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matrixfangs · 2 months ago

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blood and elderberries

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: Remmick has been your friend since childhood, and he's been spending a lot of his time in the woods.

word count: 5.8k

warnings: slight smut, DUBCON AT THE END, pls pls skip if you’re uncomfy with that!!!, blood, murder, fire, spooky woods, probably inaccurate religious imagery, definite misuse or mistranslation of Irish Gaelic, 18+ please!

a/n: hi everyone! this is my first fic on this account so please be kind to me! it's also my first time writing anything related to smut and I'm very nervous about it so please bare with me if it's written a little awkwardly! my requests are open if you'd like to send me anything, though it may take me a few days to get back to you, as this took me a few days so I'm gonna take a break now lol <3 also feel free to shoot me something in my inbox if you just want to chat! enjoy! :3

In Ireland, it hardly snowed, but when it did, it didn’t disappoint. Fat snowflakes fell over your hair as you walked on the cobbled road, the snow crunching underneath your feet and soaking into the fabric of your shoes that weren’t built for the cold. As you journeyed to the local market, the sun was still rising, warm pink and yellow streaks bled into pale blue. On the horizon: a burning hole of a sun. You let it burn spots into your vision, just to continue looking at it.

The market was quiet when you entered it, the only sign of life being the freshly baked goods at the front windows, handcrafted pies, and loaves of bread. Steam coated the glass, and underneath it all was the lingering scent of him. Something earthy with a sweetness underneath, like the berries he liked to pick in the woods at the edge of town. “Dia dhuit.” A honeyed and resonant voice pulled you away from the pies, your head rearing up to glance at the front counter. He was there, an apron tied around his waist and a streak of flour against his cheek from the early morning. Remmick, the shopkeeper's son. He’d been your best friend since you were young, but the feelings that had developed for him as you’d gotten older were something new entirely. Watching his careful hands work had become your personal torment. You shifted from one foot to another, warmth spreading across your face. Your eyes roamed over his body, all neat angles and sharp lines. Despite the dusting of flour across his cheeks, his hair had been neatly combed back, and the clothes underneath his apron were clean and pressed. He somehow always managed to look completely perfect, standing before you like a marble statue. Completely untouchable yet begging to be disheveled. “Nice pies.” You smiled, crossing the distance to him and placing your hands on the counter. The wood cooled your burning fingertips. “You've been out in those woods again?” “Aye. They’re elderberries. Picked them just last night.” He raised his fingers, revealing the faint purple stain on the tips of them. Your gaze lingered on the veins in his hands, the skin that looked tough enough to knead dough but soft enough to caress skin. “You should be careful, Rem. Those woods spread out for miles.” You told him, the words easily tumbling from your lips for the hundredth time. But he never listened. Those woods weren’t safe; you’d been told that by your parents and grandparents for as long as you could remember. Your childhood had been filled with fables of people who’d gone missing for days and coming back changed. Like they’d been hollow shells of who they’d been before, something heavy sitting on their chests.

Remmick shrugged, and it was a familiar gesture that made frustration eclipse all other emotions. He moved around the counter with a small box in his hands. “Nah, they’re plenty safe.” He opened the box, placing a pie inside and securing it with a piece of twine with a baker’s precision. His eyes shot up to meet yours, and he held out the box. “You should come with me sometime.” He let that hang in the air for a moment. “I’ll keep you safe, a pheata.”

He pressed the pie into your hands, his thumb grazing over the bumps of your knuckles. “No charge for a fine thing like yourself.”

Heat traveled up your neck as you met his icy gaze. “You’re sure?”

Remmick cleared his throat and let his hand release the box so he could instead lean forward, bringing his lips inches away from your ear. His scent lingered, cinnamon and clove filling your nose. You felt his warm breath brush the skin of your collarbone.

“You’ll just have to owe me, a chuisle.” He backed away, his eyes never leaving yours as he returned to the counter. “The edge of the woods, tonight after supper.” He winked, only breaking contact when a new customer came inside, ringing the bell against the door. You had to remember to take a breath before you left the shop, the pie held so tight in your hands that the delicate paper of the box had crinkled beneath your fingers. The snow continued to fall as you left the shop, but somehow you felt warmer than before.

The day dragged on, slow and painful. Your father worked checking and cleaning the game traps at the border of the woods, while you and your mother tended to the animals at home. Fed the chickens, milked the cows, spun wool from the sheep. You were stirring the stew for dinner in the kitchen when your father returned home. His cheeks were bitten red by the cold, and he held three rabbits in one of his hands. He kissed your mother on the head from where she stood, setting the table. “Fierce strange day.” He hummed, setting the rabbits on the counter. “Tracks in the snow near the traps. No animal footprints I’ve ever seen.” He shrugged, rubbing his rough hand over his beard. “Tracks went deep into the woods, I didn’t want to follow.”

You chewed on your lip, continuing to stir the stew. Your father made quick work of sharpening his butcher knife against a whetstone and slicing into the rabbits to add them to the stew. A loud curse from your father cut through the evening calm. The inside of the rabbits was black and dry, like the blood had been completely drained from the poor things. The only thing that remained were the organs, shriveled and lifeless.

“Th'anam 'on diabhal!” Your mother cried, hands flying to her mouth. “What sort of thing could have done that?” “Could it have been the cold?” You asked, your voice cracking. It was a hollow question. You knew the cold couldn’t dehydrate a creature from the inside out. You thought of Remmick, of the fables and the elderberry bushes. The woods that liked to eat people whole and spit them back out as ghosts. You dropped the wooden spoon of the stew and headed to the front door, grabbing your cloak.

“Where are you going, wean? Your mother followed after you, wiping her hands on the apron covering her dress. She looked at the dining table. “We haven’t eaten.” “I’m sorry,” You told her, hand wrapping around the cold metal knob. “I forgot that Mrs. McCoy asked me to pass along a message for Remmick. It was urgent, I don’t want to forget.” Crisp winter air met your skin as you pulled the door open. Night had claimed the village, and all that was left from the sun was a melted slush of water on the road. The squeak of your shoes was faint as you walked in the direction of the woods, a heavy anxiety pressing on your chest. You’d tell Remmick that he needed to stay away from them - that the Devil walked in the wood. You rehearsed the words in your head, your lips moving in a silent speech, until you reached the line of trees at the edge of town.

