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dunham-doodles · 6 days ago

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Intentions Behind A Smile

Remmick x fem!reader

8k words | horror/suspense

Summary: PART 3 + EPILOGUE (all other parts will be linked) An intense night with Remmick leaves you with upsetting consequences, emotionally and physically. Memories you don’t remember having keep invading your thoughts and your body begins to be obsessed with being near him.

Tags: dark!Remmick; horror imagery; manipulation; bodily harm; biting; puking; third-degree burns; mind control; blood; sexism; deforestation; minor!character deaths

(A/N: Y’all, I think I’m free. Sorry that this is kinda gross; he’s truly a piece of shit in this one. I’m thinking this might be my last fic for Remmick, but my inbox is always open for suggestions for ideas! Thank you all for sticking with me!)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The light the next morning was stark white, unfinished, like the day didn’t yet know what it wanted to become. The sunlight felt cold and artificial as it filtered weakly through the slits in the blinds. The air hung deathly still, silence deafening your senses. Your eyelids were glued together, but attempting to pry them open felt like too much effort.

Your body was laid in stone. Any movement might cause it to crack and crumble apart. Your legs felt heavy, your muscles replaced with bags of wet sand that sunk into the surface of the mattress like an anchor. A dull ache in your chest pulsed, not just with the weight of the act you committed, but the weight of his ghost.

The scent of him still clung to your skin, just as he said it would. It stayed with you that whole night, caressing you in his absence, lulling you back down to your senses. You could still feel the whisper of his touch skirting over your body like a hovering finger over a line of sacred texts.

Newly birthed guilt leeched inside you, mixing with the sticky remnants Remmick left like oil to water. It wriggled like something alive, leaving you sick to your stomach.

How could you do this? Your husband, for all his flaws, was still a good man. You had made a vow to remain faithful and loyal to him, in front of his family and yours. How could you stand to look them in the eyes after this? He didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this.

You peeled yourself from the warm covers, every small movement sending shockwaves through your bones. You never knew sex to feel this painful. You struggled to find your footing on the carpet, wobbling like a drunk towards the shower tucked away in the bathroom. Your eyes drifted to the elephant in the room, the coffee table that you were savagely bent over only hours ago. The poor thing was coated in a fine layer of plaster caused by the newly formed cracks in the wall where it was struck repeatedly. Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson at the sight, sympathizing with the table.

He wasn’t very gentle to either of us, was he? you thought.

The disarray of the kitchenette sparked a new dull throbbing sensation between your legs, much to your chagrin. You scurried as fast as your fawn legs could carry you, hobbling into the shower and cranking the water on as fast and hot as it could go. You hissed as the stream traced against the love bites he left on your shoulders. Reaching for the complimentary bar of soap, you rubbed yourself raw. Any trace of your infidelity, your desires, the stench of Remmick, was sent spiraling down the depths of the shower drain.

You weren’t used to being manhandled like that. Your husband, whenever the mood struck, was very practiced with you, as if following a protocol. Touch here. Squeeze here. Pull here.

With Remmick, it was unhinged. Feverish hands plunging in places strangers shouldn’t belong. Deep growls of possession. Marks of lust staining your flawless skin.

And, God, did it thrill you.

He felt inhuman last night. The way he took control, overpowering you, was like he was desperately trying to fulfill a need he had been denied for so long and you just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time. He was a dog in heat, pure instinct possessing him with hooks that bore deep and ancient. It had excited you and terrified you in equal parts.

Your need grew stronger as the rain of water cascaded down your body. Your mind swam with visions of a moment that didn’t exist— one where you were lying on your back, his tongue scraping your slit in long, broad strokes, watching you squirm with that intense blue gaze. You shook your head vigorously, shelving that thought in the recesses of your mind.

“What’s gotten into me?�� you muttered.

You reached behind to begin scrubbing your back. The bites on your shoulders ignited in angry flames as a protest, digging barbs into your tissue. You yelped, wincing at the sensation, hurtling your mind back down to Earth. Your hand flinched away from the sore. The soap bar cried in pink streaks down your arm.

You creased your brows. You took a cautionary swipe at your back shoulder, grunting as the wound bit you. Your fingers were dotted with tiny droplets of blood.

You hurtled out of the tub, twisting around to inspect yourself in the mirror. Constellations of red teeth marks that were ringed in purple-red bruises pocked your skin like watercolor. The skin was a furious, infected red, watery streaks of fresh blood from reopened wounds trickling down the long curve of your spine. You gasped in horror at the carnage.

She chewed on my mother.

Suze’s voice shot through your skull, bringing with it wailing sirens of panic. The floor fell from beneath you. Bile rose in your throat as you collapsed onto the tile. Your breathing sputtered and wheezed, lungs spasming for a full intake of air. Your mind choked you with images of those crooked teeth, canines stretched too long, lips pulled taught, baring fangs that knew how to kill without mercy. Teeth that clamped onto the tense muscles of the neck and didn’t let up until you stopped shaking. A mouth that now knew the robust taste of your blood and smiled like it enjoyed it. You felt the taste linger on your own tongue, metallic and sharp, a memory familiar to you but one you don’t recall ever owning.

On your knees, you crawled to the toilet and retched. Cloudy remains of your gin and tonic splashed in the bowl. You heaved, forcing everything to evacuate your stomach. You gagged out a strangled cry, feeling hollow at last.

Your body, slick with sweat and trembling from exhaustion, numbly found the tile floor again. The cold from the ground took root in your skin, tethering you down. The tangy whisper of your own blood curdled but stubbornly remained, taunting you.

Who did you allow into your room that night? Hell, what did you let into your room? What did you let touch you, mark you, unravel your body so drastically, it almost felt like punishment. Yet, despite your trepidation, another feeling pulled at you. It was faint but the longing was hard to ignore. It pulsed like a second heartbeat, faster and heavier than your own.

You wanted him back. You craved to have him back. You wanted him here with you, to see your naked form, to take pity on your heart, and make everything okay again. To make you feel special the way only he could make you feel. To make you feel seen, cherished, important.

I can make you feel this good all the time. You just gotta stay here. That’s all. Stay with me.

Your rationale battled against the pull. This desire didn’t feel natural. It felt planted in the recesses of your mind, dark roots seeping further and further into your psyche until it was all you could think of.

You loved him. You feared him.

You knew the way the lighter’s flame flickered in his pupils was unnatural. The way it stained the pitch black, muddying the intense red light, looked like a charcoal briquette humming with destructive life. Like hellfire ready to swallow your unsuspecting soul. And, you had let it consume you, burning you down to a molten pit to be reformed to his liking.

Did Alice go the same way? Did Leslie? Who else tacked on the side of that brick wall followed him and left their souls behind?

Your muscles shook as you rose from the ground. You quieted the thoughts telling you to stay down, to crawl back into bed, a new determination set into your heart. You were going to get the hell out of this town. Damn your Editor, damn your job, damn Remmick. You refused to end up another lost soul, a smiling picture faded and forgotten with time.

But, not before warning others. Ignoring the issue wasn’t going to make anything go away. Families were still torn apart. Beds were still empty. Predators were still at large. You had to write your story. It might be too late for you, but if you could spare even one person from facing a similar fate, it would make this whole hell worthwhile. Someone out there was going to take this seriously, they just had to.

Throwing on the first outfit you pulled out of your disorganized suitcase, you unboxed to your typewriter. You chose to work on your bed, refusing to acknowledge the crumpled table any longer. Stacking a ream of papers beside the machine, you loaded up a page and began to type.

Stolen In The Night: No Answers In The Case Of Dozens of Missing Persons

What should be a celebratory time for the locals in this quiet, Mississippi town, has become a haunting reminder of many community members who have disappeared from their homes in the middle of the night.

Your fingers flew across the keyboard, sentences pouring out as fast as your stream of consciousness could allow.

Locals have reported similar instances occurring in neighboring communities, dating back to 1932 with the seemingly random disappearances of dozens of patrons from an old sawmill, turned juke joint, in Clarksdale.

You wrote for long stretches into the afternoon. You read and reread the words stamped to the page, making tiny adjustments here and there as you went on. The ticking clock on the nightstand wove between the mechanical clicks of the keys, the soundtrack to the passage of time. The harsh summer sun never fully broke through the clouds. Instead, it elected to send suggestions of rays filtered through the thick sea of gray sky. If it weren’t for that clock, you wouldn’t know exactly how much time passed.

In between small breaks to wring out your wrists, you had brewed yourself a strong pot of coffee. Coffee had always been of some comfort to you, even when it was bad. Especially if paired with a cigarette. One dangled between your fingers, singed bits of ash mixing into the fibers of the carpet, cementing you into its history. The deep earthy smell of the coffee, mixed with fresh tobacco, reset the tone of the room. A weight lifted from your shoulders when you realized you could no longer feel Remmick’s lurking presence. The deep inking darkness that hovered like a curse over your mind finally dissipated. You could think clearer, sharper. The mewling, whimpering girl from the night before had vanished, leaving you back to your old self again.

You sat back on the bed, finishing up typing the final paragraph. Unthreading the page from your machine, you sighed contentedly before setting it down on your completed pile. Your eyes flicked up to the phone resting dormant on the wall. Guilt roiled in the depths your gut once more. You chewed on your bottom lip. You knew you needed to speak to him again, eventually. Picking up the receiver, you dialed the phone number you knew by heart.

