idea, you thought, but you had plenty of time to build your reputation to get the pay you deserved). It took three days of wearing him down for your Editor to finally agree to the excursion.

The bus station was coated with years of dust from travelers long since passed. A rickety ticket sign swung lazily in the breeze, the creaking of the chains mixing with the soft droning of the horseflies. There was a musician busking at the end of the stretch, the harmonica crying out a soulful tune to a small gathered crowd. You lugged your suitcases onto the nearest bench. 

You were only staying for the week through the celebrations. This would be the first time in a long time that you would be out somewhere alone. Your husband didn’t like the idea of it when you brought it up to him. He lost his temper had nearly called your Editor himself to argue that letting you go alone was irresponsible. He was a very stubborn man but you were also very persuasive when you needed to be. All it took was his favorite dinner and his favorite dress in order for him to reluctantly change his tune. 

You unhooked your smallest case which was your heaviest one. It held your most prized possession. The typewriter’s keys gleamed at you and shined like freshly brushed teeth in the Mississippi sun. You methodically counted each and every key as if the letters would’ve found a way to escape during the jostling bus ride. Once everything was accounted for, you closed the lid and clasped the closures tightly. You hefted the luggage off the bench and approached the exit. 

A ticket salesmen snored loudly behind the glass of his little booth. You stopped in front of it and cleared your throat politely. The salesman jerked awake, a thin strand of drool tickling his gray whiskers. His bleary eyes blinked once, twice, before finding your warm smile.

“Pardon me. I don’t suppose there’re any taxis that can take me to the motel on Main, are there?” you asked with enough honey in your voice to attract bees. 

The old man’s eyes wandered over your figure unabashedly. You felt your smile become tight with impatience. He let out a laugh that was halfway between a cough and a wheeze.

“Ain’t no taxis here, Miss,” he said, “Yer gonna haveta walk. ‘S ‘bout a mile past the corner store.” 

“Oh. W-Which corner store?”

“We only got the one,” he answered, unamused. “Start headin’ to the right.” Before you could ask any more questions, he positioned himself back into his restful state and fell asleep. 

You huffed through your nose and squared your shoulders before quickly taking a step into the beating sun. 

The town looked as if it were a backdrop to a Western movie. You half expected to see a tumbleweed bounce across your path. The only indications that you weren’t stuck in the past was the black-top road lined with rusted up automobiles and the single phone booth that stood at the corner. 

A giant banner was strung over the road, across two street lights, loudly proclaiming the weekend’s festivities in a charming hand painted font. Activities to be expected were a pie-eating contest, a potluck, and dancing under the stars. 

You turned to your right and began to walk, your heels clicking against the sidewalk. Almost immediately, sweat rolled down the curve of your back, pooling at the waist band of your skirt. The muggy air clung to you like a second skin and you could hear the cicadas droning in your ears. Your arms started to feel every pound of your luggage. 

When you could spot the corner store on the horizon, you stopped to rest yourself. 

You had heard that the people of the south were known for their hospitality. These folks would scarcely look sideways at you. The few townies that were out and about shuffled around you like you were barely an obstacle in their path. They moved with purpose and caution as if something were about to jump out and spook them. They all looked so timid, their faces worn with worry, lips pursed with concealed secrets. And they were all quiet. Even their footsteps seemed muffled.

You started to dread your decision in coming.

You began walking again after you caught your breath. You rounded the side of the corner store but stopped abruptly. The red brick of the building was covered in missing persons posters. Reams of papers tacked onto the surface, overlapping some older entries, displayed pictures of people of varying ages and colors, followed by a small description and a sum of money for a reward if found. The descriptions spoke of beloved brothers, sisters, husbands, wives and begged for their safe return. There was even a crudely drawn picture of a spotted dog with the word “Lost” scribbled at the top. 

Your face searched the eyes of the missing in horror. You didn’t know what upset you more, the ones of the children or the elderly. What had happened to them? Why were there so many? What secrets was this town hiding?

A loud engine revved in your ear, startling you out of your stupor. 

“You need a lift, Miss?” a middle-aged man shouted from his beat up, sun-bleached Chevy. His face was tanned as leather and looked just as tough too. Next to him sat a teenaged girl with long tresses of brown hair, loose and unmanaged. She eyed you with a mixture of suspicion and pity. You couldn’t place why.

“That’s very kind of you,” you answered with a dazzling smile. You hefted the suitcases in your arms once again.

“Allow me,” the man replied. He scurried over to your side and gently pried the cases out of your hands. You watched him with a hint of worry for your typewriter.