Remmick wasn’t there yet. You pulled your cloak tighter around your body as you gazed up at the trees. They seemed to groan with each gust of wind, as if warning whoever stood before them. The branches reached up to grab the sky with crooked fingers, and the pale blue moonlight spilled between them.

Though the snow remained on the ground here, the air seemed to be heavier, warmer in your lungs. It felt like a large hand was pressing on your chest, trying to reach your pounding heart. Whispers drifted by your ears like breaths, just barely unintelligible. You turned, looking back toward the village.

“Remmick?” You called, your voice hoarse from the cold.

“Remmick?” A voice called back from deep inside the woods. It was nearly identical to your voice, but wrong. It was distorted, like it’d been shoved into a throat not made for human noises. The tree branches made giggle-like sounds in response, and you felt the bile rise hot in your throat. When you turned to flee, your face met with an obstacle, solid and warm against your skin.

“Woah, where are ye going?” Remmick’s voice was like water in the desert. His eyes caught the moonlight, his gaze gleaming at you as his brow furrowed. In the dark, his hands found yours. The interlacing of your hands ceased your trembling.

“Remmick, you need to stay away from these woods.” You tried to pull him away, but his hands caught your shoulders, spinning you around to face him. The dark hollowed out his eyes and carved his cheekbones into sharp shadows. “What are you on about, pet?”

“A voice,” You swallowed. “I heard a voice, it was like mine, but it was…” How could you describe a wrongness so strong that it was supernatural? That something had stolen the voice from your throat and put it on like a disguise?

Remmick squeezed your shoulders - comforting or restraining you, you couldn’t tell. “Ah, the wind in the trees feels like they’re speaking to you sometimes, is all. Nothing to be scared of.” “Rem…” You said quietly, letting go of one of his hands, squeezing the other.

“Trust me, A chuisle mo chroí.” His soft voice made your inhibitions melt away. He pressed your knuckles to his warm lips, letting them linger there for a moment. “I just want to be alone with you.”

Your heart lost its rhythm, your hand on fire where his lips had pressed to it. His warm gaze held such a certainty that you weren’t sure how to say no. Maybe it was the feeling of his palm pressed to yours that made you feel safer, but you followed him into those woods.

Remmick’s hand never left yours as you passed the first row of trees, pine needles, and wet grass muting the sound of your steps. He ran his thumb over your knuckle repeatedly, soothing you without words. With him beside you, his arm brushing against yours, the groaning trees and crying wind didn’t seem as frightening. He hummed beside you, low and deep in his throat.

The deeper you ventured into the woods, the more the cold disappeared, as if time moved differently there. Soon, you were shrugging off your shawl and wrapping it around your waist, as Remmick rambled along about the bakery, the plants he’d come across, a mushroom that matched the color of your eyes. Like summer rain, his voice fell over you, and you wished to open your mouth and catch the drops. “I’ve been keeping track of the plants I come across.” He told you, hand reluctantly releasing yours to pull out a leatherbound book. “See?” He passed it to you, and you flipped through pages of drawings and descriptions of different plants and bushes - their scientific names and the names he’d come to know them as next to that.

“I didn’t know you could draw like this.” You hummed, your voice trailing off as you flipped to the next page. A perfect charcoal drawing of your face, head thrown back in laughter. Every line had been drawn with loving precision, like he’d studied every valley and line on your face. You looked to him, an embarrassed flush brushed across his cheeks. “Didn’t think it worth mentionin’.” He shrugged, taking the book from you and tucking it carefully back into his coat.

“Everything about you is worth mentioning.” You squeezed his hand, looking back out to the woods. They were approaching a clearing, a strange area where the trees seemed to move around it like a circle.

“My gran would tell me about this place,” Remmick explained as they entered the clearing, his hand on the small of your back as you walked over a fallen log. “She used to say that these woods existed outside of time, and that’s why so many weird things happened here.”

Your eyes roamed over the white branches of birch trees curling around the clearing. A patch of dry, dead grass lay there, despite the rest of the ground being wet, surrounding it. You followed him in, feeling the very air change around you. It was thicker, warmer, like when you’d step into the room after a hot bath.

“Have you ever taken anyone here?” You asked Remmick as you crouched down to run your fingertips over the grass.

Remmick released your hand to sit down in the middle of the clearing. “No,” He shook his head as he stretched his long legs out. Every line of his body seemed to be carved from stone in the pale moonlight. His loosened collar revealed the strong, tanned column of his throat. His broad shoulders filled out his coat, and you could see just a peek of his suspenders underneath. You wondered what it would feel like to pull them off, to let them hang over his hips as you took him apart. “Just you.”

His words fell over you like a warm blanket, like arms wrapped around your middle.

“Why me?” You sat beside him, shoulder pressed against his. His hand moved to rub the fabric of your skirt between the pads of his fingers, and he looked at you, all soft and pliant in the light.

“Because it was only ever you.” He said, leaning in until your foreheads touched. His breath mingled with yours as his eyes slid down to your lips. “Because every path that I’ve ever walked in these woods has always led back to you.”

Remmick’s hand released your skirt so he could rest it against the soft skin of your cheek. His thumb reached for your bottom lip, pulling it down and letting it go. The first press of his lips to yours was gentle, a soft brush of a kiss. The second was hungry, his rough hand grabbing the nape of your neck to pull you to him. The kiss was a liberation in your body - your fingers flying to his coat, clutching the fabric in your hands like he’d fly away if you didn’t. He shrugged it off in a heartbeat, lips hardly able to leave yours. Your heart drummed in your ears as you reached under one of the straps of his suspenders, pulling it down with a desperation that surged through your body like a flood. A pulse had begun between your legs, its roots spreading through your entire body.

