decaying-opossum

[decaying-opossum]

kinda weird random thought before bed; remmick being a gross little weirdo everytime reader has any kind of mouth bleeding. dentist too rough with the pick? eating chips and one goes sideways and stabs the roof of your mouth? bit your tongue? busted your lip?? any scenario is going to include dealing with the annoying pain and dealing with the annoying pain that is remmick. i feel like remmick already has an oral fixation and than you add your sweet blood?? and you won’t even let him get a small taste because “that’s gross”??? very pouty and pathetic begging quickly turns into a silent treatment once the bloods gone, like he expects an apology for you tripping and busting your lip open

[decaying-opossum]

whiskey sunrise

| remmick x reader |

|word count: 1800+|

[warnings: 18+. fluffy smut, reader is referred to with they/them but is written with afab anatomy, can’t really think of any other warnings to give]

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

the world stirred awake in a hush of blue. pale dawnlight spilled through the curtains, painting the bedroom in delicate shades of indigo and slate. the sky outside was still wrapped in early-morning silence, the sun not yet risen but gently threatening the horizon with promise. everything; the sheets, the furniture, even the breath in the air, seemed dipped in the same muted hue, as if the entire room had been submerged in a dream just beginning to fade.

a faint chill lingered in the air, the kind that made them burrow deeper into warm blankets, clinging to sleep’s last vestiges. shadows stretched softly along the floor, long and blurred, and dust motes danced lazily in the low light. time moved slower in this hour, between the dark and the day, where thoughts whispered louder than voices and even the heart beat a little softer.

they shifted slightly, hand brushing over remmick’s arm where it rested snug around their waist. a steady snore escaped him, low, familiar. they smiled, eyes still shut. sleep wasn’t something he needed, not really. an hour or two could keep him going just fine. but he’d once said he liked the normalcy of it, coming home, curling up beside his partner, waking up with them in the stillness of morning.

their eyes flicked open again, staring at the blinds, left open. they cursed and started to rise, but remmick’s arm tightened around them, halting the movement.

“leave it,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep “we’ve got another hour ’fore it’s a problem…” lips going to their neck as he pulled them back closer to him “rem, it’ll take two seconds..” they sighed, half sitting up.

“don’t care, i don’t wanna lose my warmth..” tugging them to lay back he slotted his leg between theirs, trying scoot them closer despite already being as close as possible.

“you’re gonna have plenty of warmth when that sun hits that window and cooks you in my bed” they mumbled tiredly “our bed” he corrected, offended at their choice of words “stop worrying darlin..lemme enjoy seeing you in what little bit of morning light i can..” his request, soft and thick with longing, caused any kind of tired reasoning to leave their head “…alright..but you better be ready to roll off the bed if we wait to long”

“we won’t darlin..just need a little time..” his hand started to wonder down to the band of their underwear “..i wanted to wake you up so bad when i got home last night..”

they turned their head toward him, eyes half-lidded and bleary “Then why didn’t you?”

he gave a faint laugh, fingers tracing along their underwear band before resting just underneath it “you looked too peaceful. like you’d just melted into the mattress, and I figured, I’d rather have this. you, warm and half-asleep, curled up on me. that first look you give me in the morning. that’s what I came home for”

they blinked slowly, heart tilting sideways in their chest “…you’re getting sappy again” they whispered.

“i missed you”

“you saw me before i went to sleep” “that was hours ago darlin..” he mumbled kissing up and down their neck and shoulders. they hummed softly, his mouth leaving a trail of warmth across their skin.

“god, you’re needy in the mornings” they murmured, a faint smile tugging at their lips.

remmick chuckled, the sound vibrating against their collarbone “i’m needy all the time. mornings just make it worse.”

he shifted slightly, lifting himself just enough to look down at them. the dusk light touched his features now, the soft gold of him bleeding into the slate blue of the room. tired eyes shining pinpoint pupils in the still mostly dark room. barely-there stubble. a cut across his cheekbone, already fading but still stubborn enough to catch the light.

“you’ve got that look” they said, voice still low, still thick with sleep.

“what look?”

“like you’re thinking too much..”

remmick didn’t answer right away. he just looked at them a little longer, studied the shape of their face like he’d been starved of it “i had a dream last night. thought it was real, felt real..for a second”

they blinked, slower now, the mood shifting slightly “What kind of dream?”

he brushed his thumb gently along their jaw “i was back in ireland..you were with me, but i couldn’t find you. you were just, gone. like you’d been there a second ago and then…”

he stopped. exhaled through his nose.

“they got to you?” they asked, already knowing the answer.

remmick nodded “yeah.”

silence stretched. the room, for all its softness, suddenly felt tighter around the edges.

they pressed their forehead to his “that’s not real. i’m here. i ain’t going anywhere”

“i know” he said, but the whisper behind it made it sound like he was still trying to believe it.

his fingers curled gently into their side. not possessive. just grounding. just needing to feel.

“you gotta stop letting your brain mess with you like that” they said, tilting his face back toward theirs “i’m still breathing, still here. you came home, remember? no one’s taking that away from us. Not today”

a long breath left him, he nodded “not today”

they kissed him then, slow, steady, like an anchor in a storm that hadn’t even hit yet.

outside, the sky had shifted. hints of gold now, brushing the edges of the horizon. the kind of light that came with promises. or warnings.

remmick broke the kiss first, resting his forehead against theirs again “We’ve got maybe twenty minutes ‘fore the sun wakes up and ruins everything.”

“then we better make the most of it” they murmured, pulling him back down into the warmth of them “oh baby, i’m going too..” he said, hand on their hip was he pulled them back against his own. forehead resting against their neck as his fingers finally slipped under their underwear band and started circles on their clit “…love how wet you are in the morning..” he mumbled, working sleepy, breathy sighs from their lips.

he pressed his mouth to their collarbone again, nipping just enough to earn a hiss, a stifled laugh “you miss me that bad, huh?” “i always miss you like this” he murmured, the words dragging heat across their skin.

“all soft and warm and mine” his fingers didn’t ask, they knew. knew where to press, how to move, how to draw breath from them like it was the only sound he trusted.

their breath hitched, a half-formed moan slipping from between parted lips, swallowed by the pillow beneath them. remmick’s touch never rushed, ever so careful because it it knew. Learned over countless mornings and nights, every moment possible spared between them working and the blood hunger that pulled him from their bed like a tide.

now, he was water again. pouring over them. drenching them in everything he’d never been able to say without his hands.

they let their eyes flutter closed again, face turned toward the crook of his neck, where his skin was warm and faintly salty. home. he always smelled like long nights and trouble survived.

“don’t stop,” they whispered, more breath than voice, and he didn’t.

his fingers moved in slow circles, coaxing, learning them all over again like he had something to prove. maybe he did, maybe it was to himself. that this was still real, that they were still here, still his.