“Just be very delicate with that one,” you said.

“You headed to the motel?” the man asked, “Suze, why don’t you make some room?”

The girl scooted towards the middle of the seat for you, her eyes never leaving your face. You took her place on the passenger side. The man hopped back into the car once your luggage was safely secure in the bed of the truck.

“Thank you very much for your help, Mister-“

“You can call me Reverend Jim.” the man smiled as he ignited the engine. The truck huffed down the street. The eyes on the posters seemed to follow you as you went. “What brings you to town?” the Reverend asked.

“I’m covering the bicentennial celebration this weekend for the paper,” you said with pride in your voice.

“Really? They sent a woman all the way out here by herself?” the Reverend’s nose scrunched up at that thought, “Doesn’t sound very smart.”

You wilted a tad. Your whole career you’ve had to deal with people underestimating you because of your sex. The passive phrases never seemed to change up but always managed to dig into your nerves. You could practically predict what would come next. 

“This is no place for a lady. Why don’t you stick to what you’re good at.”

“When are you going to quit this ‘journalism’ nonsense and start giving me grandbabies?”

You weren’t going to let it bother you too much. Once you were an established journalist, everyone would eat those words and you’d finally gain a modicum of respect that came with being a woman in a man’s field. 

The Reverend noted the pause in conversation.

“I mean no disrespect y’see. It’s just that, well, there’ve been some instances goin’ on lately and I’d hate to see a pretty thing like yourself get mixed up in all that,” he said. 

“Instances?” you asked, “Does that have anything to do with the missing persons posters I just saw?”

The girl named Suze clenched her jaw a little tighter at the mention of the missing people. Her focus trained on the road ahead of her, lips drawn into a tight line.

“Ain’t nothin’ you need to worry about sweetheart,” the Reverend replied, “You just stick to your business and we’ll stick to ours.”

The Chevy pulled into the parking lot of the motel you would call home for the week. The engine died and the driver’s side door screeched as the Reverend stepped out. You followed closely afterward. Suze’s doe-like eyes tracked you once again.

“Psst,” she hissed at you, “Don’t go out at night.”

You drew your eyebrows together in concern “Why not?”

Suze looked behind her to check if the Reverend was in earshot. “That’s when he’s out. If he finds ya, he’ll take ya. And you ain’t ever comin’ back.”

“Who? When who is out?” You whispered urgently.

“Whatever you do, don’t go out, and don’t follow the music,” Suze warned through gritted teeth. 

The slamming of the trunk door snapped Suze’s spine upright. 

“Here y’are, ma’am,” the Reverend dropped your luggage gingerly at your feet. “You be careful now.”

“Thanks for the lift,” you said. The Reverend nodded his head and made his way back to his truck. Your eyes flitted onto Suze. She ignored you as the two of them peeled away.

The motel room smelled like stale cigarettes that clung to the old carpet with a vengeance. The walls were lined with knotty wood and the whole room bathed you in an orange hue as the sun sunk lower on the plain. The bed wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the one you shared back home but you laid on it all the same. The inside felt about as humid as the outside. The front desk clerk apologized that the box fan wasn’t working properly but promised they’d have someone fix it during your stay.

You struggled to push the window open to get a nice breeze flowing through the room. You decided to call your husband when you settled in. 

“It’s too quiet here without you,” he admitted, “I had half a mind to go over to Henry’s tonight for dinner. You know how he’s always bragging about his wife’s meatloaf.” 

You chuckled on the other line. “I’ll be back in no time. I promise.” 

“You’d better. I can’t live off of TV dinners alone,” your husband laughed awkwardly. The silence between you crescendoed. You could feel him fighting back the urge to say something more about this trip but you were too tired to begin an argument. You said goodnight to him before he had the chance. 

The sun had fully set by the time you unpacked everything from your suitcases. You hung up your outfit for the next day in the closet — something cotton to combat the incessant heat. Your typewriter was perched on the coffee table shoved into the wall near the kitchenette. Your fingers danced over the keys once more before climbing into bed. As soon as your head met the pillow, your mind wandered to the posters from the corner store. Then, Suze’s warning wove between your thoughts. 

“Don’t go out at night.”

“Don’t follow the music.”

It was all starting to sound like a ghost story. You weren’t interested in ghost stories but you were intrigued by the mystery. The Reverend didn’t seem too keen to talk about the missing people but you had a week to gather whatever additional information you could out of the other locals. There was nothing a little charm and a warm smile couldn’t coax out. 

Your heart beat with the excitment of a budding story. This could very well be the thing that got you noticed. You’d have to do some convincing with your Editor to allow the story to run but peoples’ lives were on the line. This was bigger than any pie-eating contest. 

