#Fem!vampire!reader

[angelanimedesaray]

Wings in the Dark Chapter 32: No Longer Innocent

AN: And here we are--the very start of this chapter was the last one that I had sitting in my google drives. After the first scene of this chapter, you're getting what I've been writing since I flashbanged you guys with chapter 30 lol.

Please, please, please review and feedback guys, I love you all, the whiplash of going from 30 comments on chapter 30 to 4 comments on chapter 31 was wild, and I would really like the feedback just to make sure I'm back on track with the characters since it's been a while (Again) since I wrote them and I'm kicking off the rust.

Love you aaaalllllllllllllllll <3333333

Characters: Levi, Fem!Vampire!Reader, Emery (OC), Erwin (Mentioned), Various Unnamed Characters

Pairing: Levi x Fem!Vampire!Reader

Warnings: Language, Violence, Blood, Minor Injury, Slight Rioting, Mentions of Starvation, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Illness

Word Count: 13826

<----Previous Chapter Masterlist Next Chapter---->

*Levi’s POV*

Erwin had given the two of them a day to prepare before departing, a day to make sure any tasks that needed them at headquarters could either be finished or handed off to someone else.  Levi spent most of that time making sure the squad was going to put in the work to remain in shape and ready for any potential trouble while he was gone, and closely going over the reports that crossed his desk from Erwin about the developing situation with the refugees.  He didn’t think he was going to be getting a date for the mass execution they were going to have to carry out in the day before they left, but he still looked, still followed every development, every step that brought them closer to the inevitable that was starting to weigh on him more and more.  It hadn’t even been announced or finalized yet, and he could already feel it looming over him like a smog.

Last night had been a much needed and welcome distraction.  Even talking about Emery, having some of the harder discussions about the two of them, had been better than his thoughts lingering on this sickening insanity.

Though, it wasn’t that insane, was it, when he understood perfectly what they were doing, and why, and he and those around him couldn’t think of any other solutions that were a viable alternative to the incoming slaughter.  Either they did something about the situation–with this being the only option anyone could see–or the situation would be solved in an even more bloody and violent way as tensions exploded and people started fighting over resources and inside the walls turned into every man for himself.

Didn’t mean it didn’t make him sick, didn’t mean he didn’t hate every second it was discussed or thought of as the situation developed and plans were being made, he could see some of the moves being made in preparation of what was about to happen…

He’d much rather be thinking about Y/N last night, of their kiss, of the feel of her fingers trailing down his chest, her palm over his heart or pressed against his abdomen, the depth of their kiss that had stolen his breath for the first few long moments, made him dizzy and restless and wanting.  At least, before her position had come dangerously close to one that would have had him driven mad with the proximity, before a stab of anxiety at the thought of stumbling accidentally into more sexual waters when clear-headed he’d already decided he was not ready had made him pull back and speak up.

He had thoughts, that was undeniable.  He’d already…touched himself while having thoughts of how tantalizing he found her how many times, now?  And that hunger that started to burn inside them when they had the time to get particularly close, to be a bit more intimate than brief brushes and kisses, made it clear that he wanted more.

But thinking about actually doing it?  Hell, he didn’t think he’d even pictured her in his mind’s eye unclothed–not yet, anyway.  He wasn’t quite there yet, and it stressed him out too much when he started to think about the potential of them having sex–

He wasn’t ready.  It felt good to know she wasn’t, either, that he wasn’t holding her back or making her wait or anything like that.  He wanted to be closer to her when they had the time and privacy to do so, but the thought of being that close was still…too much, right now.

And besides, they had far too much to be doing right now to be worrying or stressing out over sex.  There were much more important things to worry over.

First Emery, and anything that may pop up into the mix with that mess they were attempting to clean up, then the refugees, and then, most likely, when they returned they were going to be faced with the ‘solution’ to the food crisis.

The extra day to prepare ended up passing quickly enough Levi found it unnerving in how uneventful it turned out to be.  Y/N didn’t come to visit him after dinner this time, mostly because they planned on leaving just before dawn and both needed their rest before then.  Well, mostly Y/N needed her rest–Levi slept just about as terribly as he normally did.  Which also meant that he was up and ready for the day far sooner than she was.  There was barely daylight starting to lighten the sky in the distance when Levi grabbed the bare necessities he’d packed for the trip and headed out to the stables to start readying the horses for their departure.

It had been a while since the last expedition–far longer than normal, by now–and the horses were getting more restless.  They even rivaled their owners in how impatient they seemed to be to leave the cramped walls of their enclosures and venture back into open spaces.

Except the next time that they went beyond the walls, it would just be into the old territory, still within the walls, unable to reach that vast unknown space beyond that they had ventured into before.

As such, once Levi had both his horse and Zephyr saddled and ready–taking the time to make sure all the straps were secure and the gear in the proper place–he took them by the reins and started them on slow laps walking around the pasture to kill the time it would take for Y/N to arrive.

For the most part, they behaved–Zephyr kept wanting to quicken her pace and move ahead of Levi and his horse, but he was able to keep her under control and in pace with himself and the black stallion walking just a step behind.  His horse was mostly well behaved, though occasionally the stallion seemed to lean over to Zephyr and nibble at her mane when Levi wasn’t looking.  Even when Levi gave a small tug on the reins to correct the behavior, the stallion simply waited a little while before he did it again, earning a scowl from Levi and a grumble about Zephyr continuing to be a bad influence on him.

Just as the sky was brightening to the point Levi knew that the sun would be appearing soon, Levi finally spotted Y/N waiting by the fence for him to finish the current lap, rubbing at her eyes tiredly and muffling a yawn, leaning heavily on the post in front of her.  Levi gave a small tug on the reins, encouraging both horses to change directions and start heading towards her.

By the time Levi reached her, she was standing straight again, attempting to look alert after he'd caught her looking half-dead this early in the morning.

“You've been up for a while,” she remarked, voice still lower and rougher than normal, which gave away just how fresh out of bed she was.

“And you clearly just fell out of bed,” Levi responded, tossing Zephyr's reins to her.  At least she caught them.  “We've got a ways to go, and Erwin didn't give us a lot of time to get things done.  The sooner we leave, the better.”

“I know,” she murmured, attempting to muffle and hide a yawn as she came closer to Zephyr to start making sure everything was in place.  Levi watched, reaching out at one point to tug on one of the saddle straps to make sure it was secure and in place and eyeing the straps of her ODM harness suspiciously.  Considering she was half asleep, he wasn't entirely sure it was as tight as it should be, one of the straps seemed to be at something of an angle…

Before she got around to mounting her horse, and while she was still close to him, Levi reached out to adjust the one sitting at an odd angle.  His fingers ran under the straps while he had the opportunity to see how loose they were, before tightening them when necessary with a scowl.

“Are you always this careless with the straps?”

“No.  Guess I didn't pull hard enough.”

“You're not allowed to do your gear half asleep, if the result’s this shit.”

“Are you going to come in and do it for me every time it's an early start and I didnt sleep with them on?” She asked, the teasing obvious in her voice.

“Fuck no,” Levi grumbled, giving a last tug on the last strap.  She was an adult that had already gone through training–and normally he didn't see the straps in this kind of state to prompt this kind of thing.  “If this becomes a problem, you'll be drilling putting on the straps until you can do it in your sleep.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her lips before Levi turned to mount his horse.  “It already feels like I can.”

“The state of those straps suggests otherwise.”

The only response he got was a soft laugh as she mounted Zephyr, bringing the mare around to stand astride Levi.  She knew where the cave Emery was in, and how to find the entrance, but Levi was still taking the lead for the majority of the trip there, at least while they were on horseback and then later when they were dealing with the refugees, considering the technically superior/subordinate in public dynamic.

He'd have to do some digging to see if there was anything they could finagle to fix that so that they were equals, or as close to it as possible, in public and not just behind closed doors.

That, however, was a thought for another time.  Right now, they had a journey to make and a young vampire to go give an ultimatum to, which hopefully would result in one of the positive outcomes, for the sake of everyone involved.

Here was hoping the kid would not only listen, but act accordingly after this.

The ride was a long one, and included at least two breaks for the horses.  They technically only needed the one, considering their breeding and training for long distances in titan territory, but both of them had decided that within the walls, there wasn’t the need to push them in such a manner.  Their timeframe for their trip could afford a few breaks for the horses to rest and drink, maybe even do a bit of grazing while Levi and Y/N took the opportunity to speak.  Neither of them were trying to hold a conversation over the pounding of their horses’ hooves during the travel itself, so any necessary conversation before they reached their destination was done in the brief time they had giving the horses some time to rest.

She was nervous, Levi didn’t even need to try to glean that from her demeanor.  She was going back to being more comfortably affectionate, too, which was part of the reason why it was so easy for him to tell.  Her hands sought out his own, whether it was just to brush her fingers against the back of his hand or to hold it long enough to give it a small squeeze, which also allowed him to feel the nervous twitching of her fingers, the slightly cooler than normal temperature of her skin.  She wasn’t very still, either, shifting to stand closer to him but maintaining a gap between them, still, because she wouldn’t hold the position.  She’d shift to stand beside him, loom over his shoulder, shuffle to stand a bit more in front of him, shuffle away to fidget with something on Zephyr’s saddle.

It wasn’t that bad at the first rest stop, but the second was more noticeable and blatant.  He didn’t ask, though, because he already knew.  She was worried–worried for Emery, worried about what Levi’s approach would be, about risks to Levi if Emery lost control, worried about what choice Emery would make.  She had a fairly long list of things to worry and fret over, but they’d both already discussed it, were already aware of it, and didn’t see the point in bringing it up again when they would just be saying the same things all over again.  Besides, there was no point in fretting over it anymore when they were about to finally carry it out and would have answers by the end of the day, whether they liked the results or not.

Levi also noticed, as they were traveling, that there was more of a Garrison presence on the road than there normally was.  It wasn’t so heavy that there was always a soldier in sight, even from a distance, but it was often enough to make it clear that the roads were being patrolled, monitored, and a military presence was certainly being kept amongst the people.

It could be preparing for potential trouble in the time it took to get the fucked up ‘plan’ for the food shortage executed, and it could also be in part because of the search for Emery.  A presence this heavy on the roads would have made it hard for a normal criminal to get anywhere without someone noticing, and this level of a presence also meant there were plenty of soldiers in the area to react if unrest started boiling over without the numbers of the soldiers being blatantly obvious.

One glance over in Y/N’s direction told Levi that she’d noticed, too, and had come to some very similar conclusions.

The sun was starting its descent into the western sky when the mountain they were headed for started to loom in the distance.  Levi’s head arched back to gauge the hours that they had left to reach that mountain at the speed they were maintaining, doing some mental math to make sure that there would be enough sunlight for them to properly utilize it for his protection while talking to Emery as had been their initial plan.

If not, they would have simply gone to the refugees, first, and seen Emery tomorrow before leaving.  But, he felt rather confident they could get there with plenty of time to do the riskier part of this discussion with the sun.

Once the mountain was in closer range, Y/N took up the lead instead, guiding them off the more well traveled paths and into a more direct path that would lead them into the woods beside the mountains, and then into the mountain’s slopes.  They slowed their pace so they wouldn’t draw attention as two soldiers racing along off the beaten path, and also to more safely navigate the terrain that was giving way from plains and fields to sparse forests, thickening as they grew closer to the mountain itself.  The silence continued between them–comfortable, thankfully, even though the way Y/N was holding her reins bunched up in her hands in a tight grip that would probably destroy the leather if she didn’t restrain herself gave away her continued nerves.

They found a fairly well hidden glade in the middle of a thick patch of trees where the mountain started to slope upwards, and dismounted there, choosing it as the spot they would hitch their horses until they finished the meeting with Emery.  Y/N wasted no time in making sure Zephyr was secured and that she had everything she needed, looking up at the mountain they were about to traverse on foot as Levi dismounted and hitched his horse nearby.  Everything he needed was on him, not his horse, so he didn’t bother with the check she’d made.  Instead, he came right over to her side, noting her continued distraction with her own thoughts and reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, which caused her to jump slightly as she came back to the present with him.

“Out of your head.  There’s no point worrying over it, it’ll be over within the hour or so.”

At best.  It may take longer than that, but he was sticking with the general estimate for now, if it didn’t take them too long to get to the cave itself.

“Sorry…I don’t have much of a part to play in this besides making sure he doesn’t attack you, so I guess there’s just more nerves than normal over how it’s going to go down.”

Levi sighed at the admission.  It was understandable, of course, that she was so worried about the ultimatum discussion being so out of her control, but again, it wasn’t anything she could do much about right now.  She needed to get out of her own head while they headed to the cave.

In a few strides, Levi was at her side, shoulder brushing hers as he craned his neck to look up through the trees at the slope of the mountain rising above them.  “Come on–we don’t have time to linger,” he remarked, and a second later he felt her hand slip into his.  By now, the gesture was natural, right, and a part of him relaxed to feel it, giving her hand a small squeeze before he tugged her forwards.

Levi only led for the first few steps–once they were out of the glade, Y/N took up the lead since she knew where this cave was, navigating the slopes to find a path that both of them could make with relative ease without having to rely on her vampire abilities to jump an extraordinary high distance or leap over a gap no human could jump without ODM gear.  They had their gear, but they didn’t want to have to use it unless absolutely necessary, since their cover mission didn’t really require its use.

The climb didn’t take as long as Levi thought it might have–the sun hadn’t moved too much lower in the sky by the time she pointed out the cave’s entrance.  At best, they’d only been at it for forty-five minutes, at worst a little over an hour.  Once she pointed it out and Levi knew that they were close enough that Emery would be able to hear them soon, Levi tugged her to a brief stop so they could talk one more time before heading in.

“Before we go in--can you keep your head and let me do this my way?” Levi asked, gaze fixed on her and watching closely for her reaction.

She shifted in place, the smallest frown flickering across her face.  She was still uneasy about what that might entail, then.  Levi wasn't going to expand on it any further.  If Emery needed a more forceful hand to get things through his head, Levi was prepared to be that forceful hand.  But if the kid saw sense quickly and he didn’t need to use force, then there wasn’t any point in dragging it up beforehand.

After a few moments, she gave him a tentative nod, eyes flickering in the direction of the cave.  “Even if I end up not liking something about it, this is your show right now.  I’m pretty much just here to make sure he doesn’t try to eat you and to see what the outcome will be.”

Good enough, he supposed.  As long as she wasn’t going to undermine what he was trying to do, that was the important part.

Levi gave a nod in the direction she’d been glancing in, signaling her to lead on as he fell into step just behind her.

They didn’t travel so terribly far up the mountain that the trees disappeared, but they did get high enough that the terrain became more rock than grass and dirt, and the incline was starting to turn steep.  As for the cave itself, there was an isolated cliff face hidden from the treetops and rising up above them that required a brief use of the ODM gear for Levi to reach, and a simple inhuman jump for Y/N to top before Levi.  She went first so that Emery wasn’t startled by a stranger’s arrival–the situation was tense enough as it was without adding Emery accidentally attacking Levi at the start thinking he was an intruder.

“Emery?  We’re here,” she called softly as she temporarily disappeared from Levi’s view as the cables pulled him up to the lip of the cliff.

As Levi pulled himself up to solid ground and started to get to his feet, she walked straight into the shadows of the six foot tall cave entrance in front of them.  Deeper in, he could see movement, a roughly familiar shape taking form as the vampire, for the first time since the few moments of passing on Wall Rose during the Fall, came close enough for Levi to start noting distinguishing features.  His mind listed the important things quickly–height, weight, youthful appearance, freckles, deep green eyes, dirty blond but unruly hair tucked behind sticking out ears–

Within seconds, Levi had a good enough look at him to be able to effortlessly pick him out of a crowd if need be.  He could also see what she had meant about Emery still being a kid–Levi could tell just looking at him that he'd been turned in the middle of his growing years, some features more defined than others that still had their softer, youthful edges.

Y/N was still between Levi and Emery, with Emery quite a ways back in the cave and not, at the moment, coming a single step closer to the entrance.  Despite the distance, the two of them were much closer than they had been on the wall.  As for Y/N, Levi could see the tension building inside her as they all waited to see how Emery would react to the close proximity to Levi, her shoulders held higher with how tightly strung she seemed, coiled and ready to have to intercept a blind lunge.

Emery leaned just slightly to the side to peer around Y/N, faint recognition sparking in his widening green eyes and slowly growing stronger the longer he studied him.

“Wait, I know you–on the wall that night, and–aren't you–?”

Levi rested a hand on his hip–close to his gear and blades–readying a short response to shut down a slew of off-topic questions about Levi before he saw something shift in Emery's demeanor, the young man's posture going from timid and hesitant to still and taut, the now-familiar red glint spark in the young man's eyes as he stopped mid sentence.

Y/N was already shifting closer, a hand gripping Emery’s shoulder in an abrupt and hopefully steely grasp, trying to pull the kid's attention away from Levi.  Those eyes were turning more red than green, and unlike with Y/N, Levi felt a chill of warning down his spine, his instincts rearing their head to tell him to fight or run–he was far more inclined to fight, but there was still the underlying urge to escape the predator in front of him that she was now trying to talk down. 

“Emery, through the mouth, deep breaths, like we talked about,” she said, voice steady and clear, trying to cut through the blood haze that was taking control.

Emery grabbed onto her arm, turning his head away from Levi as the red continued to consume the green of his eyes, the exhale he let out coming out strangled and guttural, fingers digging in hard enough into her upper arm Levi could see her wince and suck in a sharp breath to bite back any noise of pain.

“Levi, back up a bit–if you can,” she warned.

Levi complied, but it wasn’t much–he was already standing close to the edge, and he wanted to give himself the space to maneuver if he had to redirect Emery away from himself.  He had barely shifted his weight when the wind shifted behind him, blowing in the direction of the two vampires in the cave.  He instinctively switched to a more at the ready position the same moment that Y/N stiffened–

As Y/N had worried over and apparently unintentionally predicted, a shift in the breeze was all it took for the young vampire’s finite control to rupture.  Y/N’s grip on Emery’s upper arm wasn’t strong enough to restrain, as she’d been focused on catching his attention and trying to ground him, so it was no surprise when he was able to pull free with the wild lunge in Levi’s direction, the hand that had been trying to hold to her for stabilizing support now knocking that arm aside to try and get her out of the way of his mad dash.