Your husband on the other line picked up. “Hello?”

Your breath caught, hearing his voice again. It felt like decades had passed since you last heard it. Words sat stubbornly behind your teeth but refused to leave. You wanted to apologize for everything, for going on this damned trip, for being unfaithful, for getting yourself into a whole world of trouble.

“Hey,” you attempted to coax a smile into your voice, “It’s me. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be home sooner than expected.”

“Really?” he said with barely contained excitement, “That’s great! When do you think you’ll be back?”

“Tomorrow night at the latest, I think.” A lump formed at the base of your throat and you tried your best to swallow it away. “I uh, I decided I didn’t want to be away from you any longer.”

“Well gee, I’ll make sure the place is ready for you then!” he replied happily. The carefree tone only ground into your remorse further, turning it into a fine dust that would stick to your bones long after you were buried.

The silence that followed was raw. You blinked back the hot tears threatening to fall, “I love you.” The words tumbled out of your mouth clumsily. You had said it so many times before, only now it felt wrong. Like shoes that fit a bit too tight but you wore anyway because you didn’t have anything else. Because you were going to grin and bear it, even if your heels were bloodied blisters.

“I love you too,” he replied gently, “I’m glad you’re coming back. I can’t wait until you’re home.”

“Neither can I,” you smiled sadly, “I’ll call you before I leave, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight sweetheart,” your husband hummed sweetly.

“Goodnight.” You pressed the receiver back into place. Your bottom lip quivered and you sniffled, roughly wiping the tears from your eyes. The gentleness stung like licks from a whip. It gnawed away at your insides, a festering ache that drilled into your shame where it stubbornly latched on. You didn’t think you deserved such kindness, not after what you did. Not when he would see how Remmick marked you. Your fingers gingerly traced the indents on your left shoulder, disgust bubbling like a tea kettle.

Suddenly, you rushed out the door with renewed vigor. You marched the full mile to the bus station, only stopping to annotate the names and descriptions of those unfortunate missing persons on the side of the corner store to add to your article. You scribbled as many details as you could collect, committing each of their faces to memory, making a silent vow to them that you would help bring them peace.

Continuing to the bus station, you beelined directly back to the ticket booth. The older salesman was not asleep on the job this time. Instead, he picked at his fingernails, distracting himself to pass the time.

“What time does the last bus leave here tonight?” you asked.

“Jus’ missed it by an hour,” he said, “Thinkin’ ‘bout leavin’ ‘fore the fun starts?”

Your eyes found the clock hanging above his balding head. It was already seven pm. “I’ve had my fair share of fun, thank you,” you replied callously.

The salesman raised his brow but didn’t question it. “Hope we didn’t scare you off too good. You want the first bus out in the mornin’?” You nodded your head. The register crunched with the sale and the man procured your ticket. “Three dollars,” he said, “Bus leaves at eight on the dot.”

You exchanged the money and pocketed the ticket.

“Eight on the dot,” you repeated. The ticket weighed in your purse like the promise of freedom.

You didn’t mean to rush out so late. Seeing the heather gray sky darken to black set your nerves back on edge. A light twinge of fresh pain twisted across your shoulders, causing you to shiver. You didn’t know how but you knew Remmick was close.

The pulling sensation tugged at your chest, an invisible leash dragging you onward without your control. You fought for it, yanked it back into your court, grip trembling but strong. Your fists clenched, every step focused as if learning how to walk again.

You just gotta stay here. Stay with me. Remmick’s raspy voice hummed in your ears. You stubbornly ignored it and continued walking.

Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me. Be with me.

You ground to a halt. The hairs on the back of your neck bristled. Without warning, the pull had shifted, running in the opposite direction. Instead, it wanted to go towards the center of town to the chapel. You slackened your grip on the thrall and allowed your body to carry you off.

You started to feel the weirdest sense of déjà vu. You had been down this path earlier, walking towards the white chapel just as the sun had finally set. No, not walking. Stalking. Prowling. The vigorous trembling of your hands didn’t belong to you. Your stomach squeezed with a faint hunger you couldn’t place. This didn’t feel like you. These were somebody else’s memories. You could see flashes of the giant oak door. You felt the wood grain crackle against your knuckles as you had rapped vigorously, only for it to slowly open to the Reverend’s tan face. He smiled at you with the familiarity of a friend. He had let you in without hesitation.

You ran faster towards the center of town. The chapel glowed blueish white, an alien beacon in the pale light of the moon. The door yawned wide open. You stumbled up the steps, your heartbeat catching in your throat.

The interior was a black hole. Your footsteps echoed hauntingly off the slant of the roof. The smell was dank and musty with rust. You strained your ears for any noise, a breath, a sigh, any sign of life in the stagnant air.

A wet slurping, like the lapping of water against a thirst-ridden tongue, subtly emanated from a far left corner of the foyer. You urged yourself forward, though every nerve begged you to stay put. The ground became sticky the further in you walked, sucking on your shoes like molasses. Your eyes tuned themselves to the darkness, discovering a white body hunched low to the ground.

It looked malnourished, spine bones poking like needles through pallor skin. The clothes —a generous word—, were caked in earth and poked with holes of varying sizes. They hung limply on the small angular form, more out of familiarity than practicality. Its hair was stringy and matted in sweat and grime, darker than the night. It ceased its feasting when it heard your footsteps approaching. It lifted its head and turned around slowly.

“Oh,” it said, mouth washed in thick crimson blood, droplets spilling from its lips, “I wasn’t expecting it to be you.”

A scream hitched the back of your throat, strangling to crawl its way out. You followed the red liquid trail down the length of its neck, to the tattered remains of its blouse, and finally ending on the now dead body of Mrs. Lukas that laid in a heap beneath it. “A-Alice?” you whispered.

She smiled brightly as she recognized the name, sharp teeth stained in deep red. “How do you do?”

Your insides fell hollow and cold. “You shouldn’t be here,” you sputtered.

Alice stared back quizzically. “Why not? I was invited.” She pointed behind you. You made out the lifeless bodies of two men thrown off to the side of the door. One was the Reverend and the other you assumed to be Mr. Lukas. Their faces stretched open in silent screams.

You whimpered, crestfallen at the sight of their crumpled bodies lying like dirty rags. Alice regarded them with such nonchalance, as if she what she witnessed was an average occurrence rather than a violent nightmare.

Your vision tunneled and you stumbled back into a nearby pew. Alice rose up from the corpse and kneeled in front of you. Her gaze wandered over your horrified face in curiosity and awe.

“You’re a lot prettier ‘n person,” she breathed, a sickly sweet smile still curving her cheeks, “Don’t worry. We gon’ take good care of you.”

You flinched as you felt her long fingernails trace circles on your bare knees, a touch that was too loving for hands so gruesome. You fought to stay conscious but your mind decided it was all too much to handle and wrestled you into submission.

You were laid on a bed of grass, head tilted up towards the starless sky, by the time you came to. You snapped up, eyes wild. Where were you? How much time had passed? The moon dangled just above you, large and full, bathing the trees in a wash of silver.

You scratched at the ground, feeling the dirt cake beneath your nails. Wake up, wake up, wake up, you thought. The sharp stabbing on your shoulders reignited, catching your breath. You cringed, arching and twisting your muscles to will it away.

A branch snapped as someone breeched into the clearing. Remmick sauntered up to you lazily, an impish grin stretching his scratchy cheeks. You wanted to kick him in his knees and run while the thrall tugging at you wanted to leap into his arms and kiss him breathless.

“Howdy,” he said casually, “See you’ve recovered some.” He traced your curves with a slick thirst, whether for your body or what lies beneath, you couldn’t decipher. Your gaze pierced him, burning a molten hole through his face. Remmick sighed and rolled his eyes. “Now, don’t be like that, darlin’.”

“Don’t call me that,” you hissed.

“Fine, fine.” He strolled closer to you. “Is there somethin’ else you prefer? Baby? Honey? Sweetheart?” He leaned forward into your ear, “Pet?” You shot upright, knocking him down in your place. He broke into terse laughter, “I’m just teasin’ ya, Doll.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. You had to find a way out of the forest. You couldn’t be left alone with him; you didn’t know what he’d do, or worse, what you’d do. You picked a direction and began to walk.

“And where’d you think you’re goin’?” Remmick dusted himself off and trailed after you, taking longer steps to catch up. You picked up your pace. Remmick broke into a run, swerving in front of you, cutting you off.

“What’s gotten into you?” he said. You closed yourself off, trying to dance your way around him. “Hey!” He gripped your shoulders to keep you from slipping away, “Why’re you bein’ like this?”

“Let go of me or I’ll scream,” you snarled.

He snorted. “You can sure try, but there ain’t anyone ‘round for miles,” he said, “‘S just you and me out here.” His hands raised, a smug gesture. You took in a shaking breath and walked around him. You trudged across the uneven terrain, Remmick following a few paces behind you. Even at his leisure, he was still able to remain close enough behind that you could hear him humming to himself. This was a game to him.

He trailed behind you for a solid half mile before stopping. “A’right, you had your fun. Get over here.”

Your body responded to the order, a dutiful soldier. You whipped back around, nearly stumbling, and closed the distance between you two.

“W-what the hell?” your voice shook with fear.

Remmick’s lips curled into a smirk. He placed his hands on your waist, knocking your hips against his. His eyes shone a faint pulsing red that lingered on your body. He licked his lips, drooling like a dog in heat. You shrunk under that intense gaze.

