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dark-fanfics-moon · 2 months ago

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THE PET Remmick x Reader

Part 2

Synopsis: You try to stay sane as Remmick attempts to make you warm up to him. But…will it work ?

(This is my first Sinners fanfic. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Also, you have French ancestry here.)

Part 1 here: https://www.tumblr.com/dark-fanfics-moon/783014726264291328/the-pet-remmick-x-reader?source=share

Remmick’s eyes glinted as he watched you intently, the corners of his lips curling into a wicked grin. He was enjoying every second of this—the power, the control he had over you. It made your skin crawl, but you were too tired, too broken to protest.

You shivered and asked, “Why didn’t you kill me ?”

The vampire’s expression darkened for a moment, but the smirk never fully left his face. He stepped closer, his cold fingers brushing your cheek. “I ain’t gonna kill you, lass,” he said with a slow, deliberate drawl. “I told ye: yer mine now. And I don’t break me toys. I like to play with ’em first. Maybe get a lil’ love, ye know ?”

A chill ran through you at the thought of being his “plaything.” The very idea of it made your blood run cold, but there was no denying the hunger in his eyes. That unspoken desire, mixed with a twisted sense of affection, filled you with dread. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Why take me ?” You finally dared to ask.

Remmick leaned back, seemingly lost in thought for a moment, before he answered with a hint of something like nostalgia. “Difference between me hive and humans is… we ain’t really all that warm. Don’t get me wrong, I love me family. But hum…I discovered I liked keepin’ warm ones too. They make good companions on the road and can keep us safe during the day…”

Fear twisted in your gut as the realization hit. You’d heard the myths, the whispers about vampires keeping humans as pets, but never in your wildest nightmares did you think you’d end up as one. It was all too real now, and the terrifying truth was sinking in deeper with each word.

The vampire chuckled darkly, as if enjoying the look of horror in your eyes. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll keep ye fed and safe…but I gotta warn ye…life with me will be different than what you’re used to. I ain’t like anythin’ y’ever experienced.”

You felt a sick mixture of terror and curiosity. You knew the life he had planned for you would be nothing short of a nightmare, but there was a strange thrill in the thought of living on the fringes of society—living a life so twisted that others would never imagine it. Still, you tried to cling to whatever shred of normalcy you could.

“Could I write to my brother on occasion ? To let him know that I am alive ?” you asked, hoping for some semblance of freedom.

The vampire paused, his red eyes calculating as he considered your request. “I suppose I could allow that. But no more than once every few weeks. And I’ll read every word ye write. I don’t need ye tellin’ someone where we are.”

You let out a small, relieved breath, at least a tiny victory amidst the horror.

Remmick smirked, amused by the display of sheer relief. “Now…Don’t get too excited, darlin’. I’m still in charge here. And I expect yer complete obedience in exchange for these lil’ niceties.”

You sighed, resigned to your fate. “I understand…”

“That’s a smart lass,” Remmick approved before he pointed a finger at you. “Yer learnin’ already. I think yer gonna be a fast learner—unlike me other pets.”

He stepped away, sizing you up with a calculating look before continuing. “Now that we’re on the same page…it’s probably a good idea to go over some house rules.”

You felt your stomach twist in dread at the thought of following his rules, but you knew you had no choice. With a hesitant nod, you gestured for him to continue.

Remmick leaned back with a wicked grin. “First rule: You do what I say without question. If I say jump, you ask ‘how high.’ If I say kneel, you hit the ground. Understand, darlin’ ?”

You clenched your jaw, suppressing the anger bubbling up inside, but you nodded reluctantly. “I understand. I’ll do whatever you say.”

He smirked approvingly. “Good. Second rule: Yer my responsibility. Which means, I don’t want ye goin’ off on yer own. Everywhere ye go, I’m there with ya. You ain’t goin’ nowhere without me permission, got that ?”

Your brow furrowed. “How about during the day ?”

He chuckled again and shook his head. “Oh darlin’…You’re adorable. During the day, ye go nowhere. Ye watch while I rest. You’re goin’ to be stayin’ with me. That means no goin’ to town, no goin’ to church. Just sittin’ tight until night falls again.”

His smirk deepened. “But if ye get bored ? You can always be buddies with the other pets of the hive ! Wouldn’t that be nice ? Besides, we’ll need ye to move us when the sun is out. But don’t worry. The other pets will show ye how it’s done.”

A wave of helplessness swept over you, but you knew there was no point in protesting. You nodded again. “I understand.”

“Good. Yer really catchin’ on quick,” he said, clearly pleased. “Third rule: Ye don’t put up a fight. I ain’t in the habit of wastin’ me precious time and energy on stubborn pets. If I ask ye to do something that makes you unhappy ? Well, you’ll do it anyways. Yer gonna follow me rules, and the rules of the hive, even if it makes you angry.”

You bit your lip to keep from speaking, from snapping at him. You knew better. “I understand. I won’t give you any trouble.”

Remmick smiled, pleased with your compliance. “That’s what I like to hear. Fourth rule: Ye don’t say no to me. Ever. If I want yer blood, I take it. If I want yer company, I take it. If I want ye in bed with me as a damn cushion fer me head ? I’m doin’ that as well. No complainin’, no fightin’, no refusin’, no resistin’ or anythin’ else along those lines, m’kay pet ?”

You shuddered at that despicable word. ‘Pet’. But you nodded nonetheless, unable to do anything else.

Remmick continued, his tone turning more serious. “If I tell ye to do somethin’, you do it. No ifs, ands, or buts. You’ll keep me hunger satisfied and do whatever I want, when I want.”

You scoffed, unable to keep the sarcasm out of your voice this time. “Didn’t know I had a vampire toddler on my hands.”

Remmick’s grin widened, but there was something predatory in his eyes now and drool fell from his chin. “Mouthy, are we ? Fine by me. You’ll learn real quick, darlin’. Real quick.”

You shuddered at the sight and looked away prompty. He seemed to understand your discomfort and sighed before wiping his chin. He then realised that his clothes were still soaked in blood. He got his shirt and undershirt off before throwing them at you.

"Wash those."

You looked at the blood there and your whole body shivered at the realisation that it might be your own father’s blood on those clothes. You let them fall on the floor. You couldn’t help but shudder, the sickening thought creeping into your mind that this could very well be your father’s blood—the man you’d just buried.

Your hands trembled, and a cold sweat broke out along your skin as the room seemed to close in on you. The reality of everything—your father’s death, the way you were now under Remmick’s control—felt too much to bear all at once. The blood on those clothes felt like it was crawling up your spine, a silent reminder of what you had lost.

Remmick’s voice broke through your panic, calm and detached. “Well, what’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ ? Get to it.”

You swallowed hard, your body stiffening at his words. The last thing you wanted to do was touch that blood, to remind yourself of the violence that had ripped your life apart. But you knew better than to refuse. You didn’t have a choice. You bent down slowly, gathering the clothes from the floor, trying to keep your composure. The blood seemed to burn your fingertips as you picked them up, but you forced yourself to hold onto them. It was just another part of this twisted new life Remmick had made for you—one you were still trying to make sense of.

With a quick, stiff nod, you turned away, heading towards the exit of the trailer. The cool air hit your face as you made your way to the nearby stream, the rhythmic sound of rushing water offering little comfort against the storm of emotions swelling inside you. You kneeled at the edge of the stream, the bloodstained clothes still clutched tightly in your hands.

As the cold water touched the fabric, your sobs began to escape, raw and uncontrollable. Each tear felt heavier than the last, like it was pulling you deeper into the darkness of what had become your reality. The blood didn’t just stain the clothes—it stained your soul, a constant reminder of the horrors you could never unsee. Your father, the village, everything you’d once known, all shattered in an instant.

The water seemed to mock you, its gentle flow unable to wash away the heaviness in your chest, the memories, the fear, and the overwhelming sense of helplessness. The clothes slipped from your trembling fingers as you cried harder, the water barely able to cleanse the stains on your hands, let alone the ones buried deep inside you.

You wanted to scream, to run far away from everything. But where would you go ? What would you do ? Remmick’s shadow loomed over you, both a constant presence and an ever-present threat, and you had nowhere to turn. You sank to your knees, your body shaking as you held the bloodied fabric to your chest. The stream, though it tried, couldn’t carry away the burden you were now bound to. And yet, here you were, sobbing in the cold, wishing for something—anything—to make it stop.

…

Once the task complete, you approached the carriage and the faint, haunting sound of Remmick’s banjo drifted through the air. The low, rhythmic plucking of strings mixed with the night’s silence, the eerie melody fitting in with the dark weight of the evening. His dark eyes glinted as he played, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looked up briefly, catching sight of you.