The movement was rapid, everything happening faster than he could finish drawing a breath.  Emery was lunging for him, crimson eyes having burned away the forest green that had been there moments prior, all four fangs on full display and ready to rip through flesh, a face that had been youthful and dare he say innocent a few moments ago suddenly twisted with animalistic savagery.  Levi barely had time to raise his hands, to get ready to shove Emery back into the cave when he inevitably burned himself in the sunlight, ready to take the hit and redirect the young man back into the shadows when Y/N rammed into Emery from the side.

They both careened into the darkness, Y/N staying on top in a takedown that was more raw force than technique, pinning Emery to the ground with her arm on his throat and a knee in his gut to keep the young man down.  Levi caught a glimmer of red in her own eyes–just a glint–as Emery thrashed against her, trying to claw, bite, and shove her off him with raw strength alone, his fingers gouging into her arms in the process and drawing blood.

Her expression, however, did not hold a hint of the wildness Emery now showed.  Hers was distraught, but focused.  Disappointed, but unsurprised.

Controlled.  Something Levi saw not a trace of in Emery’s feral expression and movements.  Even when Y/N had attacked him in the warehouse out of desperation, or when she’d defended him from the other vampire in the Underground, she’d been nothing like this.  The closest to this he could think of was in the Underground, and even then, while she’d shown some of the more vicious traits lurking under the surface–the flash of her fangs, the hissing and snarling, the red eyes–it had no resemblance to this.

Even the other vampire that had attacked him that night, that had been motivated by raw desire to feed off Levi’s blood, hadn’t been this wild.  They had both still been in control of themselves, of their bloodlust–the focus of most of Y/N’s efforts of growth, always about control of herself and her bloodlust.

He had not seen a vampire without control before, until now, seeing one too new to have any, seeing Emery lose all sense of control and be overcome by raw instinctual need to feast on human blood.

His blood.  Too tempting for someone so new to resist, even unspilled when he was this close.

Suddenly, Levi felt a new appreciation for just how much control Y/N had around him, especially in the early days and when he’d bled in front of her and she’d had to resist so many times before, before she’d grown accustomed to being around him so often.

Maybe he hadn’t fully realized just how enticing his blood was when she’d explained it back then.  Not until now.

Emery’s clawing at her arms gouged new lines into her arms to replace the ones that were rapidly healing–courtesy of the blood still running strong in her system from Levi–dark crimson running down both arms to pool on the stone floor and stain Emery’s shirt, and prompting Levi’s gaze to harden and focus.  The young man didn’t look like he was anywhere close to coming back to his senses, continuing to wildly thrash and claw and snap in a desperate attempt to lunge at Levi.

They weren’t going to get anywhere with Emery like this.  They needed him at least capable of listening.

“Let him go.”  Her head snapped up so she could look at him like he was insane, so Levi gave her a bit more than the command.  “He might burn some sense back into himself.  If he wants to charge headfirst at me into the sun, let him.”

That was clearly something she didn’t agree with, a scowl sprawling across her features as she looked back at Emery, still struggling against her and drawing blood, fixated on Levi and completely ignoring the vampire atop him except in the struggle to throw her off so he could try to get to Levi.

“Fine, but I don’t like it,” she muttered, focused entirely on Emery as she held her position, giving Levi enough time to brace himself before she abruptly let go and backed up, cradling her blood-slick arms to herself while they healed and allowing Emery to make his feral charge towards Levi, unrestrained.

Predictably, Emery charged full speed towards Levi and right into the path of the sun, staggering to a halt a step or two from Levi with arms suddenly crossed in front of himself to try and block the sun as his skin began to steam, skin turning splotchy with read patches of skin peeling away and burning.  His snarling turned into a sharp cry of pain as he staggered backwards towards the shadows on instinct, overwhelmed and confused by the jarring switch from wild full instinctual charge to the shock of agony bringing him roughly back to the present. 

Levi followed the young man as he staggered backwards towards the darkness, only two steps away despite the fairly good look he’d just received of how tempting his blood was for the poor kid.  Just before Emery could reenter the shadows, as Y/N was starting to tense in the background in concern that Emery wasn’t going to make it back out of the sun before he burned up, Levi took the young vampire’s distraction with the pain from the sunlight and temporary confusion from being so painfully shocked back to reality to have an easy upperhand in restraining him.

Grasping onto the young vampire’s forearms in a grip much firmer than the one Y/N had on the kid’s upper arm, Levi pulled Emery’s arms away from the shielded position covering his face, which caused him to recoil and hiss at the pain suddenly burning the more sensitive skin of his face.  Not wanting to risk the young vampire turning into a pile of ash just at the mouth of the cave–something that was getting uncomfortably close to happening judging by the antsy way Y/N was shifting from foot to foot just inside the cave–Levi was quick to spin the kid around to face the shadows of the cave, twisting Emery’s arms behind the kid’s back in the process and pushing him back into the shadows of the cave.

Once Emery was safely within the shadows and no longer actively burning, Levi swept his legs out from under him, causing the young man to fall forwards, the wind temporarily knocked out of him, landing right next to the beams of sunlight stretching into the cave’s entrance, perfectly within range if the young man started trying to attack again.  Levi used one hand to press one of Emery’s arms up into his back–without breaking it, though in a good position to do so if necessary–Emery’s other arm ending up trapped beneath his body while Levi’s other hand preemptively got a good grip on the back of the kid’s head by the hair so, if he started trying to bite him again, Levi could control it with ease and keep from getting attacked.

Behind him, Y/N shifted closer, but she didn’t try to intervene.  He could hear her shifting anxiously behind him, though, staying nearby if something happened, her gaze boring into the back of Levi’s head–

He ignored it for the moment.

For the moment, Emery’s head was turned so that his cheek was pressed into the ground of the cave, but he could look up with one eye at Levi so Levi would be able to watch his expressions and track his mood shifts and make sure he was actually paying attention to what Levi was going to be telling him.  At the moment, there was still more red than green in his eyes, and Levi could feel Emery trying to squirm and buck free beneath him, but Levi kept him pinned to the ground with his position…and with his raw strength.

Interesting…so a new inexperienced vampire couldn’t match his strength.  That was good to know.  Not something to let get to his head, though–he’d already experienced a vampire that matched his strength and a vampire that had strength greater than his own.  However…it was still a point of interest he filed away for later.

Emery tried to lift his head, arm trying to pull free of the grip Levi had him in, but Levi shoved his head back down and tightened his grip on the young man’s arm, gaze sharp and for the moment indifferent to his struggling.

“Breathe through your mouth like she told you, and get your shit back under control, or that won’t be the only time you get some sun today,” Levi said, tone even and calm despite the silence of the cave making his voice sound louder.  Emery tried to rear again, and Levi pushed him back down into the ground again.  “Don’t–you’re going to stay like this until we’re done for everyone’s safety.”

Emery had already lunged at Levi with the instinct to kill and gouged the hell out of Y/N’s arms over and over until her blood stained Emery’s clothes and the floor, Levi wasn’t going to let him do any more damage today.

“Are you listening to me?”

There was far too much red in Emery’s eyes for Levi to be convinced that Emery would really hear what Levi was telling him if he started speaking now, so he had to check, first, watching for a reaction that would show him he could continue and his words would actually process with the kid.  Emery snarled at him, a little more red creeping into his eyes, and Levi put a bit more pressure on the arm that he had twisted behind the young vampire’s back, causing that snarl to cut off with a cry of pain and more red to vanish as his face twisted up in pain.  The eyes staring back at Levi had more green to them, now.

“Are you listening?” Levi repeated, eyes never waving from Emery’s.

“...Yes,” he finally answered, voice gruff and strained around heavy breaths passing his lips, red still gleaming in his eyes, but enough senses having returned to the young man for him to actually listen to what Levi had to say.

Good, Levi thought, the shitstorm this kid had stirred up and was threatening to bring down on all of them roiling to the front of his mind now that the kid was properly under control and wasn’t going to be breaking free any time soon, forced to listen to every word Levi was about to say.

“I hear you want her to do all the shit work and take all the risks while you reap the rewards,” Levi remarked, voice low and hard.  Emery squirmed beneath him, red stained green eyes flickering away from Levi’s unrelenting stare.

“That’s…not how I’d put it…”

“Oh?  Then how would you put it?”

Levi’s voice had turned deceptively calm and quiet, but his grip in the kid’s hair tightened as he pressed his head down into the ground with enough force for Emery to wince and shift his gaze back towards him, eyes widening in sudden fear of the man that had him pinned to the ground so effortlessly with the calm but terrifying tone directed at him. 

“Because you promised you’d put in the effort to learn to survive, but when it was time to do your part, you had her do it instead.  And it sounds like that’s how you want it to be from now on.”

“I…I just can’t hurt anyone��” Emery started to rebuke, but his voice was frail and cracking, lacking conviction in the face of how afraid he was at the moment.

Levi cut him off before that delusion could linger in the air. “You’ve already killed people, so don’t act like your hands are clean.  This pretend bullshit that you can stay innocent if you don’t make any of the hard decisions is just making the shitstorm you created worse–one that’ll get more people killed and take her with you if you don’t start taking responsibility.”

Despite the distress that filled the half of his expression that Levi could see, he could see the red draining from his watering eyes little at a time despite the conversation topic–at least he was getting his bloodlust under control.

“But those were all accidents!  Killing more people–on purpose–can’t be right!” Emery railed desperately.  He wasn’t physically struggling against Levi anymore, seeming to accept finally that this was the best position, uncomfortable as it was, for the time being.  He did, however, start to shudder beneath Levi at the thought of having to kill more people, having to purposely take a life, and tears were now disappearing under his lower eyelid and over the bridge of his nose.

“I never said it was right,” Levi corrected, his voice momentarily distant and pausing to let the reality of what they were discussing be properly absorbed, that he wasn’t trying to simplify and justify something this complicated, before his voice hardened again as he went back on the offense for Y/N.  

“But it is how you’re going to survive and stop having accidental massacres.  Do you think she wanted to?  That it was easy?  She’s had to claw and fight to get where she’s now, a fight you haven’t even started.  She’s giving you the way she knows will eventually mean less or no death, but you’re going to have to fight to get there.”

“I-I just, I just don't think I can do it!”  Emery’s breath hitched around sobs he was trying to choke down, struggling to get the words out around his catching breaths.

“She might have been kind enough to give you a chance, but don’t assume I’m going to let your refusal to survive destroy everything she’s fought for.”  That was the closest to a lethal threatening tone Levi had let his voice get so far.  He’d kept his tone steady and deadly calm this whole time, but when it came to the crux of the issue he took with Emery, the threat Emery was posing to Y/N and everything she’d worked to gain, that was where his anger leaked through.  

“The military is turning this place inside out looking for you, vampire hunters are after you, and that’s just the topside shit that you’re dragging her into.  It’s more than her life at stake if something happens to her, humanity needs her more than ever, and one indecisive brat is not more important than her safety.”

No need for Emery to know this was more personal for Levi than that.  Y/N knew, but Emery didn’t need to, so he went back to the old, ‘She’s important to the Scouts and Humanity’ excuse that he’d hide his ‘She’s important to me’ inside.

Emery’s tumultuous emotions started to clash in his eyes, guilt drawing his brows together and making his gaze turn away, breath catching and holding around another shudder, this time of fear–fear of the threats closing in and the thought of being abandoned now when he’d come so close to not having to go through this alone, if Levi had to guess.

Now was the best time to present him with the choice in front of him, and press for an answer.

Levi’s grip tightened in Emery’s hair, pulling his head back to look at Levi more head on, and even though Emery’s eyes turned a bit more red as a result, Levi got a bit closer to further drive his point home.  “Either you do what she says, fight to survive, or you can stay here and wait to die.  You’re deciding, right now, so she knows if she needs to cut you loose, or can stay.”

The silence in the cave had a weight to it as Levi and Y/N waited to hear what Emery would say, the young man’s gaze searching Levi’s frantically and fearfully, red ebbing and flowing in his eyes like cresting and receding waves as he struggled with his decision, between his fear of abandonment and dying or his fear of taking life to survive.

Something gave way inside him, and a tear fell down his cheek.  Levi knew what his answer was before the kid even said it.

“...Okay…okay, I'll do it,” Emery whispered, voice rough and breaking.

Levi held his gaze, searching it intensely to make sure he really meant it.  “If you don't follow through this time, there won't be a second discussion.”

Emery nodded as much as he could with the grip Levi still had on his hair/head.  “I know.”

That was the best they were going to get for now.  They’d know if he really committed the next time she tried to teach him how to hunt, but for now…this would do.

He relented his grip on the young vampire’s hair, hand still hovering just above his head in case he needed to grab on again.  “Are you going to try and attack me again if I let you up?” Levi asked, ready to get up and move but wanting to make sure Emery wasn’t going to start lunging at him again if he did considering there was still red in Emery’s eyes, red that told them the bloodlust wasn’t entirely gone.

“I…I don’t think so…” Emery said, uncertain.  It wasn’t a great answer, but it was an honest one.  And if Emery couldn’t control himself on his own, Levi would just head back to the mouth of the cave in the sunlight.  He’d done okay restrained like this, though, had this whole conversation to adjust and get ahold of himself, to make sure he didn’t inhale through his nose and get overwhelmed by the scent of his blood.

That had been…enlightening, seeing how Emery reacted instinctively at the mere scent of his unspilled blood.

How the hell did he survive over twenty years in the Underground without becoming some vampire’s snack, again?

…or had he been, and he’d just been compelled to forget?

That wasn’t a thought he wanted to entertain, and certainly not right now.

Carefully, Levi started to ease off of Emery, letting go of the kid’s arm so it could fall back to Emery’s side while Levi shifted up and away, taking a few steps back to where Y/N had been standing and watching the whole conversation, keeping her promise to let him do his thing whether she liked it or not.

Between the now unrestrained vampire that had already tried to attack him in front of him and his concern that if he looked at her he’d see she was upset with how he’d treated Emery, he kept his gaze fixed forwards on Emery instead of looking at her for the time being.

Emery got back to his feet, one hand rubbing at the side of his face that Levi had pressed into the ground as he backed up several more steps, making sure there was a safe distance between the two of them.  Even in the shadows of the cave, Levi could still see that red glint in his eyes, but it was slight, much less than it had been when Levi first approached.

It also didn’t escape Levi’s attention that when Emery backed up, he stayed close to the light streaming into the cave’s entrance from the sun still, that he was close enough to stick his hand outside and burn himself to snap himself back to his senses if the bloodlust got too strong.

The kid was a quick learner, when he wanted to be.  Levi couldn’t fault him for not wanting to take life–the kid had a good heart.  The problem was…it was going to do more harm than good in their current situation.

Y/N would figure something out, once the kid got more control of himself.  She wasn’t going to leave this kid to collect the same high body count she’d collected during her forty-ish year struggle through figuring out her vampirism on her own.  She’d find him a way to hurt as few people as possible, to take as little life as possible.  It was just going to be messy, and take some time, and unfortunately, some people were still going to die in the meantime.

But he would trust her judgement when it came to that.  Now they just needed to see if Emery really would take responsibility for his own survival instead of trying to shove all the ugly parts of it onto Y/N.

Once Emery was steady on his feet again, taking slow and deep breaths to help keep himself under control–Levi did catch him leaning his arm into the sun once or twice when the red got a bit stronger in his eyes–Levi spoke up one more time, gesturing to Y/N standing beside him.

“Listen to her, and if you do your best not to put her in harm’s way, you and I won’t have a problem.”

Emery’s gaze slid to Y/N standing beside him, looking properly remorseful as he moved to take a step in her direction, then thought better of it given it would bring him closer to where Levi was standing, and it was pretty clear now that distance was the safest bet.

“I’m sorry…that you had to kill someone the other night for me,” Emery started, voice soft but sincere, shoulders hunched and head bowed.  “And I’m sorry that I’ve put you in danger.  I promise I’ll try harder from now on–follow the lessons you give me, and…and take responsibility for my own actions and survival.”

That was enough for Levi, he was certain it would be more than enough for her.

Y/N left Levi’s side, approaching Emery and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, causing the kid’s gaze to turn back to her.

“We’ll get you through this, okay?  The first couple years are always the hardest,” she told him, her voice and words much more soothing and gentle than Levi’s had been.  “But if you listen, you don’t have to go through them alone.”

She left the, ‘and you might survive them,’ part unspoken.

Emery gave a small sigh of relief, nodding in silent answer to her encouragement and earning a small pat on his shoulder in response.  Levi crossed his arms over his chest, backing up another few steps so he could lean back against the wall of the cave.

“We need to talk about what to do about everyone after him,” Levi remarked, aiming his words more towards Y/N but including Emery in the conversation. 

Y/N turned to look at him, curiosity in her gaze considering he hadn’t actually warned her there might be more to discuss before they left–or brought this up to her at any point beforehand.  “I have a plan.  It's unpleasant, but it would get the military off him, at least. It won’t work on hunters, though.”

Y/N’s hand dropped away from Emery’s shoulder as she turned all the way around to face him, brows furrowing together and a slight frown tugging at the corners of her lips.  “What do you have in mind?”

“Let the MPs kill him.”

There were perhaps two beats of silence after his statement where the color drained from Emery’s face as the kid stared at him in shock.  Y/N…he could tell was contemplating it, but her expression was anything but pleased at the suggestion.

“...What?” Emery asked in a hoarse voice.

Unsure if Y/N had the discussion about ‘temporary deaths’ with Emery yet, he decided to expound a touch on what he meant before Emery could spiral into a full panic attack.

“Not permanently, obviously.  But if you die in a way that would kill a normal human at their hands, they’ll consider you taken care of and stop looking.  We can recover your body and bring you somewhere safe before you wake up.”  Levi tilted his head towards Y/N to indicate he was addressing her, specifically, again.  “Any hunters on his trail won’t buy it, though, if they’re already certain he’s a vampire.”

Y/N was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, Levi keeping his steady gaze on her as he watched her wrestle with the plan he’d proposed before she sharply turned to an ill-looking Emery, eyes apologetic.

“He has a point.”

“But–!”

“The faster the military stops looking for you, the sooner they’ll forget about you, and the sooner you can blend back into society once you get in control of yourself.  And it would take care of half our problem.  No, it doesn’t solve the hunter issue, but…but it’ll mean no more of these patrols out looking for you everywhere.  It would take a bit more time and planning, we don’t have time to do everything we need to in order to pull that off properly right now, and I won’t lie, depending on how it goes, the temporary dying itself could be…unpleasant, but you’d be basically unconscious for nearly all of it, we’re the ones who would have to get you somewhere safe while you’re out, but do it in a way that no one catches onto anything suspicious–”

“Y/N,” Levi cut her off, prompting her to slightly turn to look back at him.  “You’re rambling.  That’s all shit for us to deal with later.”