“I was lookin’ for ya.” His fingers traced up the lengths of your side, “Figured you might wanna repeat of last night.”

“You disgust me,” you spat, words intending to cut.

Remmick’s eyes widened in surprise. “Ouch. After all we’ve been through?” A hand left your waist and gripped your chin, forcing you to face him. His long nails curled into talons, leaving indents on your cheeks. “You enjoyed what I did to you last night, didn’t ya?” he said, “It sure as hell sounded like it.”

Your face turned beet red as you tried in vain to wriggle yourself free.

“Ain’t nothin’ to feel ashamed of darlin’. It’s all natural. Everybody’s got needs.” His lips whispered tantalizing kisses across your forehead. “I’ll be real gentle this time. I swear it.”

You hated that you melted, knees buckling, hands already working up his back. The pull thrummed like a steady motor rising in acceleration. You considered it. It’s true that you enjoyed yourself, right? What happened, and your feelings about it, were real, not just want he told you to feel. These were your thoughts. You wanted him to fuck you then. You’d want him to do it again.

Right?

You hesitated and Remmick’s eyes grew brighter. “I can’t,” your voice wavered.

“Sure you can,” he purred.

You grasped his claws, lowering them. “You’ll hurt me again.”

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” He closed his hands together in a plea, “I’ll beg for it, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

“Stop.” The word fought its way through the thrall. You averted your gaze, the red glow of his eyes only heightened your terror.

“I can see what you want me to do. It’s faint but it’s there. All your filthy little fantasies. Places you want me to touch you, to lick you. You can’t hide from me, darlin’.”

“S-stop that,” you stammered, “You don’t know what I want.”

“Your mind betrays you,” Remmick grinned, canines glinting in the glow of the moon. “I know you better than you know yourself now.”

You trembled. He was in your head. It would explain the contrasting feelings, the incessant need to be with him, the aching draw whenever he was near. It dawned on you that your body was no longer yours. You shared it fully now to a man, a thing, whose hands knew death as well as it did desire. The longer he lorded control over you, the more you felt like his puppet, no longer a person of flesh and blood but an object for his own pleasure.

“Is that what you told Alice?” you asked, voice choking with disgust, “Or Leslie? Is that how you turned them into monsters?”

His jaw muscle twitched in annoyance. “I don’t like that word.”

You laughed brutishly, “How rich. The monster has trouble with the word ‘monster’.”

His eyes shown brighter. “Keep talkin’, darlin’. You’re diggin’ your own grave.”

“Is there something else you prefer, Remmick?” you cried. “I’m a writer, I know all kinds of names. Fiend? Beast?” Each jab propelled you forward, shoving into his chest. It gave you some pleasure to see him step back. “Brute, demon! What should I call you instead?” You stared him down like the barrel of a gun. “What the fuck do I call myself, Remmick?”

His teeth were bared, sharp as razors and long as tusks. Your gaze traced that mouth, swearing you saw your reflection in his canines staring back at you. Thick ropes of saliva dripped from them, wetting his chin. His eyes were an inferno contained in two small pupils. Remmick’s shoulders rose and fell with each deep breath he took. He panted angrily, his breath heavy and thick. Tendons jumped under his skin, ready to spring on you and make you pay for your insults. He couldn’t hide now. You could see every unnatural, ugly part of himself. Yet, you were standing, ten toes down, sizing him up.

“Finished?” Remmick snarled.

Your heartbeat quickened at the proximity to danger. Your rational brain was screaming at you to run, do something, instead of standing there ogling at him.

“What are you?” you breathed.

He smirked as much as his teeth could allow him. “Salvation,” he said. He began to circle you. You followed, keeping your eyes locked onto his. “When you’ve been ‘round as long as I have, you start to see people for who they truly are. Liars. Conmen. Cheats. All they care about, at the end of the day, is their bottom line. Don’t matter if it’s money, power, sex. Everybody eventually makes it down that path somehow.”

Your head pounded. Flashes of visions flooded your mind like a burst dam. Farmers caked in dust, skin pulled taut against their bones as they continued to till for food that wouldn’t find its way to their tables. Battalions of soldiers trenching natural lands, burning houses to ash, slaying innocents in the name of their God. People so wracked with terror that it became forged in their DNA, causing them to forget a time before bloodshed. Losing pieces of their identities for the false comfort of conformity in order to survive.

Lifetimes of suffering, having been absorbed over centuries of aimless wandering, from all different walks of life, rendered you entirely awestruck. You doubled over, clutching the sides of your head as the visions kept cycling through in a loop, each round going faster and faster. You squeezed your eyes shut but the faces remained; the heartbreak, the hunger, the fury never lessened.

Remmick stood over you, watching you writhe with cold, uncaring eyes.

“P-Please” you begged, “Please. I-I don’t want to see this anymore.”

“No, I know it’s not pretty, sweetheart.” He crouched low, hands folded, “But, you know how cruel the world can be. You’ve seen it yourself, haven’t you? All those times you were shut out, or told to behave a certain way. You will never be more than what they see; a wife, a kitchen appliance, an incubator. All because of how you were born.” He tsked and shook his head, “It just ain’t fair.”

You cried out in pain, the faces in your mind warping into those you recognized. The unrelenting cold stares from the townsfolk. The Reverend’s disgust. Suze’s anger. Your Editor’s annoyance. Your own husband’s reluctance.

“Remmick,” you wept, “Please stop.”

He tenderly reached for your face. His thumb and forefinger pinched your chin, tilting it upwards at him. The thoughts in your head silenced instantly. His hand shifted up your cheek, wiping away the tears that continued to fall. You felt like you had drowned. Your mind had melted to goo, sloshing like liquor in a bottle. You couldn’t focus on anything else but the feel of his touch and the way his gaze softly found yours.

“I can save you,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “From ever feeling less-than again. I can make you whole. And then, we can be together. All of us could.”

Small circles of light surrounded you like clusters of stars. They wove through the thick trees, gliding as if dancing in between the spaces where moonlight met shadow. The shining stars blinked in anticipation. You recognized Alice as she came forward, now clean from her earlier massacre from the chapel. Others stepped towards the clearing, some faces you remember smiling at you from missing persons posters. They all regarded you with a warm welcome, giddy to accept you into their family.

You dreamily skipped from person to person, finding yourself returning their smiles. Your heart surged with love, the feeling growing stronger with each passing moment. You could feel their promises of everlasting joy and peace wash over you, gentle waves lapping at the sand long after a hurricane had passed. You leaned further into Remmick’s touch, blissful.

He smiled, “Attagirl.” The crowd murmured excitedly. You numbly folded your body further into his arms, letting the peace engulf you. Nothing could hurt you again, not while he was here with you. You were safe now from any and all hardships that were inflicted on you by others who didn’t understand.

Remmick cradled you like a lamb. He gently brushed loose strands of hair off of your neck. The murmuring rose in volume, humming fuzzily within your skull.

“I gotta finish what I started, okay?” Remmick whispered to you, “You’re almost there. I just gotta do one more thing and then you’ll be done. It’ll only hurt for a moment.” You nodded weakly, lowering your eyes. He lifted you higher, mouth widening around your jugular.

You were strangely calm. You thought the moment you knew you were going to die, you’d see fragments of your life pass by but nothing came to you. Your mind remained static, a blank canvas for new thoughts and new memories to take shape. You’d thought you’d at least put up more of a fight but the surrounding community quelled any panic with their gentle humming.

That is until they started to smell smoke.

The first knee-jerk reaction was that the sun had snuck up on them and they all only had seconds to find shelter. But, the sky was still dark overhead, the moon barely brushing the tips of the trees. It was the trees themselves that vomited out plumes of smoke as a fire raged across the dry forest. People began to panic as the fire ate through acres as quickly as a starved animal. Groups began to take off running opposite of the flames, plunging deeper into the darkness.

The heat grew the closer it got, embers singeing ashes into the grass, igniting tiny fires in its wake. Remmick snapped up, eyes wide in alarm, before he had the chance to bite into you. His own self preservation kicked in, shucking you out of his arms and taking off with the group ahead.

You rolled unceremoniously back onto the ground, smoke stinging your eyes. You staggered to your feet, the thrall tugging you towards your deserter. You kicked up into a run. Tree limbs splintered and cracked, the fire roaring in your ears. Fragments of branches fell in your path, scattered glittering embers mixing with the toxic air. Every breath you inhaled choked you into a coughing fit.

The blistering heat bubbled the skin up your arms, shrinking and tearing to reveal the pink muscle underneath. Your cries for help suffocated under the popping of the fire. You had to keep moving, you had to find the group. The thrall became weaker, the further away he got, leaving you stranded in the middle of the inferno. Whipping your head around, you could make out nothing, no gap in the fire, no escape, no one to rescue you. You had been left for dead.

You jutted to the right, stumbling around the debris smoldering on the ground. Your body cried for a fresh breath of air. The blackened trees reached out, demonic arms raking through your hair, your clothes, bathing you in flame. You flailed, patting down the growing blaze before it could swallow you.

Up ahead, a respite, a clearing free of overhanging branches, made itself known like an intervention from God. You floundered your way over, collapsing into the long grass, coughing and spitting, lungs grasping at last for fresh air. Heat emitted behind you like the mouth to Hell as you crawled your charred, smoking body further into your temporary safety. You could make out the wailing of police sirens in the distance growing louder. You silently prayed, with your last bit of consciousness, that the police would be able to find your body before it started to smell.