The sound of his banjo was a strange comfort, but it didn’t ease the dread pooling in your stomach. The blood still clung to your memory, even though you had washed it from the clothes. It was impossible to wash the images from your mind.

He didn’t speak immediately, as if waiting for you to say something first. You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. You swallowed hard, trying to keep the tremble from your voice as you spoke.

“…I’ve done what you asked.” Your words felt empty, hollow in the air between you.

Remmick’s smirk deepened, though it was softer now, more amused than predatory. “Did ye now ?” He set the banjo aside and stood. “I’m glad to see ye’ve come back. Thought I might’ve lost ya to the night.” He stepped closer to you, his presence, as always, dominating the space. He then added with a grin. “Woulda hated havin’ to chase you all night, puppet. But am fast. Hella fast. Ye wouldn’t have made it through the night.”

He then playfully pinched your nose and smirked before taking the clothes from your arms.

You couldn’t help but flinch, the memory of his cold blood-soaked chin still fresh in your mind. “I did what you wanted,” you repeated, the words somehow a bit stronger now, despite the gnawing fear inside you. “Now what ?”

“Now, I’d say we take the next step. But before that…” He leaned closer, his voice low, “You’ve been through quite a bit tonight, haven’t ya ?” He reached for your arm, his touch light but firm, pulling you gently inside the carriage. “Come on in. We family now, ain’t we ?”

The chill from outside still lingered in your bones as you stepped into the warmth of the carriage.

“Family…” you muttered under your breath, feeling the weight of the word like a cold iron shackle around your heart.

He then tapped the place on his knee.

"C’mere me puppet."

You froze.

His voice was gentle—mockingly so—but the command behind it was unmistakable. “C’mere me puppet.” He repeated. The words laced with false affection, like a hunter calling to a wounded animal. Your eyes flicked to his knee, where his hand patted expectantly, and then up to his face. That smug, knowing smirk never wavered. Every inch of your body screamed at you to run, to escape, to do anything but obey. But your legs moved before your mind could catch up, conditioned now by fear, by exhaustion, by the brutal reality of your new existence.

You stepped closer.

Remmick’s eyes followed your every movement, his eyes dark and gleaming with twisted satisfaction. You lowered yourself slowly, tentatively, onto his knee, barely touching him. He laughed softly, almost like a purr, one hand snaking around your waist to pull you in tighter—until you were perched fully across his lap, your side pressed against his chest.

“There we go,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness that only made your skin crawl. “See how easy that was ?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The weight of his gaze pressed down on you, making your mouth go dry.

He studied you for a moment, his thumb running idle circles along your side. Then he leaned in, nose brushing your cheek, his breath cold and smelling faintly of iron. “I ain’t gonna hurt ye tonight,” he whispered. “Not unless you make me. You’ve had enough, haven’t ya ?”

You nodded, barely able to breathe.

He chuckled. “That’s my good lil’ lassie.”

Your stomach churned.

Then, to your surprise, he didn’t press further. Instead, he leaned back into the plush seat, arms still around you, his banjo resting against the opposite wall like a discarded thought. You remained frozen. For a moment—just a moment—you let yourself breathe and listen. To the soft sway of the carriage from the blowing wind outside, the horses’ hooves trampling the ground, the dull thrum of blood in your ears. You couldn’t trust him. You wouldn’t trust him. But as your body sank involuntarily into the exhaustion gnawing at you, and as his hand stroked your hair absentmindedly, you realized:

This was your life now.

And you would have to survive it. Even if it meant pretending to be his puppet…for now.

He then whispered in your ear. “Sleepy, puppet ? You can rest yer eyes fer a few minutes. I’ll watch over ye.”

You were too exhausted to deny and simply closed your eyes…falling into a light sleep.

A few minutes later…Remmick woke you up and led you out of the carriage. The carriages were nestled together in a circle, their wooden exteriors glowing faintly in the moonlight, casting long shadows across the ground. You could hear the soft murmur of voices, a mixture of laughter and whispered conversations, though it was clear this was no ordinary gathering.

“Don’t be scared, doll,” Remmick’s voice purred as he guided you forward. The scent of burning wood and fresh night air mixed together in an unsettling blend.

There, standing in the center of the gathering, were the other “pets”—humans, like you, who had been taken by the vampires. They were dressed in strange, mismatched clothes, most of them looking weary but oddly content. Some were sitting by the fire, a few leaning against the side of a carriage, while others were interacting with the vampires in a way that, to you, felt disturbingly normal. They all seemed so…comfortable in this twisted existence.

One of them, a young woman with wide eyes and a soft smile, stood up as you approached. She wore a simple dress, but there was an aura of weariness around her, as if she had long accepted her fate. Her voice was soft but welcoming when she spoke.

“Remmick’s new one, huh ?” she asked, looking you up and down with a curious gaze. “I’m Lyla,” she introduced herself, extending a hand towards you. “Annie’s familiar. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. We all do eventually.”

You looked at her hand for a moment, your stomach turning. How could anyone get used to this ? You had seen the blood, smelled it. Felt the weight of it on your skin. You had seen what Remmick was capable of.

You didn’t take her hand, and after a moment of hesitation, she withdrew it with a soft chuckle, not offended. “You’re still fresh,” she murmured understandingly. “It’ll take time.”

Another figure stepped forward—tall, with sharp features and a quiet presence. His eyes were dull, as if the life had been drained from them long ago. He nodded at you but said nothing. You could feel the weight of his gaze, cold and distant. He looked like someone who had long since given up on hope.

“Don’t mind Aidan,” Lyla said softly. “He doesn’t speak much. He was one of the first brought in. He’s Stack’s familiar.” She glanced at you knowingly, her eyes narrowing. “Some of us don’t last as long as others. Don’t let that scare you.”

You swallowed hard, looking at each face in turn. They were all different, but the same in their quiet acceptance of a life they hadn’t chosen. Their eyes were haunted, but resigned.

“You’ll get used to the rules around here too,” Lyla continued, her tone more serious now. “Stick close to Remmick. Don’t step out of line. Don’t make waves. He’s not one to take kindly to disobedience.”

You felt a pang of fear, the weight of her words sinking in. You had already witnessed how quickly things could spiral out of control. Remmick’s smile, his twisted pleasure in your discomfort, still lingered in your mind. But there was something else too. A strange attachment, an odd affection from him that made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite place.

You looked around. Remmick had stepped away momentarily, talking to another vampire who had appeared from one of the nearby carriages. The moment he was out of earshot, Lyla leaned closer, her eyes darkening slightly.

“You’ll be fine,” she whispered. “He likes you. That means he’ll keep you around. But just remember—you’re a possession, not a person here. Never forget that.”

You wanted to protest, wanted to scream, but all you could do was nod weakly. In this strange, twisted hive of vampires and their pets, what else could you do ?

You were trapped.

Lyla’s words rang in your ears like a dull bell tolling in the distance—ominous and final.

A possession, not a person.

You stood there, surrounded by strangers who shared the same chain, the same fate, their expressions dulled by time and routine. You didn’t want to believe this was your life now. But as you looked around the circle—at the flickering firelight casting grotesque shadows across tired faces—you knew it was.

You were still staring at the fire when Remmick’s arm slithered back around your waist.

“There now, doll,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low and sweet, like poisoned honey. “They treat ye alright ?”

You didn’t answer at first, the tension in your shoulders betraying every thought racing through your mind. But then you nodded, barely, your lips pressed into a thin line.

Remmick smiled, pleased. “Good. I knew you’d blend in just fine. Some don’t take to it well—always fightin’, cryin’, refusin’ to listen. Makes it messy. Makes me messy.”

He turned you gently toward him, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand, eyes lingering a little too long. “But yer different, aintcha ? Got fire, but ye know when to keep it on low.”

The words made your skin crawl, but you forced yourself not to pull away. Behind him, Lyla had already moved on, settling down beside Aidan again.

“You’ll sleep with me tonight,” Remmick said casually, as if announcing the weather. “Best to keep ye close. First few days are always the hardest.”

A sharp chill twisted through your spine.

He leaned in again, lowering his voice. “Don’t worry, puppet. I’ll take good care of ye. I won’t bite—unless you ask me real nicely that is.”

There was laughter nearby. A low cackle from one of the other vampires watching from the shadows. It made you flinch, and Remmick chuckled at that, turning you with a firm hand and guiding you back towards his carriage. As you stepped away from the fire, the sounds behind you grew muffled, as though the world itself was slowly sealing you in.

You glanced back only once.

Lyla was watching you, her smile gone now, her eyes sharp with a kind of knowing pity. You weren’t sure what she saw when she looked at you—maybe someone who reminded her of herself. Or maybe it was just the face of despair.