Levi’s gaze turned back to Emery, who looked like he was going to faint.  “You can think on it.  She’ll come and give you an actual plan when we have one.  But we need to know if you’re willing to do it.”

Emery was frozen in place under Levi’s unwavering stare, possibly unnerved by how Levi phrased that last part considering the talk they’d just had about following what Y/N told him to survive.  “You…you’re asking me to, to die?” Emery asked haltingly, voice weak.

“Briefly,” Y/N corrected quickly.  “You’d wake up, ideally after we got you somewhere safe, and completely unharmed.  The hardest part will be making the ‘chance’ encounter look like chance…and that the dying itself could be…unpleasant, however brief it may be.  But you wouldn’t have nearly as much danger hanging over you anymore.”

Emery was shaking, understandably terrified if he hadn’t died again since he’d been turned.  “If…if you’re certain I’ll be okay, that I’ll wake up…and they won’t hunt me anymore…”

Y/N leaned into his line of vision, giving him a small, reassuring smile.  “Don’t think about it for now.  Just focus on what we’ve been working on, and let us figure out the details in the meantime, okay?”

“O-Okay.”

Once Emery consented to the tentative plan–or rather, the general idea of what they were aiming for–Levi pushed off the wall, heading for the mouth of the cave.

“Where’s he–?” Emery started to ask.

“That’s all he needed from you,” Y/N assured Emery before calling out to Levi.  “I’ll catch up in a moment.”

He didn’t answer–he didn’t need to.  He simply started to work his way back down the cliffs of the mountain and down to the forest floor.  She’d probably catch up to him before he even reached the bottom of the mountain, anyway.

*Reader’s POV*

You didn’t linger too long with Emery, knowing that you and Levi were actually on a fairly tight schedule with how soon Erwin wanted the two of you back.  Levi had said as you’d been approaching that the two of you would be finished within the hour, which had let you know he did not intend on being here with Emery long at all, and you didn’t want to slow the two of you down.

Still, you stayed long enough to make sure that Emery was okay despite how shaken he was, despite everything that had just been dumped on him at once and the…rough first meeting with Levi he’d just had.

He was far from okay, though he was trying desperately to put on his bravest face.  Understandably.  In the same conversation he’d been threatened with abandonment and a strong suggestion of inevitable death, had to accept he was going to have to kill people to survive and that it would start the next time he needed to feed, and been asked to die–temporarily–to solve only part of the problem of people hunting him.

Plus, he still seemed shaken by his complete loss of control at the start where he’d tried to attack Levi and had harmed you.  Your arms were all healed up by now, but the blood was still on his clothes and the cave floor as a testament of just how much damage he’d done in his brief blood haze.  At least it wasn’t the only change of clothes he’d had–you’d bought him multiple changes of clothes a while back in anticipation of him getting blood all over himself when you brought him hunting.

You’d tried to prepare him for this meeting, and it still hadn’t been enough once he was hit with the scent of Levi’s blood up close and personal, and he was still scared of himself in those moments, waiting until Levi had left in order to confide in you about the feelings that had taken over, the need to rip and tear and feast, and even a concerning desire to feel prey struggling beneath him.

The poor kid was terrified of what he felt inside him, and terrified of the thought of giving into it the next time he needed to feed–terrified of what he could become.

You were more worried about what he could become if you weren’t here to help him tame the monstrous side of himself before he went full blown ripper.

After many wiped tears and soothing words, the promise that he would be okay and that he needed to rest for now and you would talk more in depth about all of this when you came to see him next and Levi wasn’t around and waiting on you, after more apologies from Emery for failing you and harming you and trying to hurt Levi and assurances that as long as he tried next time then it was already forgiven, you took your leave.

You made quick work of the mountain cliffs, nimbly landing on one ledge after another with greater speed since you were descending on your own.  The breeze carried the scent of mint, soap, and tea towards you, letting you know that Levi wasn’t too terribly far ahead of you–he probably hadn’t even made it back to the glade, yet.

Good–maybe the two of you could talk a bit before you had to head for the town barracks.  You weren’t going to get special treatment there, and you weren’t going to have privacy if they stuck you in bunk rooms.

Considering Levi was an officer, even if the Scouts were looked down on…hopefully not.  You hadn’t needed to bunk with anyone in a while, and you’d rather not have to bunk in a room with soldiers from other branches that weren’t so friendly to the Scouts.

In the next few moments, you caught sight of Levi up ahead through the trees, able to easily catch back up to him, especially since he slowed down slightly once he heard you coming.  Neither of you said anything at first, simply walking in silence through the woods, the shadows of the trees lengthening as the sun started setting and the sky turned from blue to a burning palette of colors.

Oh, if you were good with paints, the drawing you could capture in full color with this kind of scenery…

Levi continued to not say anything, which wasn’t entirely out of the normal for him, but he also seemed a bit more…withdrawn, than normal, and he wasn’t looking at you, either–like he hadn’t looked at you all throughout him talking to Emery while he had him pinned, and hadn’t looked at you when he’d initially backed off, either.  He didn’t reach out to try and touch your hand, though he wasn’t putting distance between the two of you and was allowing you to walk close enough to his side it would have been easy to simply brush against your shoulder.

He wasn’t mad at you–he had no reason to be, and that was a different kind of withdrawn, as you were unfortunately familiar with now.  You knew he’d been concerned about this talk in a different way than you had been, though.  He’d kept asking that you let him handle it his way, that you not intervene, that you let it play out, and the slightly more closed off attitude now, not wanting to look at you…

Was he worried that you might be mad at him for how he treated Emery?  It wasn’t pleasant watching him be rough with the kid while Emery was still in such a volatile and fragile emotional state, and admittedly, you’d wanted to tell him to ease up a few times, but…

You knew he could have done much, much worse.  He was still pretty gentle with Emery, all things considered, aware when something was out of Emery’s control–like the bloodlust–and not insensitive to the fact that they were still talking about taking human life, and that wasn’t a simple, cut and dry thing.  But the situation was complicated, and with the options you had right now, Emery needed to take life to survive if you were going to help him, otherwise…

You let out a sigh, soft and slow through your nose, head tilted back to look up at the canopy of golden setting sunlight filtering through the trees.  This was all stuff you’d already discussed with Levi.  You were on the same page about Emery’s feeding situation and what he needed to be doing if you were going to help him.  If Levi was worried, he wasn’t worried about what you’d already talked about.  He would be worried about how you felt about his methods.

You tilted your head to the side so you could glance back at Levi out of the corner of your eyes, leaning slightly closer so your shoulders and hands brushed together, pinky and ring finger curling loosely around his pointer and middle finger, admittedly relieved when you felt his fingers twitch instinctively to curl around yours in response, though there was a bit more hesitance there than normal.

“Levi…?” you asked him gently, slowing down in your walking pace and forcing him to slow down with you.  He finally turned to look at you when you’d nearly come to a full stop, and after hearing that there was no anger or frustration in your voice.

You took a step closer once he was facing you, twining your hand more fully into his own and leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.  His fingers laced tighter into yours, and you heard the softest exhale that sounded like relief before you even pulled away to speak.

“Thank you,” you told him sincerely, waiting until you met his gaze again to speak.  You could see the tension in his shoulders relax slightly at the statement, and knew you’d been right in assuming he’d been worried you might be mad.  You still wanted to be honest, but you were going to make sure he understood you weren’t mad at him, either.

“I might not have liked…seeing you be rough with him, but he needed the push, and I’m still grateful that you got him to agree to try–whether he follows through or not,” you told him softly.  You gave his hand another small squeeze.  “Thank you.”

Levi’s eyes–a steelier blue in the setting sunlight–were studying you, as if making sure that you really weren’t angry with him, or that it wasn’t going to come back and bite him in the ass later in some way if you were just shoving down your anger.  You didn’t look away, letting him reassure himself and see for himself that you weren’t mad at him.  Apparently satisfied and relieved by what he saw, Levi looked away, a soft, short sigh escaping him as his hand tugged you forwards with him to get you to keep walking with him towards the glade where you’d left your horses.

“I know how important him getting better is to you.  But you being where you are now is important, too.”

The little smile that played across your lips was just for you, head ducked low for a moment as warmth seeped through your chest at his words, the unspoken extra meaning you read between the lines as the two of you walked in now comfortable silence back to the glade.

Staying right here with you is important to me, too.

Considering the two of you weren’t Garrison soldiers, you were given a small two bed room in the Garrison barracks to stay in when you reached Kempton fairly late into the night.  No one had wanted to deal with the two Scouts arriving long after the sun had set for the day, so there wasn’t much fuss–they’d simply been shown to the room and left to their own devices.  The two of you lost another hour or so with the cleaning to get the small room in a more habitable state for both of you, and you’d both agreed to leave the window open to let the room breathe more.  After that, neither of you stripped out of your uniforms, but after a whole day of travel and the cleaning and not being familiar with this barrack’s layout–or willing to discover what state the communal washroom would be in–you both collapsed into your respective spots to try and catch a couple hours of sleep, at least.

Well, you collapsed into the standard issue not very comfortable bed, after shrugging off your jacket, pulling off your boots, and freeing yourself from the harness straps, setting everything but the boots as neatly as you could on the desk with your ODM gear.  Once it was all out of the way and neatly set aside so you were certain Levi wouldn’t scold you for being messy, then you flopped onto the bed, arms tucked under the pillow and head turned to the side so you could still breathe, burrowing into the bed without crawling under the sheets.

Levi kept even his ODM gear on, turning the desk chair out to face the room as a whole, more specifically the door, and promptly positioned himself in the chair with an ankle propped up on his knee and arms crossed over his chest.

You didn’t hear or see anything else about what Levi was doing–beside’s a soft ‘Tch’ after you flopped onto the bed–mostly because it didn’t take you long at all to fall asleep, thankfully…

“Oi…oi.  No sleeping in–we’ve got shit to do today, and not long to do it.  Get up.”

Despite the more abrasive words, the touch that went alongside them was gentle, and helped your rousing to consciousness happen a bit smoother.  His hand was on your head, warm and heavy, fingers threading through your hair and gently moving your head around to ‘shake’ you awake, thankfully not pulling your hair in the process.  When you started to wake, his hand pulled away, hair slipping free of his fingers and falling into your face as you raised your head to squint blearily at him getting back to his feet beside your bed, already set to go, and with the usual shadows under his eyes suggesting he either slept very little last night or not at all.

“You’ve still got to get your shit back on, so hurry up.  I’ll find out where we’re going and meet you out front,” Levi informed you as you pushed up onto your elbows, rubbing at your eyes to try and wipe the sleepy blur away.

“Mm-kay…” you murmured.  Levi only lingered long enough to make sure that you were actually going to get up before he took his leave to go figure out where the two of you were headed, exactly.

You couldn’t blame him for the brevity–he may have been awake all night for all you knew, and again, Erwin wanted you back as soon as possible.  There was still the return journey to factor in as well.

He was right.  You needed to get up and moving, and this day needed to start so you could get back to headquarters for whatever it was that had Erwin trying to play it safe and keep you and Levi close at hand.

When considering the state of the refugees you were about to see, it hadn’t crossed your mind that perhaps, farther away from the southern territories, farther away from the territories that had feared being hit next, refugees would be receiving far worse treatment.  If anything, you had mistakenly thought that perhaps farther from the southern areas that most of the refugees had congregated after the wall fell, there might be less struggle over resources and less harsh conditions, a bit more to go around than there was in southern Rose.

You had been woefully mistaken to assume such a thing.

Levi, being the officer between the two of you, was getting official updates from the military leaders in the area, hearing their viewpoints on the situation, and getting briefed on incidents they’d had–including, you had briefly heard, a vague update about the thorough sweep they were doing for Emery.  For the most part, these discussions kept him out of the packed throngs, out of the thick of the worst of what the two of you were there to bear witness to, though even though he was occupied with the Garrison leadership for this area, you could feel his eyes keeping track of you, noticed that no matter how far you moved, Levi moved his conversations naturally as well so he could always be within a decent range of where you were, you could always hear him, always knew where he was.

You, on the other hand–you went to walk among the packed refugees, trying to see if there was anything you could do to help, anything you could hand out, anyone you could get help for.  And in the process you saw some…rather awful sights.

Since the two of you had arrived at this particular refugee housing in the morning, a good swath of the able bodied were out working the fields in the morning shift.  Those that were still in the now-depleted and used for housing storehouse you were now picking your way through were either those who could not work the fields, or those that would work the afternoon, evening shift.

People here were starving, their sunken eyes tracking you with envy that tended to turn seething when they saw the crest on your uniform marking you as a Scout, enough anger in their gazes to make you uncomfortable even knowing you were perfectly capable of defending yourself.  Some were in a far worse state than others, and it didn’t take long to notice the pattern and figure out that the ones that seemed like they weren’t withering away as quickly were the ones that were still able to work–those that could still earn their rations.  Those that couldn’t…

You wish it had only been once, but there had been a couple times you’d found someone lying still and withered away in a corner or just entirely overlooked in the masses you were trying to walk around, realizing there were no heartbeats, no breaths, and that some of the people who couldn’t work had wasted away and died with either nobody noticing or nobody caring.  More than once, you had to get the attention of some Garrison soldiers to help you remove a body for proper burial so they didn’t continue to rot away amongst the still living and cause disease to run rampant in the already cramped spaces.

It feels like I’m back in the Underground.

As much as you wanted to help, as much as you wished you had something to give, you didn’t have the one thing they needed the most–food.  You didn’t have any on you, there clearly wasn’t enough to go around out here, so all you could do was look at the envious or angry faces and pick out the bodies that needed removal before people started getting sick on top of everything else.

This can’t keep going like this.  People are wasting away to nothing and there’s just…not enough to help everyone.  Places are already neglecting those that can’t work, starting to let those that just aren’t able bodied die rather than use up rations on them.  And even then, the workers are still barely getting enough to scrape by, I doubt the rations they’re getting are sustainable…

Across the courtyard you were standing in, raised voices abruptly cut through the miserable hum of all the people crammed together in the small space–a space that would have twice as many people shoved into it come nighttime.  Your attention was drawn to the noise noting that it seemed the morning shift was starting to come back and the afternoon shift was about to head out, people starting to shuffle in and out of the entrances.  The disturbance itself had broken out between two men that the crowd was trying to give a wide berth to avoid being caught in the conflict, most of the masses trying to move around them so that they could get to earning their rations or come back to rest after a shift that had likely started before dawn.

There was a lot of conversation happening around you, a lot of noise, and you had been half listening to the conversation Levi was having about how they’d been trying to move some of the refugees to different parts of Rose to try and lighten their burden here, but had been unable to find a place that could afford to take them.  As such, the argument wasn’t entirely clear with how far away you were, but you were able to at least figure out that the fight was over an afternoon shift worker that had tried to take the spot of a morning shift worker while they were out in the field.  Something petty, especially since the afternoon worker was supposed to be getting ready to leave now, but it was getting loud and rowdy, and it seemed like it was about to escalate to blows.  So, you did your best to move with the current of the crowd to get over to the two brawlers and try to help break it up before it escalated into a much bigger conflict with far more pissed off people that would be beyond the ability of the Garrison to control.

You got shoulder checked a few times by angry refugees as you maneuvered your way through the crowd to the two that were arguing, but you ignored it, taking the aggression in stride and staying focused on the more important matter at hand.  By the time you reached the pair, it had escalated to blows, and two other Garrison soldiers were also arriving on the scene from different points in the crowd.  The mousy brunette threw a punch at the blonde that sent the blonde reeling into the crowd, earning a shout of anger as the blonde was pushed back towards the brunette.  You lunged inside the tiny space that had been cleared in the effort of the crowd to try and avoid the fight, grabbing the blonde and hauling them up with your strength before they could reconnect with the brunette’s fist, while the two Garrison soldiers grabbed onto either arm of the brunette to help in pulling the two away from each other.

The one you’d grabbed, however–you didn’t know who was who in the conflict, who was the morning worker and who was the afternoon worker, but to you, it didn’t quite matter, you just needed the fight broken up–apparently decided he was going to take a much bigger issue with you than the brunette he’d just been sent reeling by, or even the member of the general crowd that had shoved him.  At first, he just struggled because he was being kept from fighting the brunette–he didn’t have anywhere near the strength to break free from your grip, even if he had been properly fed.  However, when in the midst of his shouting and twisting to let him go he spotted the crest on your uniform, the situation changed to something else entirely, and it was a much deeper anger that simmered in his eyes once he realized you were a Scout.

“You!” he seethed, enough venom emanating from him that you were momentarily taken aback by it, even if you’d been enduring the angry envious stares the whole time you’d been here.  “One of those fucking waste of rations?  We’re over here busting our asses for scraps, what the fuck are you doing to eat so well?  Nothing!”

You were also unprepared when halfway through his rant he suddenly bucked backwards, purposely trying to do some kind of damage to you now instead of the brunette.  Your reflexes were fast enough to keep him from nailing you in the nose, but with the fact you were also restraining him from behind, he still got you in the mouth with the back of his head.  You felt your lip split and blood suddenly well up in your mouth, sucking your lip in to try and hide the injury so no one would notice when it rapidly healed.  Still, the man continued his tirade, now trying to swing and hit and do some kind of damage since he’d caught you off guard and connected in one of his hits, and you couldn’t exactly let him go when you were trying to restrain him.

“What the fuck are the Scouts doing for humanity besides getting themselves eaten and wasting food that could go to people that actually earn it!  Why do you get to eat so fucking well while the rest of us are fucking starving?”

Around you, you could hear the sentiment being echoed by the crowd, could feel the anger that had been bubbling around you starting to rise to a boiling point, hear more people getting louder about their anger about the soldiers they saw as freeloaders and wastes of resources in times like this.  

Suddenly, you felt like you were in the middle of a pot you’d known was being heated up to a boil but hadn’t gotten out fast enough and was now sitting in water that was going to boil over and drown you in it if you didn’t find a way out of the pot.  You were suddenly painfully aware that you were the lone scout in a crowd of starving, desperate refugees being whipped into a fury, and the Garrison did not have enough love for the Scouts to put their necks on the line to help you, especially if they’re own people were suffering from the food shortage, not just the refugees.  And you didn’t have the tools or words to diffuse the situation.