The wind floated the sound of strings through the crack of the motel window. The tune was lazy as if the person playing were just warming up. It was the unmistakable twang of a banjo. You sat up in your bed listening intently to the melody. Suddenly, the music kicked up to a jaunty little number. The musician began to sing along. His voice was raspy and untrained. The lyrics didn’t sound familiar to you. In fact, you found them to be a little creepy. 

“… Lord, how that ja-a-ay bird laughed when I picked poor Robin clean…”

You pushed yourself out of bed and to your window. You fiddled with the lock in order to close it, to silence the noise, and caught a glimpse of the person playing the banjo outside. 

The shadow cast by the streetlamp eclipsed him. His stature was strong and sure like he owned that stretch of the block. He wore dark jeans that were ripped at the knees and a white t-shirt that never knew the touch of an iron. His hair was tucked up under an old fashioned flat cap but the ends of it stuck out and curled at the nape of his neck. From what you could make out of his face, his mouth didn’t fit the rest of his features. He smiled too wide and toothy like a wolf. Although the cap concealed his eyes, you could’ve sworn you could still see them glinting a pale light when he moved. 

He was haunting. Your hair stood up on your arms as you watched him play. The wind carried his tune towards you like smoke. It felt as if he were in the room playing behind you, despite him being a few yards away. You swallowed thickly and prayed the window didn’t screech too loud when you wrestled it back down. With the latch secured on the frame, you pulled at the chord for the blinds to conceal yourself from the strange man. The damn thing only pulled down one corner, leaving you halfway exposed. You cursed to yourself and tried tugging the chord again to get it to fall correctly. 

With all the fussing, you didn’t notice that you were being watched. The musician’s eyes trained on you while you struggled, the unsettling glint hovering deathly still in the darkness. They bored through the window, memorizing your face, how it twisted and warped with frustration. He picked absentmindedly at the strings of his instrument, his muscle memory taking over as he started to cross the road. 

The blinds fully came down when you saw the man getting closer. You sprinted to your bedroom door and twisted the lock on the deadbolt in place. 

Two short knocks cracked through the silence. 

“Housekeeping,” the man said. A slight chuckle curled at the edge of his words like this was his idea of a joke. You covered your mouth to stifle any noise that might escape. You got low, crawling on your knees, the musty smell of the carpet assaulting your senses. You stalked towards the bed at a painstakingly slow pace. 

The stranger knocked again. “Were you enjoyin’ my music? We could sing something’ together if you’d like. Jus’ gotta open the door.” His darkened figure blotted out the window as he tried to peer past the blinds. 

Your breathing shuddered as you slunk into the protective folds of your bed. You pulled the blankets over your head and curled your knees to your chest. You desperately willed the man away as you squeezed your eyes tight. 

A muffled call came from outside in the distance, followed by the scuffled sound of the stranger’s receding footsteps. You exhaled shakily. After a good minute, you uncovered your head and saw the figure had, indeed, left. Curiosity bubbled within you and you crawled back to the window. You parted the blinds with your fingers and saw a young woman running up the road. She was short with black plaited hair that brushed her collarbone. She wore a bright smile when she saw the stranger coming towards her. She spread her arms wide and enveloped him in a tight embrace that sent her flying against him. He caught her and dipped her into a passionate kiss. 

Your head tilted, watching them. You felt your heart pang softly with a feeling bordering on melancholy. You remembered being swept up like that by your husband in the earlier years. You two didn’t do that too much that anymore. 

The stranger shouldered the banjo around and began to pick a slower, more romantic song that made the girl giggle and swoon. You decided you had enough excitement for the night and gave them their privacy. 

You tucked yourself back under the covers and hugged the spare pillow tightly to your chest. 

**

The corner store was bustling with patrons prepping for the celebration. The air buzzed with low chatter and gossip, wives telling each other about who was invited to whose cookout and which lady was expected to have a bigger turnout. They swapped everything from stories to recipes to plain old tall tales between the aisles of fruit. 

Dressed in your professional best, you donned the same hushed conspiratorial whispers to entice the ladies to spill their secrets. You did your best to fit in with them, even though you rarely had anything interesting to offer their eager ears. Some of the ladies dished little morsels of information with a twinkle in their eye. Some flat out ignored you with a roaming stare and a purse of the lips. 

The little bell hanging above the door twinkled and in rushed a woman with a distressed look in her eyes. Everyone’s attention landed on her. She stared right back, gaze hopping from face to face, searching for someone she recognized. She beelined up to the clerk behind the cash register and spoke in a hushed tone. Ladies leaned their bodies closer to catch the conversation. 