Your eyes caught sight of the fire burning bright next and you stopped. The fire crackled, its orange and red flames dancing in the cool night air, casting eerie shadows on the faces of the vampires and their pets. The flickering flames seemed to beckon to you, promising an end to all the horror, the fear, and the suffocating uncertainty that had plagued you since the night Remmick had taken you.

You wondered how long it would take for the fire to consume you if you simply stepped into it. Would it be fast ? Would it hurt as much as you thought it would ? Or would it be a final release—a way to escape this twisted life once and for all ?

The flames roared in response to your thoughts, each crackle like a whisper of temptation. You felt the heat on your skin, the air thick with the scent of burning wood, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade. The others—Lyla, Aidan, and the rest of the pets—became distant, like figures in a fog. All that remained was the fire, and the suffocating weight of your own despair.

But as you stood there, frozen in your thoughts, you heard Remmick’s voice—low, mocking, but tinged with something darker.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout jumpin’ in, are ye ?” he asked, his tone playful. “That ain’t gonna get ye what you want, lass. Ain’t no release in that. I told ya, yer mine now. And I don’t take kindly to me toys tryin’ to break themselves.”

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, reading you, studying you.

“You think this fire can end it all ?” he continued, his voice calm but menacing. “Nah. It’ll just burn ye up. And then where will ya be ? Gone. Just like that. Poof. A pile of ashes. Useless to me. Useless to everyone.”

You didn’t look at him. You felt something twist inside you—anger, frustration, and the overwhelming weight of your helplessness. But you didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. You couldn’t.

He stepped closer and slowly backed you away from the fire.

“Instead,” he cooed, “let’s see how long you last in me world, eh ?”

You shuddered, the desire for escape still lingering in your chest, but now you knew. The fire wouldn’t set you free. Remmick, in his twisted way, held that power over you. And whether you wanted to or not, you were stuck playing by his rules. The fire no longer looked like an escape. It looked like surrender. And he saw it. Remmick saw everything—your hesitation, your pain, the spark of rebellion trying to stay lit beneath the weight of fear. He fed off it. It thrilled him.

His hand slid slowly up your arm, deceptively gentle, but there was nothing kind in his grip. It was a warning.

“I’ll say it again, sweet thing,” he murmured, almost tenderly, but his breath was ice. “Don’t break yourself. That’s me job if it comes to it.”

You finally looked at him, really looked. The firelight made his face seem inhuman—shadows twisted across his sharp features, accentuating the unnatural stillness in his eyes. And yet…there was something feral in him, something restrained. A hunger barely tucked beneath that silken voice and practiced odd charm.

He was beautiful in the same way a tiger might be—impressive, powerful, deadly.

“What if I want to step into the fire and end it all ?” You asked and Remmick stayed silent for a moment before humming.

“You want to be ashes ?” he whispered, thumb brushing your jaw. “Who said ye were allowed to ? Have ye already forgotten about our lil’ rules ? Yer me responsibility, pet. And I would be real sad if you decided to deprive me of yer lovely company. And ye wouldn’t want me sad now, would ya ?"”

You jerked your face from his hand. Subtle, but he noticed. His smile curled into something crooked, pleased.

“Still got fight in ye. Good. Now, c’mon, pet. You’ve had yer moment. Let’s get ye warm somewhere else.”

You stared after him, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest as you stared at his back.

When the time came…You would burn him down to hell.

…

A few minutes before sunrise:

Without a word, Remmick took out heavy iron shackles, cold against your skin as he fastened them to your wrists, attaching them to the sturdy post of the carriage. The act was casual for him—like a routine he had done countless times before. Once the shackles were secure, he stepped back, admiring his work, his smirk wide. “Now, don’t go anywhere, darlin’. I’ll be back after me lil’ nap,” he told you, his voice dripping with sarcasm, though it still held that chilling undertone that made your blood run cold.

He then opened the lid of a box situated at the back of the trailer with a quiet, eerie creak. He glanced back at you, a final, mocking smile spreading across his face. “You’ll be safe here for the day, lass. Don’t try anythin’ funny. I’ll be right back when the sun sets again.”

Then, without another word, he climbed into the box, closing the lid with a dull thud that reverberated in the silence around you. You were left alone, shackled to the carriage, the stillness of the morning pressing in around you. The only sound was the faint rustle of the wind through the trees. You sighed. You weren’t going to resign yourself to this fate. You were going to find a way to escape. Maybe not today, but you weren’t going to just give in to this life. Remmick might have had the upper hand for now, but you weren’t going to let him completely break you. Not without a fight.

You closed your eyes for a moment, steeling yourself. Whatever came next, you’d be ready. Or at least, you’d try.

Lyla’s footsteps were soft as she approached and broke you out of your thoughts, the sound of her shoes on the grass muffled by the stillness of the morning. She came into view with a tray of food in her hands. She set the tray down in front of you, her hands gently brushing over the shackles as if she could somehow will them to vanish. Her gaze lingered on them for a moment, a silent understanding passing between you before she finally spoke.

“Don’t you worry, hon’. Remmick’s not cruel like this all the time,” she tried to reassure you, her voice low and comforting. “He’s just cautious. But, when he starts trusting you, he won’t keep you shackled anymore. I promise. It was the same when Annie chose me. She had to make sure I wouldn’t do anything to harm the hive.”

You looked up at her and almost laughed. How could someone like Remmick ever trust anyone ? And what did it even mean for you to be trusted by something like him ? You might as well sell your soul…Still, Lyla’s words offered you hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to change things. You looked inside the tray—bread, a few vegetables, and something that resembled meat, though you didn’t care to question the source.

Lyla smiled softly. “He’s not as bad as he seems. He just…needs to control things. If you show him you’re not a threat, he’ll ease up. He always did with the others eventually.”

You looked up at her. “What happened to them ? To the…other people he took as pets before me ?”

She smiled. “He turned most of them since they wanted to become vampires. He just had to wait to make sure they were ready and deserved to be part of the family.”

You knew you would regret asking—but still asked next. “What about those he didn’t turn ?”

At that, her smile faltered slightly. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Maybe she didn’t know and preferred not to. Or maybe she did and didn’t want to frighten you. Either way, you knew you didn’t want whatever fate came to those who disappointed Remmick.

Lyla’s gaze flickered to the carriage where Remmick had gone to rest. “Don’t worry. You’re strong. You’ll survive. I can see it in you. You can adapt—you can change. He likes people who can surprise him. Just…don’t let him get bored. I know it sounds crazy but….Remmick is a very simple man and he likes very simple things. Family, music, passion…He is very passionate. He won’t kill you as long as he can still sense passion inside you.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Maybe it was the weariness of everything, or maybe the fear that had taken root deep inside you. But for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to feel something other than dread—something faint, but growing stronger with each passing moment: the smallest spark of defiance.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to be anyone’s pet—especially not his.”

Lyla’s eyes softened. “I know. But it’s not always about what we want, darling. It’s about survival. If you’re going to make it out of here with your soul intact, you have to play the game. You’ll see.”

You didn’t know if she was right. But you also didn’t know what else to do. You finally nodded. Lyla’s words echoed in your mind long after she left, the tray of food untouched by your feet. Play the game. That was what she said. You huffed and started eating.

You want to play Remmick ?

Fine.

Let’s play…

…

That evening:

You stared at the shackles on your wrists, the metal now warming slightly under the sun’s slow crawl through the trees. Every second Remmick slept in that box was one step closer to sunset, and the nightmare resuming. But you couldn’t sit here all day waiting. Not without trying something. The others were beginning to stir. You could hear distant murmurs—other “pets,” as they were so disgustingly called—moving about the camp. A laugh. A cough. The subtle noise of life continuing under the weight of captivity. And none of them tried to run.

Not because they didn’t want to. But because they knew better. But you didn’t know better. Not yet. And maybe, just maybe, that was your advantage.

You leaned forward, testing the slack in the chain. There wasn’t much. Just enough to sit upright, shift your position, maybe stand if you were careful. It was designed to humiliate—not to break your body, but to chip away at your will. And yet…something was off. One of the links near the post looked slightly thinner than the others—worn, maybe, or badly forged. You stared at it for a long time, then tucked the thought away like a blade hidden in cloth. Not yet. Not now.

You needed more than broken metal to escape. You needed a plan. A weapon. A place to run to. And someone willing to help. The thought of Lyla returned. Her sorrow. Her softness. She hadn’t just brought you food. She brought you a warning, disguised as comfort. He always eases up. But only if you stop being a threat. If you become…tame. But you would never be tame. You just had to look it. That’s how you’d survive. That’s how you’d earn his trust.