“i think about this all the time,” he rasped against their skin, lips dragging up under their jaw “how you sound when you’re trying not to wake the world. how you feel, soft like this…like I could disappear inside you and never crawl back out”

a breathy laugh left them, shaky and quiet, but real “god, always got something to say, don’t you?”

he smirked, teeth grazing their shoulder “just reminding you how good I’ve got it”

their hand moved without thinking, finding his wrist, squeezing, not to stop him, just to feel him. to confirm again; he was here. he was real. and he wanted them just as desperately as they wanted him.

their fingers stayed around his wrist, pressing his hand harder against them as they shifted, hips tilting into his touch. a soft gasp escaped, muffled against his throat. remmick swore under his breath, old irish swears they haven’t ever been able to pinpoint meanings for, not out of frustration, but reverence.

“that’s it, darlin’… just like that” his voice was low, almost reverent “let me take my time with you”

he was so careful with them. even when he was rough, even when the hunger in him got sharp around the edges, he chose softness for them. always. like he was afraid they’d dissolve if he wasn’t gentle.

but right now, they didn’t feel fragile. not under him, not with his fingers moving slow and sure and his mouth dragging heat along their skin. they felt solid. wanted. here.

they turned their face back toward his, eyes heavy-lidded but searching. “you’re not gonna disappear, remmick” they whispered, voice raw, honest “even if you tried, I’d chase you down. you get that, right?”

he stilled for half a breath, just long enough to feel the truth in the words. then his lips curved against their jaw.

“love when you say that”

his fingers slipped deeper, just enough to pull another quiet moan from them, one they didn’t bother to hide this time. the room could hear it. the walls could know. the morning could take its sweet time.

they hooked a leg around his waist, dragging him closer until there was no air left between them. just shared breath, shared heat.

there was no teasing in their eyes, only something deeper. something old and aching and desperate to stay. because in the places they lived, love was something people whispered about, not something they got to keep. but here it was, in his hands, in their mouth, in the sweat-damp space between their bodies.

his hand slowed, just enough to pull their attention back to the rhythm of it “you gonna cum for me, baby?” he murmured, voice wrecked and low “just like this?”

they nodded, couldn’t even find words for it. only a quiet, pleading sound as they tightened around his fingers, their hips canting helplessly into his touch. and he watched them like it was his religion. like they were the last thing left that was still sacred.

they came with his name in their mouth, not loud, but clear. like a promise.

he didn’t let go of them even after, even as their muscles twitched and their breath came in shallow bursts. he just held them, mouth pressed to their shoulder, the press of him still hard and insistent against their thigh, but he didn’t rush.

because there was time, not much, but he’d make it enough, always would make it enough.

[decaying-opossum]

still missing you and your work😭🫶 hope things are good with you!

i’m sorry it’s taking so long 🙏😭 i fr have been working on stuff, dealing despair and moments silence has just been giving me issues, i gotta rewatch sinners but i’ve been hyper fixated on law and order svu(got half way through season 11 in like a month) so i haven’t had the motivation to rewatch it with my full attention. i do got a little fluffy morning with remmick smut thing written up, just haven’t gotten around to posting it, i’ll get it up this afternoon tho

[decaying-opossum]

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━ wip game! ━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

tagged by: @jinx-xxed thank you for tagging me! ain’t done something like this in a while!

rules; make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have wips.

dealing despair |part 5| remmick x werewolf reader

moment’s silence |part 3| cult leader remmick x reader

untitled |fluffy early morning smut| remmick x reader

untitled |sheriff yearns for hates newspapers journalist| travis hackett x reader

untitled |working on rewriting snippet i posted last year and actually turning it into a fic| scott x reader x tyler owens

buy us some wine |pathetic remmick yearning for an ‘older’ person. based on the song oneida| remmick x reader

i’m not sure who to tag lol so whoever wants to add on!

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━ wip game! ━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

tagged by @cherryxhaze ty bby

rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have wips.

untitled pregnant!reader x remmick

he’s a perv (reader helps him one night, and he comes back to watch her) - remmick x reader

night lessons (i) - remmick teaches reader gaeilge while um … yk

night lessons (ii) - remmick teaches freshly turned vamp!reader how to suck him off

untitled (nosferatu au) - remmick x reader

jesus i sound like a horndog

npt : @rhaenyraeri @hatethysinner @somberomens … i can’t think of anyone else 😭

[decaying-opossum]

tyler childers new song oneida has me wanting to write (human?) remmick yearning for an older reader. really regular ole vampire remmick would work, reader is hesitant to even humor his pining since he looks too young for their preferences and everytime they tell him that he’s just ‘???’

idk towards the end of the song when he’s pleading, if not to be let in, than at least pass along a message to oneida for him to just let him play his guitar to show the songs he learned just because she wanted to sing them gives me remmick vibes

[decaying-opossum]

hope youre well, miss you n your beautiful work<33

i’m doing well! got caught up with life stuff, working on getting a new job and moving so all my free time has been spent laying around binge watching law and order svu or sleeping lol but now that sinners is on hbo imma rewatch it again tonight and hopefully get some updates out 🙏 thank you for checking in!

[decaying-opossum]

I can’t escape my lust for him

[decaying-opossum]

idk how this would be written but it came to me while i was melting at work- remmick with a reaper reader who’s be stuck following him around since he got turned. with the whole vampires’ souls can’t crossover to the afterlife thing, remmick’s soul can’t be reaped.

so for hundreds of years, readers been stuck following him around due to not being about to complete the job, stuck on the same assignment and only getting to see their “coworkers” whenever remmick turns someone else.

can see remmick getting pissy whenever it’s another reaper reader is especially friendly with; he’s known reader for so long and he can’t wrap his head around the fact that his hundreds of years doesn’t come close to matching up to reader knowing other reapers since death became a thing

[decaying-opossum]

Dealing despair is so good! is part five still a possibility 👀

thank you so much! that means so much to hear! and absolutely, i’m working part five and MAYBE six, depending on how long i decide to make five. i’m doing my best to alternate which story i update, so one story isn’t getting all the attention

[decaying-opossum]

moment’s silence

| cult leader remmick x reader |

| part 2/4 | |word count: 1851|

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

when they woke, it was to soft light slanting through the curtain cracks and birdsong too ordinary for how wrong they felt inside.

the bed sheets were tangled beneath them, the pillow damp with sweat. for a few precious seconds, they told themself it had been another dream. a filthy, vivid dream spun too tight with want and guilt. a ghost story of a man with dark eyes and darker intentions, slipping between their bones like smoke.

but the ache was real. the hollow throb low in their belly was real, and when they stumbled barefoot into the living room, it all came crashing back.