Your hospital bed was more comfortable than the one in your hotel room. The thin sheet coupled with the multitude of gauze and bandages wrapped around your arms and neck —and the cocktail of painkillers you were no doubt given —, made it feel like you were having an extra fancy spa day. Maybe this is what Heaven felt like.

Your bleary eyes winced at the harsh white artificial light. You were positioned sitting upright, two starchy pillows plush against your back. Your room was a garden. Multicolored flowers in vases, get-well cards, and balloons crammed every surface of free space. A man laid in an uncomfortable looking chair, leaning on his knuckles, fast asleep. Your heart spiked, thinking you had been found by Remmick but it stilled when you recognized your husband. You smiled softly, seeing him curled up so peacefully. You watched him for a few minutes before he woke up.

When his eyes met yours, he hurtled towards the bed, petting your hair from your face and planting kisses on your peeling skin. It twinged like a sunburn but he didn’t care, tears pooling his eyes.

“Oh thank God,” he moaned, “Thank you, God!”

You couldn’t help but start crying too, the events of the past week finally catching up to you. He embraced you tighter to his chest. You both sobbed while he held you.

“You are never leaving my sight again. Never, do you understand me?” Your husband mumbled into the crown of your head, kissing it, “No more business trips.”

“M-My article,” your voice splintered painfully in your throat, “H-How long have I been here?”

“Three days,” he replied, pulling away, cupping your face. “I got a call from the hospital early on Friday morning and drove as fast as I could to come get you. Honey, I thought you had died! They said you barely looked human! I mean, what were you thinking being alone in the woods during a fire?”

“It wasn’t on fire when I was in there,” you mumbled to yourself. “Did they find out the cause?”

“Some teenaged girl turned herself in, saying she did it. I don’t know what got it in her head to be playing with matches in a dense forest.”

“Teenaged girl?” you said suddenly. “Did they say her name?”

“Susan something or other. Look, darling, enough with the nosy questions. The doctors want you to rest up so you can come home.”

“But, is she alright? Where is she?”

“Behind bars where she ought to be. Her parents should be ashamed of themselves for raising such a delinquent.”

“Her parents are dead,” you said stiffly, “And, she goes by Suze.” Your husband blinked, taken aback by your tone. “Sh-She hasn’t got anyone left. Her uncle —,” Revered Jim’s gaping maw and lifeless eyes flashed in your mind, making you shiver, despite your feverish skin. “Please, I have to go see her.”

“You’re in no state to leave, darling.” You cringed when he called you that, hearing only Remmick. He invaded your mind, his piercing red eyes, his rancid breath on your neck, the sharp talons on your skin.

“No, please! I have to go make sure she’s okay! She needs to be warned! He might be still out there!” You attempted to rise from your bed. Your skin strained with the sudden movement, millions of tiny needles ruptured up the length of your arms. You wailed, white flashes clouding your vision. Your husband restrained you back down.

“I’m afraid he’s right.” A doctor and two nurses entered the room. The nurses rushed to check your bandages, ready to replace with fresh ones if needed. “Although, I will say, you are making a very speedy recovery. The swelling went down exponentially and your oxygen levels had stabilized, although I wouldn’t suggest any rigorous exercise for the next few months.”

“Please,” you rasped, “Please. I need to talk to Suze.” You were ignored.

“What about the scarring?” your husband asked.

“Too early to tell. We’ll send some antibiotics and ointments once released but, the more problematic areas might require the help of plastic surgery.”

“Was anyone else found?” you interjected.

The doctor gave you a pitying look. “I’m afraid not, my dear.” Your head hit the pillow, your lip quivering. You couldn’t feel him but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still out there somewhere. He could very well be making his way to the hospital. You didn’t want to think about the wrath he would inflict until he got what was his.

“In the meantime,” the doctor turned to your husband, “We would like to keep her here a few more days, just to make sure both of their vitals stay consistent.”

“Both?” You and your husband said simultaneously.

“I suppose it is a bit early to tell,” the doctor grinned cheekily, “But, you have my sincerest congratulations.”

“W-What’re you saying, Doc?” your husband stammered.

“She’s pregnant.”

Epilogue

Months had passed since the wildfire and you still woke up every night in a cold sweat. You heaved like your lungs were full of ash. Your husband stirred beside you but never raised his head. He had grown used to your episodes about two months prior.

“‘S jus’ a dream, honey,” he slurred, still half asleep, “Go back to sleep.” His light snoring followed soon after.

You wiped the back of your neck from sweat. You felt the raised, angry texture of your burn scars underneath your fingers. Most of the skin on your left side had twisted and reformed into puffy patches that looked mummified in plastic wrap. At least it had covered the bite marks on your shoulders.

The doctors gave you all the treatments to sedate the ever-present tightness, which helped, but you always felt the most uncomfortable under direct sunlight. You now tended to wear long sleeves and skirts, even when the heat from the summer months was at its pique, just to give your body a break. You were thankful that the winter clouds now blocked out the majority of the sun’s harsh rays.

You hefted yourself out of bed, needing a drink. The baby suspended in your body shifted with you. You took extra care getting to your feet so as not to jostle it further.

Hand on your stomach, you wobbled into the kitchen in the dark. You flipped on a single lightbulb that hung just above the oven. You unhooked the empty coffee pot from its dock and placed it under the faucet. You transferred the water from the pot to your machine before loading it up with your filter and a helping of grounds. Switching the machine on, you turned and opened the cupboard for the drinking cups. The cold shining surfaces winked back like sharp teeth, making you wince.

You haven’t felt the thrall since the wildfire. It was like Remmick had untethered his claws from your mind the moment he ran from you. Although, you still found him in the snarling grin of a dog or in between the notes of an old blues song. You caught yourself jumping whenever someone brushed against your shoulder or when your husband laced his arms around your waist. You refused to stay in any amount of darkness for longer than a minute because you imagined his shadowy claws wrapping around your throat like he intended to drag you back to him.

You’d thought you’d feel relief when your body slowly started feeling like you were in control again, but you never truly belonged to yourself. The extra weight you were carrying made for a constant reminder.

As to be expected, your husband and both of your families were over the moon with excitement. What a blessed miracle after you’ve been through so much turmoil; the baby must’ve been a sign from God that you were meant to live long enough to become the mother they knew you to be.

Throughout your entire baby shower, you had grinned tightly, not letting anything get past your lips. Not of the fact that you weren’t sure if the baby belonged to your husband. Not of the fact that this baby might not even be human. Whatever it was, you just hoped that it didn’t inherit those sharp teeth.

The coffee machine beeped mechanically, the warm roasted smell wafting into your nose. It refreshed you, a newfound sense of calm following it down. You were still here. You were still breathing.

The little guy did a somersault and you sighed. As it grew stronger, it was becoming more and more restless. It kept you awake most nights, so much that you’ve started to adopt a more nocturnal lifestyle. You had plenty of time to rest during the day since your Editor stayed true to his word and sacked you.

He found out about your fiery near-death experience and sent a lovely card to your hospital room with a letter of termination tucked in the fold. Take a break and recover, it read, Maybe, in a year, we can talk about getting you back on the advice column again. You burned the letter.

You poured your coffee into a cup, leaving room for milk and sugar. Stirring absentmindedly, you sat down at your kitchen table, chair creaking underneath you.

There was no way your old newspaper was going to publish the article you nearly died for. Instead, you sent it off to other publishers in the area, hoping that one of them would take a chance on it. Plenty of rejection letters came into your hands. Thank you for submitting your work to us, one read, Unfortunately, we do not have a section for short stories. Might we suggest sending this to a book publishing house or for a magazine feature?

The rejection stung, as it always does, especially when your writing was reduced to a work of fiction. People would continue to be turned into monsters if this wasn’t brought to light. Remmick would still be getting away with murder, the longer the public stayed quiet. Part of you did consider sending your article to a publishing house, at least your writing would be out.

Your thoughts drifted to Suze. You never got a chance to see her again when you left the hospital, not for lack of trying. You found yourself waiting by the phone for her to reach out. You even called the sheriff’s department to ask about her but they wouldn’t disclose any information. You hoped that she was safe, wherever she went off to. You hoped Remmick would never reach her again.

The baby pushed a little more forcefully than you were used to, causing you to groan.

“Calm down, there’s no need for that,” you grunted, stroking your stomach. But it kept relenting. Suddenly, you could feel your heart drop as a familiar twinge skittered across your shoulders. Coffee spilled onto the table top as your hands shook. Your mind tugged towards the stationary front door excitedly anticipating an arrival like an overactive dog.

“No,” you mumbled horrifically, “No, no, no, no!” The chair clattered to the ground as you shot up, retreating to the far corner of your kitchen. Your husband woke up a moment later, rushing in to check on you.

“Sweetheart, are you oka-“

Knock knock knock.

You both fell silent, eyes locked on the front door. The air crackled in suspense for another sound to break through.

“Who could that be at this hour?” your husband muttered to himself. He began to step towards the door but you lunged at him and pulled him back.

“Don’t open it,” you cried.

The thrall lurched forward, the sting on your back igniting in flames beneath your skin. You arched your spine, the feeling pinching every nerve in your body, nearly paralyzing you.

Your husband lead you to the couch, worry drawn tight on his features. “Rest here,” he ordered, “I’ll call for the doctor after—“

Knock knock.

