sw33tsummerchild

[sw33tsummerchild]

YESSS NUN READER IS SUCH A GOOD ONE WHEN IT COMES TO SEXY AHH VAMPS

♱ tw!,,smut,extreme dub-con,descriptions of blood,religious trauma,dacryphilia,unprotected p in v,voyeurism,corruption kink,virginity loss,manipulation,period sex,MDNI

♱ A/N.Hello y'all this is my first ever one-shot ever and i hope you guys can enjoy !

♱ Remmick with Nun!Reader♱

♱ Brief description.Sister Y/N has lit the last candle in the chapel, the flame flickering like the unrest in her chest. Night had fallen, and silence cloaked the monastery like a prayer—except for the soft thumping of the door behind her.From the hushed whisper of her name off his damned tongue,that fateful night the devil came knocking.

The abbey was carved into the cliffs like a wound in the world, where cold winds howled prayers no soul could hear. Sister Y/N walked its candlelit halls with soft steps and a bowed head, but tonight, the crucifix at you're throat felt heavier. Wrong.The wind had carried whispers all week — that something old had risen, that a man with eyes like garnets you have been getting glimpses of never left your mind.You slightly curse yourself after agreeing to you're superior sisters request to fetch the water from the well under the moonless sky that night.

The path to the well was steep and overgrown, a trail of crumbling stones and rotting leaves. Each step away from the abbey made the silence deeper, until the only sound was your breath—and even that felt borrowed. The trees loomed like sentinels, and the wind whispered your name like a prayer twisted into a warning.

you reached the old stone well, its mouth yawning open like a throat ready to swallow secrets.

Soft. Behind you.

A voice, smooth and low, like dark wine spilled over velvet.

"Does your God keep you warm out here, little lamb?"

You froze. The rope slipped in your grip. And when you turned, he was there—leaning against a tree, half-shadowed, the white of his smile gleaming in the dark.

He looked nothing like the saints in your chapel paintings. No, he looked like temptation dressed in sin—eyes that promised eternity and ruin, a sharp jaw carved in defiance of heaven, and black onyx hair that curled around his face like a shadow. His smile was pointed and almost boyish, the kind that made damnation feel like an invitation.

He wore only a thin, white sleeveless undershirt clinging to his frame, and wool slacks that hung low on his hips—attire more suited for fevered dream than the cold night air.Moonlight kissed the bare flesh of his arms, all pale tension and silent power.It seems he's carrying a banjo,a musician perhaps you questioned still put on guard by this stranger.

Your sisters warn of men like him,A look that stripped away layers with every second, and a voice like sin is twice as dangerous.

"Names Remmick Sister"He stepped closer, the crunch of dead leaves beneath his boots the only sound in the silence between you. The air thickened, colder and warmer all at once, like the moment before a storm touches skin.

You staggered back a step, the movement instinctive, defensive. Eyes that once welcomed lost souls with mercy now burned with warning, sharp as drawn blades.“It’s dangerous to creep up on strangers this late,” you hissed, voice low and laced with steel.

Remmick raised his hands slowly, a placating gesture—but one that felt more theatrical than sincere.“Forgive me, Sister,” he drawled, voice warm as whiskey but laced with something colder, older. “I only came lookin’ for salvation… in the house of the good Lord.”

The accent was curious—Mississippi-slick, but threaded with the ghost of something European. It curled strangely in your ear, like a song you didn’t recognize but somehow feared you knew.And though his words spoke of redemption, everything else—his eyes, his stance, the way his gaze lingered on your body a second too long—told you he’d come seeking something far less holy.

“Please, Sister,” Remmick said, voice like a prayer wrapped in a lie. “Let me into the chapel. I’m starvin’… like a dog left to wander. It’s been a long, lonely road.”

His tone dripped with false sincerity, but beneath it throbbed something darker—hunger not for bread or mercy, but for something far more primal.

You remained skeptical, your grip tight around the crucifix at your chest. But something in his voice—its lazy pull, its velvet weight—slipped past your guard like smoke through a crack in stained glass.

He took a step forward. Then another. Confident. Unhurried. The way a predator moves when it knows the prey has nowhere left to run.

He was tall—broad-shouldered, cut from shadows and moonlight—and now too close.

You didn’t realize you’d backed away until your spine touched cold stone. The well.

Trapped.

His smile deepened.

“Ain’t no reason to run, Sister,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to your parted lips. “Not unless you want me to chase.”

It wasn’t his words that sent a chill down your spine—it was Remmick’s eyes: unnaturally deep, stained the color of fresh blood, glinting with a cold, iron-like gleam.Heart pounding at this sight, you turned and fled into the darkness, you're garments catching on thorns as if the night itself tried to hold you back.

You bolted through the chapel’s mahogany doors, sweat beading at your temple as if you’d just glimpsed the devil himself. Your mind raced, struggling to deny the truth of what you’d seen. Breathless, you hurried back to your quarters, vowing never to speak a word of this night to anyone.

That night, you tried to sleep—tried to forget that, no matter how handsome he was, the stranger was still devil-born, a temptation wrapped in sin. But your body betrayed you. Each time your eyes closed, he returned: in dreams thick with shadow and silk, whispering promises of claiming you as his bride, of rough, reverent touch, and that same impish smile curling at his lips. You woke breathless, thighs slick, aching with a need no prayer could ease.

Each morning you awoke drenched in want, thighs sticky, your cunt pulsing with unsatisfied need. Shame curled in your gut, but still—your fingers found your swollen clit, furiously circling, chasing relief with breathless urgency. You bit your lip to muffle the whimpers, hating how badly you needed it… how easily you gave in.

“Forgive me, Father…” you whispered, even as your hips arched into your own touch.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that just beyond the stained glass, shrouded by ivy and moonlight, Remmick watched. Eyes glowing red. Smile carved with hunger.

He’d been waiting for the moment you would sin for him.

You knelt at the altar, day after day, night after night, clutching your rosary with trembling fingers, whispering prayers you no longer felt worthy to speak. You begged your God to save you—from the hunger burning in your blood, from the sinful ache between your thighs, from the devil wearing a handsome smile.The words he says with his southern drawl.

But guilt clung to you like a second skin.

No matter how long you prayed, you couldn’t forget the nights your fingers plunged into your soaked pussy, desperate for release. You writhed in your sheets, biting back moans as your hips bucked, chasing ecstasy that never truly satisfied—because it wasn’t his hands.

Remmick’s voice haunted your thoughts, dark and honeyed. “Let me show you what heaven forgot lamb” His promises slithered into your dreams, into the heat of your body, leaving you panting and soaked before dawn.

And still… you returned to the altar. Hoping forgiveness might come before he did.

A sudden, sharp pain knifed through your abdomen, cutting your prayer in half. You gasped, nearly collapsing against the altar, your hands trembling as a warm, wet sensation slid down your inner thighs.

Looking down, you saw it—blood.

Thick, dark drops pattering onto the cold stone floor beneath you, obscene in the silence.