And then, when the moment was right…You would stop playing the game. You would end it. But, Lyla had also said not to bore him…You wondered how to do that ? So far, the only moments he had seemed to enjoy himself were moments when you had tried to defy him. Was that what he wanted ? Was that something he enjoyed ? Suddenly, the lid from the box went off inside the trailer and there he was.

He smiled at you.

“Here ye are, me dolly !”

You stiffened as Remmick’s voice reached your ears, the smooth Irish drawl dripping with a mixture of amusement and something darker. Your gaze remained fixed ahead, pretending not to notice that he was awake. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. You tried to step away, but the chain tugged at your wrist, the weight of your situation pulling you back into his grasp.

Before you could make any further attempt to retreat, his hand shot out and seized your arm, his grip firm as he forced you closer. You looked up at him—eyes cold, face set in a mask of defiance, though your pulse betrayed you.

His smirk widened, knowing exactly how you were trying to keep your distance.

“Hey, me pet. Miss me ?” he teased, the edge of his voice as sharp as the fangs that were hiding behind that grin. However, he frowned at your answer.

“No,” you muttered firmly.

After a moment, he chuckled softly, tightening his grip as he stepped even closer. “Aw, don’t be like that, darling. I can feel it. Yer just a bit shy, aintcha ? But don’t worry, I’ll warm ye up.”

His voice made your skin crawl.

“Let go of me,” you demanded, glaring up at him.

Remmick’s eyes twinkled with malicious amusement as he slowly dragged you closer, so close you could feel his breath on your skin. “Now, now. Calm down, me pet. What’s gotten into ya ? Ye were so sweet last night. What made ya suddenly so hostile towards yer poor master, hmm ?” His smile widened, his sharp teeth glinting in the low light.

The suffocating heat of his presence filled the space between you, and every instinct in your body screamed to break free—to run. But the chain held you in place, and for all the words you could muster, there was nothing you could do but meet his gaze, steely and unyielding.

The vampire’s grin never faltered as he leaned towards you. “C’mon…Tell me, pet. Tell yer Master Remmick what happened and maybe he’ll be able to help ? I’ll make it go away.”

He sat you down on his lap, the cold, hard surface of his body pressing against you. He waited for an answer but got none and sighed. He then decided to grab his banjo. You were being cranky and he sought to soften you up with a bit of music.

“Sing,” he commanded, his voice soft but laced with expectation.

You stared back at him, defiant. “No.”

The vampire’s smile slowly faded, replaced by a low growl of displeasure. “Don’t push it, darlin’. I’m tryin’ to be nice. I ain’t used to puttin’ up with a disobedient doll fer more than a few nights.”

You huffed, your denial burning even brighter. “I wonder why…”

You were determined to test boundaries and see just how far you could go.

His eyes narrowed, the playful glint vanishing, replaced by something colder and darker. “I ain’t askin’ fer much, darlin’. Just a bit of obedience, a lil’ cooperation. Is that really so damn hard for ye to understand ?”

You stared back at him, your gaze hard. “Yes, ‘master’…or whatever…”

He chuckled, his lips curling into a smirk, amusement taking over his annoyance. “Don’t get cheeky with me, darlin’. I ain’t playin’ that game. You belong to me now. You’ll call me ‘sir’ or ‘master’ in public. And in private ? Well…You’ll call me whatever I tell ye to—like a good lil’ well-behaved pet should.”

You raised an eyebrow, a challenge in your gaze. “What now ? What should I call you ? Remmick ? Or was that just a fake name you gave me for the fun of it ?”

His lips twitched. “Remmick’s fine. But if ye ever feel the urge to get affectionate, ye can call me—”

You rolled your eyes, your patience thinning and cut him off. “Not interested.”

Some of the vampires who had just woken up started laughing or growling nearby. And some of the pets were actually horrified or in shock at your sudden defiance. You huffed. If Remmick wanted to get rid of you ? Then he might as well do it. But you were done being his nice little pet. You didn’t want his caresses or treats or anything else. You glanced around at the vampires nearby, your mouth curling into a sneer. “Bloodsucking fuckers.”

The other vampires snarled and bared their fangs, but Remmick’s smirk never faltered. With a commanding growl, he spoke to them. “Back off. Me pet seems moody tonight. Ain’t yer problem.”

The others instantly backed down, understanding who held the true power. His attention returned to you.

You scoffed, your words dripping with disdain as you dared to reply. “…Fuck you, demon.”

But instead of getting mad, Remmick chuckled at your curses, but his amusement was quickly replaced by a more dangerous edge. “Now, don’t ye use that nasty language when speakin’ to me, darlin’. I don’t like it when ye swear.”

You shot him a glare and then flipped him off, your determination unyielding. He didn’t like your curses ? Good. You wanted him to hate you. If he thought you would graciously offer your belly and submit—he had another thing coming.

His expression darkened, his grip tightening around you as his tone turned colder. “I’m givin’ ye a warnin’. Don’t push me. Especially if ye like yer fingers.”

Reluctantly, you lowered your middle finger, your rebellious streak still strong but you did like your fingers. “Sorry. It’s genetic. A human thing.” You grinned, clearly enjoying the small victory.

Remmick rolled his eyes, not buying your excuse for a second. “Sure, darlin’.”

Then his expression shifted to something playful again, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Ye know what ? I got one of those habits too. A vampire thing. Ready ?”

Before you could respond, he lifted you with ease and threw you into the air. You screamed, panic rising as your body went up in the air and fell towards the ground. But in a flash, Remmick caught you, his arms wrapping around you just inches before you hit the ground. He laughed, his deep voice vibrating through your body as he held you.

“First time catchin’ a flyin’ human. Ready fer another round, darlin’ ?”

You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, your heart racing. “No, no, no, no… Don’t you dare !”

He simply smirked, clearly relishing the fear in your voice. “Oh, darlin’…”

Before you could protest further, he tossed you in the air again. You screamed, your fear turning into pure panic.

“YOU ASSHOLE !” you yelled, your body twisting mid-air as you waited for him to catch you again, the blood pounding in your ears.

The vampire’s laughter echoed in your ears, a chilling sound that seemed to enjoy every moment of his entertaining game. “Don’t whine now, darlin’. Yer gonna be doin’ a lot of flyin’ with me.”

He caught you again, a smirk playing on his lips at your heart pounding in your chest and as you literally clung to him with both arms and legs. “Now that I know you’re afraid of heights, I’m gonna be takin’ ye higher and higher every chance I get…”

You screamed as he effortlessly loosened your hold on him and tossed you once more, the world spinning around you. “You’re gonna end up breaking my bones if you keep doin’ this, you idiot !”

His laughter rang louder, more sinister. “Just gettin’ ye used to the sensation, darlin’…This is gonna be yer life from now on, I’m afraid…and I’m gonna relish every scream you make.”

By the time he finally stopped, you were shaking, your breath coming in short bursts. You could feel the adrenaline still rushing through your veins, your body stiff with fear.

“Please…stop.” You finally begged and held him tightly—breathing heavily against his neck as you tried not to vomit. One of your hand was almost digging into his head and the other in his shoulder as you desperately tried to stop him from throwing you up in the air again. “I’ll stop being rude…just please. No more of this or I will die. My heart will stop.”

Remmick smirked at the plea in your voice and knew that he had won. He relented, a smug expression curling across his face. “Oh, fine…fer now. I’ll save the torture fer later.”

You were left panting, your body trembling from the shock of the repeated tosses. The world still spun around you as you clung to his neck, trying to catch your breath. Remmick’s chuckles were dark, rumbling from deep within his chest, but he finally set you down gently on the ground, his fingers lingering on your skin, just in case you would fall straight to the ground.

“Aww…What’s wrong, lassie ? Can’t handle a lil’ uppies session ?” He taunted you with a smirk full of smug satisfaction.

You glared at him, still trying to steady yourself, but your voice was hoarse. “You’re a monster…”

His smirk never faltered. “Oh, darlin’, you don’t even know the half of it.”

The other vampires who’d been watching, their fangs still bared and their expressions twisted in varying degrees of hunger and amusement, slowly started to step back, their interest in you fading as Remmick regained control over the situation.

Lyla, who had been hovering in the background, stepped forward, her expression a mixture of concern and quiet resignation. She glanced at you, her eyes softening with sympathy. “Master Remmick, please, do not push her too hard. It has only been a couple of nights. She just…”

He shot her a warning look, his gaze dark and challenging. “She’ll learn. She has to. Now get back to your own master, lassie. Annie must be wonderin’ where ye went.”

Lyla sighed, shaking her head. She shot you one last glance before stepping back. “Stay strong,” she whispered under her breath, and then disappeared into the shadows—back to her own master.

Once she was gone, Remmick returned his attention to you.