What were you going to do, tell him you didn’t eat?  That your rations went to double up someone else’s meals?  Of course not.  You also couldn’t tell them that you were working, that you all weren’t just sitting around doing nothing, that you were trying to do something, wanted to do something, and in your case there had been a lot going on behind the scenes that no one else could ever know about.  You wanted to defend yourself, to prove him wrong–especially considering you’d come to the Scouts so that people weren’t sustaining you with their lives for you to just survive and do nothing with your life and abilities.

But you also knew that these people were desperate, starving, watching people dying around them, crammed into too tight of spaces that weren’t supposed to be lived inside of in the first place, falling ill, not getting enough food to properly survive on even when they worked for it, and to the public, especially because you hadn’t been able to be set loose yet, the Scouts really did seem like a waste of resources, especially in times like this, when the Scouts were on hold and weren’t being allowed to go outside yet so all they could do was wait–

These people didn’t care about politics, or if you wanted to make a difference, or if you didn’t believe the Scouts were worthless and thought they could do the greatest good for humanity if given the right tools.

They wanted to eat, to survive, and find a way to crawl out of this hell they’d found themselves trapped in and somewhere better and at the moment they just couldn’t do it and they were caged and desperate and dying.

Something you understood perfectly.

So you had no argument to give.  All you could do was hold onto the man that was still trying to do as much damage as possible, trying to ram his head into your face again, trying to stomp on your feet or elbow you in the ribs, anything.

The Garrison soldiers that had grabbed his brunette opponent had already hauled him out of the small cleared space, leaving you alone in the now much smaller clearing that was closing back up with the throng.

Out, I need to get out now!

You had seen a crowd in panic when Maria fell, while you were evacuating towns.  You had seen small crowds turn into mobs when people were angry enough, both Underground and in smaller scales during the evacuation and in smaller clusters amongst the southern located refugees.  This situation was about to turn sour, and even though you knew it wouldn’t kill you, you couldn’t exactly explain away a very public death trampled or suffocated or bludgeoned in an angry mob, and your instincts were telling you that you needed to get out of this situation right now.

Trying to get a good enough grip on your struggling captive turned assailant, you tried to decide the best course to ditch the man that had turned his hostility onto you and to move through the crowd that was also turning hostile on you with the least damage, both arms occupied and head moving back and to the side to avoid another backwards headbutt when someone from the crowd through something metal, hollow, small–you weren’t sure what it was, but it was sharp enough you felt it cut into the back of your head, felt blood quickly making your hair turn damp as pain lanced through the back of your head where you’d been hit.

All it took was one.  You needed to bolt.  Now.

No longer caring about strategy so much as survival, you twisted and threw your weight into a shove that sent the blonde you’d been restraining towards the throng in one direction as you ducked your head barely in enough time to avoid another thrown object that nailed a different citizen in the face, causing more shouts to break out, shoving, more throwing–

You were ducked low, trying to disappear into the throng and get to the exit as fast as possible, one hand covering the spot at the back of your head you’d been hit, trying to ignore how tight and cramped the space felt, the difficulty breathing, how similar it felt to the cramped dark suffocating space you’d been trapped in forty years ago–

You didn’t know how far into the crowd you’d gotten, how close to the exit you may have been, but suddenly a hand wrapped around your wrist, seeming to reach out through the crowd and trying to pull you through it all. 

You almost fought back, thinking someone had noticed the Scout trying to slip away in the confusion that you could hear turning into a full on bloody brawl in the space you’d left behind, but you recognized those slender fingers, the calluses from years of gripping knives and then hard ODM gear use, the strong and reassuring way they wrapped familiarly around your wrist and were now trying to guide you safely through the throng, to make sure now that there was a grip on you, that the two of you weren’t going to get separated.

Now knowing that you weren’t about to get attacked and that it was Levi trying to help guide you both out of the crowd and to safety, between his guided tugging and your following through the mess of people, you were both able to quickly get to the edges of the crowd.  You could hear shouting and yelling picking up, the crowd having turned from going to work or coming back to work to now turning inward on itself as a massive fight broke out, Garrison soldiers shouting and trying to get the mob back under control, most likely in vain.

“We’ve seen enough.  We’re heading back.  Now,” Levi said, your sharper hearing able to distinguish his firm voice despite all the noise and the fact that he didn’t raise it to be heard.

You didn’t argue, didn’t question if the two of you should stay and try and help contain the mob.  You’d just seen firsthand that the people were at their breaking point and the Scouts were one of the easiest targets for their rage.  The two of you staying to try and get the situation under control would likely just make things worse and inflame a situation that was already trying to turn explosive.

You already knew the tone of the report Erwin was going to be getting from the two of you about this side mission to check on the refugees.  It wasn’t even really about public opinion of the Scouts right now.

The people were reaching their breaking point, and something needed to be done to fix the situation, or it was going to turn into something much larger that was going to blow up in everyone’s faces if it was left to spiral any further.

Next Chapter---->

(Strikethroughs couldn't be tagged)

Everything Tags:   @antistellxr 

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn @ayatosmlktea @whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea @hauntedhousecat @peaches-and-clouds @imaginationmess @wubbawubwub04 @lollobos @pasteldays @itsmeaudriee @macaronnv @tokyo-banana @apuci-kis-szornye @momowantscats @yellowminb @ashikothedog @notgoodforlife @spnwinchestersd @xxdarkdarlingxx @joy-the-reader

Wings in the Dark Tags: @regalillegal @animeluver23 @theshylittleelfgirl @queenthorin1 @dilucs-thighs @lady-ragnvindr @subtlepjiminie @queenondeezmatatas​​ @linxiajei17 @levisbebe @toni-jones @pinkberrymilktea @ascybous @emmaandemmel @wolfie3616 @aot-fanatic @jencyib @zombiukas @notgoodforlife​ @syviis @captainyanag1

[bella-rose29]

Bite Me - Prologue

Vampire!Lockwood x f!vampire!reader

Ok so I have no idea what to call this series to be honest (Bite Me was the first thing that came into my head so we'll go with that for now), and also I have no idea how regularly I'm going to update

on the plus side I'm home for the Christmas holidays on the 15th (if I manage to get my assignments done bc I have four? five? due that day 🥲), so I'll have loads of time to write then!

Word count: 660

Warnings: being drunk, mentions/minor descriptions of death and decaying bodies, mentions/minor descriptions of wounds.

Tag list: will be at the end bc there are genuinely about 50 people (I'm assuming that if you liked this post, you wanted to be added to the tag list for this series). if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list, then let me know (either on the post I mentioned or here, or just drop me a message!) <3

(not my image, credit to David Geib)

Midnight.

The streets of London were bustling with activity despite the late hour, groups of people laughing obnoxiously as they exited or entered a pub, music blaring over car speakers and out of clubs, sirens cutting through the usual sound of car horns and traffic and bright lights casting the city in an almost supernatural glow.

A man was stumbling along the pavement, dressed in ragged clothing and his beard scruffy and untrimmed, and he clutched a bottle of beer in one of his dirty hands as though it were his most prized possession. The people that he passed paid him no attention, rightfully thinking that he was just another drunk trying to forget about the darkness that clouded the air of the capital. Perhaps the lady that stopped him when he nearly fell face first into the ground should have made sure that he got in the cab she hailed for him, but she was busy, needing to get home after working late. He slurred a thank you to her, patting her shoulder with a tired smile as the cab pulled up to the curb, and she went on her way.

The man didn't make it into the taxi.

A second man appeared before he could, and the driver, not wanting to wait given the late hour, drove off to find better customers. The drunk turned at the tap on his shoulder, furrowing his brow at the polished businessman before him and following in a drunken haze when asked.

If the woman had made sure that the man made it into the taxi, then perhaps she wouldn't have been watching the news the next morning, spoonful of cereal halfway to her mouth, explaining how a drunk man had been murdered late last night in an alleyway.

She rushed to work after shovelling down the rest of her food, downing a coffee on the way to the morgue and demanding to see the body that had been brought in. She pressed her fingertips to her neck, right over her pulse point, and stepped into the room where the drunk man's body was, attempting not to gag at the stench that was already enveloping him.

He's decaying too quickly, she thought, a frown appearing on her face. It had barely been seven hours and already she was needing to press her sleeve over her nose to prevent the smell from assaulting her senses. Pulling back the cloth, the coroner explained how there were no signs of physical assault but for the marks on the neck.

The woman froze slightly, rectifying her slip-up when the coroner eyed her curiously and relaxed again, asking to be left alone for five minutes with the body.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind the last person to leave, the woman leaned in closer, pulling her hair out of the way and examining the marks.

The wound went right into the carotid artery, so at least the drunk man was only in pain for a few seconds before he died.

The woman left the room, dragging the cloth back up over his already-gaunt face, nodding to the people that she passed on the way out. Once outside, she leaned against a wall and pressed a hand to her forehead, the other hand holding her phone to her ear. It rang three times, then someone picked up.

"Yeah?" they answered.

"We have a problem," she said, not wasting time. There was no need for formalities, they each knew who was calling. "I've seen the body; it's definitely his work. We need to call a congress."

"Get it done. We'll need to move fast if you're right." The phone clicked on the other end, signalling the end of the call, and the woman sighed as she headed back to her car.

"Shit." She tapped her phone a few times, sending out the message to everyone that a congress would be in session in two days time. "Shit."

tag list: @avdiobliss, @novelizt, @my-mask-of-sanity-is-slipping, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @downgoestheship, @howcouldifearanyhurricane, @oshverse, @demigoddess-of-ghosts, @mentallyillsodapop, @peace-333, @nomugglesallowed, @why-would-i-eat-chewy-chicken, @sousunny, @vijigenshin, @beebo86, @dangelnleif, @halfthyme, @d-e-s-t-i-n-e-s-i-a, @forgottenangel, @catnip411, @mnmississippi, @ohmyoverland, @ellajar, @chronicpcssimist, @criesinlies, @hotcryptidsummer, @melliegorl, @justanassociate, @sydsicr, @starzortega, @loveverythingbooks, @boookfreeak, @fallinginlovewithbeingaliveagain, @thorns-for-the-sake-of-flowers, @rhiannons-realm, @karensirkobabes, @lavendernarwhal72, @star-of-velaris, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @sandiesohocollins, @ladyfluffyduck, @rentaldarling, @magipies, @donotwonderr, @wenigstenshabeichesversucht, @toddandersondupe

[cherry-lala]

The Devil waits where Wildflowers grow

Part 1, Part 2

Pairing:Female! Reader x Remmick 

Genre: Southern Gothic, Angst, Supernatural Thriller, Romance Word Count: 15.7k+ Summary: In a sweltering Mississippi town, a woman's nights are divided between a juke joint's soulful music and the intoxicating presence of a mysterious man named Remmick. As her heart wrestles with fear and desire, shadows lengthen, revealing truths darker than the forgotten woods. In the heart of the Deep South, whispers of love dance with danger, leaving a trail of secrets that curl like smoke in the night.

Content Warnings: Emotional and physical abuse, manipulation, supernatural themes, implied violence, betrayal, character death, transformation lore, body horror elements, graphic depictions of blood, intense psychological and emotional distress, brief sexual content, references to alcoholism and domestic conflict. Let me know if I missed any! A/N: My first story on here! Also I’m not from the 1930’s so don’t beat me up for not knowing too much about life in that time.I couldn’t stop thinking about this gorgeous man since I watched the movie. Wanted to jump through the screen to get to him anywayssss likes, reblogs and asks always appreciated. 

The heat clings to my skin like a second husband, just as unwanted as the first. Even with the sun long gone, the air hangs thick enough to drown in, pressing against my lungs as I ease the screen door open. The hinges whine—traitors announcing my escape attempt—and before I can slip out, his voice lashes at my back, mean as a belt strap. "I ain't done talkin' to you, girl." His fingers dig into my arm, yanking me back inside. The dim yellow light from our single lamp casts his face in a shadow, but I don’t need to see his expression. I've memorized every twist his mouth makes when he's like this—cruel at the corners, loose in the middle.

"You been done," I whisper, the words scraping my throat like gravel. My tears stay locked behind my eyes, prisoners I refuse to release. "Said all you needed to say half a bottle ago." Frank's breath hits my face, sour with corn liquor and hate. His pupils are wide, unfocused—black holes pulling at the edges of his irises. The hand not gripping my arm rises slow and wavering, a promise of pain that has become as routine as sunrise. But tonight, the whiskey’s got him too good. His arm drops mid-swing, its weight too much. For the first time in three years of marriage, I don't flinch. He notices. Even drunk, he notices. "The hell's gotten into you?" His words slur together, a muddy river of accusation. "Think you better'n me now? That it?" "Just tired, Frank." My voice stays steady as still water. "That's all." The truth is, I stopped being afraid a month ago. Fear requires hope—the desperate belief that things might change if you're just careful enough, quiet enough, good enough. I buried my hope the last time he put my head through the wall, right next to where the plaster still shows the shape of my skull. I look around our little house—a wedding gift from his daddy that's become my prison. Two rooms of misery, decorated in things Frank broke and I tried to fix. The table with three good legs and one made from an old fence post. The chair with stuffing coming out like dirty snow. The wallpaper peels in long strips, curling away from the walls like they're trying to escape too.

My reflection catches in the cracked mirror above the wash basin—a woman I barely recognize anymore. My eyes have gone flat, my cheekbones sharp beneath skin that used to glow. Twenty-five years old and fading like a dress left too long in the sun. Frank stumbles backward, catching himself on the edge of our bed. The springs screech under his weight. "Where you think you're goin' anyhow?" "Just for some air." I keep my voice gentle, like you'd talk to a spooked horse. "Be back before you know it." His eyes narrow, suspicion fighting through the drunken haze. "You meetin' somebody?" I shake my head, moving slowly around the room, gathering my shawl, and checking my hair. Every movement measured, nothing to trigger him. "Just need to breathe, Frank. That's all." "You breathe right here," he mutters, but his words are losing their fight, drowning in whiskey and fatigue. "Right here where I can see you." I don't answer. Instead, I watch him struggle against sleep, his body betraying him in small surrenders—head nodding, shoulders slumping, breath deepening. Five minutes pass, then ten. His chin drops to his chest. I slip my dancing shoes from their hiding place beneath a loose floorboard under our bed. Frank hates them—says they make me look loose, wanton. What he means is they make me look like someone who might leave him.

He's not wrong.

The shoes feel like rebellion in my hands. I've polished them in secret, mended the scuffs, kept them alive like hope. Can't put them on yet—the sound would wake him—but soon. Soon they'll carry me where I need to go. Frank snores suddenly, a thunderclap of noise that makes me freeze. But he doesn't stir, just slumps further onto the bed, one arm dangling toward the floor. I move toward the door again; shoes clutched to my chest like something precious. The night outside calls to me with cricket songs and possibilities. Through the dirty window, I can see the path that leads toward the woods, toward Smoke and Stack's place where the music will already be starting. Where for a few hours, I can remember what it feels like to be something other than Frank's wife, Frank's disappointment, Frank's punching bag. The screen door sighs as I ease it open. The night air touches my face like a blessing. Behind me, Frank sleeps the sleep of the wicked and the drunk. Ahead of me, there's music waiting. And tonight, just tonight, that music is stronger than my fear.

The juke joint grows from the Mississippi dirt like something half-remembered, half-dreamed. Even from the edge of the trees, I can feel its heartbeat—the thump of feet on wooden boards, the wail of Sammie's guitar cutting through the night air, voices rising and falling in waves of joy so thick you could swim in them. My shoes dangle from my fingers, still clean. No point in dirtying them on the path. What matters is what happens inside, where the real world stops at the door and something else begins. Light spills from the cracks between weathered boards, turning the surrounding pine trees into sentinels guarding this secret. I slip my shoes on, leaning on the passenger side of one of the few vehicles in-front of the juke-joint, already swaying to the rhythm bleeding through the walls. Smoke and Stack bought this place with money from God knows where coming back from Chicago. Made it sturdy enough to hold our dreams, hidden enough to keep them safe. White folks pretend not to know it exists, and we pretend to believe them. That mutual fiction buys us this—one place where we don't have to fold ourselves small. I push open the door and step into liquid heat. Bodies press and sway, dark skin gleaming with sweat under the glow of kerosene lamps hung from rough-hewn rafters. The floor bears witness to many nights of stomping feet, marked with scuffs that tell stories words never could. The air tastes like freedom—sharp with moonshine, sweet with perfume, salty with honest work washed away in honest pleasure. At the far end, Sammie hunches over his guitar, eyes closed, fingers dancing across strings worn smooth from years of playing. He doesn't need to see what he's doing; the music lives in his hands. Each note tears something loose inside anyone who hears it—something we keep chained up during daylight hours.

Annie throws her head back in laughter, her full hips wrapped in a dress the color of plums. She grabs Pearline's slender wrist, pulling her into the heart of the dancing crowd. Pearline resists for only a second before surrendering, her graceful movements a perfect counterpoint to Annie's rare wild abandon. "Come on now," Annie shouts over the music. "Your husband ain't here to see you, and the Lord ain't lookin' tonight!" Pearline's lips curve into that secret smile she saves for these moments when she can set aside the proper church woman and become something truer. In the corner, Delta Slim nurses a bottle like it contains memories instead of liquor. His eyes, bloodshot but sharp, track everything without seeming to. His fingers tap against the bottleneck, keeping time with Sammie's playing. An old soul who's seen too much to be fooled by anything. "Slim!" Cornbread's deep voice booms as he passes, carrying drinks that overflow slightly with each step. "You gonna play tonight or just drink the profits?" "Might do both if you keep askin'," Slim drawls, but there's no heat in it. Just the familiar rhythm of old friends. I step fully into the room and something shifts. Not everyone notices—most keep dancing, talking, drinking—but enough heads turn my way that I feel it. A ripple through the crowd, making space. Recognition.

Smoke spots me from behind the rough-plank bar. His nod is almost imperceptible, but I catch it—permission, welcome, understanding. His forearms glisten with sweat as he pours another drink, muscles tensed like he's always ready for trouble. Because he is. Stack appears beside him, leaning in to say something in his twin's ear. Unlike Smoke, whose energy coils tight, Stack moves with a gambler's grace, all smooth edges, and calculated risks. His eyes find me in the crowd, lingering a beat too long, concern flashing before he masks it with a lazy smile. My feet carry me to the center of the floor without conscious thought. The wooden boards warm beneath my soles, greeting me like an old friend. I close my eyes, letting Sammie's guitar and voice pull me under, drowning in sound. My body remembers what my mind tries to forget—how to move without fear, how to speak without words. My hips sway, shoulders rolling in time with the stomps. Each stomp of my feet sends the day's hurt into the ground. Each twist of my wrist unravels another knot of rage. My dress—faded cotton sewn and resewn until it's more memory than fabric—clings to me as I spin, catching sweat and starlight.