“Hello?” A timid voice rang out in the small room. “Is anyone there? Please, I-I need your help.”

You gripped your husband’s arm as he got up but he shrugged you off. He looked through the peep hole on the door before turning the knob. The frame of the door blocked your view but you knew what he saw.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

The person on the other side shuffled his feet. “S-Sir, please, my car broke down on the way to the hospital. M-My wife, you see, she’s expecting’ our first and, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I-I would like to use your phone to call someone to pick me up.”

Your husband’s demeanor instantly warmed. He pulled the door open wider and stepped off to the side. “Sure you can! It’s just on the wall in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, thank you! Y’all are too kind!” Remmick stepped past the threshold in one long stride. He scanned the room until he settled right on you and your wild-eyed stare. His lips pulled up into a crooked smile.

“It’s funny you said your wife’s expecting your first because we’re waiting on our first kid too.” Your husband beamed proudly at the newcomer.

“Well, ain’t that somethin’.” Remmick’s neck twisted as he latched his claws into your husband’s skin. Fangs, long and thick, sunk into the muscle of his neck, your husband’s eyes stricken with terror. All you could think to do was watch in stupefied silence as Remmick tore through the skin, blood splattering wetly onto your hardwood floors.

The still-shaking body of your husband collapsed, airways gurgling as his blood pooled his throat. Remmick turned back to face you, face sopping wet, eyes gleaming red.

“Found you,” he said.

“H-How!?” You shook with an intense mixture of fury and terror.

Remmick reached in his pockets and pulled out a loose scrap of paper. On it, in your handwriting, was your address and telephone number. The exact paper you had given to Suze in the basement of the chapel.

“Paid our friend a visit.” He waved the page in the air.

You sprung forward, teeth bared, ready to tear him limb from limb at the thought of him hurting that poor girl. Remmick caught your wrists midair.

“Woah, woah, easy now,” he cooed, “You’re in no state to fight.”

“If you so much as touched a hair on her head, I swear to God—” you growled.

He shushed you like he was soothing a wild animal. Your body responded dutifully, relaxing your shoulders, reigning your blazing fury into docile submission.

He lowered your arms to your sides. “Good girl,” he hummed, “Good to know you can still listen.”

“What the hell do you want?” your voice wavered.

“I’m finishing what I started, darlin’. Then I’m takin’ you back home.”

“You left me to die,” you spat. Remmick leaned his face against your ear, breathing in your scent. You screwed your eyes shut, wishing the quell the frantic flutter in your core away.

“I did,” he admitted, “And, I could still kill you. But, I’ve decided that I like you too much.” His lips traveled from the curve of your ear to the dip where your jaw met your neck. He kissed that spot, earning a sigh from you. “We’re all waiting for you.”

Remmick pulled you closer to him, securing you by wrapping his arms around your waist. The cold eyes of your husband’s corpse stared blankly up at you. You found you cared less and less as Remmick caressed your body further. Everything had quieted, even the baby stopped fussing. It was just you and him now and nothing could break you apart ever again.

Tag list: @selinakyle373 @idlephantom @just-jack-oconnell @cryptidvillage @mangobellini @avidreader73 @creamqvvn @jocficblog

#sinners 2025 #sinners #remmick #remmick x reader #remmick fanfic #jack o'connell

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dunham-doodles · 21 days ago

Text

Intentions Behind A Smile

Remmick x fem!reader

6k words | suspense + spice (Minors DNI)

Summary: THIS IS A PART 2. PART 1 WILL BE LINKED. After the strange encounter with the waitress at the diner, you decide you need to take matters into your own hands. You track her back to her uncle’s chapel, ready to ask your questions about the mysterious musician, when the mother of the girl who went missing barges through the front doors, wailing about monsters with glowing eyes outside. Suddenly, you feel you have more to worry about than missing your deadline.

Tags: dark!Remmick; suspenseful/horror imagery; mentions of blood and gore; sexism; PTSD; sexual harassment; stalking; hive-mind fuckery; gaslighting; cheating spouse; dirty talk; rough sex; stimulation; fingering; p in v

(A/N: I’m so excited that y’all liked part 1 so much! I was really nervous that a longer story wasn’t gonna do as well as my one-shots but I’m really loving the response! I hope you guys like this one and I’ll see you in the next part).

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Your dreams that night left you agitated.

You found yourself in the middle of the woods. The sweet scent of copper and rot hung in the stillness. Trees choked you on either side. The darkness shifted in colossal waves as if you were sat at the bottom of the sea. The tree limbs warped and stretched, entombing you in a net. The branches pulled sharper until they resembled claws. The jagged tips grazed your skin, blood trickling down your arms, your thighs, your stomach. Everywhere you looked, emerging from the darkness like fireflies, were thousands of pairs of glowing eyes.

You tried to scream as the claws ripped at your body. Fingers tore through the exposed length of your neck, hot crimson blood bubbling out of the wound, killing any sound you attempted to make. All you heard now was a droning hum of thousands of voices all whispering to you at once. The symphony of voices begged you, enticed you, shamed you as the claws tore off more and more pieces from your body until you were nothing more than pulp.

You woke in a cold sweat, tears streaked down your cheeks. You somehow managed to cocoon yourself in the sheets with how restlessly you tossed and turned. You pried yourself free, inspecting your bare skin for welts or scratches. You were perfectly unharmed.

Shaking, you dressed yourself. You packed on the powder under your eyes to hide the dark circles that had appeared overnight. The bad dream was brought on by the shitty coffee from the diner, nothing more. No more coffee past four o’clock, you scolded yourself. Taking a few cleansing breaths, steadying your nerves, you fought with the humidity as you tried to tame your hair.

With your appearance to your liking, you fetched your purse which held everything you needed for a budding reporter on the town; your notebook, a pen, a handkerchief to politely pat away the sweat already pooling under your nose.

The receipt from the night before was crumpled in a ball next to your typewriter. You hesitantly rolled the small heap beneath your fingers. You unfolded the paper, eyes skimming the warning.

Don’t listen to him.

What could Suze have meant? More so, how did Suze know Remmick? Did they have history somehow? And who was Leslie?

The horror that struck Suze’s face had broke your heart. Whoever Leslie was proved to be important to her. Could Remmick have known that and intentionally set her up or was it just an honest mistake?

You decided then that you’d find Suze first thing that day.

The sky was gray, threatening rain. The chapel where the Reverend preached towered over the heart of the town. The building was paneled with stark white boards that were meticulously cleaned of grime every week. A sturdy gabled gray roof topped the structure. A thin silver cross cast a long, spindly silhouette on the ground from the highest point of the building.

There was a humble gathering of people stretched from the steps to the door, patrons chattering amongst themselves in hushed tones. When you jogged up the stairs, their conversations died. Their eyes tracked you. You stalled, feeling unwelcome. Their stares were cold walls of distrust. Your palms began to sweat and you broke, eyes flitting to your shoes. The silence trailed you on your way through the doors.

Reverend Jim was a tornado, tending to the crowd of patrons that congregated in the foyer. The small area was bustling with people finalizing preparations for the celebration’s main events. Suze was among the throng, following the Reverend like a shadow, clipboard hugged tightly to her person. She turned her attention towards the front doors and stopped dead in her tracks. You awkwardly offered her a wave before she stormed over and grabbed you by the wrist.

Suze pulled you to a far corner, out of sight. “How are you in here?” she spat, “Who let you in?”

“No one! I came in by myself.” You didn’t want to admit that this teenaged girl was intimidating you.

Suze’s brows furrowed. “You mean you’re not—? You’re you?” You stared back at her helplessly confused. Suze wiped a hand down her face in disbelief. “I thought I said not to go out at night,” she grumbled.

“Why are you afraid of him? Of Remmick?” you pressed.

Suze pressed a finger to her lips, her eyes wild. “Do not say his name.”

“Talk to me then,” you pleaded, “Why do you not trust him? What did he do?”

The chapel doors burst open. Alice’s mother, looking about as haggard as you felt this morning, stumbled up to the Reverend. She pushed past the couple that he was meeting with, practically falling at his feet.

“Father, please, you have to help me!” she wept. You picked up the pace, alongside Suze, to see what was the matter. Reverend Jim ushered the distraught woman onto a pew.

“What’s troublin’ you, my sister?” he asked serenely.

Alice’s mother was pale as the walls of the chapel. Strands of hair were glued to her skin from sweat. Her brown eyes were bloodshot and darted to every dark corner of the room, as if expecting something to be standing there.

“Oh God, Father. There’s s-somethin’ wrong! Last night, I saw Alice outside my window,” the mother shuddered.

“This is fantastic news!” the Reverend replied jovially, “Alice is back home, where she belongs.”

“No!” Alice’s mother lunged at the Reverend, gripping his shirt, “No! You don’t understand. It’s not her!” Crazed tears leaked down her face. “I-I know how this sounds. It looks like her. It sounds like her. But, I’m tellin’ you, it’s just pretendin’. It’s mimickin’ her!”

Suze’s body jolted. Her hands balled into tight fists. She didn’t dare turn her attention elsewhere.

The Reverend blinked, unsure of how to respond. “Marigold,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “Have you been drinkin’ lately?” Alice’s mother wailed, hanging her head low towards her lap. Reverend Jim pried her fingers from his shirt and turned to the nearest adult. “Phone her husband. Tell him to come and pick her up.”