Remmick pulled away from you, his eyes half open as he pulled the other strap of his suspenders down. He kissed you again, his body slithering against yours and pushing it down until your back was hitting the ground. The cool grass pressing against your back was a stark contrast to the warmth of his body pressed to yours. One hand braced near the side of your head, while the other slid down to lift your skirt up above your waist. His lips found your neck, his teeth nipping and licking downward. Your breath caught in your throat as he worked to slide his hand under your stockings and underwear, his fingers pressing against your center. Your nails dug into the dirt beside you, your hips lifting up to meet his fingers.

“Remmick,” You said his name like a prayer, your eyes fluttering closed at his gentle touches. His mouth had reached the swell of your breast, his teeth marking and bruising the soft skin there. “Moilligh beagán, mo ghrá.”

Remmick pulled back, his chest heaving as his hand continued to move against you. His fingers had just begun to curl, your hands gripping the grass - and then he stopped. He looked out into the woods, his brows knit together.

“Do you smell that, love?” His usual soft and warm voice had an unusual edge to it, making you pause.

You sat up on your elbows, your body trembling as you tried to register what he’d asked you. But you didn’t have to. The overwhelming smell wafted past you, and Remmick stood up. The reflection of orange in his eyes made you turn your head, looking up to see heavy, charcoal gray smoke rising from above the trees.

“Fire.” You said, panic rising in your throat. You stood on shaky legs, wrapping your hand around Remmick’s toned arm. The muscle underneath his shirt tensed. “In the village, there’s fire.”

Remmick’s jaw clenched, and his hand reached down to grip yours. He pulled you through the woods like he knew every branch on the ground. The warm air from inside the clearing turned back to cold, filling your unprepared lungs. Your boots were soon hitting snow again as you reached the threshold of the woods, your eyes immediately searching for the source of the fire.

Remmick’s home - a small cottage at the end of the road.

“My mother.” The words were strangled, hoarse.

Remmick released your hand, clutched in his grasp as he sprinted down the slope and toward his burning home. Angry flames were licking the blue-black sky, the smell of burning wood filling your nose as you ran after him, your heart hammering in your ribcage. His feet splashed against melted snow and cobblestone. Local villagers had gathered outside the home, holding each other as they watched the fire eat the house and the small barn that Remmick’s father had built behind it. Their faces glowed orange, demonic masks that the fire had made for them.

“My mother?” Remmick called to neighbors, grabbing them by the shoulders and shaking them. “Has anyone seen my mother?”

They were shaking their heads, apologizing, crying. Remmick turned to look at the cottage, and you knew what he wanted to do. You reached for him, but he wouldn’t even look at you.

“No,” You said, tears beginning to fill your eyes. “Remmick, don’t.”

He wasn’t listening, his arm tearing away from your grasp. He shook his head, the fire waving in his pupils. His mouth hung open, slack in a dreamlike state.

“I can hear her,” He said quietly, walking toward the fire. “I can hear her calling��”

You looked up, trying to hear what he was talking about. You heard nothing but the foundation of the house cracking like bones, the sparks popping and flying off the roof.

And then, in the doorway, you saw it. Your entire body froze, your own nails digging into your hand. You felt blood trickle down your palms, but you couldn’t feel the pain.

A dark figure stood there, cloaked in black. It stood in the flames like it was nothing but a summer breeze, fingers longer than what could be human. A shadow of horns spiraled from its head, something akin to the horns of the ram. And on what would be the face, if you could have seen it, were two red glowing dots for eyes. Despite what you could see, Remmick hadn’t stopped moving. He was walking into the fire, like the figure was calling him. You had been right. The Devil walked in the woods.

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t scream for him. Something had seized your body, pinning your feet into the snow-covered ground. The villagers cried, but none of them seemed to see Remmick entering the fire, or the figure that beckoned him. You felt your entire being die as he disappeared into the orange abyss. There was no scream of pain as the fire absorbed him, nor an acknowledgment of the figure that followed after. There was just numbing silence afterward. When the force that had kept your body still released you, you fell so hard to your knees that you felt the skin break open, blood against snow.

The villagers hadn’t been able to move you from that spot, not for hours. You watched the roof collapse in on itself, the shed behind become reduced to ash. But you still somehow thought that Remmick could walk out of those flames, that he would press his lips to yours and wake you from this nightmare.

—------------

The murders began a few weeks after the fire.

The first victim had been Mr. Flynn, a sweet old man who had the biggest book collection you’d ever seen. When you were young, you’d run to his house with Remmick in the summer heat, feet bare and grass-stained. You’d sit in his room of books and tear through pages like you wre starving for them. He’d been found in that room, sitting in the armchair by his hearth, a book in his hands. He looked like he was sleeping, until you reached the front of them and discovered the two holes at the base of his throat, an inch or so apart. Sticky, wet blood stained the front of his shirt and trickled off the chair onto the hardwood floor.

The book in his hands - a collection of James Joyce's poetry. A favorite of Remmick’s.

Rain on Rahoon falls softly, softly falling

Where my dark lover lies.

Sad is his voice that calls me, sadly calling

At grey moonrise.

Love, here thou

How desolate the heart is, ever calling

Ever unanswered - and the dark rain falling

Then as now:

Dark too our hearts, O love, shall lie, and cold

As his sad heart has lain

Under the moon-grey nettles, the black mould

And muttering rain.

The murders continued, one every week. The fifth week, the midwife who had brought both you and Remmick into this world, found just outside the nursery doors. The seventh, a local farmer who had been tending to his horses, found in his stables. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. While your village disappeared, your mother struggled to get you to eat, to sleep, to do anything. You spent your days on the porch, watching people begin to board up their windows, place crucifixes on their doors. The village priest began to host nightly services to pray for their lives, and though you didn’t attend them, you could hear their prayers and sermons echo through the village.

“And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy. And the beast which I saw was like unto a leopard, and his feet were as the feet of a bear, and his mouth as the mouth of a lion: and the dragon gave him his power, and his seat, and great authority.”

People didn’t leave their houses much after the priest was dead, the thirteenth to be found.

After that night, you opened the door in the early morning to find something nailed to your door. An elderberry leaf, splattered with red. You turned it over and over in your fingers as you sat on the porch that day, waiting for the sun to go down. You waited for him because you knew it was him.