the couch was a mess; throw blanket halfway on the floor, cushions sunken like someone had knelt in them for hours. one of the decorative pillows bore a faint but unmistakable stain. a dark, damp patch where a man had rested his head, drooled prayers into their skin.

the air still held a faint trace of him, cedar and old hymnals and something too wild to be named.

he was gone. of course he was. he always left before sunrise. but the promise he’d made in the dark still clung to the walls like soot.

he’d be back.

they wrapped themself in a blanket and spent the better part of the day like that, arms trembling not from cold but from something deeper, something raw and shaken loose. they cleaned the couch mechanically, scrubbing harder than necessary, like they could erase not just the evidence but the memory too.

but the moment they sat, the moment their body settled back into that same groove, it all came flooding in again. his voice, his breath. the way he’d clung to them like they were salvation. and worse, how they’d clung back.

they showered. twice. but it didn’t wash off.

nothing ever would.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

they didn’t leave the house that day. couldn’t. every sound outside made their breath catch, every rustle in the trees, every creak of old wood. they half-expected him to be there again, leaning against the porch railing, easy and patient, with a jar of peach preserves and that same damn tilt of his head.

but he didn’t come.

not that day.

instead, the mail arrived.

the postman, wide-set and quiet, gave them a nod and a glance that lingered too long. his fingers shook when he handed over the envelope.

“from up the hill,” he muttered, barely audible, before turning and walking back down the gravel drive without another word.

inside the envelope, a note. looped handwriting on thick, yellowed paper. smelled faintly of sage and smoke.

“you feel it now, don’t you? that little ache. the knowing. you’re not lost anymore. just being called home. don’t be afraid, sugar. that hunger? that’s just your soul remembering what it’s for”

no name signed, but none was needed.

they shoved the note into the kitchen drawer with shaking hands, slammed it shut like that would keep the words from settling under their skin.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

he came again the next night.

didn’t knock.

just sat in the rocking chair like always, but this time he brought something else, a bundle, wrapped in cloth. left it on the porch steps when they didn’t come out.

only went to retrieve it once the sky lightened with dawn. inside; a jar of peach preserves. just like he promised. still warm from the canning process.

it rained that afternoon, a slow and steady drizzle that coated the fields in silver and made the woods look deeper, darker. like something could slip between the trunks and not be seen again until it wanted to be.

the ache hadn’t left. it moved with them now.

it lived in the curve of their neck where his breath had lingered. it lived behind their ribs, where the hollow buzzed like a tuning fork, waiting for the right hands to strike it again.

they tried to stay busy. repainting cabinet doors, scrubbing old grout, anything to keep their hands from shaking and their mind from fantasizing on its own.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

that night, the rocking chair didn’t creak. that night, there was singing. low, male,drawn out, like a funeral hymn with the wrong rhythm.

it wasn’t close. not at first. it started somewhere up in the trees. carried down on the rain.

by midnight, it was just outside.

their heart thundered. they didn’t move. didn’t even breathe right, afraid the smallest sound might invite him closer.

but then, like always, he didn’t force. he waited. patient in the way that made them feel rushed.

the song stopped.

a minute later, the creak of the porch boards. slow. steady. a weight settling.

then quiet.

the kind of quiet that gets inside your ears and hums like teeth grinding. they pulled the blanket tighter around their shoulders and stared at the door until dawn.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

by mid morning they were in town, eyes tired and bagged as they looked through the hardware store shelves for locks for their door

the man at the hardware counter looked at them like he recognized something in their eyes, fear, maybe.

“you fixin’ somethin’ at that old farmstead?” he asked, voice mild, but his fingers twitched where they hovered above the register “the one up near the ridgeline?”

they nodded. didn’t say much. he sucked a breath through his teeth. didn’t look at them when he added “folks ‘round here don’t go past the tree line much, y’know. boundaries out there…they ain’t just fences and property lines”

they didn’t respond. just handed him the locks, cash folded neat “y’oughta leave that place be” he muttered “whatever you’re fixin’, it ain’t the house that needs savin’” they left without thanking him, tossing their change in the bag as they left.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

that night, the dream wasn’t a dream.

they were in bed, locked in, every bolt and chain and latch secured. they double-checked. triple-checked.

but still, sometime between one breath and the next, he was there.

not breaking in. just being. like mold in the walls. like a word whispered too many times until it lives in the bones.

they were on their back. he knelt beside the bed again, eyes wide and almost…mournful “you’re afraid of me now” he said, not angry. not accusing. they didn’t answer.

he reached out, fingers hovering above their chest, not quite touching. “i hate that. i do. i’ve tried so hard not to scare you. just wanted to be close, to be near”

his hand dropped, resting on his own thigh instead.

“i prayed on it” he whispered “asked if i was askin’ too much. if wantin’ you this way was wrong” he leaned closer, his breath warm and pine-sweet “but i keep gettin’ the same answer. that ache in your belly? the one that don’t go away? that’s us. that’s the bond. you called me, darlin’. maybe not with words, but your soul cried out, and i listened”

they wanted to scream, wanted to sob, but their voice stayed buried beneath the weight of his presence.

remmick’s smile flickered, then faded entirely.

“i was gentle ‘cause i thought you needed time, thought i could wait. but i see it now” he leaned in until his lips nearly brushed theirs “you don’t need gentle, you need truth”

he kissed them, slow and bruising and full of claiming, not passion. not lust. claiming.

and something answered inside them. something buried deep and scared and ancient.

when he pulled away, he was breathing hard, eyes wide like he’d seen a vision “you felt it,” he said, wonderstruck “didn’t you?”

they didn’t remember falling asleep. just the feel of his mouth and that heat inside them answering, answering, even when they didn’t want it to. even when they swore they’d lock the doors, burn the linens, run for the hills if they had to.

but by morning, they woke with that taste still in their mouth. salt. sap. smoke. iron. and the sound of the door softly latching shut behind him.

the locks were still in place.

they checked.

again.

and again.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

they didn’t go to town that day.

didn’t shower.

didn’t eat.

they sat at the kitchen table, staring at the empty chair across from them, waiting for it to creak under invisible weight, waiting for the sound of breath that wasn’t theirs.

it never came.

but the silence was worse. the note in the drawer pulsed like a heartbeat. they could feel it, somehow, through the wood. like it wanted out. like it had more to say.

they left the house around dusk. just to breathe air that hadn’t filtered through him. just to try. the rain had cleared. the road was wet and steaming, the trees glistening like they’d been dipped in oil. everything shone too sharp. too awake.

they walked to the old fence line at the edge of the property. the spot where the woods got thick and the light went strange.

that’s where they found the second bundle. smaller than the last but wrapped in the same cloth. tied with twine that smelled like singed herbs.