“Shit—no, no, please…” you whispered, voice cracking as panic surged through your chest. You clutched your belly, fingers slick with crimson. “Please, God, not tonight… not like this.”

You looked up at the holy paintings lining the chapel walls—once comforting, now mocking. The saints’ eyes no longer looked kind; they looked judgmental, distant. Cold.

“What’s happening to me?” you whispered. “Is this punishment? Is this what I get for… for touching myself and thinking of him?”

Your breath hitched, tears welling up.

“I didn’t ask for this. I tried to be good. I prayed, I begged You,” you said through clenched teeth. “But he won’t leave me alone—he’s inside me. Even when I sleep.”

You curled in on yourself at the base of the altar, unsure if you were trembling from pain or shame—probably both.

“I’m scared,” you whispered into the hollow dark. “And I think… I think I want it anyway.”

A sudden knock echoed through the chapel doors, cutting through your spiral of pain and guilt like a blade. You barely had time to wipe your tears before footsteps approached—measured, deliberate.

Father Aldric.

His eyes fell on you curled at the altar, the blood at your thighs unmistakable against your pale habit. Concern flickered across his face—but it vanished just as quickly, replaced by a look of thinly veiled disgust.

“Compose yourself,” he said coldly, his voice sharp enough to flay. “Clean the filth from your body before you invite the Devil in with it.”

The words struck harder than the cramping in your womb. Your face burned, not from fever or agony, but shame—heavy and suffocating. You opened your mouth to speak, but no defense came.

He didn’t wait.

Brushing past you as though you were nothing more than a stain on the floor, he approached the chapel doors. The moment his hand touched the handle, his entire posture changed—back straight, chin lifted, voice honeyed for whoever waited on the other side.

The mask of piety returned. But you still sat on the stone—bleeding, trembling, and damned beneath it all.

Then you heard it—that voice. Smooth, Southern-drenched, and touched with that strange, foreign edge that never quite fit. It slithered down the chapel aisle like smoke.

“Evenin’, Father,” Remmick drawled, easy and unhurried. “I’ve come to unburden my soul. Been carryin’ some real heavy sin in this chest of mine. Lustful thoughts, mostly. Real filthy things I oughta feel bad about.”

Your blood ran cold.

Remmick.

Your heart dropped straight to your gut. You dared not move, barely breathing as his voice curled through the air like incense—sweet, thick, and choking with suggestion.

“I figure confession’s the place for it, right? Can’t seem to get her outta my head… the way she moans in my dreams. The way her skin tastes in my imagination. I reckon I’m just possessed, Father.”

He gave a soft, theatrical sigh, every word laced with false repentance.

“You think there's still salvation for a man like me?”

From where you sat, still trembling and blood-stained, you could hear Father Aldric’s tight response—but you couldn’t take your eyes off the chapel doors.

He was here.

And somehow, you knew: he wasn’t just talking about any woman.

He was talking about you.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Father Aldric said stiffly, forcing a smile. “Come in, then. Seek salvation under God’s roof.”

He stepped aside, allowing the so-called stranger to cross the threshold.

Remmick entered like smoke slipping through a crack in stained glass—slow, deliberate, and far too at ease. His boots echoed against the stone floor, and as he passed into the chapel’s heart, his eyes found yours instantly.

They burned.

A slow, wicked smirk curled across his lips, not just smug—but triumphant. He was inside now. Inside your sacred space. And you both knew it wasn’t God he came seeking.

His gaze raked over you like teeth dragging across bare skin, lingering at the dark patch spreading down your inner thighs. His nostrils flared—barely, but unmistakably.

His eyes rolled back slightly, lashes fluttering, as if savoring the scent of you in the air.

“Mm,” he hummed, almost inaudible. “So that’s what devotion smells like.”

The hunger in his expression deepened—not just for your body, but for your ruin.

And yet… you couldn’t look away.

“Father, please—don’t go in there with him,” you begged, scrambling to your feet, your voice raw with panic. “He’s not human. He’s a monster. Look at him—look at his teeth!”

But your warning fell on deaf ears.

Father Aldric didn’t even glance back, his hand already on the confessional door, too blinded by pride—or faith—to see the danger standing inches from him.

Behind him, Remmick simply tilted his head, smiling wider, baring just enough fang to prove you right. The glint of them sent a chill down your spine.

He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

That amused glint in his crimson eyes said it all: your fear delighted him, your plea was a performance, and this man you tried so desperately to save… wasn’t worth the breath you wasted.

Alarms screamed in your mind, each second stretching unbearably as Father Aldric brushed past your desperate pleas. You stood frozen, heart pounding as the confessional door creaked open and the two men—one a priest, the other something far less holy—took their seats within.

The wooden partition between them might as well have been a veil between salvation and damnation.

You stood there, helpless, breath shallow, watching the scene unfold like a slow-burning nightmare. You could feel it—danger coiled in the air, thick and waiting. You could do nothing now but listen… and pray you weren’t about to witness the beginning of something irreversible.

A slow, dark pool of blood began to seep from beneath the wooden door of the confessional, thick and glistening as it spread across the stone floor. A faint, wet gargling sound echoed through the chapel—grotesque and unnatural—followed by silence that felt heavier than death.

You screamed, the sound ripping from your throat before you could stop it. Your hand flew to your mouth, trembling as you stared in horror, eyes wide and unblinking. The sacred space now reeked of iron and blasphemy.

The confessional bled. And you knew—Father Aldric would not be walking back out.

Your knees gave out beneath you, collapsing to the cold stone floor as fear rooted you in place. Breath caught in your throat, eyes locked on the confessional like it might devour you next.

Then—creak.

The wooden door groaned open, and a pale, blood-slicked hand—fingers long, clawed, inhuman—emerged first.

Remmick stepped out with unhurried grace, his long strides echoing through the chapel, boots leaving red, glistening prints along the once-sacred aisle. Blood painted his hands, his jaw, the whole of his mouth like a communion gone wrong.

He lifted his head, eyes locking on you like a predator spotting his trembling prey.

“Littllle laaamb,” he cooed in a sing-song voice, low and mocking, lips curling into something between a grin and a snarl. “Still praying?”

“His blood tasted like dirt,” Remmick murmured, licking a smear from his thumb as he walked toward you, boots squelching against the blood-slick stone. “But watchin’ the light fade from his eyes? That was satisfyin’. Just like the men who once spat the same holy words at me and mine… before I tore the faith right outta their throats.”

He was still dressed in the same worn undershirt and wool slacks from the night you first met him—but now, they were soaked through with gore. Streaks of crimson marked his chest, splattered his gold chain, and painted his skin like a macabre blessing.

And still, he smiled—as if violence were just another kind of worship.

“Please, Remmick—leave me alone!” you cried, voice cracking with terror. “In Christ’s name, I beg you!”

Tears streamed down your cheeks, hot against your chilled skin, your hands clutching the crucifix at your throat like it might still mean something—like it might still protect you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, praying—pleading—that this was only a nightmare. That when you opened them again, he’d be gone. That the blood would vanish. That your soul might still be saved.

But the silence that followed was not the silence of mercy.