“You swear she didn’t come by here?” the woman said. 

“No ma’am. I ain’t seen Alice since last Thursday,” the clerk responded with a helpless shrug of his shoulders. The store held its breath, listening. The lady let out a choked gasp and brought her fingers to her lips.

“No, no, that’s— that can’t be right,” she muttered, “She told me she was stayin’ over at her friend’s house.” 

“I’m real sorry,” the clerk said, “Maybe she ran off?” 

“She wouldn’t do such a thing!” the woman hissed, “Don’t you think I know my own daughter?” 

“Maybe you ought’nt’ve sent her out in the dark in the first place,” an older lady drawled from behind them, “What with that vagrant prowlin’ about.” 

The woman’s head swiveled like a hawk, her face growing pale with anguish. She opened her mouth to lash out but the words caught in her throat. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes like syrup before she stormed out in a huff. A collective whisper of pitying remarks trailed after her. 

“Someone was tellin’ me that one of Harrison boys disappeared like that.” 

“She should’ve known better than to let her daughter out past dinner time.” 

“God help that poor girl, wherever she is.” 

You slipped out of the store and lightly jogged towards the path of the distraught mother. 

“Excuse me, ma’am, I don’t mean to bother you,” you called innocently. 

“Just leave me be,” the woman barked. Her pace picked up, turning your jog into a run. 

“Wait, please!” You crossed in front of her path, “What did she look like? Alice?”

The woman, taken aback by your inquiry, fumbled with her words. 

“Sh-She’s about five foot three. Brown eyes. Petite.” She went for her purse and rummaged through it. “I-I have a picture. It’s an old one but it still looks like her.” 

After plundering through the depths of her bag, she fished out her wallet and unzipped it. Clasped between her fingers was an old Polaroid that was creased with time. She presented it to you with a trembling hand. 

The girl in the photo smiled a smile you faintly recognized. Because it was the same smile that you saw on the young woman last night. The girl even wore her dark hair in twin braids. 

“When was the last time you saw her?” you whispered, your throat suddenly hoarse. 

The mother heaved a broken sigh, her eyes welling with tears again. “She told me she was going to go out to her friend’s house last night. She left right before supper.” The woman’s hand grasped your wrist like a lifeline. “Please tell me you’ve seen her. This isn’t like Alice, she doesn’t normally run off without telling me.” 

You cringed as her grip tightened. “Please, you’re hurting me.” 

Immediately, she released you. “I-I’m sorry,” she whimpered, “I just don’t want her to be —“ She didn’t finish her thought. 

“Do you think Alice could be,” you chose your words delicately, “with someone?”

Alice’s mother shook her head. “She isn’t with any boys.”

You remembered the mysterious man that creeped around your motel room. You shuddered inwardly when you recalled how he stalked over to your door like a wolf on the prowl. What would a girl like Alice be doing with an unsettling man like that?

“Can you tell me what that lady was talking about? The vagrant?” 

The woman’s eyes went wide and shook her head. “I don’t want to say. It… makes me nervous to talk about it.” 

“Do you think he has anything to do with the missing people?” 

“I don’t know. There’re just so many of ‘em, I don’t think it all has to be one guy. I certainly know Alice is too smart to get involved with the likes of him.” 

You smiled sadly and handed back the photo. “Thank you. If I find anything out, I’ll tell you.” 

“Do you think I did the wrong thing?” the woman spoke softly, “Letting her walk out alone?” She thumbed the photo solemnly, not daring to look you in the eyes. Her voice wavered miserably. 

You paused. You felt for this woman, truly you did. You wished you could tell her that everything was okay, that her daughter was safe. But, from the looks of that man, the way he toyed with you briefly in the middle of the night, set alarm bells ringing in your ears. 

“No,” you said finally, “No, I don’t think so.” 

It had rained that evening, leaving the streets slick. He still appeared under that streetlamp, regardless of the weather. 

You were there in your room, posted up on a chair at the window, tracking him through the blinds. He leaned against the lamp without a care, picking at the strings. His gaze was fixed right back at you, challenging you to come out. You kept your breathing even and waited for any sign of Alice. 

The hours ticked on and she was nowhere to be seen. The musician still remained, looking right through you. You steeled your nerves. You needed to know where she was. And, if she was truly missing, you were going to find out what he knew.

You pushed back the chair and threw on the one long sleeved piece of clothing you brought, a cream colored cardigan. You dug around in your purse for the allowance your Editor sent you away with. It was supposed to last you the whole week. 