“Y-You have to believe me!” Marigold shrieked as the Reverend returned to his patrons, “That thing isn’t my daughter! It isn’t Alice!”

Suze knelt in front of her, clasping her hands around the mother’s. “Did this thing say anythin’ to you?” she asked urgently.

“I-It called me Mom. It sounded just like how Alice would say it,” Marigold said through shuddering breaths, “I saw it by the trees. T-Those eyes… it didn’t look human.”

“Did you let it into your house?” Suze said, shaking the woman’s hands.

“I-I wanted to. It asked me to let it inside but there was somethin’ in the back of my mind tellin’ me that I shouldn’t.” Marigold jerked up at you, “Did you know about this? About that thing?”

You took a step back, shocked. “No ma’am! I swear!”

“Mrs. Lukas, please, she has nothin’ to do with this,” Suze tried to keep her voice even, although you could pick up on the hint of doubt lacing her words. “Listen to me. I want you and your husband to stay here tonight. There’s some extra cots in storage that I can make up for you. Get here before sundown.”

“What is it?” Marigold asked in a hushed voice, “What is that thing that’s pretendin’ to be my daughter?”

“A demon, ma’am,” Suze said, “Which is why you’ll be safe within the church.”

Alice’s mother blanched, fainting into the pew. Suze released her and sent herself on her mission to collect the cots. You chased close behind her. The two of you descended the basement stairs.

“Suze, what the hell is going on?” you said, an edge sharpening your voice. She ignored you, pulling out two folded up cots from against the brick wall. You pressed your hands down onto the mattress, blocking her path. “I’m starting to get real sick and tired of folks giving me the cold shoulder,” you huffed, “I’m trying to help you.”

“Help me?” Suze let out a humorless laugh, “If you really wanted to help me, you would buy a damn ticket back to the city and leave us alone.” She pivoted on the heel of her sneaker and began to march away. She angrily pulled out two threadbare blankets from a shelf. You stayed close at her side.

“I saw Alice,” you confessed, “My first night in town, I saw her with Re— with him. That’s why I was out at night. I promised Mrs. Lukas that I would tell her if I discovered anything about Alice’s whereabouts. I wanted to find out what he knew.”

Suze swallowed thickly. “What did he say to you?”

“She was headed to Memphis to be a singer. But then how could she back in town so soon? Why was she staring through her mother’s window? Why not just go inside?”

“Because that’s not her.”

You stared at the girl in disbelief. “You’re believing Mrs. Lukas’s story?”

“It’s not a story,” Suze snapped.

“You told her it was a demon, Suze,” you stressed.

“Didja you ever hear of what happened in Clarksdale?” she said, “The Juke Joint?”

“From twenty years ago? Why does that matter?”

“Dozens of people just vanished in the middle of the night, never to be seen again?”

“Spooky, yes, but that doesn’t mean it was demons,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“After that night, little by little, other towns across the Delta started havin’ folk turn up missing too. It’s said that they’d always leave in the middle of the night, without so much as a goodbye. Entire families would slowly slip away, leavin’ their houses abandoned. If it was small enough, entire towns would disappear.”

You creased your brows, trying to decipher what the point of this story was.

“Two years ago, my family picked up a hitchhiker on our way home. He looked pretty worn out and dirty and my dad took pity on him.”

“Was it Remmick?” you asked quietly.

She flinched when she heard his name aloud but nodded her head. “He started tellin’ us things about where he was goin’; some place, he said, where there was no black and white, no man or woman. Just people. One big happy family.

“I thought it sounded like Commie bullshit but Leslie —,” her words trailed off. You kept quiet, hoping she’d continue. Suze’s eyes glassed over with tears, her lip quivering. It broke your heart all over again to see her so distraught. You anchored her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Who was Leslie?”

Suze took a deep breath. “She was my sister. Oldest by 4 minutes and never let me forget.” She laughed inwardly at the memory. “She and I did everything together. We had no secrets between us. I looked up to her so much. It hurt me when she left.”

“Did he take her?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” Suze replied, “Leslie went on and on about this made-up place he said he was goin’ to and got it in her mind to follow him. I tried to get her to come to her senses but she wasn’t listenin’.” Suze wiped her eyes, “She went missing for 6 months.

“Then, one night, she just appeared, like nothin’ happened. She was thin, practically starved, and pale. But she was there, in the flesh. She got down on her knees, beggin’ for us to let her back in, that she was sorry she ever left. I remember my mama cryin’, takin’ her in her arms on the porch and rockin’ her gently. My daddy looked so relieved to see her, that was the first time I ever saw him cry.

“We brought her in and sat her down at the kitchen table. Mama piled food higher than the top of Leslie’s head and told her to eat. That’s when Leslie took a giant bite outta Mama’s arm.”

You hand clapped over your mouth, not fully sure you heard her right. “She bit your mother?”

“She chewed on my mother.” Suze’s eyes grew distant, reliving that night. “Daddy unloaded a full clip into my sister but it only slowed her down. She pounced on him like some animal, tearing his throat clean from his body. I-I’ve never seen so much blood in my life.” Suze started to tremble. “Whatever place that man said he was goin’ to, you don’t come back normal.”

“Jesus,” you breathed. You steadied yourself on the shelf, your knees wobbling under you.

“When I was sent to live with Uncle Jim, I thought I would never have to see that rotten man again. But then people in town started missin’ a-and then you were with him at the diner.” Her breathing came out fast and panicked, “A-And now Alice, and, oh God!” She collapsed to the concrete ground, sobs wracking her small body.

You lowered yourself and cradled her in your arms. Suze hyperventilated as you soothingly stroked her back, attempting to ground her.

I’m in way over my head, you thought miserably. You thought you had steeled yourself for whatever it was that you were going to discover about the missing people. A cult stealing innocents from their homes, simple. A serial killer on the loose, child’s play. Even if the missing people had nothing to do with one another and you ended up with a dead end, you were prepared for that too. But monsters? Flesh eating, body-stealing, blood sucking monsters?

“I’ll go,” you said, more to yourself, “I’ll pack up and leave first thing tonight.” The two of you rose from the ground. “Won’t you come with me? You’ve been through enough already. My husband and I, we don’t have any children. We’d take care of you.”

Suze brightened slightly but it quickly dimmed. “I can’t. I have to be here for my uncle.”

“You’re sure?” you pressed. When she nodded, you flipped to a blank page in your notebook and scribbled something down. You tore out the piece of paper and handed it to her. “That’s my address and telephone number, if you change your mind.”

Suze looked at the paper and back up to you with gratitude. She pocketed the paper and clutched the blankets back to her chest.

“Thank you,” she muttered. You offered her a warm smile in return.

You kept true to your promise. You went to the motel and threw all of your belongings back into their suitcases, not bothering to fold anything. You called your Editor first thing and told him you were cutting the trip short.

“Now, wait just a minute,” he said, “You mean to tell me, you get on my ass for days about sending you out to do this story and, two days later, you’re telling me you’re jumping ship?! Am I hearing that correctly?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “I’m sorry, Mr. Woodson. My husband said that he needed me back.”

“So did my ex wife but you don’t see me crying about it!” Your Editor let out a massive sigh, “Sweetheart, if you’re gonna keep running to your husband every time things go belly-up, I’m gonna have to start rethinking your future here.”

Your mouth gaped, “Are you firing me?”

“Hold your horses, don’t blow your lid. I wouldn’t need to be thinking about this if you stayed put and finished your assignment.”

“There’s nothing interesting in this hick town to write about,” you lied.

“Make something up. Not my problem. Stay in town and do your job because, if I find out that you hopped on a bus back over here, you’re finished. Besides, the room’s already been paid for.” The line clicked. You growled in frustration and slammed the receiver down with a clang.

Your suitcase stared back at you, waiting, calculating your next move. You heaved a sigh, pocketing your allowance, and walked out the room.

Your feet took you back to the corner store, where this whole debacle started. You avoided the pictures on the missing posters shamefully. The little bell jingled as you entered. The sun hung dangerously low in the sky, casting long shadows against the produce. You approached the clerk.

“Can I get a box of Camels, please?” you said.

“That’ll be ten cents,” the clerk replied. You handed him a dime and he traded it for the cigarettes. You stuck one in your mouth immediately. “Y’can’t smoke in here,” the clerk said.

You gave the boy a dark look before shuffling around in your purse for your matches. Once your hands found the compact case, you swiveled out the door. Breaking off a match, you ignited the tip of your cigarette and took in a long drag.

You could just say screw it. Being eaten alive by monsters didn’t sound very productive to you in your grand plan of becoming a journalist. If this seedy underbelly is what waited for you beneath the fold, you didn’t think you were cut out for this kind of work after all.

You could quit while you’re ahead, go back home to your husband, finally start that family he’s been getting on your case about, and live the remainder of your life fat and wrinkly. At least that ending saw you through old age. It’s what was expected of you.

The sun dipped below the buildings on your walk, melting the sky from a deep magenta to a navy blue. The summer air chilled you, painfully reminding you that you left your cardigan at the motel. The streetlights came on, lighting up the block piece by piece.

A low whistle sounded from deep within an alleyway. Your anxiety spiked but you chose to ignore it. Probably just some cat-caller lowlife, you thought. You huffed out more smoke as you picked up your pace.

Another pair of footsteps walked in tandem with yours. It matched your pace, blending seamlessly. The whistling carried on, bone-chillingly carefree. You clenched your fists at your side.