inside; a set of old rosary beads. blackened with time. a single feather, coppery red. and a scrap of mirror, edges dulled, but not enough.

etched in the back; “Your reflection lies”

they dropped it. left it there in the dirt and walked back fast, fast enough to feel the hitch in their chest, the pounding of blood that didn’t feel like just theirs anymore.

the sky was black when they reached the house. but the porch light was already on. they hadn’t left it that way.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

that night they dreamed in fire.

not burning. not pain.

but flame. moving like breath, like voice. filling the rooms of the house, licking the wallpaper, singing in the walls. it hummed the way he hummed, off-key and holy yet wrong.

in the center of it all, he stood with his palms open, eyes dark and wide as a midnight church. he smiled like it hurt “you’re catching now” he said, voice reverent “starting to burn just like me.”

they woke choking on smoke that wasn’t there. skin slick. throat raw. the room cold as a crypt, but their body flushed.

the rocking chair creaked once and stopped.

they didn’t go look. couldn’t.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

a week passed.

he didn’t come again. not in body, not in song, but the ache didn’t leave.

worse now, somehow. like it had teeth. like it was gnawing its way inward, trying to reach the place he’d touched, the place he’d spoken to in the dark.

they started dreaming in twos.

double images, double voices. themselves and not themselves. a version that leaned in when he spoke, that smiled when he whispered “you called me, and i came”

they stopped trusting mirrors. the reflection lingered a second too long. they covered them all. sheets. towels. duct tape if they had to.

but the ache only got louder. so did the voice.

not his voice. the other one. the one that lived in their blood now. the one that sounded like their own.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

[decaying-opossum]

@positivitylane112 tumblr won’t let me actually reply and i’ve tried 4 different times and it’s driving me insane so this is the best i can do lol

most definitely, like i love a desperate loser as much as the next person, but he gets boiled down too much. he is a desperate pathetic loser but he’s a manipulative desperate pathetic loser, which is very important, that one trait is extremely important to his character.

i’m doing my best to convey that in my stories, i’m real rusty with writing so idk if it’s being conveyed but imo all his cries and begs come from a place of manipulation, which is why in dealing despair he hasnt really begged any, he’s more just a bother because he knows the reader won’t fall for his crying. they’ve known him a hundred years, he knows they know his tricks. moments silence reader is unaware of his tricks, so they work, the begging and false promises of being gentle works on them. but the edges are gonna unravel in the next parts, because he’s a creature, he can only hide instinct for so long.

he’ll be pathetic as long as it benefits him, as long as it gives power to him, he’ll let reader view him as some desperate thing that just needs their attention but he knows he has the real control. he knows that at any point when the reader gets to confident he can turn them and literally have complete control over them, he’s just biding his time in hopes they give in willingly, make it more intimate and human feeling rather than the animal attack it will be.

[decaying-opossum]

dealing despair

| remmick x werewolf reader |

| part 4/? | | word count:2960|

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

they weren’t planning on staying long.

one drink. Maybe two. Just enough to keep sammie from worrying, from asking questions with his too-kind eyes and quiet voice, and to show support for the music that came from his soul. just enough to play normal for a night. but the drink he handed them went down smooth, the next one even smoother. and then someone handed them a shot, clapped them on the back like they’d been friends for years, and they laughed. not because it was funny, but because their body remembered how.

the music helped. sammie up on the small stage, guitar resting on his hip like it was part of him, voice cutting through the din like a balm. they didn’t know the song, didn’t need to. it was the sound of something slow and aching, something human.

they leaned against the wall near the back, eyes half-lidded, heartbeat finally settling into something close to calm. it was warm in the way old quilts were warm, in the way hands used to feel when they weren’t used for hurting. people danced in loose, shambling circles. laughed loud. spilled cheap whiskey and didn’t care.

time blurred.

another drink.

the beginning of a half-hearted dance with a stranger whose name they didn’t catch. spinning, dizzy, laughing with too many teeth showing. something uncoiled in their chest, something they hadn’t realized had been held tight for too long. the ache of it made them reckless.

the lights blurred. the ground tilted slightly when they moved. everything was honey-warm and slow and just a little too easy.

sammie’s music, voice and song was something they hadn’t felt before, spiritual in ways that made the room feel alive with people no longer around, laughter of memories. they spun, giggling before they opened their eyes, face falling as a lump formed in their throat as a vision clouded their eyes.

stumbling out the door they mumbled an apology for bumping into cornbread as they rushed around the corner of the mill. hunching over as the whiskey and beer came back up and onto the ground, tears prickling in their eyes

the vomiting came in waves. heat rising in their throat, breath shuddering through clenched teeth as their stomach twisted on itself, rejecting all that false ease.

they braced a hand against the mill’s crumbling brick, the other gripping at their ribs like they could hold themselves together by force alone. the laughter and music still drifted through the walls behind them; muffled now, like it belonged to a different world. a world they’d tried to visit for the night, like trying on someone else’s life.

it didn’t fit. it never fit. hadn’t in a long time.

they spat, wiped their mouth with the back of a shaking hand, and tried to catch their breath. it wasn’t the booze. wasn’t just the spinning room or the closeness of too many bodies.

it was the feeling. the one they couldn’t name.

that thing uncoiled in their chest, it wasn’t joy, not really. It was grief, dressed up in warmth. the pain of remembering they’d been something softer, once. memories of laughing without truly deserving it yet still selfishly enjoying it. remembering nights they shared with remmick, focused on him and the life they had, not the acts they committed together.

they heard the door creak behind them. a pause.

then footsteps, measured, careful.

“hey” came sammie’s voice, soft and laced with concern. they didn’t turn, just hunched a little lower. “thought you were workin’” they rasped, voice raw.

“i was. still am, technically, slims giving me a break” a beat “you alright?”

they laughed once, a hollow sound, sharp as a broken bottle “what do you think?”

sammie didn’t answer right away. just stepped closer, enough that they could hear the worry in his breath.

“you didn’t have to come tonight.”

“yeah, I did,” they whispered, sitting on their butt in the dusty lot “i wanted to remember what it felt like, been a while..i used to spend all my nights like this…me and..my husband, we’d spend nights going between clubs and jukes..i’ve heard all kinds of music sammie, but you got a real special gift sammie, something powerful…it was like i could see someone i lost spinning around again…”

sammie sat down beside them, not crowding, just close enough to share the quiet. he didn’t speak right away. just pulled a pack of matches from his pocket and struck one for their cigarette, cupping it with both hands to shield it from the lazy wind.

the flame danced, caught. they leaned in. lit up. inhaled like it was something holy.

smoke curled from their lips as they stared at the ground, eyes glassy, cheeks damp. the back of their hand came up, wiped without grace. “sorry” they muttered. “didn’t mean to ruin your night”

“you didn’t” sammie’s voice was steady. like a fence post sunk deep in the earth. “music’s just noise without someone feelin’ it”

they let out a long, shaking breath. “felt too much of it, i think…enough of my pity party, go on back in, that woman you were making googoo eyes at where making them back at ya. go have fun, enjoy your debut” they patted him on his back, offering a tight smile as they stood “imma go for a walk”

sammie didn’t get up right away. just looked up at them from the dirt, thumb still worrying the corner of the matchbook like he was working something out behind his eyes.