It was the silence of something drawing closer.

Remmick let out a deep, boisterous laugh, the sound bursting from his fanged mouth like a crack of thunder in the chapel’s hollow air. It echoed off the stone walls—mocking, feral, hungry.

Then, without warning, he dropped to his knees with unnatural grace, crawling toward you like a wolf playing with its prey. You scrambled back instinctively, only to feel the cold bite of the altar steps pressing against your spine.

He followed—relentless—his pale, lean frame caging you in, arms braced on either side of your trembling body, his blood-slicked chest brushing yours with every breath.

“My sweet little lamb,” he cooed, voice thick with wicked delight, “you’re so precious when you beg.”

His crimson eyes gleamed inches from your own—savoring your fear… and your confusion.

“Mmm… how could I ever let a sweet little thing like you slip away that night?” Remmick purred, his voice low and syrup-thick. “I should’ve taken you right then and there—pinned you to the well, made you mine beneath the moonlight.”

He leaned in close, burying his face in your hair, inhaling deeply like your scent was a sacrament. His breath was hot against your temple, and you felt it—the way his body trembled with restrained hunger.

His hands began to roam, fingertips dragging through the tears on your cheeks and streaking your skin with blood, smearing it across your jaw, your throat—marking you.

“God, you smell divine,” he whispered, voice nearly a growl. “So ripe… bleeding and trembling for me.”

You gasped as his hand drifted lower, his eyes locked on your body like a starving man eyeing his first meal in centuries. Every breath you took made your chest rise against his, every second more dangerous than the last.

Despite your desperate prayers, despite the trembling words you whispered for him to stop, your body betrayed you. Shame burned hot beneath your skin, but so did something else—something darker. You hated the way his touch made your breath hitch… hated even more how your thighs pressed together in response.

His blood-warmed hands kneaded your breasts through the thin fabric, rough and reverent all at once, sending shocks of pleasure down your spine. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, but it slipped out anyway—soft, broken.

Remmick chuckled against your skin, low and sinful.

“There she is…” he murmured.

His lips found the curve of your neck, kissing it slowly—almost lovingly. Then his tongue flicked along your pulse, followed by the sharp scrape of his teeth, not quite biting, just enough to make your breath catch.

“You taste like heaven tryin’ to pretend it don’t wanna fall.”

Piece by piece, he stripped you—each garment peeled away with care, almost reverence—until only your underwear clung to you, wet with arousal and fear alike. The cold air kissed your bare skin, but his hands were fire.

And you… were no longer certain you wanted to run.

Remmick’s gaze darkened as he took in your pert nipples, their hardness sharpened by the cool night air. With deliberate hunger, he leaned in, his lips closing over one, sucking softly at first, then with increasing intensity. The mingled taste of blood and saliva coated his mouth as he moved to the other, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin, igniting every nerve with fire.

You were a moaning, panting mess beneath him, every nerve alive and trembling—proof that those forbidden dreams were spilling into flesh and bone, becoming dangerously real.

“Remmick,” you gasped, voice thick with want and disbelief, trembling as waves of pleasure pooled deep inside you, pulsing hotter with every touch.

He smiled, low and dark, lips brushing your ear as his breath feathered against your skin.

“That’s right, my lamb,” he whispered, voice dripping with promise and possession. “Feel everything… surrender to what you’ve been craving all along.”

“Now… to claim what I want,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous.

With careful, deliberate hands, he slid off your soiled garment, revealing your trembling flesh beneath. A sharp gasp escaped you as his mouth made contact—cool, demanding, and utterly consuming.

He lavished attention on you, his breath hot and ragged as he explored every sensitive curve, his tongue flicking and pressing with possessive hunger. The world shrank to the sound of your ragged breaths and the fire igniting deep within you—where pleasure and pain mingled in a dark, irresistible dance.

His fingers slipped deep inside you, moving with slow, deliberate rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moaned and writhed beneath his touch, caught in the storm of sensations unlike anything you’d ever known.

“Yes,” he growled, voice thick with possession. “Scream my name, little lamb. Cry out all you want—no god can save you now.”

His thumb circled your swollen clit in slow, teasing spirals until you shattered into a jaw-dropping climax. Lost in the tremors of your release, you failed to notice the soft, ominous sound of a belt being unbuckled. But by then, it was already too late.

“Now, lamb,” Remmick murmured, looming above you, eyes burning with hunger, “are you ready to pray? Because I’m the only god you’ll ever kneel for now.”

You looked up at him, tears streaking down your cheeks, your lips trembling with silent, desperate pleading.

“Please… don’t,” you whispered, voice barely audible—more hope than command.

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear, his words cold as iron.

“You don’t have a choice.”

Then came the pain—sharp, burning, undeniable. Your body arched, instinctively rejecting and receiving all at once, as something sacred was broken.

Remmick let out a dark, satisfied breath, as though he’d claimed not just your body—but your soul.

He moved with a relentless rhythm, each thrust deep and punishing, the kind that promised soreness long after the night ended. It felt as though his hunger wrapped around you—thick, unseen, suffocating everything but him.

At first, your fists clutched the sheets, knuckles pale with tension—but need overtook restraint. Your hands found his back, raking up the ridges of his spine, desperate to anchor yourself in something real. His muscles tensed under your touch, a coil of strength drawn tighter with every breath, every movement, every sound you gave him.

“Damn… worth every second of waiting,” he growled, voice thick with strain and satisfaction.

His tongue dragged slowly up your cheek, licking away the tears you’d shed—born from overwhelming pleasure, not pain. The intimacy of it sent another shiver through you, making your breath hitch.

Your mouth parted in a soft, helpless “O,” euphoria crashing over you in waves. Thought slipped from your grasp, your mind hazy and sweetly blank as your eyes rolled back, body trembling beneath his.

A brutal snap of his hips stole the breath from your lungs, forcing a gasp that caught in your throat. The sensation was overwhelming—like being split open, carved in two, but not with pain. No, it was something divine. As if his body was chiseling into yours a sacred ruin, marking you with every stroke.

You whispered half-formed prayers between moans, clutching at anything—God, mercy, salvation—but all of it blurred beneath the weight of him.

“Please,” you gasped, not even sure who you were begging anymore.

Remmick was above you, groaning low, his control unraveling as quickly as your own. His cock pressed deeper, harder, as his hand slid between your trembling bodies. His fingers found your aching clit again, rubbing and pinching with cruel precision until your vision blurred with tears.

“Say my name,” he growled, breath hot against your neck, “and pray to me this time.”

Your lips parted—not to cry out for God, but for him.

Each of Remmick’s deep, relentless thrusts drove your breath into ragged whispers—pleasure blooming hot and wild inside you, threatening to burn through everything you thought you believed. The chapel air was thick with sin, sweat, and the unholy rhythm of your bodies.

You clenched your eyes shut, hands gripping the cold altar steps as your lips moved in trembling prayer.