"She needs this," Smoke mutters to Stack, thinking I can't hear over the music. He takes a long pull from his bottle, eyes never leaving me. "Let her be." But Stack keeps watching, the way he watched when we were kids, and I climbed too high in the cypress trees. Like he's waiting to catch me if I fall. I don't plan to fall. Not tonight. Tonight, I'm rising, lifting, breaking free from gravity itself. Mary appears beside me, her red dress a flame against the darkness. She moves with the confidence of youth and beauty, all long limbs and laughter. "Girl, you gonna burn a hole in the floor!" she shouts, spinning close enough that her breath warms my ear. I don't answer. Can't answer. Words belong to the day world, the world of men like Frank who use them as weapons. Here, my body speaks a better truth. The music climbs higher, faster. Sammie's fingers blur across the strings, coaxing sounds that shouldn't be possible from wood and wire. The crowd claps in rhythm, feet stomping, voices joining in wordless chorus. The walls of the juke joint seem to expand with our joy, swelling to contain what can't be contained. My head tilts back, eyes finding the rough ceiling without seeing it. My spirit has already soared through those boards, up past the pines, into a night sky scattered with stars that know my real name. Sweat tracks down my spine, between my breasts, and along my temples. My heartbeat syncs with the drums until I can't tell which is which. At this moment, Frank doesn't exist. The bruises hidden beneath my clothes don't exist. All that exists is movement, music, and the miraculous feeling of being fully, completely alive in a body that, for these few precious hours, belongs only.

The music fades behind me, each step into the woods stealing another note until all that's left is memory. My body still hums with the ghost of rhythm, but the air around me has changed—gone still in a way that doesn't feel right. Mississippi nights are never quiet, not really. There are always cicadas arguing with crickets, frogs calling from hidden places, leaves whispering to each other. But tonight, the woods swallow sound like they're holding their breath. Waiting for something. My fingers tighten around my shawl, pulling it closer though the heat hasn't broken. It's not cold I'm feeling. It's something else. Moonlight cuts through the canopy in silver blades, slicing the path into sections of light and dark. I step carefully, avoiding roots that curl up from the earth like arthritic fingers. The juke-joint has disappeared behind me; its warmth and noise sealed away by the wall of pines. Ahead lies home—Frank snoring in a drunken stupor, walls pressing in, air thick with resentment. Between here and there is only this stretch of woods, this moment of in-between. My dancing shoes pinch now, reminding me they weren't made for walking. But I don't take them off. They're the last piece of the night I'm clinging to, proof that for a few hours, I was someone else. Someone free.

A twig snaps.

I freeze every muscle tense as piano wire. That sound came from behind me, off to the left where the trees grow thicker. Not an animal—too deliberate, too singular. My heart drums against my ribs, no longer keeping Sammie's rhythm but a faster, frightened beat of its own. "Who's there?" My voice sounds thin in the unnatural quiet. For a moment, nothing. Then movement—not a crashing through underbrush, but a careful parting, like the darkness itself is opening up. He steps onto the path, and everything in me goes still. White man. Tall. Nothing unusual about that. But everything else about him rings false. His clothes seem to match the dust of the woods—dusty white shirt, suspenders that catch the moonlight like they're made of something finer than ordinary cloth. Dust clings to his shoes but sweat darkens his collar despite the heat. His skin is pale in a way that seems to glow faintly, untouched by the sun. But it's his eyes that stop my breath. They don't blink enough. And they're fixed on me with a hunger that has nothing to do with what men usually want.

"You move like you don't belong to this world," he says, voice smooth as molasses but cold like stones at the bottom of a well. There's a drawl to his words. He sounds like nowhere and everywhere. "I've watched you dance. On nights like this. It's… spellwork, what you do." My spine straightens of its own accord. I should run. Every instinct screams it. But something else—pride, maybe, or foolishness—keeps me rooted. "I ain't got nothin' for you," I say, keeping my voice steady. My hand tightens on my shawl, though it's poor protection against whatever this man is. "And white men seekin’ me out here alone usually bring trouble." His lips curve upward, but the smile doesn't touch those unblinking eyes. They remain fixed, assessing, and patient in a way that makes my skin prickle. "You think I came to bring you trouble?" The question hangs between us, delicate as spiderweb. I don't trust it. Don't trust him. "I think you should go," I say, taking half a step backward. He matches with a step forward but maintains the distance between us—precise, controlled.

"I'm called Remmick."

"I didn't ask." My voice sharpens with fear disguised as attitude.

"No," he says, nodding thoughtfully. "But something in you will remember."

The certainty in his voice raises the hair on my arms. I study him more carefully—the unnatural stillness with which he holds himself. Something is wrong with this man, something beyond the obvious danger of a man approaching a woman alone in the woods at night. The trees around him seem to bend away slightly, as if reluctant to touch him. Even the persistent mosquitoes that plague these woods avoid the air around him. The night itself recoils from his presence, creating a bubble of emptiness with him at the center. I take another step back, putting more distance between us. My heel catches on a root, but I recover without falling. His eyes track the movement with unsettling precision.

"You can go on now," I say, my voice harder now. "Ain't nobody invited you."

Something changes in his expression at that—a flicker of satisfaction, like I've confirmed something he suspected. His head tilts slightly, almost pleased. "That's true," he murmurs, the words barely disturbing the air. "Not yet."

The way he says it—like a promise, like a threat—makes my breath catch. The moonlight catches his profile as he turns slightly. For a moment, just a moment, I think I see something move beneath that worn shirt—not muscle or bone, but something else, something that shifts like shadow-given substance. Then it's gone, and he's just a man again. A strange, terrifying man standing too still in the woods who wants nothing to do with him. I don't say goodbye. Don't acknowledge him further. Just back away, keeping my eyes on him until I can turn safely until the path curves and trees separate us. Even then, I feel his gaze on my back like a physical weight, pressing against my spine, leaving an imprint that won't wash off.

I don't run—running attracts predators—but I walk faster, my dancing shoes striking the dirt in a rhythm that sounds like warning, warning, warning with each step. The trees seem to whisper now, breaking their unnatural silence to murmur secrets to each other. Behind me, the woods remain still. I don't hear him following. Somehow, that's worse. As if he doesn't need to follow to find me again. As I near the edge of the tree line, the familiar sounds of night gradually return—cicadas start up their sawing, and an owl calls from somewhere deep in the darkness. The world exhales, releasing the breath it had been holding. But something has changed. The night that once offered escape now feels like another kind of trap. And somewhere in the darkness behind me waits a man named Remmick, with eyes that don't blink enough and a voice that speaks of "not yet" like it's already written.

Two day passed but The rooster still don’t holler like he used to. He creaks out a noise ‘round mid-morning now, long after the sun’s already sitting heavy on the tin roof. Maybe the heat got to him. Maybe he’s just tired of callin’ out a world that don’t change. I know the feel. But night comes again, faster than mornin’ these days. Probably cause’ I’m expectin’ more from the night. Frank’s out cold on the mattress, one leg hanging off like it gave up trying. His breath comes in grunts, open-mouthed and ugly. A fly dances lazy across his upper lip, lands, takes off again. I step over his boots; past the broken chair he swore he’d fix last fall. Ain’t nothin’ changed but the dust. Kitchen smells like rusted iron and whatever crawled up into the walls to die. I fill the kettle slow, careful with the water pump handle so it don’t squeal. Ain’t trying to wake a bear before it’s time. My fingers press against the wallpaper, where it peeled back like bark. The spot stays warm. Heat trapped from yesterday. I don’t talk to myself. Don’t say a word. But my thoughts speak his name without asking.

Remmick.

It don’t belong in this house. It don’t belong in my mouth, either. But there it is, curling behind my teeth. I never told a soul about him. Not ‘cause I was scared. Not yet. Just didn’t know how to explain a man who don’t blink enough. Who moves like the ground ain’t quite got a grip on him. Who steps out of the woods like he heard you call, even when you didn’t. A man who hangs ‘round a place with no intention of going in.

I tug the hem of my dress higher to look at the bruise. Purple, with a ring of green creeping in around the edges. I press two fingers to it, just to feel it. A reminder. Frank don’t always hit where people can see. But he don’t always miss, either. I wrap it in cloth, tug the fabric of my dress just right, and move on. I don’t plan to dance tonight. But I’ll sit. Maybe smile. Maybe drink something that don’t taste like survival. Maybe Stack’ll run his mouth and pull a laugh out of me without trying. And maybe, when it’s time to go, I’ll take the long way home. Not because I’m expectin’ anything. But because I want to. The juke joint buzzes before I even see it. The trees carry the sound first—the thump of feet, the thrum of piano spilling through the wood like sap. By the time I reach the clearing, it’s already breathing, already alive. Cornbread’s at the door, arms folded. When I pass, he gives me that look like he sees more than I want him to. “You look lighter tonight,” he says. I give a half-smile. “Probably just ain’t carryin’ any expectations.” He lets out a low laugh, the kind that rolls up from his gut and sits heavy in the room. “Or maybe ‘cause you left somethin’ behind last night.” That makes me pause, just for a beat. But I don’t show it. Just raise my brow like he’s talkin’ nonsense and keep walkin’.

He don’t mean nothin’ by it. But it sticks to me anyway.

Delta Slim’s at the keys, tapping them like they owe him money. The notes bounce off the walls, dusty and full of teeth. No Sammie tonight—Stack said he’s somewhere wrasslin’ a busted guitar into obedience. Pearline’s off in the corner, close to Sammie’s usual seat. She’s leaned in real low to a man I seen from time to time here, voice like honey drippin’ too slow to trust. Her laugh breaks in soft bursts, careful not to wake whatever she’s tryin’ to keep asleep. Stack’s behind the bar, sleeves rolled up, but he ain’t workin.’ Not really. He’s leanin’ on the wood, jaw flexing as he smirks at some girl with freckles down her arms like spilled salt. I find a seat near the back, close enough to the fan to catch a breath of cool, far enough to keep my bruise out of the light.

Inside, the joint don’t just sing—it exhales. Walls groan with sweat and joy, floorboards shimmy under stompin’ feet. The air’s thick with heat, perfume, and fried something that’s long since stopped smellin’ like food. There’s a rhythm to the place—one that don’t care what your name is, just how you move. Smoke’s behind the bar too, back bent over a bottle, jaw set tight like always. But when he sees me, his mouth softens. Not a smile—he don’t give those away easy. Just a nod. Like he sees me, really sees me. “Frank dead yet?” he mutters without looking up. “Not that lucky,” I say, voice dry as dust. He pours without askin.’ Corn punch. Still too sweet. But it sits right on the tongue after a long day of silence.

“You limpin’?” he asks, low, like maybe it’s just for me.

I shake my head. “Just don’t feel like shakin’.” He grunts understanding. “You don’t gotta explain, Y/N. Just glad you showed.” A warmth rolls behind my ribs. I don’t show it. But I feel it.

I don’t dance, but I play. Cards smack against the wood table like drumbeats—sharp, mean, familiar. The men at the table glance up, but none complain when I sit. I win too often for them to pretend they ain’t interested. Stack leans over my shoulder after the second hand. I smell rum and tobacco before he speaks. “You cheat,” he says, eyes twinkling. “You slow,” I fire back, slapping a queen on the pile. He whistles. “You always talk this much when you feelin’ good?” “Don’t flatter yourself.” “Oh, I ain’t. Just sayin,’ looks Like you been kissed by somethin’ holy—or dangerous.” “I’ll let you decide which.” He laughs, pulls up a chair without askin’. His knee brushes mine. He don’t apologize. I don’t move.

I leave before Slim plays his last note. The night wraps itself around me the moment I step out, damp and sweet, the kind of air that clings to your skin like memory. One more laugh from inside rings out sharp before the door shuts and the trees hush it. My feet take the path without me thinking. I don’t look for shadows. Don’t linger. Just want the stillness. The cool hush after heat. The part of night that feels like confession. But halfway down the clearing, I see him again. Not leaning. Not hiding. Just there. Standing like the woods parted just to place him in my way. White shirt. Sleeves rolled. Suspenders loose against dusty pants. Hat in hand like he means to be respectful, like he was taught his mama’s manners. I stop. “You followin’ me?” I ask, but it don’t come out sharp.

His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. “Didn’t know a man needed a permit to take a walk under the stars.” “You keep walkin’ where I already am.”

He looks down the path, then back at me. “Maybe that means you and I got the same sense of direction.” “Or maybe you been steppin’ where you know I’ll be.” He doesn’t deny it. Just shrugs, eyes steady. I don’t move closer. Don’t move back either.

“You always turn up like this?” I ask. “Like a page I forgot to read?” He chuckles. “No. Just figured you were the kind of story worth rereadin’.” The silence after that ain’t heavy. Just… close. The kind that makes your ears ring with what you ain’t said. “You always this smooth?” I say, voice low. “I been known to stumble,” he replies. “Just not when it counts.” I shift. Let my eyes roam past him, toward the tree line. “Small talk doesn’t suit you.” “I don’t do small.” His eyes meet mine again. “Especially not with you.” It’s too much. It should be too much. But my hands don’t tremble. My breath don’t catch.

Not yet.

“You always walk the same road as a woman leavin’ the juke joint alone?” “I didn’t follow you,” he repeats. “I just happen to be where you are.” He steps forward, slow. I don’t retreat. “You expect me to believe that?” I ask. “No,” he says softly. “But I think you want to.” That lands between us like something too honest. He runs a hand through his hair before putting his hat on. A simple gesture. A human one. Like he’s just another man with nowhere to be and too much time to spend not being there. He watches me, real still—like a man waitin’ to see if I’ll spook or bite. “Figured I might’ve come off wrong last time,” he says finally, voice soft, but it don’t bend easy. “Didn’t mean to.” “You did,” I say, but my arms stay loose at my sides. A flick of something passes over his face. Not shame, not pride—just a small, ghosted look, like he’s used to bein’ misunderstood. “Well,” he says, thumb brushing the brim of his hat, “thought maybe I’d try again. Slower this time.” That pulls at somethin’ behind my ribs, makes the air stretch thinner between us. “You act like this some kinda game.” He shakes his head once. “Not a game. Just…timing. Some things got to take the long way ‘round.” I narrow my eyes at him, trying to make out where he’s hidin’ the trick in all this.

“The way you talk is like running in circles.” He laughs—low and rough at the edges, like it ain’t used to bein’ let out. “I won’t waste time running in circles around a darlin’ like you.” I cross my arms, squinting at the space between his words. “That supposed to charm me?” He shrugs, one shoulder easy like he don’t expect much. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. “Just thought I’d give you something truer than a lie.” His voice ain’t sweet—it’s too honest for that. But it moves like water that knows where it’s goin’. I shift my weight, let the breeze slide between us.

“You ain’t said why you’re here. Not really.” He watches me a long moment, like he’s weighing how much I’ll let in. “Maybe I’m drawn to your energy,” he says finally. I scoff. “My energy? I don’t move too much to emit energy.” That gets him smilin’. Slow. Not too sure of itself, but not shy either. “You don’t have to move,” he says, “to be seen.” The words hit like a drop of cold water between the shoulder blades—sharp, sudden, and too real. I take a step forward just to ground myself, heel pressing into the dirt like I mean it. “You a preacher?” I ask, voice sharper than before. He chuckles, deep and close-lipped. “Ain’t nothin’ holy about me.” “Then don’t talk to me like you got a sermon stitched in your throat.” He bows his head just a hair, hands still at his sides. “Fair enough.”

A pause stretches long enough for the night sounds to creep back in—cicadas winding up, wind sifting through the trees. “I’m Remmick,” he says, like it matters more now. “I know.” “And you?” “You don’t need my name.” His mouth quirks like he wants to press, but he don’t. “You sure about that?” “Yes.” The silence that follows feels cleaner. Like everything’s been set on the table and neither one of us reaching for it. He nods, slow. “Alright. Just thought I’d say hello this time without makin’ the trees nervous.” I don’t smile. Don’t give him more than I want to. But I don’t turn away either. And when he steps back—slow, like he respects the space between us—I let him. This time, I watch him go. Down the path, ‘til the woods decide they’ve had enough of him.

I don’t look back once my hand’s on the porch rail. The key trembles once in the lock before it catches. Inside, it’s the same. Frank dead to the world, laid out like sin forgiven. I pass him without a glance, like I’m the ghost and not him. At the washbasin, I scrub my face until the cold water stings. Peel off the dress slow, like unwrapping something tender. The bruises bloom up my side, but I don’t touch ‘em. I slide into a cotton nightgown soft enough not to fight me. Climb into bed without expecting sleep. Just lie there, staring at the ceiling like maybe tonight it might speak.

But it don’t.

It just creaks. Settles.

And leaves me with that name again. Remmick.

I whisper it once, barely enough sound to stir the dark. Three days pass. The sun’s just fallen, but the air still clings like breath held too long. I’m on the back stoop with my foot sunk in a basin of cool water, ankle puffed up mean from Frank’s latest mood. Shawl drawn close, dress hem hiked above the bruising. The house behind me creaks like it’s thinking about falling apart. Crickets chirp with something to prove. A whip-poor-will calls once, then hushes like it said too much. And then—

“Evenin’.”

My hand jerks, sloshing water up my calf. I don’t scream, but I don’t hide the startle either. He’s by the fence post. Just leanin’. Arms folded over the top like he been there long enough to take root. Hat low, sleeves rolled, collar open at the throat. Shirt clings faint in the heat, pants dusted up from honest walking—or the kind that don’t leave footprints. I say nothing. He tips his head like he’s waiting for permission that won’t come. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” “You always arrive like breath behind a neck.” “I try not to,” he says, quiet. “Don’t always manage it.” That smile he wears—it don’t shine. It settles. Soft. A little sorry. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me again,” he says.

“I don’t.”

He nods like he expected that too. I don’t blink. Don’t drop my gaze. “Why you keep comin’ here, Remmick?”