“you sure?” he asked, voice soft but not hesitant. “you don’t gotta go be alone if that’s not what you really want”

they smiled again; small, crooked, not really a smile. more like the shape of something that used to be one. the kind of smile worn down by weather and time.

“i do, Sammie,” they said, gentle but firm “just for a bit. i appreciate it, though. more than i got words for”

he nodded once, slow “alright. but you change your mind, you know where to find me”

that made something twist in their chest again, but it wasn’t grief this time. or at least, not only grief. it was something softer. a thread of warmth tangled in all the cold. a small mercy that he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t trying to fix what couldn’t be fixed. just offering presence, steady and real.

they turned and started walking, boots crunching over gravel, air cooler now against their sweat-damp skin. the night stretched out around them, wide and humming. the juke joint faded behind them, its light, its music, sammie’s voice still ghosting out into the dark.

they took a long drag from the half burnt cigarette, the smoke helped. gave their hands something to do, their mouth a reason to stay quiet.

they didn’t know where they were going. maybe back home, but for now ig was just for a moment away. just moving to keep their mind behind.

sometimes that was the only thing that ever helped.

somewhere in the dark, a cicada screamed. another answered. the summer night shivered with heat and memory. somewhere else, far from here, there was a bird nailed to a door. a husband who wasn’t their man anymore. strangers with eyes like mirrors and teeth too perfect.

but here, just for now, there was music and a boy with a voice like salvation. there was gravel and smoke and the ache of missing who they used to be.

they walked until the sounds of the juke joint were gone. until the cigarette burned to the filter and their heartbeat calmed again.

then they sat down on a fallen log beside the road, looked up through the trees at a sky too big to hold, and let the silence settle around them like old skin.

they’d go home, rest up, tell sammie tomorrow the alcohol was too much and they had to go rest..

it was a solid plan. they nodded to themself, reaching down to snub out their cigarette in the dirt when a glint caught their eye. rustling the leaves off it their heart dropped. gold coin.

the night broke open around them, legs pumping hard against the earth, boots sliding on the loose gravel of the road. no more haze. no more soft music and easier lies. just breath ragged in their throat and the burn in their thighs, sharp and immediate, keeping them here. now.

the coin burned cold in their pocket. Familiar weight, unfamiliar timing. they found themself praying to whatever was listening not to be too late.

“calm down darlin’ they ain’t invited us in yet” they skidded to a stop, looking at remmick who sat on a leg with a banjo and a grin, a man and woman sitting on either side of him with their own instruments.

they stared at remmick like he might vanish if they blinked hard enough.

but he didn’t vanish. he just kept smiling that impossible, easy smile. loose-limbed and cocky, like he was lounging on a porch and not sitting in the dirt off a back road, banjo across his knee like a weapon disguised as music.

“didn’t mean to ruin your little night out,” remmick drawled, picking lazily at a string. “heard some singin’ from half a mile out. pretty thing, that voice. you always had pretty taste”

they took a half-step back, one boot heel catching on a rock. remmick’s grin widened at that.

“still quick on your feet,” he said, not unkindly “that’s good. you’ll need that.”

“what are you doing here,” they said. not a question, not really. Just trying to fill the silence. trying to keep the pounding of their heart from drowning out the moment.

remmick shrugged, gave the banjo a soft, tuning pluck. the sound rang out thin and strange in the heavy night air. “didn’t I tell you? you don’t leave me. you don’t run and just expect I won’t follow, a man’s gotta keep his house in order, and even if you don’t wear your ring no more, we’re still married sweetheart. you left the door open, love. we just took our time comin’ through it.”

they could feel the weight of the coin again, pressing sharp and accusing through their pocket. their fingers twitched.

the woman with the fiddle smiled suddenly. All teeth. “ain’t you gonna invite us in?” she asked, voice sing-song, eyes full of something that shimmered just on the edge of madness. “we brought music.”

“got a band together,” the man added, finally speaking. his voice was low and slow, like molasses over a knife edge. “be a shame to waste a night like this”

remmick stood then, slow and unhurried, dust shaking from his coat as he slung the banjo over one shoulder. he walked toward them with the confidence of someone who’d already won.

they didn’t move. couldn’t. every instinct screamed, but the part of them that used to lie beside him, sweaty and satisfied and full, still remembered the way he looked when he was close. still wanted to reach. still wanted to believe.

“you looked happy tonight” remmick said, close now, voice pitched low and intimate “almost real. thought about lettin’ you have that. let you dance a little longer.”

he leaned down, his face inches from theirs, voice dipping into something quiet and poisonous.

“but then you left that bird up on the door like a fuckin’ dare.”

their breath hitched.

“i don’t like my gifts being ignored..” he reached out, brushed a knuckle down their jaw like it was the most natural thing in the world. they flinched back hard, stumbling, the spell broken.

“don’t touch me,” they snapped, breath gone sharp again.

remmick’s grin twisted.

“i miss that fire” he said, stepping back like he’d been testing something and got his answer “but we ain’t here to fight. not yet. we came to watch. listen. maybe say hello to your little friend with the voice, if he’s still singin’.”

their hands curled into fists. “leave him out of this”

“oh, honey” the woman said from the log, standing now, fiddle raised to her shoulder, bow already dragging across the strings in something slow and discordant “that ain’t up to you”

“don’t you talk to me, either of you” they pointed at the woman and man “now, you, leave” they growled out to remmick. his eyes lighting up, like he’d been waiting for that edge in their voice.

“now there’s the tone I remember” he said, teeth flashing sharp beneath the smile “but you’re a little rusty, sugar. that threat don’t bite the way it used to”

the fiddle behind him wavered into something shrill, near-feral. the man sharing a look with the woman and chuckled, a dry, cracking sound like dead leaves underfoot.

“i said leave, remmick.” their voice shook, but it didn’t break “this ain’t your town. ain’t your night. and sammie sure as hell ain’t your business”

that was the wrong name to say. they knew it the second it left their mouth.

remmick’s expression didn’t change much, but the light behind his eyes cooled. flattened. he took one step forward, and then another.

they held their ground until they couldn’t anymore. until the pressure of his presence started pulling the air out of their lungs, memory pressing in around them like a closing fist. that same scent, like sweat and blood and fresh-turned dirt. like a home they had to burn down to escape.