“Forgive me… please forgive me,” you whispered, each word broken by a gasp, a moan, another thrust that made your back arch. “God… I didn’t mean to… I can’t—”

But even as you begged for salvation, your body betrayed you—rolling your hips to meet his, clinging to the ecstasy that pulsed with every stroke.

Above you, Remmick laughed low, dark, wicked.

“That’s it, lamb. Pray. Cry out to your god while I ruin you for him.”

His hand covered your chest, pressing you down as his other thumb found your clit again, sending lightning through your veins.

Your prayers faltered into moans—devotion collapsing into desire.

You chanted his name over and over again praying to him in your cock-drunk state"oooohh Goddd,ugh, please forgive me-" you try to complete your prayers but his mean thrusts keep silencing you.

He's getting desperate to chase his release as you already climaxed at least twice from him.Pace getting faster and faster the sinful noise of skin slapping against skin echoed through the saints halls.Overstimulated by this you are reduced to a moaning mess.

“Come for me, little lamb,” Remmick growled, his voice rough with need, hips slamming into yours in a frenzied rhythm.

You were already trembling, your body wound so tight it felt ready to snap—and then it did. White heat burst behind your eyes as another powerful climax overtook you, your body arching into his as waves of ecstasy rolled through you for the third time that night.

His movements grew erratic, desperate—driven by something primal. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside you, groaning as he spilled into your womb, his release hot and claiming. You felt it—every pulse, every throb—as he marked you from the inside out.

You lay beneath him, shaking and overwhelmed, the air thick with sweat, sin, and something far more dangerous: surrender.

A/N: hope you guys enjoy i feel like it was a lil lack luster on the period part but i will do a drabble soon.

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

[sw33tsummerchild]

Amen guys

i got a wife like honeycomb

remmick x reader (18+ mdni)

You're all alone in your brother-in-law's farm in Texas. Your fiancé recently passed, mauled by some horrible beast. A man shows up asking for shelter from the rain and you can't just turn him away...

author's note: haigh all here's your cowboy remmick fic. grma for the love on the paddy fic and hope yous enjoy! warnings: grief, animal death (remmick eating them), horror elements, a bit of graphic vampire violence, oral sex (fem receiving), spit/drool kink, vampire drool as aphrodisiac, f/m sex

You wake in the night to the sound of coyotes. The sound is distant, but loud enough to make you shiver in bed. You’ve been alone on this farm for a week now. 

You’ve been staying with your brother-in-law, a kind courtesy after your fiancé passed. He’s a Texas Ranger like your man was, and he left last Thursday. You don’t mind being alone too much. There’s only two horses and one cow, nothing too much for you to handle on your own. 

It’s the nighttime that really gets you. 

You used to pride yourself on being a brave girl. Never afraid of a spider or a mouse. The Texas Rangers said your fiancé was mauled by something big with sharp teeth. A bobcat, most likely. But it mighta been bigger. That’s all it could have been with the way he was left. Or rather what was left of him. You remember they sent the kid with the kind face who held his hat and looked at his shoes as he stammered out the gruesome fate of your poor sweet love. 

Now it’s Thursday again, and as the big grandfather clock in the house ticks closer to Friday morning, you hide underneath the blankets of your bed. 

I’ll be back on Tuesday around noon and the shotgun is just-

The coyotes stop howling and the still night air feels loud as church bells in your small room. A horse outside neighs faintly. 

And the knock on the door is deafening.

At first, you almost think you imagine it. Not at this hour. Not this far away from any towns or cities. The little part of your soul left back in Houston thinks it could be a neighbour, but there are no neighbours here. Nobody here to borrow sugar or ask for a favor–

Your train of thought veers off the tracks when you hear another knock. You slowly rise and descend the stairs, pulling on the boots strewn on the floor and the coat hanging off the railing. You’re in your nightgown, but you’ll peek first before you open the door. The floorboards creak beneath your boots as you look out of the window and see a man in a black hat. He almost seems to not breathe, standing so still you shiver in your boots. 

He reaches to knock again and you stand up straight, trying to remember where your brother-in-law had stashed that shotgun.

“I-I heard you,” you say without opening the door. You deepen your voice, trying to sound manly. 

“Evenin’, now,” a smooth, cold voice responds. “Is your mama home, by chance?”

Oh, Lord. He thinks you’re a boy.

You open the door cautiously. He takes off his hat. 

“Ma’am,” he greets you. “Did I just talk to you like a little boy?” You nod, embarrassed. It seems he is too, shifting from foot to foot.

“It’s awful late, mister.”

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but my… my poor horse broke his leg in them woods out there… ‘n I had to shoot him. Now I’m on foot ‘n… well, you were the first place I could find.”

He’s got a funny accent. He’s certainly not Texan. He looks bad, all sweaty and plenty dirty. His clothes look ragged and dirtier than he is. 

“You’re not… some kind of outlaw, are you?” you ask. 

You realise it’s a stupid question as the words leave your lips.

Your pretty, pouting lips, Remmick thinks, starving. He couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome. Even when he thought it’d be a young boy and his mother, he thought he’d hit a jackpot. But this? One little lady all alone on a ranch? It was perfect. 

His cold heart beats slow in his cavernous chest, a percussive lament for a lack of fresh blood. The outlaw and horse he ate satisfied him for only a moment, and he’s fiending for more hot flesh to rip into. His current concern is time, and the sun loaded in God’s pistol ready to rise and serve as the anticlimactic ending of a poorly told story. 

He chuckles, doing his best to seem charming and not like the desperate animal he is. 

“No, miss. Just an unlucky cowboy.”

You sound maddeningly familiar, but he can’t quite place your accent either, but he hasn’t had too much experience in the States. His nights are occupied by running and killing what he can, when he can. 

“Do you have a gun?” you ask him, your scared eyes flitting to his sides.

He holds up his hands innocently.

“I do not.”

You think it over for a moment. You really shouldn’t let a stranger in. But it’s an hour ride on horseback to the nearest town and you can’t give up your brother-in-law’s horses. It’d be more wrong of you not to give this man shelter.

Remmick watches your face change as you think. You’re a sweet morsel, and he’s dying to sink his fangs into you. He can hear your heartbeat and smell the cold sweat on your skin. When you look up at him he watches a thought form in your face. You realise something, and it shifts your brow ever so slightly. Remmick feels another want deeper in his chest. The steady death march of his heart has sped up to a rolling drum.

He doesn’t just want to eat you. 

The shotgun is under the bed upstairs. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Remmick, miss.” 

You give him yours, which he repeats in a voice that makes you shift in place. You really should make this man sleep in the stable.

But that’s not what you say.

“Well… why don’t you come in and get out of the cold, Remmick?” 

Come in. 

He feels a weight lifted off of him and he grins. 

“Thank you, miss.”

You open the door for him and he steps through the threshold, his eyes almost rolling back in his head from the smell of your home. There’s a man who usually lives here, he can smell that lingering staleness. It smells like fear and loneliness, but your blood is hot and he needs it. Bad.

You lead him to your kitchen where he sits, legs spread wide, the way your fiancé used to sit when he was waiting to grab you and tug you into his lap. You suddenly feel that crushing loneliness again, accompanied by a vast and ugly feeling of want. You haven’t wanted a man since that creature took yours.