His name tastes different now. Sharper. He blinks once, slow and deliberate. “Didn’t think you remembered it.” “I remember what sticks wrong.” He watches me a beat longer than comfort allows. Then—calm, measured—he says, “Just figured you might not mind the company.” “That ain’t company,” I snap. “That’s trespassin’.” My voice cuts colder than I meant it to, but it don’t feel like a lie. “You know where I live. You know when I’m out here. That ain’t coincidence. That’s intent.” He don’t flinch. “I asked.”

That stops me. “Asked who?”

He lifts his hand, palm out like he ain’t holdin’ anything worth hiding. “Lady outside the feed store. Said you were the one with the porch full of peeled paint and a garden that used to be tended. Said you got a husband who drinks too early and hits too late.” My mouth goes dry.

“You spyin’ on me?” “No,” he says. “I don’t need to spy to see what’s plain.” “And what’s plain to you, exactly?” My tone is flint now. Sparked. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.” He leans in, just enough. “You think that bruise on your ankle don’t show ‘cause your dress covers it? You think folks ain’t noticed how you don’t laugh no more unless you hidin’ it behind a stiff smile?” Silence folds in between us. Thick. Unwelcoming. He doesn’t press. Just keeps looking, like he’s listening for something I ain’t said yet.

“I don’t need savin’,” I murmur. “I didn’t come to save you,” he says, and his voice is different now low, but not slick. Heavy, like a weight he’s carried too far. “I just came to see if you’d talk back. That’s all.” I pull my foot from the water, slow. Wrap it in a rag. Keep my gaze steady. “You show up again unasked,” I say, “I’ll have Frank walk you home.” He chuckles. Real soft. Like he don’t think I’d do it, but he don’t plan to test me either. “I’d deserve it,” he says. Then he tips his hat after putting it back on and steps back into the night. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t look back. But even after he’s gone, I can feel the place he left behind—like a fingerprint on glass. ——— Inside, Frank’s already mutterin’ in his sleep. The sound of a man who ain’t never done enough to earn rest, but claims it like birthright. I move around him like I ain’t there. Later, in bed, the ceiling don’t offer peace. Just shadows that shift like breath. I lay quiet, hands folded over my stomach, heart beatin’ steady where it shouldn’t. I don’t say his name. But I think it. And it stays.

Mornings don’t change much. Not in this house. Frank’s boots hit the floor before I even open my eyes. He don’t speak—just shuffles around, clearing his throat like it’s my fault it ain’t clear yet. He spits into the sink, loud and wet, then starts lookin’ for somethin’ to curse. Today it’s the biscuits. Yesterday, it was the fact I bought the wrong tobacco. Tomorrow? Could be the way I breathe. I don’t talk back. Just pack his lunch quiet, hands moving like they’ve learned how to vanish. When the door finally slams shut behind him, the silence feels less like peace and more like a pause in the storm. The floor don’t sigh. I do.

He’ll be back by sundown. Drunk by nine. Dead asleep by ten.

And I’ll be somewhere else—at least for a little while. The juke joint’s sweating by the time I get there. Delta Slim’s on keys again, playing like his fingers been dipped in honey and sorrow. Voices ride the walls, thick and rising, the kind that ain’t tryin’ to be pretty—just loud enough to out-sing the pain. Pearline’s got Sammie backed in a corner again, her laugh syrupy and slow. She always did know how to linger in a man’s space like perfume. Cornbread’s hollering near the door, trading jokes for coin. And Annie’s on a stool, head tilted like she’s heard too much and not enough. I don’t dance tonight. Still too tender. So, I post up at the end of the bar with something sharp in my glass. Smoke sees me, gives that chin lift he reserves for bad days and bruised ribs. Stack sidles up before the ice even melts. “Quiet day today,” he asks, cracking a peanut with his teeth. I don’t look at him. Just stir my drink slow. “Talkin’ ain’t always safe.” His brows go up. He glances around like he’s checking for shadows, then leans in a bit. “Frank still being Frank?” I lift one shoulder. Stack don’t push. Just keeps on with his drink, knuckles tapping the bar like a slow metronome.

Then, quiet: “You got somethin’ heavy to let go of.” That stops me. Just a second. But he catches it. “Huh?” He shrugs, doesn’t look at me this time. “You ever seen a rabbit freeze in tall grass? That’s the look. Ears up. Heart runnin’. But it ain’t moved yet.” I run a fingertip down the side of my glass, watching the sweat bead up. “There’s been a man.” Now Stack looks. “He don’t say much. Just… shows up. Walks the same road I’m on, like we both happened there. Then he started talkin’. Knew things he shouldn’t. Last time, he was near my house. Didn’t come in. Just… lingered.” “White?” I nod.

Stack’s whole posture changes—draws tight at the shoulders, jaw working. “You want me to handle it?” I shake my head. “No.” “Y/N—” “No,” I say again, firmer. “I don’t want more fire when the house is already half burnt. He ain’t done nothin.’ Not really.” Yet. He lets it settle. Don’t agree. But he don’t argue either. Behind us, Annie’s refilling her glass. She don’t speak, but her eyes cut over to Mary. Mary catches it. Lips press together. She looks at me the way you look at something you’ve seen before but can’t stop from happening again. And then, like it’s all normal, Mary chirps out, “You hear Pearline bet Sammie he couldn’t outdrink Cornbread?” Annie scoffs. “She just tryin’ to sit on his lap before midnight.” Stack grins but don’t fully let go of his watchful look. The mood shifts easy, like it rehearsed for this. Like they all know how to laugh loud enough to cover a crack in the wall.

But I ain’t laughing.

I nurse my drink, fingers cold and wet around the glass. My eyes flick toward the door, then away. Remmick. That name’s been clingin’ to my mind like smoke in closed curtains. Thick. Quiet. Still there long after the fire’s gone out. I think about how he looked at me—not like a man looks at a woman, but like he’s listening to something inside her. I think about the way his voice wrapped around the air, soft but steady, like it belonged even when it didn’t. I think about how I told Stack I didn’t want to see him again.

And I wonder why I lied.

Frank’s truck wheezes up the road like it’s draggin’ its bones. Brakes cry once. Gravel shifts like it don’t want to hold him. Inside, the pot’s still warm on the stove. Not hot. He hates hot. Says it means I was tryin’ too hard, or not tryin’ enough. With Frank, it don’t matter which—he’ll find the fault either way. The screen door creaks and slams. That sound still startles me, even now. Boots hit wood, heavy and careless. His scent rolls in before he speaks—sweat, sun, grease, and the liquor I know he popped open three miles back. I don’t turn. Just keep spoonin’ grits into the bowl, hand steady. “You hear they cut my hours?” he says. His voice’s wound tight, all string and no tune. “No,” I say. He drops his lunch pail hard on the table. The tin rattles. A sound I hate.

“They kept Carter,” he mutters. “You know why?” I stay quiet. He answers himself anyway. “’Cause Carter got a wife who stays in her place. Don’t get folks talkin’. Don’t strut around like she’s single.” The grit spoon taps the bowl once. Then again. I let it. “You callin’ me loud?” “I’m sayin’ you don’t make it easy. Every damn week, somebody got somethin’ to say. ‘Saw her smilin’. Heard her laughin’. Like you forgot what house you live in.” I press my palm flat to the counter, slow. “Maybe if you kept your hands to yourself, folks’d have less to talk about.” It slips out too fast. But I don’t take it back. The room goes still.

Chair legs scrape. He rises like a storm cloud built slow. “You forget who you’re speakin’ to?” I feel him move before he does. Feel the air shift. “I remember,” I say. My voice don’t rise. Just settles. He comes close—closer than he needs to be. His breath touches the back of my neck before his hand does. The shove ain’t hard. But it’s meant to echo.

“You think I won’t?” I breathe once, deep. “I think you already have.” He stands there, hand still half-raised like he’s weighing what it’d cost him. Like maybe the thrill’s dulled over time. His breath’s ragged. But he backs off. Steps away. Chair squeals across the floor as he drops into it, muttering something I don’t catch. I move quiet to the sink, rinse the spoon. My back still to him. Eyes locked on the faucet. Somewhere behind me, the bowl clinks against the table. He eats in silence. And all I can think about the man who ain’t never set foot in my house but got me leavin’ the porch light on for him. —— Two weeks slip past like smoke through floorboards. Maybe more. I stopped countin’. Time don’t move the same without him in it. The nights stretch longer, duller. No shape to ‘em. Just quiet. At first, that quiet feels like mercy. Like I snuffed out something that could’ve swallowed me whole. I sleep harder. Wake lighter. For a little while. But mercy don’t last. Not when it’s pretending to be peace. Because soon, the quiet stops feeling like rest. And starts feeling like a missing tooth You keep tonguing the space, even when it hurts. At the juke joint, I start to dance again. Not wild, not free—just enough to remember how my body used to move when it wasn’t afraid of being seen. Slim plays slower that night, coaxing soft fire from the keys. The kind of song that settles deep, don’t need to shout to be felt. Pearline leans in, breath warm on my cheek. “You got your hips back,” she says, low and slick. “Don’t call it a comeback,” I grin, though it don’t sit right in my mouth.

Mary laughs when I sit back down, breath hitchin’ from the floor. “Somebody’s been puttin’ sugar in your coffee.” “Maybe I just stirred it myself,” I say. But even as I say it, my eyes go to the door. To the dark. Stack catches the look. He always does. Doesn’t press. Just watches me longer than usual, mouth tight like he wants to say somethin’ and knows he won’t.

Frank’s been… duller. Still drinks. Still stinks. Still mean in that slow, creepin’ way that feels more like rot than fire. But the heat’s gone out of it. Like he’s noticed I ain’t afraid no more and don’t know how to fight a ghost. He don’t yell as loud now. Doesn’t hit as hard. But it ain’t softness. It’s confusion. He don’t like not bein’ feared.

And maybe worse—I don’t like that he don’t try. Some nights, I sit on the back step long after the world’s gone to bed. Shawl loose around my shoulders, feet bare against the grain. The well water in the basin’s gone warm by then. Even the wind feels tired. Crickets rasp. A cicada drones. I listen like I used to—for the shift in the dark. The weight of a gaze. The way the air used to still when he was near. But there’s nothin’. Just me. Just the quiet. I catch myself one night—talkin’ out loud to the trees. “You was real brave when I didn’t want you here,” I say, voice rough from disuse. “Now I’m sittin’ like a fool hopin’ the dark says somethin’ back.”

It don’t.

The leaves stay still. No footfall. No voice. Not even a breeze. Just me. And that ache I can’t name. But he’s there. Further back than before. At the edge of the trees, where the moonlight don’t reach. Where the shadows thicken like syrup.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just waits. Because Remmick ain’t the kind to come knockin’. He waits ‘til the door opens itself. And I don’t know it yet, but mine already has.

The road to town don’t carry much breath after sundown. Shutters drawn, porch lights dimmed, the kind of quiet that feels agreed upon. Most folks long gone to sleep or drunk enough to mistake the stars for halos. The storefronts sit heavy with silence, save for McFadden’s—one crooked bulb humming above the porch, casting shadows that don’t move unless they got to. A dog barks once, far off. Then nothing. I keep my pace even, bag pressed close to my side, shawl wrapped too tight for the heat. Sweat pools along my spine, but I don’t loosen it. A woman wrapped in fabric is less of a story than one without. Frank went to bed with a dry tongue and a bitter mouth. Said he’d wake mean if the bottle stayed empty. Called it my duty—said the word slow, like it should weigh more than me.

So I go.

Buying quiet the only way I know how. The bell above McFadden’s door rings tired when I slip inside. The air smells like dust and vinegar and old rubber soles. The clerk doesn’t look up. Just mutters a greeting and scribbles into a pad like the world don’t exist past his pencil tip. I move quick to the back, fingers brushing the necks of bottles lined up like soldiers who already lost. I grab the one that looks the least like mercy and pay without fuss. His change is greasy. I don’t count it. The bottle’s cold against my hip through the bag, sweat bleeding through cheap paper. I step out onto the porch and down the wooden steps, gravel crunching soft beneath my heels. The lamps flicker every few feet, moths stumbling in circles like they’ve forgotten what drew them here in the first place. The dark folds in tight once I leave the storefront behind. I don’t rush. Not ‘cause I feel safe. Just learned it looks worse when you do. Then—

“You keep odd hours.” His voice don’t cut—it folds. Like it belonged to the dark and just decided to speak. I stop. Not startled. Not calm either. He’s leaned just inside the alley by the post office, one boot pressed to brick, arms loose at his sides. Shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, suspenders hanging slack. His collar’s open, skin pale in the low light, like he don’t sweat the same as the rest of us. He looks like he fits here. That’s what makes it strange. Ain’t no reason a man like that should belong. But he does. Like he was built from the dirt and just stood up one day. I keep one foot planted on the sidewalk.

“You don’t give up, do you,” I say. He shifts just enough for the light to catch his mouth. Not a smile. Not quite. “You make it hard.” “You looked like you didn’t wanna be spoken to in that store,” he says, voice low and even. “So I waited out here.” The streetlamp hums above us. My grip on the bottle shifts, tighter now. “You could’ve kept walkin’.” “I was hopin’ you might,” he says.

Not hopin’ I’d stop. Not hopin’ I’d talk. Hopin’ I might.

There’s a difference. And I feel it. I glance down at the bottle. The glass slick with sweat. “Frank drinks this when he’s feelin’ good. That’s the only reason I’m out this late.” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t press. “Is that what you want?” he asks after a beat. “Frank in a good mood?” I don’t answer. I just start walking. But his voice follows, smooth as shadow. “I was married once.” I pause. Not outta interest. More like the way a dog pauses before crossing a fence line—aware. “She was kind,” he says. “Too kind. Tried to fix things that weren’t broke. Just wrong.” He says it like it’s already been said a thousand times. Like the taste of it’s worn out. I look back. He hasn’t taken a single step closer. Just stands there, hands tucked in his pockets, jaw set loose like he’s tired of carryin’ that story. “How do you always end up in my path?” I ask. Not curious. Just tired of not sayin’ it. He lifts a shoulder, lazy. “Some people chase fate. Some just stand where it’s bound to pass.”

I snort, soft. “Sounds like somethin’ you read in a cheap novel.”

“Maybe,” he says, eyes flicking toward mine, “but some lies got a little truth buried in ‘em.” The quiet after settles deep. Not awkward. Not empty. Just close. “You shouldn’t be waitin’ on me,” I say, voice rougher now. “Ain’t nothin’ here worth the trouble.” He studies me. Not like a man tryin’ to see a woman. More like he’s lookin’ through fog, tryin’ to remember a place he used to live in. “I’ve had worse things,” he murmurs. “Worse things that never made me feel half as alive.” For a breath, the light catches his eyes. Not wrong. Not glowing. Just sharp. Like flint about to spark. Then he tips his head. “Goodnight, Y/N.” Soft. Like a promise. And just like always, he disappears without hurry. Without sound. Back into the dark like it opened for him. And maybe, just maybe, I hate how much I already expect it to do the same tomorrow.

The next day dawns heavy, the sun a reluctant guest peeking through gray clouds. I find myself trapped in that same tired rhythm, the kind of day that stretches before me like an old road—the kind you know too well to feel any excitement for. Frank’s got work today, though I can’t say I’m sure what he’ll be cursing by sundown.

As I move around the kitchen, pouring coffee and buttering bread, the silence feels thicker than usual. It clings to me, wraps around my thoughts like a vine, and I can’t shake the feeling that something's shifted. Maybe it’s just the weight of waiting for Remmick to show again, or maybe it’s that quiet ache gnawing at my insides—the kind that reminds you what hope felt like even if you’re scared to name it.

Frank shuffles in with those heavy boots of his, barely brushing past me as he grabs a mug without looking my way. He doesn’t say a word about the food or even acknowledge me standing there. Just pours himself another cup with a grimace. “How long’ve you been up?” he mutters, not really asking.

“Early enough,” I reply, holding back the urge to ask if he slept well.

He slams his mug down on the table hard enough for a ripple of coffee to splash over the edge. “What’s wrong with the damn biscuits?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just shoves one aside before storming out, leaving behind his bitterness hanging in the air like smoke.

I breathe deeply through my nose and keep packing his lunch—tuna salad this time; at least that’s something he won’t moan about too much. Still, every sound feels exaggerated, each scrape against porcelain echoing louder than it ought to.

Outside, I stand at the porch railing for a moment longer than necessary, feeling the sunlight warm my skin but unable to let its brightness seep into my heart. Birds are flitting from one tree branch to another—free from this heavy house—or so it seems.

I want to run after them. Escape to where everything isn’t tainted by liquor and regrets. But instead, I stay rooted in place until Frank’s truck roars down the road like some angry beast.

Once he's gone, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and pull on my shoes. A decent day to grab some much-needed groceries.

The heat wraps around me as I stroll through town—a gentle reminder that summer still holds sway despite all else changing. I walk through town, grabbing groceries on the way as I enjoy the weather. I run by grace’s store to grab some buttered pickles frank likes. The bell jingled above me as I entered the store, and grace comes from the back carrying an empty glass jar. She paused when she looked at me before smiling. “Hey gurl, haven’t seen ya in here for a while. Frank noticed he ate up all them buttered pickles? That damn animal.” I chuckled at her words as she set the glass jar down on the front counter. Grace moves behind the counter with that same easy rhythm she always has—like her bones already know where everything sits. The store smells like dust and sun-warmed glass, sweet tobacco, and something faintly metallic. Familiar.

“He Still workin’ over at the field?” she asks, pulling a new jar from beneath the counter. “Heard the boss cut hours again. Seems like everyone’s gettin’ squeezed ‘cept the ones doin’ the squeezin’.” “Yeah,” I mutter, glancing toward the shelf lined with dusty cans and glass jars. “He’s been stewin’ about it all week. Like it’s my fault time’s movin’ forward.” Grace snorts, capping the pickle jar and sliding it across the counter. “Girl, if Frank had his way, we’d all be wearin’ aprons and smilin’ through broken teeth.” I pick up the jar, running my fingers absently along the cold glass. “Some days it’s easier to pretend I’m deaf than fight him.” Grace leans forward, voice dropping low like she don’t want the pickles to hear. “You need somewhere to run, you come knock on my back door. Don’t matter what time.” That almost cracks me. Not enough to cry, but enough to blink slow and hold the jar tighter. “I appreciate it,” I say. She doesn’t press, just gives me a knowing nod and starts wrapping the jar in brown paper. “Also grabbed you a couple of those lemon drops you like,” she says with a wink. “Tell Frank the sugar’s for his sour ass.” That gets a real laugh outta me. Just a little one, but it lives in my chest longer than it should. Outside, the air’s heavy again. Thunder maybe, or just the kind of heat that makes everything feel like it’s about to break open. I tuck the paper bag under my arm and make my way down the street slow, dragging my fingers along the iron railings where ivy used to grow. Everything’s changing. And I don’t know if I’m running from it, or toward it. But I walk a little slower past the edge of town. Past the grove of trees that hum low when the wind slips through them. And I wonder—not for the first time—if he’ll be waiting there. And if he ain’t, why I keep hoping he will.