“you always talk so big when you’re scared, always so quick to growl and bite” Remmick murmured “that’s alright. i still love that about you. fear’s honest. and you ain’t been honest with yourself in a long time”

he leaned close again, voice so low only they could hear it.

“you been pretending you don’t miss it. don’t miss me. but I know what lives in you, darlin’. i fed it”

their hand moved without thinking, fast, desperate, and shoved him back.

he didn’t stumble, just laughed. Loud, unbothered “you always did like foreplay”

“…i don’t want to hurt you remmick..”

the air felt thinner now, like it had to fight to get in their lungs. remmick’s laughter still echoed, too loud in the quiet dark, too familiar in a way that made their stomach twist. the woman’s fiddle dragged long and sharp, an off-key lullaby for something wicked. the man hadn’t moved, just watched, dark eyes glittering with disinterest, like he was waiting for the real show to start.

“i should kill you” they said. voice low, shaking, teeth clenched like they were afraid of what else might slip out

“you tried that once darlin” Remmick replied, still smiling “didn’t take, did it?”

he stepped back just enough to give them space to breathe, to think, but not enough to feel safe. remmick never gave you safety. Just the illusion of it, sweet and rotted.

“we ain’t here to hurt nobody,” he said, tone all lazy hospitality, like a neighbor stopping by with lemonade “not unless they give us reason. we’re here to save, you remember how it works.”

their hand twitched toward their pocket, the coin heavy there like a curse.

“you leave sammie out of it,” they repeated, quieter now “he’s got nothing to do with this”

“don’t he? you heard him sing, you know what he could do for us..we’d get to-“ “leave him out of it remmick!”

the air snapped.

their voice cracked through the space between them, louder than the fiddle, sharper than the tension twisting every shadow into something mean. the silence that followed didn’t last long, but it felt like it stretched between stars.

remmick tilted his head, smile falling thin. less pleased, more…thoughtful. he studied them the way a butcher might study a trembling calf, curious if it was worth the trouble.

he just sighed, long and patient. like he was tired of repeating himself. like he still loved them, in that terrible, tangled way that turned affection into possession.

“i ain’t touched him” he said at last, voice even “not yet”

that yet was a blade. small, but sharp enough to bleed.

he stepped back fully now, raising his hands in mock surrender, banjo still slung over one shoulder like a holy instrument. his eyes glittered.

“we ain’t monsters, sweetheart,” he added, still smiling “you know that” they didn’t say anything.

couldn’t.

the truth of that burned in their throat, thick and rising, something that sounded like liar if they said it out loud.

because remmick did know them. knew the part of them buried under laughter and smoke and second chances. the part that howled when it was alone. the part that used to sing harmony with him while the world burned.

but knowing them wasn’t the same as owning them, and he didn’t own a goddamn thing. not anymore.

“you show your face around sammie” they said, slow and cold, “i’ll remind you what happens when i stop being polite”

remmick’s grin flashed sharp and delighted.

“there they are”

the woman lowered her fiddle at last, head cocked.

“you gonna come home, sugar?” she asked, her voice dripping something sweet but rancid “he keeps a spot warm for you every night. we’ve seen it in his memories”

“no” their answer came fast, clean, a growl. a truth with no room for softness.

the man made a noise low in his throat. disappointed, maybe. maybe excited.

remmick sighed again, rubbing a hand over his jaw like they’d just inconvenienced him instead of held him at bay “you ain’t going in that building, ain’t letting you” they said spinning around and heading off back to the mill.

“see you soon darlin!”

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

[decaying-opossum]

moment’s silence

| cult leader remmick x reader |

| part 1/? | |word count: 3k|

[warnings: 18+. religious themes, obsessive behaviors, cult stuff, remmick stuff, smut, oral sex, reader is referred to with they/them but is written with afab anatomy, i’ve never written smut before and am a loser so i apologize if it’s bad]

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

the locals of coalbranch knew better then to poke around the compound further up the mountain, knew better then to actually help search for any missing visitors, knew better then to acknowledge the screams that’d ring out, knew better then to actually accept any kind of invitation to church or a potluck from any of the congregation that lived up there.

they, however, didn’t know any better. growing up further east, in the foothills instead of full blown mountains. their knowledge of coalbranch being sparse childhood memories of visiting their grandparents, which were now faded boasts of nostalgia, up until a few months ago when their grandpa passed away and their chunk of the inheritance was that old farm that hadn’t been touched in over a decade.

the lawyer was tight-lipped “bit of a fixer-upper” she’d said, gaze flicking to the rearview mirror as they drove up the winding road. she didn’t offer much else, not when they asked about the old congregation or the compound. just chewed her gum a little faster and dropped them off without so much as getting out of the car.

it wasn’t long after they moved in that he showed up.

remmick.

he was just there one evening, right after sunset, leaning against the post of the front gate like he’d been invited, like he belonged there more than they did. eyes sharp and too still, lips curled into something halfway between polite smile and private joke. dressed plain, collar buttoned to the neck, sleeves rolled with casual exactness. dust on his boots. stillness in his stance, like he could wait forever.

“i figured i should welcome you proper,” he said, voice low and warm like summer honey “seeing as we’re neighbors now.”

they should’ve closed the gate.

instead, they nodded. said something dumb, probably. his presence did that, scrambled words, made the air feel thinner. they didn’t notice how he didn’t blink much. didn’t notice the way he kept looking at them like they were already his. didn’t notice the way his breath would hitch up in a smell when they were close enough.

he came by often after that. never asked for anything. just brought things, jars of canned peaches, homemade bread, a crooked little wooden charm he swore was for protection. he’d linger on the porch long past their first attempt at ending the conversation so they could go inside and sleep, talking in riddles, eyes half-lidded like he was dreaming while awake.

they started to get used to seeing him. that was the scariest part. how quickly it all turned normal.

remmick was always just…there. not intrusive. not demanding. just present. a steady rhythm, every other evening or so, a knock on the screen door, a low evenin’ and that familiar tilt of his head, like he already knew what they’d say before they said it. like he was waiting for them to catch up.

he’d lean on the porch railing, compliment the new paint they managed to slap on the barn, talk about the weather, ask little things; Were you sleepin’ alright? That cough clear up? You eatin’ enough?

and somehow, they’d answer him. somehow, they’d start offering coffee, or letting him sit inside when the nights got colder. somehow, they stopped noticing how his eyes lingered.

he never touched them. not at first.

but his voice would drop, quiet as a prayer, when they were close. he’d say things that didn’t sound strange until hours later, when they were alone, lights off, trying to sleep.

“i dreamed about you again last night. You were singin’. You ever sing, darlin’?”