“Let’s get one thing straight, darlin’,” he said, his tone dark and serious. “Ye belong to me now. You’ll get used to it, and you’ll like it eventually. This isn’t some game. This is yer life now.”

You clenched your fists, the rage within you bubbling to the surface once more. “You’re wrong. I won’t get used to this. I won’t ever like it.”

Remmick stepped closer, his face inches from yours. His eyes were cold, but there was something in them—a dark amusement, mixed with the weight of authority—that made your stomach churn.

“Oh, darlin’, you’ll come around,” he whispered with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

His words echoed in your mind, chilling you to the bone. You weren’t sure if he actually believed what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. You wouldn’t let him win. You couldn’t.

…

For the next few nights, you remained shackled to Remmick’s trailer. Every so often, Remmick would appear, casually strolling in with an eerie sense of satisfaction, bearing a new gift.

At first, it was a brooch—delicate, intricately designed, and clearly stolen from a victim. Its dark, weathered beauty sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to acknowledge it. His eyes would gleam with pride as he presented the object to you.

“Ye like it, don’t ya, darlin’ ? Innit pretty ?” he’d ask, his voice dripping with amusement, though his tone was just a touch of mockery.

You refused to respond, your eyes narrowed, refusing to show any interest. But he didn’t seem to mind; he simply dropped the brooch on the floor in front of you and sauntered off.

The gifts continued: a delicate necklace made of silver and blood-red jewels that looked far too beautiful to have been anything but plundered from a corpse. His eyes would sparkle when he’d hand them over, watching your every move as if waiting for you to break, to show some hint of gratitude, or even just curiosity.

“See, darlin’ ? I know how to treat me special dolls,” he’d croon, always reveling in the sick pleasure of your silent disdain.

Then came the earrings—simple, but elegant. You stared at them for a while, wondering who the unfortunate soul had been. He seemed to take great delight in the thought that you might be considering their origins.

“Ye like those ?” he asked one night, dangling them just out of reach, taunting you. “They’re the best I’ve found so far. Real fine quality.”

You refused to take them, even though the beauty of the jewelry almost tempted you. The thought of touching something that had once belonged to a dead person—and had come from his hands—made your skin crawl.

Every time, you would remain silent. Your response to him was one of defiance, even in the face of his twisted generosity.

And each time, Remmick would leave you alone with the gifts, taunting you with the thought of them being so close, yet so far from your grasp. He knew you wouldn’t accept them, but that was part of his game—the pursuit, the insistence that you would come to him eventually. Despite your anger and resistance, the days wore on, each one blurring together in a haze of unease and fear. You hated the way he was slowly eroding your resolve, bit by bit, with every visit, with every gift. He had a way of wearing you down, his presence so overwhelming and unyielding, it felt as if there was no escape.

But no matter how much he tried to get you to accept his offerings, you refused. You couldn’t let him win. Even if it was only through the smallest acts of defiance, you would resist him—because if you gave in to him, even in the slightest way, it would mean surrendering everything.

“Not taking me gifts, darlin’ ?” he’d ask with a knowing smile when he’d see you leave them untouched. “After all the trouble I suffered to get ‘em and give ‘em to ye ? Am hurt. Truly. But…I suppose we’ll just have to see how long that lasts, won’t we ?”

And you would stare back, your expression hard, but beneath the cool mask of defiance, a part of you wondered how much longer you could keep this up before the weight of your situation would finally break you. For now, though, you held on—clinging to whatever remnants of yourself you had left, despite the chains that bound you, the gifts he left, and the darkness of his presence that slowly began to seep into every corner of your life.

…

A few nights later:

The night had passed in its usual eerie silence until you heard it—an unsettling, low whine that echoed through the walls of the trailer. It wasn’t a sound you expected to hear. You peered inside the trailer—curious. Was that Remmick ? What was going on ? You had heard him do and say many things. But, this was different. His voice was strained, filled with an animalistic desperation, as though he was fighting something internal and out of his control inside his box.

Your curiosity, mingled with a sense of unease, pushed you to your feet. You tugged at the chains reflexively, but there was no escaping the confinement, so you carefully moved towards the box. You hesitated before taking a tiny look, peering inside to find him thrashing, his hands curled into fists as he twisted inside his prison-bed. His face was contorted in pain—something was tormenting him. The usual confident, unnerving smirk that always tugged at his lips was gone. Instead, his mouth was open, letting out animal-like whimpers—like a wounded beast.

You didn’t know what to do. The Remmick you knew was not the type to show weakness. He was always the predator, never the prey. This…this wasn’t like him at all.

You watched for a moment longer, unsure of how to handle the situation. He groaned again, louder this time, and you could hear the desperation in the sound. Your chest tightened as a strange sympathy for him stirred, even though everything inside you screamed that this was wrong. That this was some kind of trick, a manipulation to draw you in, to make you soften towards him.

But as you stood there, uncertain and unsure, the instinct to do something—anything—took over. You sank to the floor in front of the box, your body tense as you rested your palm on the surface of the box. The cool wood felt oddly comforting beneath your fingertips, grounding you in the midst of the strange moment. You could feel the vibrations of his groans through the box, his body still writhing in torment. You didn’t know what kind of nightmare could be twisting him so badly, but you felt compelled to stay. To offer something, anything.

“Remmick ?”

The groaning stopped for a brief moment, and the silence was deafening. Then, just as quickly, he let out another low moan, the agony in his voice palpable. You bit your lip, a wave of uncertainty rushing over you. Hesitating for only a second, you slowly pressed your palm more firmly against the surface of the box, as if somehow, that small gesture could offer him some sort of comfort.

Another groan escaped his lips, this one lower, almost guttural. “No…please…” he mumbled, his voice faint, almost unrecognizable.

…He was clearly scared.

You furrowed your brow, unsure of what to do next. You had no experience with this—no experience with him like this. But some part of you didn’t want to leave him in his suffering, even if it meant putting aside your hatred for a moment. You swallowed hard, barely daring to speak as you repeated his name, this time more firmly. “Remmick, what’s happening ?”

There was no response at first. His groans quieted for a moment, and you almost wondered if you’d imagined the whole thing. But then his voice cracked again, that broken whine slipping from his throat, so much more vulnerable than you had ever heard him.

“I…can’t…” he whimpered, sounding so far removed from the taunting predator you knew him as.

Something inside you shifted—a strange, reluctant empathy for him, despite everything that had happened between you. You weren’t sure if you were doing the right thing, or if this was some kind of trap, but all you could think of was that he was hurting. Whether you liked it or not, you couldn’t just turn your back on him now.

“Hey. Everything’s alright, okay ? You’re safe…” It felt almost ridiculous, offering comfort to a monster like him, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this was real.

His body jerked violently inside the box, and for a split second, you thought he might lash out at you, but then he simply collapsed into silence. His breathing was ragged, and you could hear the exhaustion in every breath he took. You didn’t know what to do beyond the simple touch of your hand against the box. But you stayed, waiting for him to regain control, unsure if you should say more. You had never seen Remmick so…human before. And while you would never admit it, that moment made you question everything you thought you knew about him.

And about yourself.

…

The next night, you didn’t speak about what had happened during the day. The flickering flames cast wild shadows as the vampires were all reunited once more around the fire, making the camp look like something out of a fever dream. You could see Remmick, wild and free, dancing with the crowd after they had fed once more. His feet moved with precision, a blur of quick steps that made you pause, staring in awe at the speed and rhythm of his movements.

Irish dance, you realized, the steps so fast they looked like they could fly off his body at any moment. He laughed, a sound so unburdened by malice that it seemed foreign coming from him. It was a joy you hadn’t seen from him before, not in the way it radiated out of him now, his face illuminated by the firelight. For a moment, he looked like the man you had met that night when he came to your village.

You felt a strange tug, a sense of something—maybe longing, maybe curiosity—that pushed you to stay where you were, hidden in the shadows of the trailer. The horses were nearby, their breath steaming in the cold night air, but you were too focused on the memory of his steps to pay much attention to them.

Slowly, and with a hint of hesitation, you began to mimic his movements. At first, it was clumsy, your feet tripping over themselves, each step too wide, too stiff. You had little experience with dancing, much less something as precise and fast as Irish tap dancing. But still, you tried, feeling the rhythm build in you, even if it was a shaky imitation. You smiled to yourself and closed your eyes as your feet started stomping on, tapping and stomping the ground.

You didn’t notice when Remmick stepped out of the firelight circle and moved closer to the trailer—wondering where you had disappeared to.