It’s a foolish thought. You’re all alone and you’ve known this man for all of– you count the grandfather ticks in your mind– five minutes. 

“Do you want something to eat? Or… some tea, maybe?”

“That’d be very nice,” he says with a toothy grin.

His grin is wide and his teeth are scary white, like staring down the snout of a coyote. You know where the shotgun is. Your brother-in-law didn’t bother to show you how to shoot it but that won’t stop you from firing it. 

You brew Remmick some tea and place the mug in front of him. He drinks it down, maybe too fast, he can see concern on your face.

“Jeez, wasn’t that hot?” 

“I’m freezin’,” he lies. 

You feel cold yourself, and exposed. You button the coat around your waist. 

“Oh, and you must’ve gotten rained on,” you say as you remember it had been pouring earlier. “Let me getcha some clean clothes to wear… I… I think those ones you oughta just throw out. Except that hat.”

“That’s so kind of you, miss. Thank you.”

Dressed in your brother-in-law’s clothes, washed up, and hat on the table, Remmick sits there like he belongs. Legs once again wide and elbow on his thigh, leisurely leaning to the side as he watches you. You could hardly sleep and decided– for some reason you truly can’t understand yourself– to make cornbread.

“Are these your… husband’s clothes?”

You should lie, but you’re too focused on stirring to be that smart.

“My brother-in-law’s, actually. I’m a widow,” you admit absently. “Well, not a widow. We never married.”

You’ve said those words a thousand times before. You don’t get choked up anymore. It’s like stating a fact you’ve always known, like where you were born or your height.

“I see. He’s not here, then?”

“Not tonight. He’ll be back tomorrow,” you lie.

“Was he a soldier?” Remmick asks, looking around the house.

It’s not organized, everything has a woman’s touch. He feels like it’s not yours, something about you is too freshly frazzled to be so warm. You seem sweet, though. Suspicious, but he could sweet talk anything that had ears to listen. 

“He was a Texas Ranger for a while. My fiancé was, too. He died on duty.”

“Brave man.”

“Well, it wasn’t an outlaw that got him. It was some kind of… animal.”

Remmick tenses up, but doesn’t let you see.

“Like a bobcat?”

“They think, but… they said he has these… bites, but only on his neck, and no animal in Texas has got that kind of teeth.”

“Strange,” he says, eyes looking into his tea.

───────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─────────

Your fiancé clutched his broken arm, scrambling back on the stony ground, trying to escape the monster before him.

“No, no, I’m beggin’ you-”

“Well it ain’t workin’, ranger.”

Remmick was starving, in his full form. Fangs bared, claws sharp and long. His hands felt heavy as he swung at the ranger. There was something funny about a grown man crying. Hunger and exhaustion had made this monster more cruel than he cared to be. There was no unity with this meal, only a fix of blood before he had to hunker down in this cave and continue on foot the next night. 

“I’ve been eatin’... vampire bats and fuckin’ salamanders for a month now, and you look pretty good.”

“Please, please, my girl’s waitin’ for me-”

“Oh, I’m sure she is, loverboy. Maybe once I drink all your blood and leave you for the vultures, I’ll go and find that girl, huh?”

“No, no-”

“Yeah. I’mma go find her, fuck her good ‘n right.”

“-you goddamned son of a bitch-”

“Yeah. I’ll go ‘n fuck your girl so good, she won’t even remember you.”

The ranger howled as Remmick bit into his neck. Memories flooded his system, a sweet thing with her skirts pushed up telling him hurry, hurry, before your brother gets back. The soft feeling of two thighs pressing against the side of his head and the pretty litany of moans falling on his ears like they came from heaven. Yes, right there, oh, don’t stop, yes! A tight grip on his cock and sliding, in, out, in, out, and breathy whines that made his eyes roll back.

He pulled away from the ranger, twitching and choking. Remmick sighed, sitting back on his haunches as blood and drool dripped down his chin.

“That’s a helluva girl you got,” he thought out loud. 

He sat for a moment and realised the ranger would be waking up any moment now, rejuvenated, with a little part of Remmick in him. He didn’t have time to teach a fledgling how to act, or to deal with a traveling partner. He searched for a large rock and sighed.

So much for fellowship and love.

───────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─────────

You. 

You are that girl with the trembling thighs and the tight cunt he’s had so many dreams about. Absorbing the memories of everyone he turns can be a blessing or a curse, and he really didn’t mean to turn your man. He was just so damn hungry.

He’s so damn hungry, he’s feeling like he could give up on chivalry and kill you right now. You’d make a pretty little partner. He saw a cabin in the woods you could live in, hunt at night and board things up during the day.

You put the cornbread on the stove to cool, and you’ll eat it in the morning, which is coming soon. You set up Remmick in your brother-in-law’s room. Simple. Stern. He’s more of a soldier than your man was, never silly or playful.

“G’night, Remmick.”

“Goodnight, miss,” he purrs in a voice that makes you feel scandalized.

You quickly ascend the stairs and kneel, crawling under the bed to pull out the shotgun. You don’t even know if it’s loaded, but you sleep with it anyhow.

───────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─────────

You wake up hot and sweaty, squirming in your nightgown. You dreamt about your fiancé, his strong hands and kind eyes. You sit up and sigh, shaking your head.

You manage to accomplish your morning tasks on the farm. Feed the chickens, get the eggs. Feed the horses, feed the cow. Earlier than you’d like, the sun completely disappears behind gloomy gray clouds and it begins raining. You dash from the stable to the house and still get soaked, shivering as you seek refuge under your porch. You gasp as you almost trip over a dead raccoon. You shriek and Remmick comes out to find you.

The stormcloud cover keeps him from burning but it is giving him a nasty headache. He kneels down and pretends to be disgusted by the thing he killed. The evening before he left some food out on the porch and lured the thing in, lurching out to grab it. Leaving meant needing your permission to re-enter the house. And that was not an option.

“Wh-what kinda creature does that?”

“Coyote, probably.”

“Th-they kill like that?”

“Time to time,” he lies. 

You can’t help it as you begin to cry. Remmick takes you in his arms. He’s strong and he smells nice, like the woods and a warm fire. You’re so wet and cold, and he doesn’t do much to warm you. It really is freezing, you think.

“I’ll get rid of it, honey,” he coos softly, holding your face.

Honey. That struck you. It plucked a taut cord in you and made you blink at him stupidly.

“Oh, no. Don’t touch that thing… what if you get sick?”

“Reckon I’ll be fine. You leave it out here, you don’t know what kinda things you’ll get up on this porch.”

He does his best not to show you a smug grin. 

“Well… okay. Just… put it in the woods.”

You offer him a thick jacket to drape over his head in the rain.

“And then come back in, you’re gonna catch cold out there!” you call out to him.

You almost make it too easy.