“you’d like the chapel, i think. real warm. real quiet. like bein’ inside a body”

“you got the kind of soul that don’t come around often. the kind that calls people home”

it was easy to brush off. he was just weird, right? just one of those overly polite, southern-mystic types, all charisma and cryptic charm. and it wasn’t like he ever crossed a line.

until they found the charm again.

they’d tossed it. that little carved wooden thing he gave them, left it in a drawer and then, weeks later, it was back on their bedside table. sitting on top of their pillow like a forgotten gift. they didn’t remember putting it there. didn’t remember even seeing it again after that first night.

when they brought it up, he just smiled wider than usual. touched the corner of his mouth with one knuckle.

“it found its way back. that’s how you know it’s workin’”

that night, they dreamed of him. not the polite version. not the porch-sitting, bread-bringing version. no, this one knelt beside their bed, breathing slow and deep, his hands resting gently on their throat and thigh. not squeezing. just there. like a promise.

and his mouth moved like he was praying.

and when they woke up, they were full of shame at the mess they became in their sleep over a man who, from what they understand, was a man of god.

that night they couldn’t bring themself to answer the knock at the door, hiding in their bedroom too ashamed and still feeling the aftermath of that damned dream too much to face the star of it. but he didn’t leave, sitting in his usual rocking chair like he owned the place, like a man coming home after a hard days work.

they didn’t answer the door the next night either. or the next, but the rocking chair stayed occupied.

every evening just after dark, they’d hear it creak, slow and steady. no knock. no footsteps. just presence. just patince. just the sound of wood sighing beneath weight and time and something older than either.

by the fourth night, they peeked through the curtain, jumping back with a curse when he was already looking at them.

he didn’t wave. didn’t smile. just tipped his head, slow and reverent, like he was beholding a miracle.

their stomach dropped like a stone.

the next day, the gate was open when they came back from town. they never left it open. and inside was the scent of something burning faintly sweet. wax. smoke. and something else.

they followed it to the kitchen.

laid out on the table, a little bundle of herbs, tied with black string. a fresh loaf of his bread. and a single page torn from an old hymnal, folded and tucked under a mason jar of creek water that was still cold to the touch.

Written in looping ink on the back:

“You don’t have to be afraid of what already belongs to you.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

the next time they saw him, really saw him, was at the edge of their field, just after dusk. he was backlit by the slightest end of the sun through the pines, haloed, shirt sleeves rolled high, collar open this time. the first time they’d seen his neck bare. a cord hung there, just barely visible. something wooden strung on it, shaped like the charm.

“i’ve been prayin’,” he said softly, almost like he was shy, though he never seemed anything but certain. “prayin’ for clarity. for patience.”

they didn’t know what to say. just stood there, hands in their jacket pockets, heart going sideways. he stepped closer.

“you dream of me again?”

they froze. couldn’t lie. couldn’t speak. he smiled slow, like he already knew.

“i ain’t ashamed to say it, i think i was made for you. all my days before now feel like waitin’. and I’ve been good, haven’t I? gentle?”

his eyes darkened, voice still calm. still low.

“but it’s hard, sugar. it’s hard bein’ near you and not touchin what calls to me like a hymn.”

something inside them twisted. fear. want. shame. awe.

“come to the chapel,” he murmured “don’t even gotta stay long. just a little while, i wanna show you where i keep you. where i built the whole altar.”

they shook their head, breath catching.

“remmick, i ain’t sure how exactly i’m supposed to react to this.”

he jaw tense for a moment before he sighed, grasping their wrists “then lemme in, darlin’, ain’t gotta come with me tonight but i know it’s driving you up the wall too..lemme help, just for a moment..”

they barely remembered letting him in.

one second they were staring at him from the doorway, heart punching the inside of their ribs.

the next, he was inside.

not loud. not sudden. just there. like fog under the door. like prayer in the back of your throat. a warm, slow rot blooming sweet inside the ribcage.

remmick didn’t speak at first.

he just looked at them. that same reverent tilt of the head. that same quiet, boiling hunger simmering behind his dark eyes. something between worship and possession.

“you look like you ain’t been sleeping.” he broke his silence, softly, like concern. like love.

like a knife sliding easy through butter.

they flinched when he reached for them, just to brush their cheekbone with the back of his hand, like he was scared they’d vanish if he touched too hard.

“i see you in my sleep, you know” he whispered “every night. bent over that altar, light on your shoulders like God himself was callin’ you home.”

he stepped closer. no sudden moves. just slow and sure and inevitable.

“and i pray, real gentle, that he lets me have you just a little while longer.”

their mouth was dry. their pulse a frantic little rabbit in their throat. he smelled like cedar smoke and sun-warmed flannel and something too old to name “…darlin’ lemme have you for the night, please, been good and gentle..i promise i’ll keep being good and gentle..just lemme have ya..”

the words were more breath than sound. desperate, not rushed, like he was praying again, and they were the altar. his nose pressed into the crook of their neck, breath hot and shaky. and then the wet heat of his mouth, open and reverent. drool soaking into their nightgown, slick against collarbone.

they should’ve pushed him off. should’ve gagged in disgust. should’ve screamed.

but all they could do was nod.

just once. a small, trembling thing. something ancient inside them rolling over and exposing its belly.

remmick shuddered like he’d felt it, like that nod struck him right down to the root. he let out a sound then, soft and guttural, full of gratitude and hunger. his hands, which had been hanging at his sides in disciplined stillness, finally moved.

one cradled the back of their head like it was breakable. the other curled around their waist, warm and careful but firm, like he thought they might change their mind if he didn’t hold on.

“you’re doin’ so good darlin” he whispered, mouth dragging up along their jaw, voice wet and wrecked. “letting me touch what’s mine. been dreamin’ of this so long it hurts.”

they whimpered, soft, pathetic, because he was saying all the wrong things in all the right ways. because their body was betraying them, leaning in, craving more warmth, more pressure, more him.

remmick didn’t kiss them, not properly. he just held his face there, pressed close, breathing them in like incense.

“you don’t gotta do nothin’, sugar,” he murmured, guiding them back, step by slow step, toward the couch. “just let me… hold what’s holy. that’s all. just let me rest with you. i’ll be so good. so quiet.”

they sat when he nudged them down, dazed. their knees barely worked. he knelt in front of them, eyes wide and glistening like he was already halfway crying.

“i knew you’d feel it,” he said, cupping their calves like a man anchoring himself to the earth “been so patient. So gentle. didn’t even touch myself after those dreams. swore i wouldn’t stain it ‘til you wanted me.”

their breath hitched.

“remmick-”

he surged up, not to kiss them, but to lay his head on their chest. just rested there, mouth parted, hands fisted in the hem of their nightgown.