It wasn’t until you felt the shift in the air—the faintest crackle of energy—that you realized he was watching. You froze, half caught in a step, one foot lifted in midair as your heart skipped. But he didn’t say anything. He simply leaned against the side of the trailer, arms crossed, a small amused smile tugging at his lips. His expression was soft, almost fond, as he observed you. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The fire crackled, sending sparks into the air, but all you could hear was your heartbeat. Remmick didn’t mock you, didn’t tease you, just watched you from the shadows, his eyes flickering with amusement.

You felt a warmth spread in your chest despite the cold night air, a strange sense of camaraderie that you hadn’t expected. There was no mockery, no cruel remark. He was simply there, watching you dance in your own uncoordinated way.

The silence between you both stretched for a while before he finally spoke.

“Havin’ fun, dolly ?” he asked, his tone light, almost teasing but without the usual bite. “Keep at it, and ye might just get the hang of it.”

You blinked, surprised by his comment, and then, without really thinking, you let out a breathless laugh, the tension easing in your shoulders. “I don’t know if that’s true. I feel like I’m tripping over my own damn feet here.”

Remmick pushed himself off the trailer, stepping closer to you—but not too close. Instead, he gave you space, just enough for you to feel his presence but not so much that it was oppressive.

“Ye just need practice, honey,” he told you.

You stood still for a moment, considering his words. The warmth that had blossomed in your chest stayed there, lingering longer than it should have. It was strange—this moment of connection, of unexpected kindness from him. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you realize there might be more to him than you’d thought.

For a moment, you didn’t mind that he was watching you. You didn’t mind at all.

Remmick’s grin widened as he stood next to you, his movements sharp and fluid as he proceeded to demonstrate the steps to you. He didn’t rush—he simply showed you, step by step, with the same casual confidence that made him so dangerous and yet, oddly, reassuring.

“First. Foot here,” he instructed, lifting his right foot and placing it firmly on the ground, a steady foundation. “Then here,” he added, guiding his foot to a new position with smooth precision. “Then there,” he finished, completing the step with a flourish.

You watched his feet closely, trying to mirror the movement, your body stiff and unsure. But Remmick was patient. His gaze never left you, and he didn’t smirk or laugh at your clumsy attempt. Instead, he nodded approvingly as you tried to follow his movements.

“Now, faster,” he urged, a glint in his eyes that made you feel both challenged and…oddly encouraged. He demonstrated again, quicker this time, the steps flowing into one another with fluid grace, the sound of his feet striking the ground in perfect rhythm with the pulse of the night. You tried to follow, the movement awkward at first, your feet stumbling over themselves. But there was something in the way he moved, something in the way his confidence made you feel like you could do this too.

“Faster, huh ?” you muttered under your breath, focusing harder as you tried to speed up. It felt like you were tripping over air, but Remmick’s voice was there, soothing as he corrected you with gentle guidance.

“Foot here. Now here. Then there,” he repeated patiently, moving with you, showing you again. The rhythm of his feet became contagious, the beat pulsing through you as you tried again, your feet growing less awkward with every repetition.

The firelight flickered, casting long shadows over the both of you as you danced next to each other, and for a moment, the world outside this moment faded. It was just the two of you—his guidance, the rhythm of the dance, and the strange, unspoken understanding between you.

When you finally moved through the steps without stumbling, he let out a low chuckle, his eyes bright with amusement. “Look at ye, darlin’,” he noted appreciatively, giving you a proud grin. “Ye gettin’ the hang of it pretty good.”

You stopped, breathless but with a grin tugging at your lips, a small but genuine accomplishment simmering in your chest. “You really think ?”

Remmick took a step back, watching you carefully, the soft glow of the firelight outlining his features. He didn’t look like the same man who had teased and mentally tortured you for nights on end…

“Just keep practicing, doll. You’ll be dancing like me in no time,” he promised you and smiled—a genuine smile. There was something warmer to his smile—tender almost.

For a moment, you stayed silent, processing the shift in the air between you two.

“Thanks, Remmick,” you replied softly, offering him a brief smile before returning to your position, eager to try the steps again, more confident this time. He chuckled but didn’t comment, merely crossing his arms and watching as you danced, his eyes following your every move with an approving glint.

“Me thinks we gonna make ye a professional Irish tap dancer in no time, me dolly.”

Remmick’s presence beside you gave you just enough confidence to believe, if only for a moment, that you might actually get it right.

But confidence had its cost.

You lifted your foot for the final tap and stepped just a little too far back. The loose gravel shifted beneath you, and suddenly the ground tilted—the world slipped. You let out a startled gasp, arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself.

Before your body could hit the ground, a firm hand closed around your waist.

In a blur of motion, Remmick pulled you back towards him, your momentum swinging you forward—and instead of stopping, he spun you. Your breath hitched as he guided you in a full circle, your feet barely brushing the ground, his arm secure around your middle as he laughed. The world wheeled past in firelight and sparks and shadows, until he slowed and brought you to a clean, almost theatrical stop. One of his hands found yours without thinking, the other still bracing your back.

For a second, neither of you moved.

You were inches from him, your breath uneven, caught between shock and thrill. His eyes flicked over your face—not mocking, not smug. There was surprise there. Maybe wonder. Maybe...something you didn’t want to name yet.

“You alright there, lassie ?” he murmured and his eyes gave you a quick once-over.

You swallowed, nodding slowly as you caught your breath. “Yeah. Just...missed a step.”

He didn’t let go immediately. Neither did you.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, and this time there was the ghost of a grin on his face.

You laughed, breathless. “Hey. That was gravity and panic, alright ?”

He tilted his head, considering you. “Maybe. But for a moment...ye actually looked happy, lassie.”

That made your heart stutter.

He let go then, slowly, his fingers brushing yours just a second longer than they needed to. He stepped back, but not too far—just enough for air to pass between you again, enough for the moment to settle between you like ash from the fire.

“Let’s try it again,” he said quietly. “This time, I’ll catch ye before ya fall.”

You didn’t doubt that he would.

You steadied yourself, still catching your breath from the unexpected spin, when Remmick took a step back, eyes watching you intently. Then, without warning, he spun on his heel and darted in front of you. You blinked in surprise as he landed squarely in your path, boots tapping a rhythm into the dirt that made the earth seem to thrum beneath him. His shoulders rolled back, chest lifted like a showman stepping onto a stage.

“Alright then, dancer,” he declared, laughter already bubbling in his throat as he then challenged you. “Yer turn now. Let’s see what ye got.”

You hesitated for half a beat, but then your feet moved—on instinct, on rhythm, on the sheer stubborn urge not to be outdone. Gathering the rhythm you’d just learned, you lifted your foot and tapped it out: left foot up then down, right foot up then down, left, right…Then, barely daring, you added the little hop he’d shown you. The gravel under your boots crunched in time, sparks from the fire catching the movement of your feet. You stomped the beat he’d taught you, mimicking the steps as best you could, moving forward even as he matched you, step for step.

For a few seconds, it was awkward—a stumble here, a missed tap there—but it didn’t matter. Because Remmick was laughing.

A real laugh.

Not the cold, taunting chuckle you’d come to brace for—but something honest, bright, sharp with joy. It escaped his lips like something unguarded, and for a moment, he looked completely disarmed.

Remmick’s eyes lit up and he chuckled—a rich, warm sound that echoed against the night. Encouraged, you pressed on, matching pace and then quickening the beat: tap–hop, tap–hop, until your legs felt like hummingbird wings. Suddenly, he laughed again and, almost on impulse, mirrored your steps. His feet flew in perfect rhythm: a flourish here, a stamp there, each motion precise and alive.

“You tryin’ to steal me spotlight, dolly ?” he teased, his voice breathless from the laughter. “Because yer makin’ a fine mess of it !”

“That’s not fair ! You jumped in front of me !” you shot back, matching his grin, breathless and a little wild with giddiness.

“And yet here ye are, still tappin’ along,” he said, lifting his foot in a flourish and tapping out a rhythm that challenged you to follow.

You met him step for step now, the two of you mirroring each other, dancing in sync—his precision and flair meeting your determination and growing confidence. Your shoes struck the dirt, echoing off the trailer walls and the trees beyond, and for a few heartbeats, it felt like the rest of the world had gone still, watching.

He twirled again and your promptly followed. “Ah ! That’s it, lassie ! Look at ye ! Me pretty lil’ dancin’ queen !”

You snorted. “Please, I look like I’m trying to chase off ghosts.”

“Aye, and dancin’ ‘em straight back to hell, I’d wager,” he laughed, stepping closer now, tapping a slower rhythm, waiting for you to match.

You did. And when you moved in time with him, he gave you a crooked, approving smile.

The fire cracked behind you, the night wind rustling the horses and tents, but neither of you noticed. Not when your feet moved in tandem and your laughter mingled with his, echoing into the dark like a promise.