With your cash and your motel key in the pockets of your skirt, you breeched the doorway and into the night. The musician’s head turned towards you owl-like as you marched up to him. 

“Evenin’ Miss. Anythin’ you lookin’ to hear?” he drawled out. 

“I want you to tell me about the girl you were with last night,” you said. 

His face twisted in confusion. “Girl? Do you have me confused for someone else?” 

“Nope. Not unless there are other men who choose to busk the banjo outside my window in the dead of night.” You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Her name is Alice. Her mother’s looking for her.”

“Is that so?” he crossed his arms, mimicking you, mocking you. “You a cop?” 

“And if I was?” 

“Then I’m Buddy Holly.” He barked out a laugh. “No ma’am, I don’t know no one named Alice.” 

A five dollar bill poked out between your fingers. “What about now?” 

The musician set his jaw, eyes darting between the bill and your face. A slow smirk spread like an infection. 

“You thirsty?” he asked. 

You blinked. “Why?” 

He plucked the fiver from you and pocketed it in his jeans. “There’s a diner ‘round the block. Open twenty-four hours. They usually have a decent pot of coffee goin’.” Your brows furrowed indignantly. “You wanted me to talk. I’ll talk if you have coffee with me.” He flashed that wolf-y grin at you. 

“I’m married,” you professed. 

He held up his left hand. A simple wedding band glinted in the light back at you. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. Adjusting the instrument to sit behind him, he turned and began walking the other way. You huffed, not believing this man was expecting you to follow him. But, when he glanced behind his shoulder at you, you briskly started to walk with your tail tucked between your legs. 

The neon welcome sign at the diner hummed mechanically as the two of you walked in. As expected, there wasn’t a single soul in the place, besides one cook and one waitress that were hiding in the back. Only when the front door closed with a clunk, did the waitress appear out to greet you. She fiddled in her apron for her pad of paper and pencil.

“Welcome in. What can I get started for y—“ 

The words died on her tongue. Suze’s doe eyes somehow opened wider when she recognized you. Her grip tightened on her pencil when she saw who you were with. A new tremble overcame her body as if she were charged with electricity. 

The stranger didn’t notice the exchange (or, if he did, didn’t seem to care), and sat himself at the chrome bar. 

“Just two coffees, darlin’. Thanks.” 

Suze glared a mixture of horror and fury in your direction and you couldn’t help but feel a little ashamed. She pivoted on her sneaker and marched around the bar. It took everything in her not to slam two coffee mugs down in front of you. She retrieved the coffee pot and poured the brown liquid with a shaking hand. A few drops spilled over the edge but Suze was too frazzled to notice.  

“You’re a doll,” the man said, pulling his mug closer to him. Suze didn’t meet his eyes as she placed a tray of cream packets in front of you. As soon as she finished, she hurried back into the kitchen. The man just shrugged his shoulders indifferently at her coldness, like he was used to her being this way. 

You pulled your own coffee towards you and took a sip. It was burnt and coated the back of your throat like ash. You took three cream packets and poured them in. 

“So, Alice,” you began.

“Alice,” he parroted. He brought a finger to his lip in mock concentration. “Alice, Alice, Alice. Now that you mention it, it does ring a bell.” 

You stifled the urge to roll your eyes. “When did you last see her?” 

“Now, hold on,” he said, “We haven’t been properly introduced. The name’s Remmick.” He presented his hand to you, gold ring standing out against his pale skin. 

In the dim light of the diner, you could make out more of his features. He looked like he was recovering from an illness. His skin was a sallow pale gray with no hidden warmth behind his cheeks. His eyes were blue like an unforgiving sea. His hair was dark brown, unkempt, and laid flat due to many nights wearing his flat cap. His cheeks were textured with stubbly hairs of the same color that made him appear half feral.

Seeing his teeth up close gave you the willies. They were crooked and congested too tightly as if bound by wire. His canines split through the bunch like twin knives, overlapping the bottom row of teeth. The color reminded you of milk that was encroaching on becoming sour. His smile held unforeseen intentions, whether good or bad, you couldn’t figure out.  

The most prominent part of him was that, striking the left of his face, there was an angry white scar that carved through the side of his head down to the corner of his lip. It didn’t look animalistic in nature and you weren’t jumping at the opportunity to hear the tale of how he acquired it. 

You wondered unkindly if his wife had married him in the dark.

You wrapped your hand around his, the ring biting into your skin, and told him your name. You chose to ignore the absence of warmth in his grip. 

“Can you please answer the question?” you said sternly. 