“you feel that?” he mumbled, voice muffled against their skin. “that’s you makin’ me better. you calm all the hunger in me, darlin’ even when it hurts.”

and it did hurt, they could feel it, the tension in him, the tremble in his arms, the barely contained shaking in his legs. he was trying. not to break them. not yet. he was on his knees at the altar, and they were the god he worshipped.

they didn’t know what to do with their hands. every instinct screamed to push, to pull away, to break the spell, but their fingers curled instead. first into the cushion beneath them, then into his hair.

that broke something open.

he let out a sound so soft and wrecked, it didn’t sound human. a choked whimper, like someone crying into a pillow. his whole body sagged between their knees, and when he spoke again, it was like the words were bleeding out of him.

“you touch me like that, i ain’t gonna last long,” he breathed “ain’t even laid a hand on you proper and i’m already halfway ruined” it was a desperate whine, like the thought of being ruined before he actually got to have them hurt.

“i can’t take you tonight, i’m sorry darlin’, gotta be able to do it right” he mumbled, hands bunching up their nightgown “but imma still make it worth it for you”

they were confused until his hands hooked around their knees, yanking them closer to the edge of the couch as he slipped under the fabric of their nightgown, kissing up their thighs. nails and teeth feeling to sharp but they chalked it up to over sensitivity and anticipation, ignoring the inhuman noises he made while working up and down their legs.

his teeth scraped too close to the soft skin just above their knee, and something inside them jolted like a warning bell. but then his tongue followed, warm and wet, and it was like the warning turned into a hymn. his nails dug in, hard enough to sting, soft enough to feel like worship.

“sweet thing” he murmured, voice almost unrecognizable now, hushed and broken “you don’t even know what you’re lettin’ me taste. what you’re offerin’ up like it ain’t the holiest thing i’ve ever touched.”

the nightgown was bunched at their hips now, the thin cotton hiding nothing. remmick’s breath hitched when he looked, really looked, and his forehead bowed to the inside of their thigh like it was sacred ground.

“one night,” he whispered, almost to himself. “just one night to ruin myself on you, and then i’ll go back to bein’ good. i promise.”

but they both knew he was lying.

he licked a slow line up, and the whole world narrowed to that heat, that pressure, that impossible sound of him sobbing quietly between their thighs.

he licked a long strip up their folds, groaning as he rolled his hips against nothing. their head lolled back against the couch, legs shaking as he buried his face further into them

his mouth moving like he was speaking in tongues, like he was praying into them.

they couldn’t breathe. couldn’t think. every part of them was trembling, half from fear, half from the kind of want that burrowed into bone. he lapped at them with slow, reverent strokes, moaning like each taste was a salvation, a reward, a piece of divinity he’d been denied too long.

and then, his voice again, low and ruined

“you make me believe again, sugar. I forgot what that felt like. forgot what it meant to feel this clean…this full”

his tongue worked deeper, firmer, and they cried out before they could stop themself. He shuddered at the sound, hands clutching tighter at their hips.

“that’s it. that’s it, baby. don’t hold back. let me hear it- don’t you know I live off your sound?”

something in his tone snapped around the edges, less prayer now, more fever. less reverence, more ritual. and still he didn’t stop, didn’t relent, tongue relentless and mouth messy and open and too desperate to care if they shook or wept or whispered please into the stale air of that little farmhouse.

they clutched at his shoulders now, unable to stop themself, nails digging into the hard line of muscle beneath his shirt. he whimpered against them, like that was the holiest thing, like being touched back was what would finally break him, pants being marked with a wet spot that should’ve had him embarrassed and apologizing but all he wanted to do was continue his worship and work on them.

he pulled back, just slightly, just enough to look up- face wet, lips red, eyes glassy and wide with something between rapture and hunger. he dragged his cheek along their inner thigh like a cat marking its territory, nose nuzzling like it belonged there.

his hand slipped under their shirt now, palm flat over their stomach. he wasn’t groping. he was feeling. savoring. worshipping.

“you don’t gotta decide soon, i’ll still be here. just like i am now. on my knees. every night. dreamin’. touchin’. pray’n for the moment i can finally be in you..it’ll be on that altar like you deserve”

they should’ve been afraid. and maybe they were.

but the worst part -the damning part- was that they didn’t want him to stop.

not even when he buried his face again and moaned against them like he was drinking straight from a grail. not even when he said, over and over, “mine mine mine” between each kiss.

not even when the night stretched longer than it should’ve. when the moon didn’t move. when the air got too still.

and outside the window, just past the fields, the chapel lights flickered on.

like they knew.

like they were waiting.

like something inside was preparing the altar.

and remmick didn’t stop until they were limp and gasping, boneless and slack, head fallen back, every last bit of resistance milked out of them with his mouth.

he rested his forehead to their thigh again, breath slowing.

“you rest now,” he said, gently, like a lullaby “be back tomorrow with s’ more of that peach jelly you like so much” he pressed his wet mouth against their thigh for one last kiss.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

tags: @001-side

[decaying-opossum]

op i just wanna tell you your werewolf reader x remmick is so so good and cool so far🥺🥺🫶🫶🫶 you have no idea how much ive been yearning for this kind of pairing like i went feral when i saw and even more so now after reading... thank you<3

omg thank you so much!!! i ain’t written much except little shorts the past like 3-4 ish years so getting back to actually writing is kinda weird so hearing it’s not as bad as i’m thinking fr means a lot. hopefully i can get another part done tomorrow since it’s my off day 🙏

[decaying-opossum]

like a little midnight mass kinda moment..

Am I wrong for saying that I want to pound town priest! Remmick? And I’m not even that religious

[decaying-opossum]

i will 🙏🙏

cult leader remmick??

keeps mostly human followers so there’s people to tend to the animals and crops, finding new members/sacrifices during daylight, ‘chosen ones’ he turned for better, stronger guards and to help show the ‘benefits’ of listening to him and following his teachings

got 2 ideas with it, either reader is a (new maybe? idk which would be better) follower and gets chosen OR reader just lives near the compound and meets remmick one night and then starts getting harassed by the cult to join them

i’ve never really written smut before but whiny cult leader remmick desperate to worship the reader is burning a hole in what’s left of my brain

[decaying-opossum]

cult leader remmick??

keeps mostly human followers so there’s people to tend to the animals and crops, finding new members/sacrifices during daylight, ‘chosen ones’ he turned for better, stronger guards and to help show the ‘benefits’ of listening to him and following his teachings

got 2 ideas with it, either reader is a (new maybe? idk which would be better) follower and gets chosen OR reader just lives near the compound and meets remmick one night and then starts getting harassed by the cult to join them

i’ve never really written smut before but whiny cult leader remmick desperate to worship the reader is burning a hole in what’s left of my brain