The sun went down slowly that night, like it was trying to keep you from your fate. The last of the snow had melted, the air a bit warmer to welcome a morbid spring. Your bare feet pressed against cold pavement as you walked to the corpse of Remmick’s home. You hadn’t dressed all day, a sheer white nightgown clinging to the curves of your body as you stopped in front of the charred remains.

You waited, standing there for nearly an hour as the breeze blew through your legs and hair, kissing your skin.

A voice, as familiar as his hands on your body.

“A chuisle mo chroí…” The words that had once warmed your chest every time he said it now made your body go rigid.

Your head turned before the rest of your body, eyes meeting his cold, gleaming ones. He was dressed in clothes that weren’t his. A black button-up shirt, a size too small. Pants a size too big, held up with suspenders. The carved lines of his face had become even sharper, the hollow points of his eyes and cheekbones cloaked in shadow. The only part you could see of his eyes were his irises, amber, orange, and red, swimming in pools of black. Nothing like the clear blue you’d looked into just weeks ago, before he pressed his lips to yours. Your body betrayed you, a heat forming in your throat. His beauty hadn’t diminished; maybe it was even stronger.

You took a step forward.

“Your eyes…” You said hoarsely. “Looks like the fire is still in you and fighting to get out.”

He smiled, and his smile was odd. More crooked than usual, and his teeth in the dark seemed.. sharper. Not the smile that he had pressed against your skin, though it still somehow made your legs feel weak. “No fire could have kept me from you.”

Your chest ached. All you could do was let out a broken breath that felt forced out of you, your hands aching to reach for him, but too terrified to move.

“Where have you been, Remmick?” You asked him, taking a step back. “Rather, where do you go when you’re not…” Draining your neighbors. Draining them of all their blood like those rabbits your father had found near the woods. The woods where Remmick had pressed his fingers to the most intimate parts of you.

Remmick turned his head, looking out to the slope that lead to the woods. Even in the early spring, you could still see your breath in the cold nighttime. Remmick had no breath, no movement in his body that read any way human. The rise and fall of his chest that you had once used to ground yourself was absent now.

“Come to the woods with me.” He said quietly, looking to you with an insatiable hunger. “When the sun is out, I sleep in the cold dirt, and it’s the most peaceful silence you could ever ask for.” You frowned. Remmick’s voice had changed, an accent that you didn’t recognize bleeding into his regular speech. You took another step away from him, and he followed, his body becoming coated in moonlight. It was then that you could see the viscous, thick blood that coated his chin and chest, and the way that his teeth didn’t fit right in his mouth. A monster in your lover’s body - the Devil in your lover’s body.

You asked what you didn’t want to know. “Who?”

Remmick didn’t answer. He just continued to ramble. “I can show you what I’ve seen. Life beyond life, death beyond death. The ability to move between worlds, to see what can’t be seen-”

“Remmick,” You backed away as he continued to move toward you, eyes seeming to get redder with each step. His gaze no longer held anything that made you feel safe. “Remmick, who? Who’d you-”

Remmick paused, inches away from you. He lifted his hand, and his fingers were long, with curved nails that went well past his fingertips. He took a strand of your hair in his fingers, twirled it around. Your body remembered his touch, wanting to connect to him like a magnet. But you stilled, staring at his eyes that gleamed like stained glass windows. “Do you know,” He said quietly. “I thought it would be your father that would taste rotten, but it wasn’t. It was your mother.” He smiled, his eyes fluttering closed as he breathed in deep through his nose. He had begun drooling, like a rabid dog. “She called your name as she went, sweet Death taking her into his arms…”

You tore yourself away from him, your hair tugging from his grasp. Your body burned, wracked with grief as you looked at Remmick, or whatever had replaced him. He was grinning, his hands pushed into his pockets. The drip of blood from his chin onto the ground made you feel nauseous, your hand clutching at your stomach.

“You’re scaring me, Remmick.” You said quietly, holding your hands out as if you were trying to not frighten a deer. But he wasn’t a deer. He was a wolf, and you were the prey. “Why don’t you just go?”

“You sweet summer lamb…” Remmick frowned, as if from genuine concern. “I’m not leaving without you.”

Remmick’s body twitched, as if taken over by something otherworldly. His head cocked to the side with an inhuman crack, his eyes traveled up your body, to the sky, to the woods.

“A game,” He said, a grin forming on his face again. “Like when we were children…do you remember? I’d chase you… You’d laugh.” His arms twitched as he took his hands out of his pockets.

His voice fell into a deep purr, his eyes half lidded with a sick sense of desire. “Wouldn’t you like to laugh again?”

Remmick lunged, his body moving quicker than you’d ever seen a human move. Your body twisted around, sprinting away as fast as you could with your bare feet on the cold ground. You knew he could have caught you from the moment that you started running, but he was having fun. Playing with his food. When you turned your head for a split moment to look behind you, you could see him walking, slowly. Hands at his sides, drool dripping from his mouth to the ground. His tongue caught out to catch it, and it was longer, flicking out like a serpent.

He was leading you to the woods, your feet feeling the switch from cobblestone to wet grass coated in mist. You felt the twist in your stomach as you passed the threshold, the way the air changed, and the trees whispered no longer fascinated you. You couldn’t help but wonder if the chase was somehow foreplay to something bigger, to something worse that he would do to you.

Deep down, you wanted to know what he’d do to you if he caught you. The shame of that ached in your chest as you ran.

You whipped past tree branches that seemed to reach out for you, catching on your nightgown and cutting your skin. You could hear his voice, echoing around you.

“And they worshipped the dragon which gave power unto the beast: and they worshipped the beast, saying,”

You groaned as a branch ripped into your arm, your head spinning. You jumped over a log, passed through a bushel of elderberries.

“Who is like unto the beast? Who is able to make war with him? And he opened his mouth in blasphemy against God, to blaspheme his name, and his tabernacle, and them that dwell in heaven…”

A blow to the face, your nose crunching against something rough. Your body flew back as you felt the blood flooding from your nostrils and over your lips. You’d run into a tree that you couldn’t have seen in the dark. The woods spun in your vision, your nose already swelling and pulsing. Your lungs burned, and you turned, preparing to run in a different direction.