Don’t turn around, you told yourself, That’s what he wants. Just get to your room as quickly as you can.

Your vision sharpened due to adrenaline. You eyes darted across the surrounding area. The shadowy spaces that remained held untold dangers that your instincts left you to discover. You could make out shapes in the pockets of dark that lingered in the alleyways, seemingly human shapes. Some lounged against buildings, wearing the darkness as a cloak. Some stood upright, the light from the streetlamp barely kissing the tips of their feet. Every single one of them leered back at you with twin sets of shiny eyes.

You realized in horror that, not only were you being followed, you were surrounded.

Your blood turned to ice. Your teeth clenched so hard, you nearly sawed your cigarette in half. You began to hear light whispering on the wind. You couldn’t make out all that was said but you heard your name a couple of times. You took a chance and peered over your shoulder at your assailant.

The man was tall, sweaty, with the same sickly white complexion as porcelain doll’s. His yellow hair was muddied with grease that stuck around his ears at odd angles. He leisurely walked with his hands in his pockets and flashed a toothy grin when you met his gaze.

“Where d’ya think yer goin’, Little Miss?” he called to you, his voice rough as sandpaper. His pupils radiated a light yellow sheen. “Been hearin’ a lo-o-ot ‘bout you lately.”

You snapped your head back around, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. You wanted to cry. You fished around your purse for your keys, cursing how something so small could feel so bottomless.

You could see the door to your room beckoning you closer. You broke into a run, legs pumping out from under you. The man roared with laughter, the sound ricocheting across the street, pounding against your eardrums. A chorus of laughter encompassed you, leaking from the cracks of darkness.

You shouldered your way inside your room, slamming the door shut with a heavy bang. Your fingers slipped as you attempted to turn the deadbolt. You were quaking, hot tears clouding your vision. The laughter rang in your ears as clear as it sounded outside. You pressed your hands firmly against your ears, fingers digging into your flesh.

“Go away!” you bellowed, “Leave me alone!”

The laughter melted into the chanting of your name. You screamed, attempting to drown out the sound.

Heavy pounding shook your door. The world silenced. You gasped for air, your throat closing from dread. You didn’t dare lower your hands.

Nighttime had fallen, the pitch black swallowing you whole.

Two softer knocks sounded, followed by an equally soft voice.

“Anyone home?” Remmick’s voice rang out like the calm after a storm. You clutched the end of the table. In all the day’s excitement, you forgot about your meeting. You stayed rooted in place. You didn’t want to look at him and see glowing eyes stare back. It would break you unimaginably if he turned out to be a monster too.

“Hello?” he called.

Your voice lodged in your throat, unwilling to make any noise in reply. What would you even say? If you sent him away, would he just keep coming back, haunting you until you skipped town? What if he followed you like he did to Suze? You angrily scolded yourself for getting stuck in this mess, miserable tears free falling down your cheeks. You were boxed in, no right path to take. All you were doing was prolonging the inevitable.

Gradually, your foot swayed in front of the other, taking you towards the door. With an unsteady hand, you unlocked the deadbolt. You only allowed the door to open halfway, hiding behind it like a shield. Your focus fell to the asphalt, not willing to check if the dark figures were still surrounding you.

“Woah,” he breathed, taking in the wrecked sight of you, “You look like hell.” You scowled back at him. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, “I just mean you look like you could use a stiff drink. I can buy the first round.”

“I don’t want to,” you mumbled.

Remmick paused. “What about our ‘collaborating’?”

“I’ve decided I’m not going to pursue that story anymore,” you said weakly, still not looking up, “I’m covering the bicentennial, like I was told.”

He furrowed his brows. “You don’t seem the typa’ girl who does what she’s told.”

“I guess you don’t know me as well as you thought.” You studied him now. He scrutinized you right back, chin tilted high. His shoulders were eased back, hands resting in his pockets. You could’ve sworn he looked disappointed in you.

“That’s a shame,” Remmick said finally, scuffling his shoes, “I was hopin’ to get to know you better. Maybe over a pint or two.”

“Why?” you scoffed, “I’m leaving to go back home in a few days.”

“Because I can tell you’re hurtin’,” he professed, “And I wanna help shoulder whatever it is you’re goin’ through. Even if just for a few hours.”

Your resolve wavered. The stupid bastard really knew what to say to disarm you. As if he could read your mind, he began to smile.

“Just one drink, s’all I’m askin’.” He clasped his hands together in a plea, “We don’t gotta ‘collaborate’ or nothin’. Let’s just be friendly.” He offered his hand for you to take.

You mulled over your options. Either take his hand and plunge deeper into the hole you were digging, potentially disappearing from all you held dear. Deny him, and run the risk of being devoured by monsters that lurked in the shadows.

You numbly closed your hand around his, sealing your decision.

He pulled you out of your doorway, catching you in his arms. They held you strong, stable, doing their best to convince you to trust him. You could pick up traces of his scent; campfire smoke, soil, and sweat. The smell embraced you back, relaxing your muscles.

“Attagirl,” he chuckled, pressing you to him tightly. “I gotcha.”

The bar was in the seeder part of town, standing alone on a dirt lot. It was a rectangular shack with no windows offering a glance inside. A single sign that was unceremoniously tacked to the front door read, “Come in! We’re open”, served as the only clue that this was a place of business.

Your stomach churned when the two of you passed through the door. The stench of stale cigarette smoke made the smell from your motel carpet seem like sweet incense. The entire town’s most unsavory characters were found within these rancid walls. Mean looking men packed the bar top and spilled amongst the billiard table. The smoke hung in the air as thick as soup, making it hard to breathe.

You could feel their waterlogged ogling on your body, like sailors to a siren. Remmick kept his hand on the small of your back, lightly applying pressure, directing you where to go. You allowed him to, your mind a fog. He sat you down in the farthest corner under a neon beer advertisement. Remmick sat in the seat beside you, squeezing into your space, knees knocking yours.

“What’ll it be?” he asked playfully.

“Gin,” you mumbled to the water stains on the table.

“Comin’ right up.” He gave your chin a quick pinch before making his way to the bar.

The room stilled when he moved. Men that had a few good inches in height over him awkwardly shimmied out of his way as he walked past. Conversations paused, eyes wandered, the air tensed. He made it up to the counter, stride unbroken. The unfortunate patrons that were packed in next to him leaned as far away as their drunken bodies allowed. You couldn’t help but watch in morbid fascination.

He returned with your spoils, a gin and tonic glistening in it’s glass. You reached for it and downed it in one go.

“Well damn, I guess you really did need a drink,” Remmick laughed.

“It’s been a rough day.” You reached for your Camels, hitting the pack with your wrist. You stuck another cigarette between your lips and dug through your purse for your matches.

“Allow me.” He procured a lighter from one of his pockets and ignited it. You leaned the tip of your cigarette into the flame. You watched the reflection of the red light dance in his eyes. When the fire died, the light remained caught in his pupils like a hazy after image. Your breath hitched. You turned your head away and squeezed your eyes shut.

This isn’t happening, you chanted to yourself.

Peeking back ever so slightly, the red light had vanished. Remmick remained curiously unaware, smiling softly. His nonchalance did nothing to help your nerves.

“How was work?” he asked, getting the conversation started, “Folks give you a hard time?”

“No, actually,” you said shakily, “It was very insightful.”

“What’d y’all talk about?” He inched closer to you.

You shrunk back, shaking your head. “I can’t do this,” your voice cracking, “Take me home. I don’t want to be here.”

Remmick’s eyes furrowed in concern. “Sure, okay.” You rose from your places at the table and he ushered you out. The throng of men parted, afraid to touch you.

The walk back to your motel room was silent. Not just that there was absence of talking, but absence of sound itself. There were no crickets, no frogs, no people. Not even the wind rushed past.

Your eyes flitted through the dark, searching for any more of those monsters lying in wait. Your entire body was tense, your teeth clenched, arms crossed tightly across your chest. Your footsteps were calculated in order to make as little noise as possible.

“Hey.” Remmick reached over and took your hand, “You can relax. I’m here.” He gave you a reassuring squeeze.

The weight of his hand felt like a stone drowning you further into the depths of your consequences. “Do you believe in demons?” you said quietly.

Remmick stopped abruptly. “Where’d this come from?”

“I went to the chapel this morning and Alice’s mother rushed in, looking frazzled, saying her daughter was back. Then Suze said it wasn’t her, that it was a demon instead.”

“And you believed her?”

Your voice faltered. “I-I know it sounds crazy. But, then I saw something weird when I was walking back to the motel and—“

“They’re just tryin’ to scare you.” he whispered definitively. He cupped your cheeks delicately, stroking his thumb against your flushed skin. “C’mon, you’re smarter than this. They don’t want you pokin’ ‘round so they made up some bullshit about demons to freak you out.”

“I saw them, though,” you shuddered, “The ones with the glowing eyes.”

“You got an overactive imagination is all,” he said, smooth as velvet, “Must be your writer’s brain.”

“You don’t believe me?” you whimpered.

“I believe that whatever they told you scared you good. But, I think they just wanted you to leave town, t’keep you from doin’ your important work.”

“Maybe they’re right. Maybe I should leave,” you said dismally.

“Now, I know you don’t believe that,” Remmick said sternly, “They just ain’t seen a lady like you do what you’re doin’ and it scares them.”