Just for tonight, it wasn’t hate. It wasn’t fear. It was dancing. It was you and Remmick, face to face, tapping out a rhythm that no one else could follow. You were sweating and exhausted…but when you looked up and saw the genuine smile on Remmick’s face.

…You realised you could have danced all night that you wouldn’t have complained once.

#remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick x y/n #sinners 2025 #sinners movie

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lizthewriter · 1 year ago

Text

as the banks begin to break / sirius black

PAIRING adult!sirius black x forensic analyst!reader

SUMMARY you run the blood analysis for another mystery body - perfectly healthy, no suggestion of how the person died. it was frustrating going back to your boss with nothing. another mystery. and then, you're much too fed up with the feds taking away your stiffs. you take it upon yourself to investigate the mystery of this body further.

"magic can't be real, it's just not physically possible! there are rules and -"

sirius stared up at you from the ground. you stared down at him. though, instead of a human standing there, it was a dog.

"what the fuck."

TAGS adult!sirius black x forensic analyst!reader, mystery fic???, (3) question marks, idk i thought the concept for this was cool and wrote it because why not, intrigue, reader obviously DOES NOT believe in magic, harry potter and the deathly hallows

QUOTE "too tempting not to touch, / but even though it shocked you, / something's electric in your blood," - various storms and saints by florence + the machine

WORD COUNT 3.6K

WRITTEN 1.6.2024

you -

hey, boss wants you to run blood analysis on this john doe we got earlier today. ran his fingerprints through the system, but we came up with nothing. he doesn't expect for you to get a hit, but he wants you to try anyways. i faxed you the preliminary report. send boss your results asap. see you tommorow!

you listened back to the message on your machine before getting to analyzing the blood sample left on your desk. your dear friend and the medical examiner on your team, james, had examined another one of those odd stiffs this morning. dead, but for some reason, no one could figure out how. there had been dozens, if not more than a hundred, in the past two years like this one. more on record in the last century, but the precinct hasn't seen numbers like these since world war two.

this paticular victim was different than the others, however. all other bodies had been identifiable - meaning the police was able to figure out who had died and notify next of kin. this one wasn't - no form of i.d, no money (other than some odd gold and silver coins, most likely worthless), no fingerprints in their databases. you probably wouldn't get a hit on the dna, but you could try.

there was another reason this john doe was fascinating. despite the fact that it seemed like he fell off a building, the preliminary report showed that he recieved the injury post-mortem. james' examination of the body concluded that he must have fallen more than forty stories, but the buildings nearby were less than five stories.

dead bodies don't just fall out of the sky.

you ran the dna profile you had through the national dna database - and surprisingly, you had a pop-up on your screen.

paternal match - scott constance moody

"born august 17, 1912, relations, history, blah blah blah, arrested for public drunkness and indecency on multiple occasions . . . last known address."

the door to your lab slammed open - in anticipation, you immediately closed the file and turned off your computer.

"have any evidence for us this time?" at this point it had become routine. thompson from "mi5" would whisk away the bodies, claiming something ridiculous like "drug deal gone wrong" or "national security risk," looking and acting very much like someone working for a secret government agency trying to hush-hush a deeper plot afoot.

"nope," you responded with an attempt at a solemn expression. "unfortunately, the blood analysis was a dead end. he's just some guy, i suppose."

"we appreciate your discretion," he responded, shaking your hand firmly. you mean you appreciate me not complaining to the other guys at the precinct. certainly is suspicious that an odd-looking fed comes taking dead bodies as much as he does. even if you were to raise suspicions, who would believe you? you were a female nerd practically living in a back closet while the big, strong men handled the real world. he left with nothing else to say.

you turned your computer back on and opened the file again. you scribbled down the address and just as you were about to leave, you looked back down at the dna profile for doe and found something g peculiar. an odd gene marker you had only ever seen a few times before - including your own blood. you drew the profile closer to you, staring down at it. you had never been able to figure out what it was. six years of higher education had taught you nothing and the fancy, hot-shot professors you had take a look couldn't even understand what they were looking at.

what is up with this guy?

you knocked on the front door to an old house, out in the country. pastures of green painted in the skyline, cows and barns littering the landscape beyond it. beautiful, quiet, humble. a very fitting place for an eighty-four year old man.

you saw someone glance through curtains in a window. they disappeared soon after and didn't answer the door. you knocked again and pulled out your police badge. "scott moody? london police, i need to speak with you." you hoped your tone seemed formidable enough. you weren't a cop, you were a forensic scientist, but you needed to speak with him. you needed to understand these dead bodies and the only way to do that was to investigate this moody guy.

finally, the door swung open, and a rather gruff and grumpy man answered. "will you stop that racket? what the hell do you want, girlie?"

you drew in a breath. what should you tell him? you didn't want to lie - that felt cruel. but at the same time, you could suddenly understand why your colleagues seemed so drained after sharing the terrible news to family members. the pressure weighing your stomach was sickening.

"i'd like to ask you some questions about your son, mr. moody. do you mind if i come in?"

"yes, i very much do mind! what's someone like youse interest in my alastor?"

"alastor . . . sir, i'm very sorry to tell you this, but . . . well -"

"out with it, girl!"

"your son died. approximately at twelve forty-five last night. the circumstances of his death are rather . . . under investigation. i just need to gather more information, to find out who killed him."

the man looked genuinely concerned (which suprised you slightly, considering how rude he was) and took a shocked step back. he glanced back inside his own house and then at you. "there's nothing you can do," he said weakly, then shutting the door in your face. you shouted for the man, pounding on his door, but got no response. in a huff, you stormed back to your car and slumped in the driver's seat. you ran a hand down your face - how could you ever think that you could be an investigator? you? you laughed at yourself - so full of yourself, you were neck deep in your own shit. never were you to pull a stunt like this again, not if you wanted to get fired.

as you started the car and swung your gaze around to back out of the driveway, you caught the man sitting out the side window, tying a note to a - was that an owl?

perhaps he was sending a message to someone - through an owl, like a homing pigeon. you had only one instinct.

follow the owl.

driving through the chaos known as the london streets while chasing a bird was a nightmare, but somehow you managed. here you stood, looking out upon a charming old row of houses. the bird had flew to one in the middle, the exterior bricks blackened compared to the crisp pastel orange of the other houses. someone opened the window, letting the owl in, and then closed the window.

you decided to sit there and wait. wait and wait and wait. for what, you didn't know. for the owl to come back out? for you to build up the guts to knock on the front door with very many questions? no, that was a bad idea. who knows who is in that house, what they're doing. so you waited for someone to come out and luckily, they did. a man with long, black hair strutted elegantly down the steps to the front door and down the road. you got out of your car and decided to follow him.

you don't know what had gotten into you recently. the million questions swirling through your head had apparently begged enough to be answered that you just had to oblige, no matter the consequences. the man was dressed rather odd, you noticed. a grape-colored velvet suit with tailcoats, a mustache like your grandfather had worn. he dressed like a man out of time.

when he stopped walking, you stopped. when he started again, you were right on his ass (well, feet away, but still). he took a laise through a farmer's market, glancing around himself a few times before leaving without buying a single thing. he walked down the road and turned into an alleyway. naive as you were, you followed him and found the alleyway empty. only trash littered the ground.

stepping forward, you peeked behind dumpsters and other barriers of the sort. deciding that he must have disappeared somehow, you turned around with a sigh . . . only to be shoved up against the wall by the very man you had been following.

you had two first impressions of the man. the first was that, now that you could observe him up close, you noticed that he was devilishly handsome. the second was that he had a stick pointed at your throat and seemed rather impressed with himself for it.

"you have about ten seconds to explain why you're following me, hm?" his hands were gripped around the fabric of your collar shirt, bunching up the neatly ironed cotton. so much for looking polished. "who are you? fudge's minon? death eater?"

"i'm a member of the police - if you'd only give me a moment to show you my badge -"

"not a chance," he responded, pressing the stixk further into your neck. really, is that supposed to intimidate me? you thought in annoyance. "who are you really?"

"i'm telling the truth."

"how did you find me?"

"i followed you from that house on grimmauld place."

"how do you know about that?"

"following the homing pigeon - well, owl - that scott moody sent."

not only did he seem cautious, but nervous now. "did dumbledore send you?" he asked dubiously.

"i honestly have no idea who that is." memorable name like that, you'd definitely remember him. no, he seemed to be quite odd to you.

"why were you following me?"

you sighed. "i'm invesitgating the death of alastor moody."

although a sadness washed over the man's face, there was something behind his expression that said he already knew. he placed the stick back into the inner pocket of his coat. "you said you were police?" you nodded.