You stopped, a breath caught in your throat. He was there, standing like he’d been there the whole time. In a speed incomprehensible to your eyes, he was in front of you, his hands pushing you to the ground with a force that you never would have been able to fight. His boot pressed into your shoulder, the inhuman weight of him keeping you still against the cold grass.

Remmick leaned down, his thumb brushing against your lips and collecting the blood that ran there. He looked at you as he pressed his thumb into his mouth, his tongue swirling around to collect what he’d gathered there. He hummed, eyes fluttering shut.

“You taste like the sun… like goodness.” He opened his eyes. “And fear.”

His thumb left his mouth. The same hand moved to wrap around your throat. Not tight, but firm, like a collar that claimed you. His skin was abnormally cool against yours.

“What happened to you, Remmick?” You asked, tasting your blood on your tongue. “After the fire, I saw…”

Remmick smiled, using his other hand to push your hair from your face. “I died. I came back. I was hungry.” He said it so matter-of-factly, like it didn’t matter. “I know it wasn’t kind, what I did to them. But I prayed for their souls when I was done.”

He pressed his finger to your cheek, the sharp nail of his fingertip cutting into your skin. “But not you. I’ll keep you. Our souls will be damned, but we’ll be together.”

Remmick removed his boot from your shoulder, and you still didn’t move. He leaned down, his body hovering over yours. His hands ran down your sides, his eyes wandered over your face.

“I watched you every night since my death.” He said quietly, something akin to the old Remmick in him as he said it. “And all I could think about was how my teeth would feel sliding into you.” His nose twitched, his mouth curled. “My tongue lapping up your blood.”

Remmick’s knee slid between your legs, pressing against you. Your treacherous hips lifted up, pressing against him. His drool dripped onto your skin as he leaned down to press his lips to your neck, right at the pulse point. His teeth digging into your throat didn’t hurt; not like you thought it would. It was warm and wet, his teeth sliding out of the holes to lick over the bleeding wounds. His hand gripped the fabric of your nightgown, pulling it up to reveal you bare underneath.

“Tastes like sin and goodness all at once.” He moaned against your skin as his hand pressed against your center, rubbing in circles that matched the rhythm of his tongue on your throat. You hated him. Hated the way your body responded to him and how he knew what to do to make you undone.

The blood was nearly drained from your body when you found your release, your nails digging deep into his shoulder blade. Your body ached from the emptiness, and your nightgown pooled around your legs like a blanket. Remmick sat on his haunches before you, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a toned arm, stained with blood.

His teeth, still coated in your blood, dug into his arm. He let the blood trickle down his skin, hovering it over you to let it drip into your mouth.

The taste was unlike anything you’d ever had before. The very taste of God on your tongue, sweeter than the elderberry pies that Remmick would give you at his family’s shop. It sang in your veins, making you reach for his arm to drink more. You drank until he had to force himself from your clutch, his body falling to lie next to yours, arm pressed to his chest.

Your body had begun to die, a terrible pain wracking through your body. You convulsed, Remmick’s blood dripping from your lips.

He laughed breathlessly, turning his head to look at you.

“Our covenant, my love.” He said finally. “I told you every path led back to you.”

_______________

Irish Gaelic translations:

dia dhuit - Hello or God be with you

a pheata - my pet

a chuisle - my pulse

th'anam 'on diabhal - your soul to the Devil! (expression of surprise)

wean - child

a chuisle mo chroi - pulse of my heart

moilligh beagan, mo ghra - slow down a little, my love

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Also credits to the poem She Weeps Over Rahoon by James Joyce, and Revelations 13:1 from the Bible lmao

#sinners 2025 #remmick x reader #remmick #sinners remmick #remmick sinners #remmick imagine #remmick oneshot #jack o'connell #remmick x fem!reader #sinners fic #sinners au #i maybe gave up toward the end of this lolololol

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aronaut · 11 months ago

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Warmth

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x gn!reader Summary: You're a former researcher that was working before the blacksite lockdown. Forgotten and abandoned, you have no other choice but to work with a certain shopkeeper. Needless to say, you have your differences. Warnings: Explicit mentions of blo/od and inj/ury in the beginning. Not beta read Word count: 4,191 (This is a drabble I plan to include in a long list of loosely connected ideas. Consider it the middle of an enemies to qp partners plot :] )

...The low, ominous groan and creak of metal is enough to put anyone on edge, you think, as you traverse the seemingly endless halls.

Rifling through the cabinets and drawers, scrounging up scraps left behind by hasty thieves, the unsettling ocean ambience is all you have for company. You wonder, just when did your life derail so horrifically, when the sight of a crumpled body on the ground fills you with elation. The heavy, steel doors slide open with little fanfare. Beyond the mangled corpse, your eyes immediately set on a black light laying just a few feet away. Stepping over the expendable, you collect the item. There is little battery left in the light you note, before stashing it in the worn messenger bag slung over your shoulder.

With a heavy sigh, you eyes scan below. Scarlet scatters across the floor in a chaotic spray, drawing your eyes towards the deep crimson pool steadily crawling towards the toe of your shoe. In the center of it all, lays the head of a late expendable, expression locked in a display of permanent shock. From below their eye, a coat of flaky, dry red webs down from their chin to all the way down their shoulder.

The collar of the expendable’s wet suit is torn completely; black shreds of neoprene fray out from below the sternum. It's hard to tell the rubber from the darkened crimson spilling out from the brutal tear in the prisoners neck.

Z-90– the Wall Dweller, you determine. Recent too, if the wet shine on expendable's neck is anything to go off of. The considerably uneaten state of the body leads you to believe it might still be in the area, biding it's time until it can claim the expendable's companions as well.

Or, well, possibly even you…

With that thought in your mind, you crouch down, your hands roaming over surface of the expendable’s clothes for any other possible hidden goods. Sparing glances every so often behind you, straining your ears all the while, you’re cautious during your search.