───────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─────────

That grandfather clock ticks away and you realise you’ll have to amend your lie. Your brother-in-law is not returning today. You don’t exactly want Remmick to leave. He’s charming and funny. He sang a little song today while he read a book, and you found yourself tapping your foot as you embroidered in a hoop. He calls you honey again three times, and you’re getting real used to the attention.

You like having a man in the house. It reminds you of when you first started to live with your fiancé and his brother, however taboo that was. Neither man cared, and your brother-in-law didn’t mind leaving to go on a ride around the area while you and your man made love.

Remmick can feel the ranger’s memories, triggered by little things here and there. The way you stick your tongue out in focus has him biting back a groan at kitten licks on the head of his cock. You lean over the kitchen table to grab a spoon? He remembers bending you over it and driving into you, and the wild way you begged for more, more, faster, yes, that! You say his name but all he can hear is the sound of your voice whispering in his ear about sooner you put a ring on this finger, sooner you can put a baby in me. He can’t even make babies, but he’s fiending for your cunt so bad he’s starting to get stupid.

“Remmick?”

“Yes?”

“I… I’m guessing his train got delayed. So, he’ll probably be here tomorrow.”

It’s a clumsy lie.

“I can get out of your hair any time you want, honey.”

“No, no. I… I was going to invite you to stay another night, you’ll just have to leave in the morning.”

“I’d like that very much. I just can’t get enough of your cookin’,” he flirts.

It’s charming and it has you blushing. 

“Thank you.”

He’s on a deadline now, and a creature that can only thrive at night lives and breathes a deadline.

The rain calms to a light sprinkle when the sun makes the sky glow orange, and Remmick has– with complaints of a headache– retired to lay down for a while. You go upstairs and decide that you should move the shotgun. It scares you to have it so close to your bed, and you stash it just above your cupboards. It’s a little bit of a reach, but maybe if you feel really unsafe, Remmick can get it down for you.

───────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───────── 

You continue like this for three days until the sun sets on Monday evening. You know your brother-in-law returns tomorrow, and you are so frightened. Whatever creature is lurking in those woods has been leaving dead animals like lambs on an altar every morning. You know it’s not a coyote doing it because this morning, it was a damn coyote. A ravaged little creature that you felt pity for. You said a short prayer, which made Remmick twitchy. 

This man was a strange one. He slept until late in the day, and any time the rain calmed down, he had an awful headache. You knew of old folks whose bones ache when it rained, but never someone who was ailing without a downpour. You wonder if he usually smokes or quit chewing tobacco, as he’s mostly twitchy and excitable, but calculated all the same. He fiddles with his hands and he claims to enjoy your cooking, but he seems to be choking down gags every time he eats. Maybe he’s an opium smoker or he’s usually on the sauce– your brother-in-law is a militant teetotaler, which saved you from becoming a drunken mess after your man’s massacre. 

Monday evening is cold and dark. The ground is soaked with mud and yet Remmick decides he wants to take the air.

You oblige him, and he dons those black clothes he met you in to go hunting.

He’s stalking a deer for a while when he hears something distantly. The voice of a man grumbling to himself. The ranger’s memories flash again. Two boys fighting over a pop gun, two teenagers fighting over a girl. No fair, I saw her first, met with she ain’t a damn penny, stupid! Then the serious promise of I’ll keep an eye on her, brother, you know I can handle her. 

He grins.

Your brother-in-law is home early. 

───────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─────────

Your head shoots up when you hear a man’s voice outside. Remmick has returned.

“What’d you put those awful clothes on for?”

“Figured I wouldn’t get those clean ones dirty.”

It was almost clever, but exceedingly strange, as you knew him to be.

You share the dinner table and when you stand to clear it, Remmick reaches for your hand.

He says your name. You pause and try to pull your hand back.

“It’s a shame you never got to be a wife, honey. You’d be damn good at it.”

The grandfather clock ticks as you stare him down, your mind empty. He sees the corner of your mouth twitch and he can remember just push my dress up, c’mon, nobody’ll know.

“You need a man to take care of you, sweet thing,” he offers softly, ever so slightly tugging you to him. You stand between those wide-spread legs as he looks up at you, cupping your cheek in a rough hand. It’s half-reverent, half-predatory as he traces your face with his knuckle.

You want to deny it. But you’re so scared, so incapable, so alone. You give him a quick and shameful nod, unable to meet his eyes.

“Want me to take care of you, honey?”

You see through the corner of your eye that he’s drooling. Not a little the absentminded dribble of getting hot and bothered but the serious drool of a dog waiting to be fed. 

You should probably be disgusted. And if you were a little more attentive, you would notice his glowing red eyes, too. But if anything, it fans the fire in your belly.

“Lemme take care of you, baby,” he pleads, gazing up at you. “Fuck, I’m crazy for you. I can smell you… Christ, it’s drivin’ me wild, the smell of you.”

“What smell?”

“Old books and chamomile tea…”

He winces, his nails digging into your wrist. He quickly looks up at you, sitting back on his haunches.

“I can smell that pussy, mo ghrá,” he purrs.

You take a sharp breath at his words. 

“Wh-what’s that mean?” He inhales deeply, shakily exhaling as his eyes close. A smile spreads across his face. 

“You want me too, honey?” 

You’re quiet for a moment.

“Yes,” you answer softly.

“What do you want?”

You swallow, shifting from foot to foot nervously.

“You… your hands.” 

You spot his hips rocking in place, desperate for your touch.

“What about my hands?”

“You’re so strong, Remmick. Last night I was thinking about… how the… the veins on your arms pop out,” you manage, your breathing laboured.

He successfully hides his grin, clasping his hands.

“Please, baby, doesn’t it hurt? God, it fuckin’ hurts,” he snarls. 

You nod, close to tears. You feel feral and untamed, and you need him to rip your clothes off and take care of you.

“I just want to help you, mo ghrá, please,” he whimpers.

“Just fuck me, please!” you blurt, slapping your hand over your mouth. 

He’s on you in an instant, pushing the chair back behind him. He noses at your neck, inhaling the smell of you. He can hear your heart pounding as he backs you against the kitchen table, your backside bumping into it.

“Remmick,” you start carefully.

“Yeah, baby?” he says, sickly sweet as he grins at you.

“Be gentle now.”

“Course, honey.”

He lifts you to sit on the table, kissing you deeply. It’s sloppy and hot, and you can feel the drool dripping down your neck. 

“Lemme eat you, baby. I’ll lick you so good- oh, fuck,” he hisses when your hand palms him over his trousers.

He chuckles, his breathing heavy.

“I’ll lick you so good you forget your own name,” he promises.

He meets your eyes and you nod at him. 

“You have to say it,” he breathes against your lips. 

“Please,” you whisper.

He takes off his suspenders and rolls up his sleeves, eyes stuck on you. You quickly shove your layers off with his help until you’re only left in your shift, half-bare to him. The cream coloured fabric is sheer and he can see your nipples hardening underneath. He drops to his knees, rucking up the skirt and wrenching apart your thighs. He groans loud when he spots the soaked fabric of your bloomers. 

He kisses the side of your knee, gazing up at you from between your legs.

“Can I?”

“Quit teasing,” you beg him. 