"so you're a muggle," he mumbled. was muggle some new slang term for cop? you didn't know and even more, you didn't care. then, a realization spread over his face.

sirius -

it shouldn't be possible - if you were a muggle, how could you see grimmauld place? because of the many peotective enchantments and ancient runes safeguarding the black house, only those who were wizards should be able to see it. yet, you had watched him walk right out the front door.

"you - you're looking into moody death?" he asked. he supposed it made sense. no one knew during the battle where they fighting high in the air - it was the heat of the moment after all. it only makes sense that muggle police got to his body first. still, he couldn't understand how you could have seen the house of black.

"his case is part of an ungoing investigation into the dozens of deaths of citizens across greater britain in the past two years." ah. so the muggles were catching on to voldemort's dirty work.

"let me guess. they were all perfectly healthy, showed no signs of deah whatsoever?" he asked. of course the muggles were going insane about it. people dying left and right without them even knowing what, or who, was causing it.

"yes, how did you -"

"just a hunch," he shrugged in response to your shocked expression.

"if you know something, you must tell me," you said rather firmly, though it seemed you were under the delusion that you had any sort of authority over him. your tone was not as strong as you may have liked.

"i'm afraid i cannot -"

"cannot what?" you barked back - now that had some bite. his interest was peaked now - what had your wand in a knot? "there are people dying. these dead bodies keep showing up with no sign as to how they died. moody aparently just fell from the sky! dead bodies don't just fall from the sky," you told him with an incredulous laugh. "now you are going to tell me everything you know about these bodies, or i swear on the bloody royal throne itself that i'll - i'll - get it out of you!"

you -

"you cannot just bring some muggle girl - if she really is a muggle - into our headquarters! are you barking mad? and don't you dare make another one of your mutt jokes or on merlin's grave i will -"

"that's quite enough, andromeda," responded a rather polite and calming male voice. there was a murmur and the same man let out a sigh. "at least let the man speak first."

"fine!"

"she saw grimmauld place, she knows about moody! she didn't bloody well seem like one of voldemort's spies, she didn't even know what 'death eater' meant. besides, what was i supposed to do? let her go blabbering to other muggles about this?"

"you could obliviate her."

"i would, if i had ever learned how. besides, it's not ethical, taking away someone's memories like that."

"this is war, black - desperate times call for desperate measures."

"now why don't you get back to shoving your greasy nose down some potions notes, snivellus, and let us grown-ups -"

"you arrogant -"

there was a sudden clammer of noise, the sound of several falling to the ground and pots and pans banging all over the place. a loud thwip! and sudden silence. "stop it! the both of you! has anyone actually bothered to question her?"

there was another round of silence before the door in front of you creaked open. the man who had pinned you up in the alley, black he had been called, looked rather dismal as he invited you into the room.

after your little speech, he requested you joined him in his house. well, you were not expecting the dustiest, blackest house you had ever seen. the entry hall was so thin, you could practically feel the walls caressing your arms. you waited in the entrance hall, outside the door to the kitchen, while he talked with his . . . friends? their conversation was all very confusing, talks of war and the like. were they also part of some secret agency? you weren't sure so you remained cautious.

"hello," you said to all those in the room, your voice trembling nervously. there were six others littered across the room. a rather dreadful looking man in the corner, with a hooked nose. he looked at you with distaste. black stood at the end of the table, his palms planted onto the table. another woman with hair almost as black as the walls, who sighed at your entrance. another man, scars barraging his face, with rather kind eyes. a man with umber skin, dressed in deep blue robes decorated with silver. and finally, a redhaired woman with a rag thrown over her shoulder, a knife in hand as she stood near a cutting board.

"hello," said the scarred-man, a warm smile making your shoulders sag a bit in . . . relief? comfort? "do you mind introducing yourself?"

you revealed your badge to all and recitind your name. "i'm a forensic analyst for the london police," you recited for the third time that day. "earlier this morning, the body of alastor moody was discovered. aside from the head injury he sustained from - well, we're not exactly sure - he seemed perfectly healthy. our medical examiner has concluded that he sustained the injury after his death. as of this morning, his body was taken by an operative of a secret government agency. there have been dozens of other bodies like this over the past couple of years. i've taken it upon myself to investigate this . . . occurence. this morning i tracked down moody's father, who sent a courier - owl - here."

"and is that everything?" black asked with an arched brow, as though he thought you were hiding something. which, ot be fair, you kind of were, but it was a small, unimportant detail and rather ridiculous really. just an irrational price of science that most likely had no relevance to the murders or perhaps a suggestion towards a broken coder in your lab - "well is it?"

you hesitated to answer but felt rather intimidated by the people surrounding you. perhaps sharing everything would be ideal, even if they thought you were barking mad. "well, erm - there's this one thing. do you know what dna is, mr. black?"

black shook his head and the others looked rather confused.

"i do," the scarred man spoke. "remus. a pleasure."

you gave him a polite nod in response. "a blood sample is taken from every body that goes through the police, and we run it through our systems and upload it to a database. moody had a gene marker in his dna - an odd one. one that shouldn't be there."

remus tilted his head, indulging you. "i've had old professors look at his results, even after I reran them. they thought something was wrong with the data. that i should run it again. but i know it wasn't wrong . . . i have the same gene marker in my dna. i'm not mad. it means something. even if others can't see it."

remus looked puzzled for a moment, but as a hazy look crossed his eyes, you could see his demeanor change rather swiftly. he straightened up, and glanced towards sirius with his mouth agape.

"what is it remus?" sirius asked with concern.

"i think that she's found a muggle's way . . . to prove the existence of magic."

sirius -

no. it couldn't be possible. it simply wasn't. if remus was right, if what he said was true, not only did this mean there were rather heinous repercussions for the wozarding world, but . . . you would be in danger.

suddenly, snape stood up from his chair rather suddenly, his eyes latched onto you. his hands still wrapped around the arms of the chairs, gripping them so tightly his knuckles were white. "everyone except sirius and the girl . . . out. now!"

the others were reluctant to leave the room, but they all filed out eventually. dumbledore trusted snape, even ordered snape to kill him, so they all would have to trust snape . . . even if sirius didn't want to.

snale turned his poisonous gaze on you. "sit down."

you followed his instructions, though cautiously, and took the closest seat next to sirius. sirius hoped that implied there was some level of trust between you two, seeing as you'll need it since he couldn't let you leave grimmauld place. "while it seems you haven't been filled in, i find that i cano that rather quickly for you. magic is real and a select number of individuals can possess it - you must be among those people, seeing as only those who are magical can see this house. there has been a wizarding war for over the past three decades, lead by a man named voldemort. the goal of him and his death eaters are to kill or otherwise enslave all those who are non-magical, also known as muggles. do you understand?"

you seemed to be flabbergasted by the assault of information and it's implications, and though you were slow to believe, you simply nodded your head. sirius placed his hand on the back of your chair, protectively, almost territorially.

"snape -"

"do shut your mouth black," snape spat. "a seer, or a prophet as muggles might know them, made a prophecy not long ago. the chosen one becomes the chosen two when eighth month approaches. for someone undesireable as any, she will be hunted down like the dog. she has discovered something no muggle should know. the power to vanquish the dark lord rests in the hand of fate - and should that hand choose to vanquish her, all hope of defeating the dark lord is lost."

"snape, what in the devil's name -"

"do not interrupt me, you -"

"no!" sirius exclaimed, slamming the goblet he was holding down on the table. wine spilled out from the cup, dripping down the rusted golden edge. "that is quite enough. i'm sure our guest has gone through enough the past day. she is famished and tired. let her rest and perhaps then we can discuss whatever nonsense you're blabbering on about."

sirius turned towards you with a softer expression and gestured for you to follow him out. you glanced back at snape, he noticed, if just for a moment. but soon enough, the two of you were in the foyer sitting across from each other.

your head was buried between the palms of your hand - it was obvious that you were distressed. "are you all right?" sirius asked softly.

"all right?" you asked, glancing up at him, your tone incredulous. "all right? no, no, i am just fine. you know, I just found out magic is real and there's some wizard war going on that no one knows about. yeah, this isn't news to me at all! you know, i get to work flying around on my little witch broom like everyone else! no i'm not all right!"

"we actually do use brooms as a model of transportation, that's not a myth," sirius told you, rather factually. you didn't seem very amused by his short educational bit. "look, i know this is overwhelming -"

"why should I even believe you?" you asked, tone rising in volume, though more out of worry than anger. "i mean something inexplicable could explain moody's death, but magic? magic can't be real, it's just not physically possible! there are rules and -"

sirius stared up at you from the ground. you stared down at him. though, instead of a human standing there, it was a dog.

"what the fuck."

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my fic #writing #fanfic #harry potter #— [ glizzy posts ☆ ]

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