Remmick’s touch lingered in yours a beat longer than you liked. “She’s just a girl that comes around to listen to me play sometimes.” 

“Just a girl?” you asked. He hummed in response and you clucked your tongue. “For someone who’s ‘just a girl’, that was quite the kiss you gave her.”

“So you were watchin’,” he smirked, “Didja like what you saw?” 

Your cheeks ignited in an angry blush. “I wasn’t watching anything,” you spat, “You two kept me up with that damn music.” 

Remmick’s eyes flashed mischievously. “They sent you out all by yourself, didn’t they?” You brought the mug to your lips to avoid answering him. He leaned into your space, shoulder rubbing against yours. “Gotta be awful lonesome, bein’ away from family like that.” 

“We’re not talking about me,” you hissed. 

“Then again, some folks don’t have the most understandin’ and welcomin’ type-a family,” he continued, “That’s a special kinda loneliness, I think. Maybe you got one of those.” Your muscles jumped. His finger circled the lip of his own mug, elbow nudging yours. “Alice had that kinda family. The unwelcomin’ type. 

“See, she had a dream that she could make it big in Memphis. Real pretty set of pipes and not too bad on a fiddle. Her folks didn’t think she could do it but I did.” He stared down into the mug. “She came to me because I told her I believed in her gifts.” 

He got real quiet, hypnotized by the patterns in his coffee. You stared at him long and hard, searching his face for any indication of deception. He looked far away, solemn. A melancholy settled in him like a ghost. 

“What happened to her?” you whispered. 

He took a beat before letting out a tired sigh. “She’s gone. Probably on a bus halfway to Arkansas by now.” 

You thought back to Alice’s poor mother and wondered how in the hell you were going to tell her that her daughter was far out of her reach. You suppose it’s better than her being dead. And, some part of you hoped that Alice did make it to Memphis and proved herself worthy of stardom. It would be a nice ending to her story. 

“I’m sorry.” You felt the phrase slip out of you without thinking. Remmick tipped his head up, as if noticing your presence for the first time. “It sounded like she really meant a lot to you.”

“She did,” he said, “More than she knew.” His eyes held a sorrow that felt ancient. Bone tired but unable to fully rest. You felt a pang of pity deep in your chest. 

“My husband is kinda like that. Not very understanding, I mean,” you offered him. “I want to be a journalist.”

“Ah. That’s why you’re being nosy,” Remmick chuckled. You found yourself laughing with him. 

“I always have been, I’m afraid,” you responded. “I’m here to cover a story, actually.”

“About the missing people?” The way he said it so matter-of-factly shocked you. It was as if he naturally believed you would be covering something as mysterious and as grizzly as this, regardless of the fact that you were a lady. There was no one more qualified to do the job in his mind. It made your heart skip a beat in a way you forgot. 

“The bicentennial, actually,” you corrected sheepishly, “But, I want to investigate more. If only the townspeople would talk to me, I could figure out what’s going on and give the families some peace.”

“I can help with that,” he offered, “If you’d like.”

“You’d do that?” You batted your eyes in the way that your husband thought was endearing. It always seemed to help you get your way, in some areas, with men. “For me?”

“Of course.” Remmick’s eyebrow quirked cheekily, “But only ‘cause I like you.” 

You smiled brightly at him now. Finally, there was that southern hospitality you were missing! 

“Let’s meet tomorrow afternoon then. We can come back to the diner.”

He sucked his teeth and shook his head, “I can’t do afternoons, I’m afraid. All these late nights got me pretty tired. I’ll be asleep until sundown.”

“You’re always up this late at night?” 

“I’m what you scholarly types call ‘nocturnal’.”

Your mouth twitched, not fully committing to a grin. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

“Right. How about same time tomorrow, we’ll meet across the street from the motel.” 

“Sounds like a date,” he grinned. 

“No, no,” you sputtered, a blush betraying you, “Not a date. Just,” you struggled for the right word, “Collaboration.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep, darlin’.” 

“Y’all finished?” Suze returned against her will. Once again, she refused to look Remmick in the eye. 

“Yeah, we done,” he responded anyway, laying the five dollar bill on the table. “Keep the change.” He rose from the bar, touching his fingers to your elbow, signaling to follow his lead. 

Suze left the bill on the counter. She grimaced like he spat on it. “You forgot your receipt,” she said, a soft tremor tacked on the end of her words. She ripped a piece of paper out of her notebook and slammed it down. Awkwardly, you looked up to Remmick. 