Your expression softened. “You know I’m right,” he whispered, “You’re better than they are by a country mile. Tougher than you look, too.” He smoothed a piece of hair from your face. “Don’t leave just yet, okay?” A whisper of desperation hung deliciously between his words. You felt your gut tighten. Something deep inside you pulsed back to life after years of lying dormant. The thrumming in your center hummed louder, aching to be heard.

Remmick swallowed thickly. Neck muscles jumped underneath his skin. For a tense moment, you two stood there in the tranquil quiet.

“Lemme take you to your room,” he said softly. You nodded, succumbing to his gentle tone. The two of you walked the rest of the length to your motel door. He waited patiently as you unlocked it, yawning it wide open.

“Thank you,” you said shyly, “For listening to me.”

“See what happens when we collaborate?” Remmick flashed a lopsided grin. “‘Suppose this is g’night?”

You shrugged your shoulders timidly, “Yeah.”

“Do I get a kiss?” he asked cheekily. You pressed your lips together, stifling the grin stretching the corners of your mouth. You leaned slowly into him and planted a gentle kiss against his scar. He flinched like you prodded him with a hot iron.

You pulled back, lingering, worried that you accidentally hurt him. You searched his blue eyes for any sign of discomfort. He dipped his head, gravity pulling him towards your lips. You met him halfway.

It started gentle, like wading in a pool on a hot day. Then, gradually, you swam deeper. You pulled him closer, wrapping your hands around his neck. He responded by skirting his arms around your waist. Your fingers tangled the strands of hair that curled at the base of his neck. He moaned softly against your lips. Your pulse thrummed quicker within your body.

“Stay with me tonight?” you asked breathlessly, fingers tugging around the collar of his shirt.

“Only ‘cuz you asked me so nice,” he smirked. You pulled him into your motel room and he closed your door with his foot. His hands found purchase around your waist again, securely locking you down. He pawed at the fabric of your blouse in protest. Your skin caught fire wherever his fingers roamed. You wasted no time unfastening the buttons on your blouse.

Remmick palmed your breasts beneath his hands, molding them into something that would forever be familiar with his touch. His lips attached to your jawline, tracing the curve, intimately memorizing the slope with his tongue. You melted onto the table in the kitchenette as he slid further into your neck. Your legs snaked around his torso, coaxing him inbetween your thighs. This earned you a shuddering groan that slipped past his lips.

The pulse grew to an aching burn that crescendoed into a scream. Remmick’s hips rocked against that ache, teasing it along further with the swelling mass in his pants. You quivered, needing his touch like oxygen.

“Fallin’ to pieces and I haven’t even done much to you,” he hummed, voice slick with honey, “It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it, girl?” You gasped sharply, face flushing with lust. “That no-good husband of yours not know how to touch you right?”

“Don’t talk about him,” you growled, “I don’t want to think about him.”

Remmick leaned in close to your ear, breath heavy and wet. “Don’t you worry,” he said, “I’ll send you home fucked so good, you’ll only ever think of me when he’s with you.”

It rang like a threat. Never had anyone ever spoken to you like this, so unabashedly crass. Not even your husband dared to toy with you this way.

A hot pit of shame carved out space in your heart. The thought of your husband back at home, oblivious, waiting for his wife to return from her pointless ego-trip, only for her to be mewling under the rough touch of another man, sent new currents of desire into your core. You squirmed, trying in vain to press your thighs together, only serving to nudge his bulge further into your folds of your soaking undergarments.

“You like that, doncha?” Remmick grasped the fleshy bits of your ass, jerking you towards on the edge of the small table. His cock twitched against your cunt. “His pretty little house wife, wetter’n sin, drippin’ so nice for a man she’s just met.” He reached under your skirt and stroked the head of your clit. Your back arched in response, nerves exploding. Remmick rubbed you slowly, mercifully, drawing out your gasps of pleasure. You began to pant, grinding in time to his touch. You naturally began to pick up speed, riding the building wave of pressure throbbing inside your core.

“Shhh, easy now,” Remmick cooed, “I wanna make this last.” Parting the fabric of your underwear, two fingers thrust into your hot entrance. He pumped and curled his way through your depths. He studied your reactions with care, nearly analytical, as if you were his test subject. You writhed, your hips bucking, needing to feel him deeper. You could understand why his wife married him.

Stars twinkled at the corners of your vision, thousands of tiny lights dancing in delicate swirls across the room. Your mouth parted in a silent scream as your body succumbed to tight numbness.

Remmick removed his fingers with a loud squelch before you could release. You whined in despair, feeling cold emptiness, clawing at the vacant air for something to fill you.

He smirked devilishly, taking his fingers close to your puffy lips. You opened your mouth obediently and sampled yourself, eyes fluttering at the taste of salt.

“Does he know he married a whore?” Remmick whispered, voice shuddering. His eyes were black wells, watching you hungrily. His chin dripped with saliva. He looked feral.

Your slippery tongue wound past his fingertips, his long nails leaving sharp impressions against it. He gently pulled his fingers from your mouth with a pop.

“Turn around,” he instructed, a dark edge cutting you. You pushed off the ledge of the table, spinning slowly. You felt those nails dig into your ass. Had they always been so long?

A hand wrapped around your throat, feeling your pulse thud as if trying to escape. Remmick lined himself against your entrance. He whined as he sheathed himself in you, your walls already latching onto him.

“Goddamn,” he moaned, “So eager.”

He pumped in his full length, not wasting any time. Your toes curled, taking it all, letting him fill you. The hand around your throat tightened. A whine managed to slip through a crack in your windpipe.

“I can make you feel this good all the time,” Remmick muttered, drinking in your lewd sounds, “You just gotta stay here. That’s all. Stay with me.”

He wrapped an arm around your torso, gluing him to you. You could feel the head of his cock punching up into your gut. He sloppily kissed the backs of your shoulders, jagged teeth scraping against your skin. He nicked your flesh with the sharp, angular tips. The small bites stung like exposed nerves, a trail leading from one shoulder to the next. You hissed in pain, the fluids from his mouth chilling the sensation of the burn.

His hips pistoned harshly, rhythmically slamming the small table into the wall. You cried out, your grip slipping away from the table’s ledge and anchoring onto the arm around your stomach. Remmick’s breath gasped as he built up speed.

“Everyone’s gonna know,” his speech slurred, “They’ll smell me on you—they’ll know you’re mine. Even your f-fuckin’ piece a’ shit husband—fuck!”

He slammed you over the table top, crashing against you. He fucked you like he was trying to carve a spot meant for him alone. He meant to bury himself, to break off pieces to leave behind as a reminder of what he did, who he shaped you to be. He burrowed into your flesh, animalistically growling and spitting. You were trapped, riding your pleasure at breakneck speed, thoughts only of him; his scent, his cock, his moans, his power.

Your climax violently ripped through your cunt, spattering over the smoke soaked carpet. He followed suit, hands balled tight at the sides of your head, spilling himself inside you. Your cunt twitched, a tingling sore feeling numbing your senses. You could hardly find strength to speak.

Remmick panted heavily in your ear. Weakly, he rose from the table, freeing you. He dislodged himself from your body. Your legs slumped and you collapsed in a heap on the floor. He chuckled warmly and bent over you.

“Was I too rough?” he asked rhetorically, “‘M sorry darlin’. I couldn’t stop myself.” He wiped his member clean before scooping you from the ground. You winced at his touch, your body one big sore spot. He carried you to the bed, gently unfolding you onto the mattress. He leaned down and sweetly kissed the tears that had fallen from your eyes. “I’d like to see him do better,” he smiled wickedly, “I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard.”

You silently agreed. Your body had transformed. Smashed into tiny bits and reshaped into something new, something that looked a little bit like him.

He placed the bedcovers over your shivering, half naked form. You raised your arm and took his wrist. He paused, waiting for you to remember how to speak.

“Your wife,” you croaked, “Is a lucky woman.”

A surprise snort of laughter filled the dark room. Remmick doubled over, shaking his head. “Yeah, she was,” he admitted, grinning like a fool, “She was.” He entwined his fingers in yours, your wedding ring catching the faint light from the street. He sat down beside you on the bed. He twisted your hand up, eyeing the diamonds baked into the metal. “She died. I just feel naked if I don’t wear my ring.”

You exhaled sadly. “I’m so sorry.”

“‘S alright,” he patted the top of your hand, “You didn’t know.”

You sat up, your pelvis screaming in retaliation. You brought your lips to his hand and tenderly pressed a kiss onto it. He looked at you with a guarded expression, not hinting anything resembling warmth. He studied you again, curiously, trying to peel back layers of complex emotions to find a nugget of truth lying under webs of deceit.

You faltered under that stare. Did you read something wrong? Maybe he wasn’t interested in anything outside of just sex. Perhaps he was still grieving his wife and didn’t want anything too intimate too fast. And, there was still the glaring issue of your current marriage to a husband that was very much alive.

You dropped his hand in your lap dejectedly. You crawled back under your covers soundlessly, bringing the blankets to your chin. With your back facing him, he stroked your spine once before rising from the mattress and exiting the room.

Tag list (lemme know if you wanna be tagged for p3): @creamqvvn @avidreader73 @kurapikasslutw @keeperskey @deadvilesworld @cryptidvillage @just-jack-oconnell @jocficblog

#sinners #sinners 2025 #remmick x reader #remmick #remmick fanfic #jack o'connell

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