——

I don't light a lamp when I slip out the back door.

The house creaks behind me, drunk with silence and sour breath. Frank's dead asleep like always, belly full of cheap whiskey and whatever anger he couldn't throw at me before sleep took him.

The air outside ain't much cooler, but it's cleaner. Clear. Smells like pine and soil and something just beginning to bloom.

I walk slow. Like I'm just stretching my legs.

Like I'm not wearing the dress with the small blue flowers I ain't touched in over a year.

Like I'm not heading down the narrow path through the tall grass, the one that don't lead nowhere useful unless you're hoping to see someone who don't belong anywhere at all.

The night hums soft. Cicadas. Distant frogs. The kind of stillness that makes you feel like you've stepped into a dream—or out of one.

I settle on the old stump by the split rail, hands folded, back straight, pretending I ain't waiting.

He doesn't keep me waiting long.

"Always sittin’ this straight when relaxin'?"

His voice folds in gentle behind me. Amused. Unbothered.

I don't turn right away. Just glance sideways like I hadn't noticed him there.

"Wasn't expectin' company," I say.

He steps into view, lazy as twilight, hands in his pockets, shirt sleeves rolled and collar loose. Looks like the evening shaped itself just to dress him in it.

"No," he says. "But you brought that perfume out again. Figured that was the invitation."

I shift on the stump, eyes narrowed. "You pay a lotta attention for someone who don't plan on talkin'."

"Only to the things that matter."

He stays a little ways off, respectful of the space I haven't offered but he knows he owns just the same.

"You just out here wanderin' again?" I ask, trying not to sound like I care.

"Nah," he says, grinning a little. "I came out to see if that tree finally bloomed. The one you like to lean on when you think no one's watchin'."

I feel heat crawl up my neck. I smooth my skirt like that'll hide it.

"You always this nosy?"

He shrugs. "Just got good aim."

I shake my head, but I don't tell him to leave. Don't even ask why he's here.

'Cause I know.

And he knows I know.

He moves slow toward me and sits—not close enough to touch, but close enough I can feel it if I lean a little.

We sit in it a while. That hush. That weightless kind of silence that feels full instead of empty.

Then, out of nowhere, he says, "You laugh different at the juke joint than you do anywhere else."

I blink. "What?"

He doesn't look at me. Just watches the dark ahead, like he's reading the night for meaning.

"It's looser," he says. "Like your ribs don't hurt when you do it."

I don't answer. Can't. I ignored the question rising in my head about how he knows what’s goes on in the juke joint when I’ve never seen him in there or heard his name on peoples' lips there.

But somehow, he's right, and I hate that he knows that. Hate more that I like that he noticed.

"You got a way of sayin' too much without sayin' a damn thing," I mutter.

He huffs a laugh. "I'll take that as a compliment."

We go quiet again. But it ain't tense. It's like we're settlin' into something neither one of us has had in too long.

Eventually, I say, "Frank don' like it when I'm gon’ too long."

"You wan’ me to walk you back?" he asks, like it's the easiest offer in the world.

"No," I say, but it comes out too soft. "Not yet."

He nods once. Doesn't press. Just leans back on one elbow, eyes half-lidded like the night's pullin' him under same as me or so I thought.

"You got stories?" I ask.

He raises a brow. "You askin' me to talk?"

"Don't make a big thing outta it."

He grins slow. "Alright then."

And he does. Tells me some nonsense about stealing peaches off a preacher's tree when he was too young to know better, how he and his cousin swore the preacher had the Devil chained under his porch to guard it. His voice wraps around the words easy, like molasses and wind. Whether it was true or not, I don’t seem to care at the moment.

I don't laugh out loud, but my smile finds its way out anyway.

When he glances at me, I see it in his eyes—that same look from the last time. Not hunger. Not charm.

Something gentler. Something like… understanding.

And for the first time, I let it happen.

Let myself enjoy him.

Not as a ghost. Not as a threat.

Just as a man sitting in the dark with me.

——

I've been lookin' forward to the night often these days, not because of him, of course… The night breathes warm against my skin. I'm on the porch, knees drawn up, pickin' absently at blades of grass growin' between the cracked boards like they're trespassin' and don't know it. I pluck them one by one, not really thinkin', not really waitin'—but not exactly doin' anything else either. I'm wearing the baby blue dress, The one with the lace at the collar, mended too many times to count but still hangin' right. I don't light the porch lamp. The dark feels easier to sit in. And then I hear him. Not footsteps. Not a branch snapping. Just… the way quiet shifts when something enters it. He steps from the tree line, slow like he don't want to spook the night. This time, he's carryin' something. A small bundle of wildflowers—purple ironweed, white clover, queen anne's lace—loosely knotted with a bit of twine. He stops at the porch steps and looks at me. Then, without a word, he sets the flowers down between us and lowers himself to sit at the edge of the stoop. Close. Not too close.

"I didn't bring 'em for a reason," he says after a while. "Just passed 'em and thought of you." My fingers drift toward the flowers, not quite touchin' them, but close enough to feel the velvet edge of a petal against my skin. The warmth of his nearness makes my breath catch somewhere between my throat and chest. "They're weeds," I murmur, though the word comes out gentle, almost like a caress. "They're what grows without bein' asked," he replies, and the corner of his mouth lifts in that way that makes my stomach drop like I'm fallin'. That quiet comes back. But it's a different kind now. Softer. Like the world's hushin' itself to hear what we might say next. I look at him then. Really look. Not at his mouth or his clothes ,that easy lean of his shoulders or those pouty eyebrows —but his hands. They're calloused, dirt beneath the nails. Not soft like the rest of him sometimes pretends to be. My fingers twitch with the sudden, foolish urge to trace those rough lines, to learn their map.

"You work?" I ask, the question slippin' out before I can catch it, betrayin' a curiosity I wasn't ready to admit. "I do what needs doin'." The words rumble low in his chest. "That's not an answer." I tilt my head, and the night air kisses the exposed curve of my neck. He turns his head, slow. "That's 'cause you ain't ready for the truth." The words wash over me like Mississippi heat—dangerous, thrillin'. My lips part, but no sound comes out. I go back to pickin' the grass, my fingertips brushin' wildflower stems now instead of weeds. Each touch feels deliberate in a way that makes my pulse flutter at my wrist, at my throat. He doesn't push. Doesn't move. Just sits with me 'til the moon's hangin' heavy over the trees, his presence beside me more intoxicatin' than any whiskey from Smoke's bar. The space between us hums with possibilities—with all the things we ain't sayin'. When he leaves, I don't stop him but my body leans forward like it's got its own will, wantin' to follow the trail of his shadow into the dark. But I take the flowers inside. Put 'em in the jelly jar Frank left on the windowsill.

——

The wildflowers sit in that jelly jar like they belong there—like they’ve always belonged. Their colors are faded but stubborn, standing tall in the quiet corner of the kitchen, drinking in the slant of light that filters through the window. I find myself glancing at them too often, like they might tell me something I don’t already know. I tell myself not to read into it, not to hope. But hope’s a quiet thing, and it’s been whispering to me since I first set foot in this place. By dusk, I’m already outside, wrapped in the blanket I keep tucked in the closet, knees drawn up tight. The dusty brown dress I wear is softer with wear, almost like a second skin. I clutch the two tin cups—corn liquor, waiting in the dark, like a held breath. It’s a ritual I don’t question anymore. He comes out the trees just after the steam from the day’s heat begins to fade, silent as always. No rustle of leaves, no announcement. Just that subtle shift in the hush, like the woods are holding their breath. I see him leaning on the porch post, eyes flickering to the cup beside me, like it’s calling him home. “Always know when to show up,” I say, voice low but steady, trying to sound like I don’t care if he’s late or not. Like I’m used to waiting. He tosses back, smooth as dusk, “Always pour for two?” I can’t help the smile that sneaks up—soft and slow. “Only for good company.” He steps closer, slower tonight, like he’s weighing each movement. Sits beside me, leaving just enough space between us for the night air to stretch its arms. I hold out the second cup, the one I poured just for him.

He wraps his fingers around it but doesn’t lift it. Doesn’t bring it to his lips. “Don’t drink?” I ask, voice gentle but curious, like I might catch a lie if I ask too loud. His thumb taps the rim, slow and deliberate. “Used to,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “Too much, maybe. Doesn’t sit right with me these days.” I nod, like that makes sense. Maybe it does. Maybe I don’t want to look too close at the parts that don’t fit. The parts that hurt, that choke down the hope I’m trying to keep buried. Instead, I take a sip, letting the liquor burn a warm trail down my throat. It’s a small comfort, a fleeting warmth. I watch the dark swallow the road that disappears into nothingness, and I say, “Used to think I’d leave this place. Run off somewhere—Memphis, maybe. Open a little store. Serve pies and good coffee. Wear shoes that click when I walk.”

He hums, low and distant, like a train far away. “What stopped you?” My gaze drops to my hand, to the dull gold band that’s thin and worn. I trace the edge with my thumb, feeling the cold metal. “This,” I say. “And maybe I didn’t think I deserved more.” He doesn’t say sorry. Doesn’t say I do. Just looks at me like he’s already seen the ending, like he’s read the last page and ain’t gonna spoil it.

“I worked an orchard once,” he says softly, voice almost lost in the night. “Peaches big as your fist. Skin like velvet. The kind of place that smells like August even in February.” “Sounds made up,” I murmur, feeling the weight of the quiet between us. He leans in closer, eyes steady. “So do dreams. Don’t mean they ain’t real.” A laugh escapes me—sharp and surprised, like I’ve been caught off guard. I slap at his arm before I can think better of it. “You talk like a man who’s read too many books.” “I talk like a man who listens,” he says, quiet but sure. That hush falls again, but it’s different this time—full, like the moment just before a kiss that never quite happens. I feel it—the space between us thickening, heavy with unspoken words and things I can’t say out loud.

— Days passed, he shows up again, bringing blackberries wrapped in a white cloth, stained deep purple-blue. The scent hits me before I see them—sweet, wild, tempting. “Bribery?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, trying to hide the way my heart quickens. “A peace offering,” he replies, with that quiet smile. “In case the last story bored you.” I reach in without asking, pop a berry into my mouth. Juicy and sharp, bursting with sweetness that makes me forget everything else—forgot the weight of my ring, forgot the man inside my house, forgot the world outside this moment. He watches me, a softness behind his eyes I don’t trust but can’t look away from. I hand him the other cup again. He takes it, polite as always, but doesn’t sip. We settle into stories—nothing big, just small things. The town’s latest gossip, a cow wandering into the churchyard last Sunday, the way summer makes the woods smell like wild mint if you walk far enough in. I tell him things I didn’t know I remembered—about my mama’s hands, about the time I got stung trying to kiss a bumblebee, about the blue ribbon pie I made for the fair when I was fifteen, thinking winning meant freedom. He listens like it matters, like these stories are something he’s been waiting to hear. And for the first time in a long while, I laugh with my whole mouth, not caring who hears or what they think. The sound spills out, unfiltered and free, filling the night with something real. I forget the ring on my finger. Forget the man inside the house. Forget everything but this—the night, the berries, and him. The man who doesn’t drink but still knows how to make me feel full.

——

The jelly jar’s gone cloudy from dust and sunlight, but the wildflowers still stand like they’re stubborn enough to outlast the world. A few petals have fallen on the sill, curled and dry, and I haven’t moved them. Let ’em stay. They feel like proof—proof that life’s still fighting, even when everything else is fading. A week’s passed. Seven nights of quiet—hushed conversations I kept to myself, shoulders pressed close under a sky that don’t judge, don’t say a word. Seven nights where my bruises softened in bloom and bloom again, where Frank came home drunk and left early, angry—always angry. Not once did I go to the juke joint—not because I wasn’t welcome, but because I didn’t want to miss a single echo from the woods, a single step that might carry me out.

Remmick never knocks. Never calls out. He just appears—like something old and patient, shaped out of shadow and moonlight, settling beside me without question. Sometimes he brings nothing, and I wonder if he’s even real. Other nights, it’s blackberries, or a story, or just silence, and I let it fill the space between us. And I do. God, I do. I tell him things I never even told Frank. About how I used to pretend the porch was a stage, singin’ blues into a wooden spoon. How my mama braided my hair so tight it made my scalp sting, said pain was the price of lookin’ kept. How I almost ran—bags packed, bus ticket clenched tight—then sat on the curb ‘til dawn, too scared to move, then crawled back inside like a coward. He never judges. Never interrupts. Just watches me, like I’m music he’s heard a thousand times, trying to memorize the lyrics. Tonight, I don’t wait on the porch.

I’m already walkin’. The night’s thick and heavy, like the land’s holdin’ its breath. I slip through the back gate, shawl loose around my shoulders, dress flutterin’ just above my knees. The clearing’s ahead—the path I’ve grown used to walking. He’s already there. Leaning against a tree, like he belongs to it. His white shirt glows faint under the moon, suspenders hanging loose, like he forgot to do up the buttons. There’s a crease between his brows that smooths when he sees me—like he’s been waitin’ for me to come, even if he don’t say it. “You’re early,” he says, low. “I couldn’t sit still,” I whisper back, voice soft but steady. His eyes trace me—like he’s drawing a map he’s known a thousand times but still finds new roads. I step toward him slow, the grass cool beneath my feet, and when I’m close enough to feel the pull of him, I stop. “I been thinkin’,” I say, real quiet. “Dangerous thing,” he murmurs, lips twitching just enough to make my heart kick.

“I ain’t been to the joint all week,” I continue, voice thick as summer air. “Ain’t danced. Ain’t played. Ain’t needed to.” He waits—patient, silent. Like always. “I’d rather be here,” I whisper, and something inside me cracks open. “With you.” The silence that follows ain’t cold. It’s heavy—warm, even. Like a breath held tight in the chest before a storm breaks loose, like the whole earth hums with what’s coming. “I know,” he says. Just that. Two words that make me feel seen and bare and weightless all at once. I don’t think. I just move. Step into him, hands pressed to the buttons of his shirt. My eyes stay fixed on his mouth, not lookin’ anywhere else. And when he doesn’t pull back—when he leans just enough to meet me—I kiss him. It starts soft. Lips barely grazin’, testing, waiting for something to happen. But then he exhales—like he’s been holdin’ somethin’ in for a century—and the second kiss isn’t soft anymore. It’s heat. It’s need. My fingers clutch his shirt like I’m drownin’, and he’s oxygen. His hands find my waist, firm but gentle, like he’s afraid of breakin’ me even as he pulls me closer. I swear the whole forest leans in to watch, silent and still.

He don’t push. Don’t take more than I give. But what I give? It’s everything.

He don’t say nothin’ when I pull back. Just watches me, tongue slow across his bottom lip, like he’s already tasted me in a dream. “C’mere,” he says low, voice rough as gravel soaked in honey. “You smell sweet as sin.” I step into him again without thinkin’, heart rattlin’ around like it’s tryin’ to climb outta my chest. His palm presses to the back of my neck, warm and heavy, pulling me into a kiss that don’t feel like a kiss. It’s a deal, made in shadows, older than us all—something that’s been waitin’ to happen. The second our mouths meet, he moans deep in his chest—like he’s relieved, like he’s been holdin’ back for years. Then he spins me—fast—hands already under my dress. “Ain’t no point bein’ shy now, baby. Not after all them nights sittin’ close, like you wasn’t drippin’ for me.” My knees almost buckle. He bends me over a log, and I don’t resist. I can’t. My hands grip the bark tight, dress shoved up, panties dragged down with a yank that’s impatient and sure. I hear him spit into his palm. Hear the slick sound of him strokin’ himself once, twice. Then he sinks into me—slow, too slow—like he’s memorizing every inch, every breath I take. My mouth opens, no words, just a gasp that’s all I can manage. “Goddamn,” he mutters behind me. “Look at you takin’ me. Tight like you was built for it.” He starts movin’, deep and filthy, grindin’ into me with purpose. I arch back into it, already lost in the feel of him. And then I see it. His face—just behind my shoulder. His jaw clenched tight. His pupils blown wide—no, glowing. A flicker of red embers in each eye, like fire trapped inside. I blink, and it’s gone. I tell myself it’s the moonlight, the heat, how mushy my brain is from what he’s doin’, like he owns me. He don’t give me a second to think. “Feel that?” he growls. “Feel how your pussy’s huggin’ my cock like she knows me?” I whimper—pathetic, high-pitched—but I can’t stop it. “Remmick—fuck—” He yanks my hair, just enough, til I tilt my head back. “You was waitin’ for this,” he says, voice low and rough. “I seen it. Seen the way you look at me like I’m the last bad thing you’ll ever let hurt you.” Leaning into my neck, lips brushing skin, breath cold now—too cold. “But I ain’t gone hurt you, darlin.’ I’m gone ruin you.” He bites—just a little, not sharp—enough to make me gasp, my whole body tensing on him. He laughs—soft, wicked. “Oh yeah,” he says, rutting harder. “You gone come for me like this. Face in the moss, legs shakin’. All these pretty little sounds spillin’ out your mouth like you need it.” I can barely keep up. Dizziness hits hard, slick runnin’ down my thighs, his cock hittin’ that spot over and over. “Say you’re mine,” he growls, hips slammin’ in so deep I cry out. “I’m yours—fuck—I’m yours, Remmick—” His voice drops—dark, velvet, dirtied—like he’s talkin’ from a place even he don’t fully understand. “Good girl,” he mutters. “Ain’t nobody gone fuck you like me. Ain’t nobody got the hunger I do.” And I feel his hand—big and rough—wrap around my throat from behind, just enough to remind me he’s still in control. Then he starts pumpin’ into me—fast, mean, nasty. My back arches. My moans break into sobs. “You gone give it to me?” he pants, barely human anymore. “Come all over this cock?” I want to answer. I try. But I can’t—my body’s already gone, trembling on the edge of something wild and white and all-consuming. And the second I come—everything breaks loose. He buries himself deep and roars—low and wrong, not a man’s sound at all. I feel him twitch, feel the flood of heat spill inside me, and his face presses into my neck, mouth open like he’s fightin’ the urge to bite down.