He leans forward and slips your bloomers down your legs. He brings the fabric to his face, inhaling your sweet scent and bucking his hips unconsciously. He tosses them behind him and rucks your dress up, moaning at the glisten when your wetness catches the light. 

He dives forward, licking a stripe up your slit and lapping at your clit.

You gasp, a hand threading in his bronze hair.

“Fuck me,” he grunts.

He pushes his tongue inside of you, making you squirm. He holds you down with his strong hands, veins in his arms bulging. You have to plant another hand beside yourself to stop from fainting backwards.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he breathes, pulling back. your wetness makes his mouth shine, and one strand of drool drips from his lips. You’re soaked, and your movement makes a sickly squelching sound. He works one finger in and slowly adds another.

“Oh, Remmick,” you whine. 

He curls his fingers up like he’s trying to get you closer, but if you were any closer to his face you’d be a mask. Your fiancé never did anything like this, you didn’t even know you could feel this way. Everything is so slick and hot, his drool and your wetness combining as he drinks it all down greedily.

He hooks under your thighs to pull you to the edge of the table and continues. He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard. You shout, covering your mouth and laying flat on the table. He rocks his hips to seek some touch, only feeling the light brush of his own britches. Your hips buck into his mouth and he lets you as he lavs at your clit endlessly.

“Remmick, w-wait-”

“Nearly there, mo chroí.”

He traces the letters of his name with his tongue, your legs hooked over his shoulders.

The taste of you is supplemented by flashes of you in different positions, on your knees, in his lap, behind a pew. Dirty girl. He crooks his fingers, licking flat on your clit slowly, pressing in.

You cry out, grabbing his hair and yanking as your back arches. You gush into his waiting mouth, which he drinks down gratefully.

“Thank you, thank you, fuck, don’t stop, k-keep bucking like that,” he mutters encouragements, kissing at your clit every few seconds to keep you jolting.

Finally he winces and squirms, cock twitching in his trousers. He stands on wobbly legs, looking down at you. You exhale and sit up. He kisses you softly. 

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” you puff out against his lips.

He scoops you up and carries you up the stairs to the bedroom, setting you down. He stands in front of you and you undo the buttons on his shirt, parting the fabric. You smooth your hands from his toned stomach to his muscular chest. 

He breathes softly, his eyes closing. You feel his pectorals, biting your lip at the plushness of them and how they’re cool to the touch. You reach down and unbuttons his britches, unzipping them and trying to push them down. He pushes your shift up your body and tosses it to the side. You’re bare to him, and he’s nearly there.

He shoves you back onto the bed, snarling as he climbs over you. He kicks off his britches.

“Mo shíorghrá,” he pants, nosing at your neck. His teeth scrape at your skin. 

“What is that?”

“Hm?”

“What does that mean?” 

He hesitates. 

“It’s Irish for ‘eternal love’,” he explains quietly, his breath on your cheek. 

“Forever?”

“Only if you let me make it forever,” he utters, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone. 

“Can we do this forever?” you sigh, draping your arms around his neck.

“Of course we can, mo ghrá,” he says, sickly sweet, hooking your legs over his hips as he grinds against you.

Your hand darts down to grip him at the base and guide him in.

“You opened the door for me and now you let me in so nicely,” he teases, pushing into you slowly. 

A bell should be ringing in your head, but all you can think of is the divine stretch of him sliding into your cunt slowly. 

“Feels good, baby?”

You nod wildly, your nails digging into his chest as you brace yourself. He gasps when he feels you envelop him, a hand fisting the bed sheet next to your head. 

“F-fuck,” he breathes shakily. 

“It’s so good, angel,” you mewl, your nails digging into his back. “Oh, Remmick… oh, honey,” you whine, twisting when he bottoms out, panting.

“Oh, Jesus,” he wheezes. 

He gazes at you, half-lidded and drunk on the feeling. He’s so hungry, and he can’t help when his fangs slide out of his mouth.

He leans down to the scarred spot at the top of your breast. The pearly white points in his mouth pierce your skin. 

You cry out.

“D-did you bite me?”

The feeling of pain lasts for a moment, and suddenly all you feel is warmth in your chest. Blood beads at the wounds and he latches on, sucking the blood from the wound and swallowing noisily as he does. He continues to move his hips, fucking in and out of you as you whimper.

“Remmick, th-that hurts…”

He moans against your skin when you tighten around him. 

“Fuck… d-don’t do that,” he puffs against your skin, your blood all around his mouth. 

“Do what? This?” you giggle, flexing your abdominals to make his eye twitch. 

You’re fucking giggling, and he’s about to make you his forever.

You smirk, turning him over when he’s lost in it. He holds your hips and lavs at your wound until it closes.

“Fuck me,” he breathes.

You plant your hands on his chest and raise yourself up with his help.

“So good, honey, so good,” you chant, eyes closed.

“Yes, yes, fuck… damn it to hell, girl, g-go faster…” 

He helps you, pulling you down quicker and quicker on his cock until you’re bouncing on it, lip between your teeth. 

“Baby,” he manages, his voice shaking. He twitches inside of you as he hits the spot that has your vision spotting.

You’re breathless, you can’t even think. There’s just the in-out, up-down drag of his cock filling you up like you’ve never known before. You see fangs in his mouth and you aren’t even scared.  

“Cum with me, c’mon, please,” he mutters, his face in the crook of your neck.

You both stiffen up and break. He growls, biting at your neck as your back arches. You feel alive and dead all at once, like every inch of your body is being kissed and bitten. He drinks more of your blood, drool and sweat and tears all trail down your body. You go limp and Remmick falls back. You moan as you rest on his chest. He whimpers softly and cradles you. 

You drift off briefly and awaken feeling loose and rejuvenated. You reach to touch your neck and Remmick takes your hand. You see claws on his fingers, and notice that your nails come to sharp points too.

“Aren’t you glad you let me in?” he jokes in a black honey voice.

You hear it with your ears but you can hear him in your mind, too. He's all over you, inside of you, right in your chest. Your heart is hardly beating, in exact time with his.

“Mhm,” you murmur, curling up. You feel the warm, wet sensation of blood pooled around your body, but you don't care.

“Aren’t you glad I killed your stupid fiancé and his dumb fuck brother, too?”

"Yeah."

“You’re gonna be my little wife now, baby. All fuckin’ mine.”

[sw33tsummerchild]

AHHH IT HURTS

something about smoke being rejected since childhood because everyone was certain his father's evil lived on in him. something about annie being the only one to call smoke 'elijah' and how that makes him soften. something about how just before they're truly reunited, annie says 'i dont want any of that smoke on the baby'. something about annie being the one who sets smoke free from his past and his sins and lets him be human instead.

[sw33tsummerchild]

UH HUH UH HUH 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Does anyone wanna read some bits about my western setting remmick x reader? 🥹 pls

[sw33tsummerchild]

SCREAMING CRYING SHAKING RN I WISH I WAS HER

jack whimpering pathetically for you, good night ❤️

[sw33tsummerchild]

I was wondering why he seemed so tiny in certain angles. I adore this detail so SO much

Ok, so I finally figured out why Remmick's outfit was so awkward -- the pants are too high-waisted for his height and frame.