He was relaxed, almost bored. He stared at the poor girl evenly, the overhead lights reflecting unnaturally in the pitch black of his pupils. Suze withered like she was ready to collapse but grit her teeth to keep her lips from quivering. 

“Thank you, Suze,” you said softly. You reached for the receipt but her hand clapped over yours. Her wide eyes pierced you, sending an unspoken warning. Her look flitted down to the slip of paper and back up at yours in an instant. Your breath hitched as you ripped the slip out from under her grasp.   She watched you slink back to him like a death sentence. 

“Gnight Suze,” Remmick purred, “You heard anythin’ from Leslie yet? I sure do miss her.” 

A wretched sob broke Suze in pieces. You opened your mouth to say something but you were already being pushed out the door. 

“What was that?” you asked, concerned. 

“No idea,” he answered. 

You looked behind you, hoping to see the teen again but she had run off. You remembered how terrified she looked at you, as if pleading with you to stay in the diner with her. To not walk home alone with him. 

The crumpled receipt burned a hole in your palm. You quietly unfolded it out of curiosity. 

In frantic pen scribbles were the words, Don’t listen to him. 

[shroomyv]

Winona Ryder on the set of Bram Stoker's Dracula

[shroomyv]

god bless the prehistoric animals who died and became fossil fuels which powered the car that drove his mother to the hospital to give birth to him 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[shroomyv]

if smoke and stack decided to let remmick in, i feel like his white ass would step through the door, there would be a record scratch, and then everybody in the juke joint would look at him like this:

[shroomyv]

𝐼𝑛𝑒𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑃𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑢𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: Remmick doesn’t like it when you have to go to work.

𝑇𝑎𝑔𝑠: sfw, fluff, pining, gn!reader, pathetic!needy!remmick, suggestive themes, no real smut but allusions to it, Remmick is down bad for reader

𝑊.𝐶: 1.5k

“Please darlin’ you know I ain’t do well without ya” he mumbles, words half muffled against your shirt as he nuzzles into your stomach.

This is a normal occurrence, one you’ve gone over multiple times before leaving for work. You’d be putting on your shoes, grabbing the keys, hand on the doorknob when you’d feel those familiar arms wrap around your waist.

‘Please?’ He’d whisper into your ear, his grip around you tightening in hopes of convincing you to stay. And almost every time, you’d say ‘I can’t. I’m sorry, love’. What else was there to say? It’s work! You have to earn a living to keep a roof over his head.

Yet it never seemed to stop him from pleading and begging anyway. And here he is now, knelt in front of you, hands digging into the warm flesh of your hips, face nuzzling your clothed stomach in an effort to keep you from slipping away.

"Please pretty baby, you can't go. You slip out this door every mornin' n stay away for hours! It's like I'm dyin' all over again!" A minute of deafening silence passes.

Suddenly, he looks up at you, head tilting up, chin propping against your stomach to get a better view of you. "You like killin' me sweetheart? D'you like seein' me suffer?". And the look on his face is so serious that you have to stifle a laugh.

But you simply shake your head and sigh, letting your fingers run through his disheveled hair. "I can't stay, baby. I gotta go to work, you know I can't". He simply huffs and shakes his head, hands gripping your hips a smidgen tighter than before.

"That ain't true, who said ya can't?"

"My employer, Remmick".

At the sound of your words, he falls silent. He can't really argue that.

…

"Call in sick. Tell him— tell him ya can't make it." There it is. He never is the kind to let go without a fight. You simply sigh and shake your head, a weary chuckle escaping your lips.

"Baby please, you gotta let me go.".

In response all you get is a muffled whine. He goes rigid for a minute, and you can tell that he's thinking of every possible strategy to get you to stay. He pulls away from you, shuffling back on his knees and you think for a split second that he'll finally let you go until his hands slip under the hem of your shirt to rest on your warm stomach.

The touch of his cold, calloused, hands on your skin takes you by surprise, sends a shiver through your body, and he selfishly smiles at your instinctive response. You open your mouth to respond, but the words fail to leave your mouth when you feel his lips press soft kisses along the skin above your waistband.

The corner of his lips quirk up into a proud smirk as he watches you, your eyes snapping shut and your hand tightening in his hair as you try to regain your composure. Yet he never gives you a chance to reply, his hands traveling down your stomach to hook on the waistband of your pants, teasingly pulling the material down just enough to press another few heated kisses on the scorched skin of your lower abdomen.

His eyes stay glued on to you, taking in every twitch of your face, watching intently to see if he's swayed your cold-cut resolve any. But you shake your head, trying to ignore the heat building deep in your belly. Remmick can see the conflict on your face, the way your eyebrows are furrowing deeper with each kiss he places on your skin, and he can feel the way your nails are deliciously running across his scalp. He can tell that you're being pulled in two directions, that you're stuck between giving into pleasure and following responsibility.