Any research the expendable might have had is completely useless now, waterlogged with sticky blood and pasted to the body. Attempting to reach into the pockets only rewards you with a sharp jab in your palm, the tips of your fingers cold and wet with spilled vial fluids.

Withdrawing from the body, you finally stand back up to full height. The sudden rush to your head is enough to make you sway, your stomach starting to pinch from the overwhelming, metallic stench permeating the room. With a shaky exhale, you urge yourself forward.

The persistent stinging in your eyes doesn’t do any favors for you as you try and navigate the dimly lit halls of the facility, an incredibly sore ache pulsating in your feet with every step. You are… so tired.

A distant roar of an entity sounds suddenly, reverberating across multiple rooms and rocking the facility. The floor rumbles faintly below your feet, and you can almost barely make out the disorderly sound of blinking lights. Bracing yourself against a wall, you wait out the tremors.

Though exhaustion tugs at you, you acknowledge that you cannot rest here. The dark corners of the room whisper dangerous promises, and as you traverse the rooms you can’t shake off the ever persistent feeling of being watched.

Any human in this place is simply prey, and as you tuck your hands into the pockets of your tattered, beaten white coat, your mind rings out with a grim thought; if every human here is prey, you are high game.

Approaching the next door, the screen doesn’t label it with a number but instead a red line. Taking the keycard from your lanyard, you unlock the door, and step inside. Instead of being met with lockers and scattered drawers, you find yourself in a familiar office. The small room is crowded with desks, computers that have long since powered off, and fake potted plants that fill you with a bittersweet sense of longing. Tucked under the desks, the rusted office chair beckon you to rest, but you push the thought out.

There is no doubt in your mind that he is getting aggravated over the fact that you’ve taken this long already.

Behind the desks there is another door, bracketed by two item lockers long since rummaged through. It’s marked by another red line, but you already know where it leads.

The door opens with an exhale, the frigid air greeting you as you walk on through. Unlike the rooms before, this room is brightly lit, the florescent lights buzzing loudly. Your eyes burn momentarily from the sudden change, taking a moment to adjust. The hall is short this time, and in your view you see another door marked ‘50.’

Your bag is disappointingly light on your shoulders, only holding a gummy flashlight, a few batteries, and the black light you just found. You’re not looking forward to the condescending comments that awaits you behind that door.

Resigning to your fate with a heavy sigh, you begin to trudge forward, but stop short suddenly when you hear what sounds like a loud flash, followed by a furious shout and the rush of footsteps. You only have a split second to react, hastily throwing yourself into a locker, the clang of the metal door muted by the hissing of an opening door.

Laughter rings out in the room, accompanied by a multitude of heavy footfalls. The light peaking through the vent of the locker momentarily obscures as you count three expendables pass by, completely unaware of your presence. They are loud and boisterous, a harsh rhythmic squeak of their boots resounding as they run through the hall, the dull thuds of drawers being pulled out to their full extent in a fruitless endeavor to find more loot. They don’t stay long, and soon enough you hear the hydraulics of the door once more and the footsteps dissipate.

You wait a minute before exiting the locker, hurriedly making your way to the fiftieth door. There is a low, agitated hiss drawing out low from the ground, echoing through the tunnel next to your calf. Crouching down, you crawl on into the vent, your elbows clanging against the thin metal.

Emerging on the other side, you find yourself once more in the confinement of Sebastian’s shop. It’s possibly the smallest room in the facility, the walls looming over you in a claustrophobic fashion. Or, perhaps, it’s just overcrowded with stacked crates strewn about, the floor littered with various gadgets inoperable by you, and piles of paper files scattered across the floor. Your eyesight leads to probably the most useless thing in the room, roaming over the giant tail fin flicking against the wall and up the elongated tail it was attached to.

Sebastian is rubbing furiously at his eyes, lure blinking not dissimilarly to the way the room lights do when in the presence of Z-283. He’s grumbling low beneath his breath, mumbling incoherently between rushed clicks and growls.

When he’s done, he acknowledges your entrance with very little care,

“About time. Stock’s so low, I’ve had to sell half-charged flashlights to the last gaggle of idiots,” his arms drop, and he glares to you. “What the hell took you so long?”

The messenger bag drops from your shoulder with little care, the metal of the flashlights clinging with the floor through the thin material. You fix him with a similar expression to his, squinting up at him.

“Trying not to get caught, asshole. If you want shit sooner get it yourself next time.”

He chuckles sardonically at you.

“Please, I’ve got better things to do,” he responds. “You keep up your half of the deal, and I keep up mine.”

You roll your eyes pointedly, breaking away from the staring match when the brightness of his lure starts to cause dark spots to swim in your vision. Crouching down, you begin to rifle through the bag. He looks unimpressed at the pitiful amount of batteries you set beside yourself, but you do notice the room getting ever so slightly brighter when you pull out the black light.

“Just keep being a good little errand boy, and your efforts won’t go unpunished,” he purrs. You clench your teeth, face warming in anger.

“Oh yes, your part. Totally. I go out, digging around for junk, risking my neck to monsters and delinquent prisoners, while you get to sit in here and play retail worker,” you ramble, frustrated, rolling the gummy flashlight over to his general direction with a not too gentle shove. “Fairest trade in the world.”

Your heartbeat picks up ever so slightly as you feel a shadow cast over you, the bulb of Sebastian’s lure hanging overhead as he leans down towards you, slow. You urge yourself to keep his gaze and stay there as his smile stretches into a sharp grin, light glinting off the razor sharp fangs. His hand stretches towards you, and your shoulders jolt in a half-flinch as they reach towards your neck. You don’t look down from his eyes as his claws pull at your lanyard, the thin fabric brushing against the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows furrow as he pinches the card between his thumb and index, his claw sweeping over it’s laminated surface.

“Would you like to switch roles, ‘doctor?’”

You reach up, and promptly slap his hand away.

Instead of retaliating, Sebastian merely laughs at you.

“I didn’t think so,” he drawls, before slowly ascending back to full height, away from you.

The bag, now empty, sits lightly on your shoulder as you pull it over your head. It’s weight is nearly nonexistent. You approach one of the stacked storage containers and with a tired groan plop down, leaning back and stretching your legs out in front of you.