And then I realized they are Bert's who is a good 3 inches taller.

That is so fucking smart and funny

[sw33tsummerchild]

saw a theory that the SmokeStack twins were posing as one man in Chicago, which helped them get away with stealing from both sides. i'm poised to believe that because visually their clothing was very clearly of the two mobs. smoke was full irish— tweed, bowler hat. while stack had the full mafia look. yk italian leather shoes, fedora etc etc . like the details!!

[sw33tsummerchild]

I’m supposed to be on top of him is all I gotta say about that. Thank you all

we dont talk about this scene enough.

[sw33tsummerchild]

Oh my god I need one

Little Remmick Voodoo Doll.

Art 🎨 by me

[sw33tsummerchild]

THIS IS SO SPOOKY LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS

Remmick bullying 2/?: Sammie’s guitar string

Bonus because this dog freaky

[sw33tsummerchild]

Oh I just know I’m boutta eat this uppppp

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.

[sw33tsummerchild]

CUTIE PATOOTIE

[sw33tsummerchild]

HOLY MACKEREL

remmick one-shots ☾

18+

just wanted to write a few things that i think remmick would do in a relationship :3. bwwm bc i only see remmick with a black woman lmao. but my girlies that aren’t black can still enjoy :).

—————

jealous: while you’re rambling to him about how good the music is at the juke joint a man walks past you; eyes glued to your ass. remmick’s smile from your words quickly turns to a sneer. his jaw clenched as he stares the man down. once the man’s eyes finally move from your behind and notices remmick’s murderous gaze he picks up speed. remmick’s palm clenching the stand he was leaning on as if it was the man’s throat. he genuinely questioned taking the man out back and tearing into him till there was nothing left of him.

~~~~

he had insecurities about you leaving him for someone of your own kind. you always believed you would marry a black man after all but once you met remmick all of that didn’t matter anymore. you knew you wanted remmick more than anything and you let him know that but that didn’t stop him from second guessing it. especially in this day and age life would be easier to just stick with your own. he would stress about it so much that the thoughts would taint his dreams. he wouldn’t talk about it with you out of embarrassment. he knew you would think his worrying was silly. he tried to believe you but one night a dream deeply shook him. he had a vision that you were making love to another man. a hand around your throat that wasn’t his. the sound of skin clapping filled the room and all he could do was watch. watch as another man took you. he mentally cringed as you moans things you would only say with him. oh you’re so big, you feel so good, oh honey please don’t stop. he woke up visibly upset. you held his face and asked him what’s wrong but he didn’t answer. all he did was look into your caring eyes before placing his lips on yours. he laid you down under him on the bed and had his way with you; touching and kissing you. he fucked you so good you wouldn’t even imagine running off with another man.

————

nicknames: when he first met you he only called you ma’am but once the two of you got closer he started to call you sweetheart, darlin, little lady, sweet pea, sugar, sweet girl, and of course baby. your favorite name to call him is honey. you like it because his southern drawl would drip like honey; making you melt every time you heard it. not to mention how sweet and gentleman like he was.

————

sex: he prioritizes your pleasure. he never allows himself to cum until you do. he’ll swirl his thumb on your clit pushing you to get there before himself. if he ever accidentally came before you, he would immediately replace his cock with his long fingers bringing his mouth to your sensitive bud and sucking it till you came undone.

~~~~

when you first had sex with him he pushed you to be vocal. he prioritizes the hell out of consent. at the start he touched your thigh rubbing it up and down with his soft warm hands as he asked you “is it okay that i’m touching you here?”. once you gave him clarity he would begin rubbing your inner thigh; inching closer and closer to your heat. when he finally dipped his sinful touch into your panties his southern/irish drawl spoke “is this okay darlin?” while petting your pussy so gentle. from it being y’all’s first time you were a little nervous and shy from exposing yourself to a white man for the first time. you tried holding back your moans as he fingered you while forcing your legs open. he would say “it’s okay sweet pea. there’s nothing to be ashamed of. let me hear those pretty noises.”. he LOVEDDD the way you whined and moaned for him. you sung like the church choir on a sunday morning giving grace to a god up above. like angels singing heavenly melodies straight into his ears. he would listen to it all day and night if he could.

he’s great with aftercare. he holds you in his arms letting you know how good you did and how amazing you made him feel. remmick would kiss your temple before you drifted off to sleep with him following soon after.

————

fav body part: remmick adores every inch of your body but he is IN LOVE with your ass. he adores the contrast it has with his cock as he’s fucking into you from behind. the sight embodying midnight and day blending into one beautiful sunset. he spanks it as he thrusts into you the vibrations on your skin making his shaft throb inside of you. he loves to kiss all over your chocolate ass groaning as he does so. when you cook for him he will most likely come behind you and tap your bottom suddenly making you giggle.

————

love language: definitely words of affirmation but he is a sucker for gift giving too. he loves to praise you and let you know how perfect you are in his eyes. while making love to you he likes to tell you how amazing your body is and how gorgeous you look. he tends to say…you’re so pretty baby, that pussy is so sweet to me, you’re so so wet, it’s like you were sculpted just for me. he would buy you pretty dresses and jewelry that you would rant to him about wanting, always surprised when he actually bought them. you tell him he shouldn’t have but he always said “nonsense, only the finest things for the finest lady.”.

[sw33tsummerchild]

Amen, god bless 🫡

I’d let him in my house and pounce on his Irish dick for hours

[sw33tsummerchild]

talking over my Remmick fic idea with a friend. She’s so true and real.

[sw33tsummerchild]

Yk what? Hell yeah.

I WILL be making Remmick Smut in the future. Mock my words, one fucking day!!!!!! I WANT THIS DAMN IRISH MAN TO ENGULF BOTH LIPS AT THE SAME TIME AND EAT IT LIKE HE HASN'T EATEN IN YEARRSSS!!! I'm talking the whole 9 yards. Drooling, spitting, kissing, licking, sucking, groaning, grunting, growling, dead ass sloppily making out with the cooch before he obliterates it. Wrapping his chain around my neck, holding it down so I have to watch him eat it. Deep tonguing it, thigh biting. Whimpering, telling me how much he loves my pussy, and he'll bleed anyone that tries to take it from him or tries to get a taste for themselves. Whimpering baby talk, how my hole needs to be eaten probably to be bred successfully. Calling me Darlin', sweet girl, pretty baby, Aingeal, Cailín Leanbh, Mo Ghrá.

TF MEGAN SAY: "KNOW ITS GOOD WHEN HE CHEWIN' AND HE SINGIN'!!!" oh god!

Y'all I am so sorry I'm ovulating . . . Bad! ~Bip🖤

I just had to get this shit off my chest before I combust into confetti.

[sw33tsummerchild]

I’m gonna give him lethal backshots

WHAT WHO SAID THAT!? 😟

Feeling pussy, Looking cunt 4 him.