And that conflict works in his favor, holds you off. He discreetly looks at the clock from the corner of his eye, while he continues to tug at the waistband of your pants. 8:50. He only needs to hold you off for 10 more minutes or until you're late for work. If you're late, then maybe, just maybe, you won't go at all!

You manage to regain your composure, eyes snapping open as you look down at him. You tug his head back by the hair, eliciting a whimper from him. Yet he still doesn't give you a chance to respond, fingers eagerly working the button of your pants. The button pops open. And he smiles up at you like he's drained 13 people after being thirsty for weeks.

"Remmick I—"

He cuts you off with a moan, fingers dragging down the zipper of your jeans. "Please?" He murmurs, lips pressed against your skin. You have to bite your lip to stifle your words. He takes your silence as a victory, hands moving to tug at the waistband of your underwear next.

'Please stay, I-I'll be good, I will."

8:56am. He smiles against your skin, though it's hidden as he slowly begins to tug down your soft white underwear over your hips. A few more minutes, and he'll perhaps succeed in getting you to stay. He tugs down your pants until they're bunched up at your knees, not caring much for pulling them down all the way.

A ragged, filthy moan escapes him at the sight of you. His hands travel up your plush thighs, nails digging into the soft flesh as they ascend higher and higher, leaving a trail of crescent marks behind them. A string of drool escapes his mouth, running down his chin like he's seen something sweet.

Soft lips press against your thighs, following the path of his hands. He nuzzles into the crux of your thigh, the place where it merges into your hip, inches away from where you need him the most. His warm breath hits your arousal and he leans in, preparing to devour you when—

RING RING RING!!!

Before he can do anything, the loud ringing of your phone snaps you out of your trance. Quickly, you pull out the ringing device from your pants pocket. And sure enough, when you look at the screen you see 'Boss' as the caller ID before it stops ringing. You rush to pull up your pants, eyes frantically searching the living room before locking on the clock above the dinner table. 9:10am.

¨Fuck¨ you curse under your breath, buttoning your jeans and moving to slide on your shoes. Through it all, you fail to catch the small whine that leaves Remmick's lips, the way he simply watches with furrowed brows and a pout gracing his lips as you get ready to go, to leave him.

When you finish getting ready you reach in your pocket to grab the keys, only to find them missing. You turn around, hands patting the pockets on your jeans and then the pockets on your jacket in confusion. You only freeze in surprise when you hear the jangle of keys coming from below.

You turn around and look down to be met with the sight of Remmick still knelt on the floor, looking up at you with glazed eyes and a frown painting his face. Your eyes follow the sound of clinking metal to find the bundle of keys in his right hand. He pathetically shuffles closer, his knees hitting the tips of your shoe-clad feet before he defeatedly holds up the keys for you to take.

You pause for a second, taking in the view before accepting the keys and leaning forward, wrapping your arms around him. Remmick lets out a sad sigh and nuzzles into your stomach once again.

"I don't you to leave"

"I know baby, I know. But I'll be back soon okay? And it's morning! The only thing you have left to do now is sleep. You won't even notice that I'm gone when you're under the covers all safe n snug." You pull away to cup his cheeks in your hands and he looks up at you like you've hung the stars in the sky.

"Course I'll notice ya gone, darlin'. You won't be in my arms while I sleep. How else 'm I 'pose to rest?"

You could have sworn that you felt your heart break right then and there. Having nothing left to say, you sigh and press a kiss to his forehead. You linger there for a moment, like its an apology. As if you're trying to make up for the simple act of leaving for work. You pull away after a few seconds, running a hand through his hair to fix its disheveled state.

"I'll miss you" his hands gently rest on your waist as if trying to soak up as much of you as possible before you leave.

"I'll miss you too, baby. I'll be back before you know it." You confirm with a nod, giving him a soft smile as you caress his cheek one last time.

"Ya promise?"

"I promise."

𝐴.𝑁: Hello y’all!!! How are y’all doing?? Send me requests please. I need motivation to write. Ugh let me know if y’all liked this.

[shroomyv]

[shroomyv]

I LOVE SUBMISSIVE REMMICK I LOVE SUBMISSIVE REMMICK I LOVE SUBMISSIVE REMMICK I LOVE SUBMISSIVE REMMICK I LOVE SUBMISSIVE REMMICK I LOVE SUBMISSIVE REMMICK 💔💔💔💔