It’s instantaneous relief, you note, your joints popping in rapid succession of one another as you stretch your arms up, crossed at the wrists. Your shoulders are practically buzzing, no doubt having been pinched at some point during your venture in the facility. Your knees creak and ache from crawling through vents and desks, your legs stiff and feet beyond sore. After your stretch, you slump down in your seat with a sigh. Finally, you get to relax.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Ugh.

“Resting, Sebastian.” You respond dryly. “I’m freaking tired, okay? Leave me be.”

Sebastian simply scoffs. You don’t acknowledge him as your eyes draw shut.

“Go somewhere else for that, I have a business to run.”

“And where do you suggest I go? Where is there that doesn’t have a wall dweller lurking or some other hellish atrocity waiting to get at me?” You argue, opening your eyes to challenge him with a glare.

“That isn’t my problem,” he leans down slightly, arms crossed and third arm tucked in awkwardly. “Leave before someone comes in.”

You mirror his pose, crossing your arms and tilting your chin up at him.

“Get out.”

You shuffle in place, legs crossing. Sebastian scowls, growling low in his throat. His arm shoots out, pointing to the vent and shouting.

“Get OUT!”

Your shoulders jump, but you’re stubborn. Drawing your arms around yourself tightly, you shout back.

“Screw you, man! There isn’t anyone coming!”

Sebastian hisses, the only warning you get before he darts down toward you, your arms pushed into your chest as he holds you in a tight grip, claws pinching your skin underneath the thin fabric of your coat.

He is directly in your face, eyes glowering at you as he spits,

“You absolute, goddamn MORON. If you do not LEAVE-”

He cuts himself off suddenly, and in your peripherals you catch the way the fins on the side of his head seem to twitch bizarrely. Soon you hear the pang of metal resounding off the walls of the vent and echoing into the room. With a quick, uttered curse, Sebastian quickly draws back, but he doesn’t let you go, instead pulling you up and with him.

Your arms sting in his hold, your face twisted in a grimace as suddenly your feet are no longer touching the ground. The weight of your body hangs as he effortlessly lifts you up.

“What the hell???” you wheeze. “Let me go!”

A cold hand slaps over your mouth harshly, clasping your face nearly entirely as Sebastian growls.

“Shut the hell Up!”

You get little warning as Sebastian all but stuffs you behind him, crowded by his tail. You try and leverage yourself with his tail, pushing up with your arms as your chest pressing uncomfortably against him. His tail coils and folds in response, pushing over your chest and weighing heavily till you fall back to the floor. The air punched out of your lungs, and you let out a strangled gasp. Panic seized you as you wriggled beneath him, writhing in place to try and breathe. Noticing your struggle, Sebastian lifts his tail ever so slightly, no longer crushing you. You jumped at the opportunity, attempting to sit up before Sebastian’s third arm came down, hand tangling into your hair and shoving you back down.

“Stay down,” he says, low, with a hint of a threat tracing the edges of his voice.

The weight of his hand on your head disappears, and you watch from behind him as his attitude immediately shifts from disgruntled to a calculated calm.

“Welcome, welcome!” he greets, near automatic and practically off a script. You cannot see who he is talking to from your position, but based off the sound of shuffling and whispers, you assume another group has just entered. “Don’t be afraid, I’m not gonna hurt you. Despite what you have seen, heard and/or been told, my name is Sebastian.”

He goes on with his typical spew, and you surrender to the solid weight laying over you. It’s a bit awkward for Sebastian, you realize, as he attempts to move along with his usual transactions now that the upper part of his tail is occupied keeping you hidden. You feel almost smug about it, counting it off as a win in the mentally constructed chart in your mind that keeps loose tabs on the constantly tipping scale between you and Sebastian. It’s not like you want to be seen by the expendables, as it risks the possibility of them reporting back to Urbanshade that one of their esteemed researchers were still alive down here and working against them with the active saboteur. Though, given how long you and Sebastian have spent down here, you highly doubt that is likely to happen anytime soon. The expendable project was a long going mission that has yet to bare any fruit.

As Sebastian drawls on, you can feel his voice reverberating through his tail. As much as you hate to admit it, the rumbling was soothing. The weight of him was less of a burden than it was before, instead it became rather pleasant in grounding you, not unlike a weighted blanket… and a cooled one, at that.

The transaction seemed to be dragging on longer than usual, or maybe that was just you. The events of the day quickly starting to catch up with you, slowing your perception of time as you stared up hazily at the ceiling, with Sebastian’s elbow and back occasionally coming into view. Pressing against the wall, you could feel the way the facility subtly rocked in the waters. Holding your ear to the ground, you could almost hear the ocean, the cold metal soothing against your flushed face.

You could barely make out the voices of the prisoners, and what you could you pieced together that they must be attempting to negotiate. Puffing under your breathe, you smiled, bidding them luck with that endeavor as your eyes drew shut.

When your eyes opened once more, the room was dark. You could no longer hear the prisoners, or even Sebastian for that matter. Lifting your head, you realized also that the weight over you seemed to have disappeared. Sebastian was no longer laying over you.

You couldn’t make out what was in front of you, but you still attempted to look around. Your thoughts were slow and disorientated, but slowly you discerned that you must have fallen asleep. How you managed in such an inconvenient expression, next to Sebastian of all things, you couldn’t fathom. You suppose you were more exhausted than you originally thought.

He must’ve moved you, you think. You could imagine the sneer he must’ve made at realizing you had fallen asleep. Where did he put you, exactly? You jostled awake fully at the thought that perhaps he threw you out in the cold, or simply dumped you in the nearest, darkest room to be preyed on by the experiments.

At this thought, you rushed to push yourself up with your hands, having awoken on your stomach. The floor was… odd in texture. It was rougher, not the smooth, biting cold metal that you were accustomed to. It was, also, ever so slightly warm. As you pushed against it, you noticed that while it was solid it also had a little give to it. Your mind reeled for answers, trying to piece together just exactly where or what you were laying on, when all of the sudden you realized you were moving. Or, more like, the ground was moving.

Your breath quickened as you slid ever so slightly down, and it registered finally that your legs weren’t supported by anything, instead hanging over an edge. Your thighs held together as your arms scrambled to hold on to whatever it was you were on, leaning forward with your face pressed up against something cool.

You could smell an an odd, distinct combination of what you could only describe as leather and fish. Cold air gently brushed down your forehead as you heard someone sigh.

Adjusting to the darkness, you could finally make out what was in front of you– or below you, rather.

Below you was a chest belonging only to Sebastian.

Clad in a white dress shirt and draped in a rough leather jacket, his chest rose steadily under you, raising you in tandem. Looking to his face, all three of his eyes were closed and you couldn’t make out his lure in the darkness. His expression was… peaceful. Relaxed. Despite this, you could see the dark crevices in his forehead and eyes, groves crafted and paved by long-term stress that he refused to let on existed. He was completely unguarded and vulnerable, and considering your position you concluded that he had willingly put himself there.

But why?

You couldn’t comprehend it. Maybe it was a mistake? You had never seen him asleep before… Given all of the traits he was spliced with, you wondered how long he could really go without sleep? Maybe he slept when you were gone? That wouldn’t make sense. He’s a research-fiend by nature, he’d never let a potential customer pass him by.

However, looking more closely, you took in his features. Unlike the rest of his body, his face was smoother; More akin to a human. Between his eyes and on the bridge of his nose, there was a very faint line– barely noticeable even in the light– a paler blue than the surrounding skin. A scar he had when he first came into the facility as a convict. As a human…

You doubt even Sebastian could reject the very notion of sleep. Beneath it all– the razor sharp teeth, the blue scales, and thin web veils on his ears and clawed fingers, you never stopped believing that he was human. You doubt he did, either.

It still didn’t make sense for you to be here, but that didn’t matter, because there was the definite possibility of him screaming at you when he woke up and saw you there in despite of his protests.

You gently tried to creep down, stretching your leg and trying to feel the ground with your toe. You stretched and stretched, flexing your foot before realizing that even at this angle you couldn’t feel the floor. You were up too damn high. Looking down, you could hardly make out the messy floor.

In the midst of your struggling, you felt a rumble pass through you from Sebastian’s chest. His hands, which you hadn’t at first noticed were resting on your hips, slowly caressed over your back before stopping at your shoulders. You laid there, frozen, peaking cautiously up at Sebastian to see he was, thankfully, still asleep.

Your situation got that much more difficult, you realized, as his arms laid heavy over your back and prevented you from moving any further without disturbing the serpent, likely into waking.

Huffing a sigh, you relented.

You still couldn’t see very well in the darkness, and you would no doubt sprain something trying to dismount Sebastian. He’s so cranky awake, you don’t want to imagine what he’d be like shorted a few hours of beauty sleep.

And as much as you loathed to admit it, the position wasn’t… uncomfortable. You felt warm, but not stuffy despite the room. Sebastian was like a pillow with two cold sides, and you discovered that as you sunk back down into him, that his skin seemed to absorb your heat.

You shut your eyes.

There was no point in struggling to leave, or worrying about Sebastian’s reaction right now. Bottom line is, you could go for a couple more minutes of rest. Chances are Sebastian would tell you to hop right back to work first opportunity he got, so you might as well take advantage of the situation.

Your breathing slowed, and as you relaxed you could just barely make out a very soft rumbling crackle coming from Sebastian’s chest, reminiscent of a cat’s purr. His fingers absently curled over your shoulders, the weight of them strong and comforting. You could get used to this, you thought, and didn’t bother to fight against the absurd belief as your thoughts slowed down, sleep creeping in.

A shrill scream roars outside, and the body beneath you jolts violently, jostling you in the process. You hear lights flicker discordantly, before hushing entirely.

You don’t dare to open your eyes as you feel Sebastian move under you, hearing him exhale loudly. From behind the lids of your eyes, you notice the room get slightly brighter. Sebastian is awake.

You brace yourself to be grabbed, or even thrown, as his claws curl that much tighter over your shoulders. But that doesn’t happen.

His hands go lax, and you feel him sink back down, his third arm coming to rest over your lower back. The upper arms gently soothe down your back before brushing back up. Your brows furrow in confusion when a hand rests on your head, combing through your hair.

Warm breath ghosts over you as he leans down with a sigh, arms pulling you further up his body as his chin sets down over your head.

You dare to peek your eyes open, met with the light blue hue of Sebastian’s neck, gaze tracing over the smooth transition between human skin and scales. You feel Sebastian’s clawed hand leave your scalp, once more joining it’s counterpart in soothing up and down your back, the third hand picking at the frayed edges of your shirt.

You can see the bob of Sebastian’s throat as he swallows, coughing lightly in an attempt to clear his throat. His nose presses ever so slightly further into your hair, and you have to suppress the sudden need to jump when the third hand traces up your back, under your shirt.

Your hands brace against him, ready to launch yourself upward and ask just what the hell he is doing, before acknowledging that his hand doesn’t go any further than that. You decide to wait it out, see what he does. Maybe you can catch him doing something embarrassing, and use it as leverage in your next argument. Another point to your metaphorical score.

The other arms continue to stroke over your back, albeit more slowly, as his third hand continues to trail up your spine, leaving a path of goose bumps. The hair of your back raises at the temperature change. His hand is freaking cold. Colder than the rest of his body. Why is that?

As this continues, you feel him slump ever so slightly, all three of his hands slowing to a stop. His chest evens out once more, and you realize, he is asleep.

The hand under your shirt has become significantly warmer, and that is when you realize; Sebastian is cold blooded.

Well, you didn’t just realize, you knew this from the start. It explained his bizarre actions though, and as you took in your position you pieced together you were no different than a weighted blanket you accused his tail of being not long ago. A heated rock for his comfort. Like a snake or lizard basking in a lamplight, you were his source of heat.

Your mouth twitched into a smile. You were totally going to hold this over his head.

#sebastian solace x reader #hnnnhgnh fish #lee if u see this u smell lolololol #sebastian solace x you #sebastian pressure

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