But he doesn’t. He just stays there. Still. Breathin’ like he ain’t breathed in years. ——

The morning creeps in slow, afraid to wake me, like it knows I’ve crossed a line I can’t come back from. I roll over, the sheet sticky against my skin, last night’s heat still clingin’. For a second—just a second—I forget where I am. Forget the weight of the house, the stale scent of bourbon and sweat baked into the walls. All I feel is the ghost of him—Remmick—still there in the ache between my thighs, in the buzz that lingers low in my belly. Remembered the way remmick carried me back to my porch and kissed me goodnight before walking away becoming one with the night. My fingers drift without thought, pressing just above my hip where a dull throb pulses. I wince, then pull the blanket back. And there it is. A dark, new bruise—shaped like a handprint—only it ain’t right. Too long. The fingers are too slim, curved strange, like something trying too hard to be human. My breath catches. I press again—harder this time—hoping pain might wash the shape away, or that pressure might flatten whatever’s twisted inside me.

But it doesn’t.

So I pull the blanket up, wrap it tight around me, and lie still, staring at the ceiling—waiting for some sign, some answer, some permission to feel what I shouldn’t. Because the truth is—I should be scared. I should be askin’ questions. Should be second-guessin’ everything last night meant.

But I’m not.

Instead, I replay how he looked at me—how his hands, too warm, too sure, moved like they’d known my body in another life. How he said my name like it was already his. I press my legs together under the sheet, close my eyes, and breathe deep. A girl gets used to silence. Gets used to fear. But nobody warns you how dangerous it is to be wanted that way. Touched like you’re somethin’ rare. Somethin’ sacred. Somethin’ wanted.

And I—I liked it. More than that—I craved it now. Even with the bruises. Even with the shadows twisting in my gut. Even with the memory of those eyes—burnin’ too bright in the dark. Don’t know if it’s love. But it sure as hell felt like it.

——

I move slow through the kitchen that morning, feet bare against cool linoleum. The coffee’s already gone bitter in the pot. Frank’s still in bed, his snores rasping through the cracked door like dull saw blades. I lean against the sink, sip from a chipped mug, and glance out the window. The jelly jar’s still there. Wildflowers wiltin’ now, but proud in their dying. I touch the bruise again through my dress. And I smile. Just a little. Because maybe something ain’t quite right. But for the first time in a long while—I’m happy, or well I thought…

——

The nights kept rollin’ like they belonged to us. Me and Remmick, sittin’ under stars that blinked like they was tryin’ to stay quiet. Sometimes we talked a lot. Sometimes we didn’t too much. But even the silence with him had weight, like it was filled with words we weren’t ready to say yet.

I’d tell him stories from before Frank, when my laughter hadn’t yet learned to flinch. He’d listen with that look he had—chin dipped low, eyes tilted up, mouth soft like he was drinkin’ me in, slow. He never interrupted. Never tried to solve anything. Just sat with it all. That kind of listenin’ can make a woman feel holy.

And I guess I got used to that rhythm. I got too used to it.

Because on the twelfth night, maybe the thirteenth—don’t really matter—he said something that pulled the thread straight from the hem. We were sittin’ close again. My shawl slippin’ off one shoulder, the moonlight makin’ silver out of the bruises on my thigh. He had that look on him again, like he wanted to ask somethin’ he’d already decided to regret. “You know Sammie?” he asked, real casual. Like it was just another name. I blinked. The name hit strange. “Sammie who?” He shrugged like he didn’t know the last name. “That boy. Plays that guitar like it talks back. You said he played with Pearline sometimes.” I sat up straighter.

I never said that.

I’d never mentioned Sammie at all. I swallowed. My smile faded before I could think to save it. “I don’t remember bringin’ up Sammie.” The pause that followed was heavy. And not in the good way. Remmick shifted beside me, slow. His jaw ticked once. “You sure?” I nodded, eyes never leaving him. “I’d remember talkin’ ‘bout Sammie.” He looked out at the trees, the edge of his mouth tight. “Huh.” And just like that, the air changed. It got thinner. Like breath didn’t want to come easy no more. I pulled the shawl closer. Suddenly real aware of the fact that I didn’t know where he slept. Didn’t know if he ever blinked when I wasn’t lookin’. “You alright?” he asked, too quick. “You askin’ me that, or yourself?” He turned to me then—real sharp. Real focused. “Why you gettin’ quiet?”

I didn’t answer. Not right away.

“Just surprised, is all,” I finally said, trying to smooth it over like I hadn’t just tripped on somethin’ sharp in his words. “Didn’t think you knew anybody round here.” “I don’t,” he said, fast. “You’re the only one I talk to.” “Then how you know Sammie plays guitar? I’ve never seen you at the juke joint nor heard word about you from anyone there.” His stare was too still now. Too fixed. Like a dog watchin’ a rabbit it ain’t sure it’s allowed to chase. “Maybe I heard it through the wind,” he said, not responding to the other part. But there was no smile behind it. Just the shadow of a man used to bein’ questioned. A man who didn’t like the feel of it. I stood, brushing grass off my legs. “I should head in.” He stood too, slower. Taller than I remembered. Or maybe the night just made him bigger.

“You mad at me?” he asked, quiet now. “No,” I said. “Just thinkin’. That alright with you?” He nodded. But it didn’t look like agreement. It looked like calculation. I didn’t turn my back on him till I hit the porch. And even then, I felt his eyes stick to my spine like syrup. Inside, I sat by the window, hands still wrapped around the cup I didn’t finish. The wildflowers were dry now. Curlin’ in on themselves. And I thought to myself—real quiet, so it wouldn’t wake the rest of me: How the hell did he know Sammie and what business he wan’ with him?

——— The days slipped back into that gray stretch of sameness after I started avoidin’ him. I filled my hours with chores, with silence, with tryin’ to forget the way Remmick used to sit so still beside me you’d think the night made room for him. But the nights weren’t mine anymore. I stopped goin’ to the porch. Stopped lingerin’ in the dark. The quiet didn’t soothe me—it stalked me. I felt it behind me on the walk home. At the edge of the trees. In the walls. I knew he was there.

Watchin’. Waitin’.

But I didn’t let him in again. Not even with my thoughts. That night, the juke joint buzzed with life. Hot bodies pressed close, laughter thick with drink, music ridin’ high on the air. I hadn’t been back in weeks, but I needed noise. Needed people. Needed not to feel alone. I sipped liquor like it might drown the nerves rattlin’ under my ribs. Played cards with a few men, some women. Slammed down a queen and grinned as I scooped the pot. That’s when Annie approached me.

“Y/N,” she whispered, voice tight. I looked up. “Frank’s here.” The name hit like a slap. I blinked. “What?” “He’s outside. Ask’n for you.” Annie’s face was pale, serious. Not the usual mischief in her eyes—just worry. I rose slow. “He’s never come here before.” Annie just nodded. We moved together, my heart poundin’. Smoke, Stack, and Cornbread were already standin’ at the open door, muscles tense, words clipped and low. When Frank saw me, he smiled. That wide, too-big smile I’d never seen on him. Not even on our wedding day. “Hey baby,” he drawled, too casual. “Wonderin’ when you’d come out here and let me in. These folks actin’ like I done somethin’ wrong.”

My stomach dropped. He never called me baby.

“Frank, why’re you here?” My voice was calm, but confusion lined every word. He laughed—soft, amused. “Can’t a man come see his wife? Thought maybe I’d finally check out what keeps you out so late.” Something was off. Everything was off. “You hate loud music,” I said, heart poundin’. “You said this place was full of nothin’ but whores and heathens.” He looked… wrong. Eyes too glassy. Skin too pale under the porch light. “Can’t we all change?” he said, teeth flashin’. “Now can I come in and enjoy my night like you folks?”

I looked at Smoke. He gave me that look—the one that said “you don’t gotta say yes.” But I opened my mouth anyway. Paused. Frank’s smile dropped just a little. “Y/N,” he said, his voice darker now. Familiar in its danger. “Can I come in or not?” My hand flew up before Stack could step forward. I swallowed hard.

“Come in, Frank.”

The words fell like stones. And just like that, the door to hell opened. The moment he crossed that threshold, the temperature dropped. I swear it did.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t drink. Just sat at the bar, stiff and still, like a wolf wearin’ man’s skin. Annie leaned into Smoke’s shoulder. “Somethin’ ain’t right,” she muttered. Mary nodded, arms folded. “He looks hollow.” Thirty minutes passed. Then Frank stood. Didn’t say a word. Just turned and walked into the crowd like a man on a mission. Headin’ straight for the stage.

Straight for Sammie.

Smoke pushed off the wall, followin’ fast. But before anyone could act, Frank lunged—grabbed a man near the front and tackled him to the floor. Screamin’ erupted as Frank sank his teeth into the man’s neck. Bit down. Tore. Blood sprayed across the floorboards, across people’s shoes. The scream that left my throat didn’t sound like mine. Smoke pulled his pistol and fired. The sound cracked through the joint like lightning. The man jerked, then stilled. Frank’s body fell limp over him, gore soakin’ his shirt. Then suddenly Frank stood back up like he wasn’t just shot in the head, the man he bitten standing up besides him the same eerie smile on both their blood stained mouths.

I stood frozen in place.

People screamed, chairs overturned, glass shattered. Stack wrestled another body that started lurchin’ with glowing -white eyes. Mary grabbed Pearline, draggin’ her through the back exit. Annie grabbed me. “Y/N—we gotta GO!” We burst through the back, runnin’. I took the lead, feet slammin’ down the path I used to walk like a lullaby. Not now. Not anymore. Now it felt like runnin’ through a grave. Behind me, I heard chaos—growls, screams, more gunshots. I looked back once. Bodies jumpin’ on each other, teeth sinkin’ into flesh. All Their eyes— White. Glowing like candle flames in a dead house. Annie was right behind me.

Then she wasn’t.

I turned. They were all gone. Sammie. Pearline. Mary. Annie. Gone.

I kept runnin’. The clearing opened up like a mouth, and I stumbled into it, chest heaving. And that’s when I saw him. Same silhouette. Same calm. But he wasn’t the man I knew. Remmick stood just beyond the tree line, Same shirt. Same pants. But now soaked through with blood. But his face— That smile wasn’t his smile. Those eyes weren’t human. Red. Glowing like coals. Just like I thought I saw that night I gave him everything. I froze. My legs locked. My throat closed up. Remmick tilted his head, playful. Mocking.

“Oh darlin’,” he cooed, stepping forward, arms out like a man offerin’ salvation. “Where you think you runnin’ off to? You’re gonna miss the party.” I stumbled back, tears burnin’ in my eyes. “What are you?” He stepped forward, arms open like he meant to cradle me, like he hadn’t just let blood dry on his chest. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, like it was me betrayin’ him. “You knew. Somewhere in that smart little head of yours, you knew. The eyes, the voice, the way I don’t come out durin’ daytime—”

“You lied,” I whispered. “Only when I needed too,” he said. I shook my head. “I thought you loved me.” Remmick stopped, cocking his head. Everything soft in him was gone. Only sharp edges now. “You thought it was love?” he asked, teeth glintin’ between blood. “You thought I wanted you?” I flinched.

“All I needed was a way in. You—” he stepped closer, “—were just a door. But you kept it shut. Had to break you open. Took longer than I liked.” “I trusted you,” I said, voice crumblin’. “And you broke so pretty,” he said. “I almost didn’t wanna finish the job. But then you ran. Made it… inconvenient.” He hissed softly, a grin curling up like a scar.

“I didn’t want you, Y/N. I wanted Sammie. That boy’s voice carries somethin’ old in it. Ancient. And that joint?” He gestured back toward the chaos. “It’s sacred ground.” “You used me,” I whispered, tears burnin’ now. “I let you in. I trusted you.”

“You believed me,” he corrected. “And that’s all I ever needed.” My breath caught somewhere between my ribs and spine, all my blood screamin’ for me to run. But I couldn’t move—just stared at Remmick, my chest heavy with grief, with betrayal, with rage. He tilted his head again, eyes burning like iron pulled from a forge. “I didn’t want you,” he said again, voice soft as a lullaby. “I wanted the key. And girl, you were it.”

My throat worked around a sob. My legs, finally rememberin’ they was mine, shifted. I turned to bolt— And stopped.

There they stood.

A wall of them.

Faces I knew too well. Cornbread. Mary. Stack. Even Annie—lips pulled in a wide, wrong smile. Their skin was pale, waxy. Their eyes—oh God, their eyes—glowin’ white like candles lit from the inside. They didn’t speak at first. Just smiled. Stared.

And then—slow and soft—they started to hum. That same song Sammie used to play on slow nights. The one that never had words, just a melody made of aching and memory. But now it had words. And they all sang ‘em. “Sleep, little darlin’, the dark’s gone sweet, The blood runs warm, the circle’s complete, its freedom you seek…”

I backed away, breath shiverin’ in and out of my lungs. The chorus kept swellin’. Their voices overlappin’, mouths stretchin’ too wide, white eyes never blinkin’. Like they weren’t people anymore. Just shells. Just echoes.

I turned back to Remmick— And he was right in front of me. So close I could see the dried blood on his collar, the gleam of teeth too long to belong in any man’s mouth. He lifted his hand—calm, steady. Like he was invitin’ me to dance. “Come on, Y/N,” he whispered, smile almost tender now. “Ain’t you tired of runnin’?” I didn’t know if I was breathin’. Didn’t know if I wanted to be. Everything hurt. Everything I’d carried—love, hope, grief, rage—it all sat in my mouth like copper.

I looked at his hand again. And maybe, for just a moment, I thought about takin’ it. But maybe I didn’t. Maybe I turned and ran straight into the woods. Maybe I screamed. Maybe I smiled. Maybe I never left that clearin’. Maybe I did. Maybe the darkness that took over me, was just my eyes closed wishing to wake from this nightmare.

[bunnis-monsters]

Different monsters reactions to your period

warning: lots of period sex, pussy eating, and blood. You have been warned!

A/N: I’m on my period and wanted to write something horny and comforting…

Werecreatures/hybrids are already going insane when you ovulate, but once you start bleeding they can’t resist properly mounting and mating you. You’re their sweet mate, and they both want to breed you and help with the pain by fucking you and eating you out until you’re too tired to think.

Vampires of course are immediately drawn to your pussy, the smell of your blood making them drool. Some are pushing your panties to the side the second you start your period, knowing before you do. They become attached to your pussy, and possibly save some of your blood for later once they’ve had their fill. They especially love to save your cum that’s mixed with period blood, finding the taste exquisite.

Mermen get extremely protective during this time, afraid you’ll attract some underwater predator that thinks you’re easy prey becuase you’re bleeding. They’ll get horny, but are more focused on protecting than procreating. They will slip into you and sing to you as they fill you will cum, though!

Androids are immediately worried, fussing over you as they scan your body to check your health status. They give you medicine, keep you in bed, and fuck their fingers into you to help soothe your bloody cunt. They sink their synthetic cock into you, claiming it’s to help with your pain, but really they just want to fuck that pretty pussy of yours and hear you mewl like never before.

Nagas stay coiled around you, struggling to understand your strange body and why they feel so horny and protective over you during this time. It makes them anxious, and they’re extra clingy as you keep their cock warm. They’re strangely fascinated by the way blood oozes from your pussy while they bounce you lightly, and definitely end up tasting it. They get addicted to it, now you have a needy, pussy drunk naga on your hands. At least it makes you feel better to cum while you’re cramping…

Incubi/demons of course become sex crazed, and you don’t get much rest while they’re keeping you pinned down. Your pussy is always puffy and abused during this time, and they lick up every last drop of your blood, seeing it as a sign that you’re healthy and ready to make love and produce offspring. After your period they become the clingiest, most doting partners ever and feel kind of bad that they went insane while you were menstruating.

[wingedfuncomputer]

The Outskirs of Town

Remmick x fem!reader

Summary: Living far from town with a father who treats you more like a maid instead of a daughter proves itself exhausting. Secluded like a bird in a cage, a boring cycle life becomes until a random man shows up one night striking up an innocent deal. In name of your chicken coop you accept letting him in. Though as time passes & whispers of violence roughing a sweet couple up around town has you rethinking this weird relationship you have created with the Irish stranger who seemed to come out of thin air.

WarningsNSFW: slow-burnish, naive!reader, if you squint fluff, racist undertones, racism, reader has a mean father, manipulative! Remmick, blood, dub-con, fingering, oral (fem!receiving), corruption kink?, somnophilia, No actual P in V, violence, vampirism, death!, nightmares, injury!, biting, Angst, spit, !reader is not black due to family dynamic

Word count: 14.6k Fic playlist!

From a far his eyes locked on her. Right as the sun set tending the little chickens, ushering them into the coop. Softly, she tried her hardest to close the door as if not wanting to scare them. A regular passer by wouldn't glance an eye she was a normal little thing, but not to him, not to Remmick.

It was primal how he always found himself being dragged back to her every time the sun decided to hide behind the horizon. Her sweat, her skin, her pulsing blood enticed him as if he'd known her before. She was too sweet to ravish like all those ol' people he had left a mess of before. He let himself get enveloped in the idea that his human mind,what little of it remained had.Affection. With that utterly disgusting revelation he decided to knock on her door to put an end to the feeling once and for all. Heavy, knuckles contacting the chipping paint of the wood.

You had been sweeping the floor when you heard a noise coming from the front door. A little startled you had halted confused by who would be visiting your father so late at night. Most people weren't out after sun down. "The floors ain't gon' sweep themselves keep at it girl". His gruffy voice made you grip the wooden stick tighter negating the fact it caused splinters to get stuck to your skin. It was old, long due to be thrown away but your voice was nonexistent in this house. With a small creak a hesitant humble very male voice spoke, "good afternoon... sir". You whipped your head around intrigued but found your father's body blocking the man behind the door. "State your business". He had never learnt kindness, it was a foreign thing to him. "I'm just a lowly traveler going on by, was wonderin' if you could offer some hospitality". A huff emitted from your father as the man continued. "My wife she's no longer with us.. I must find myself across the state but the sun is beating and unforgiving". Your heart ached for him, he sounded defeated. Your father surely would say mean ol' things to him and get violent. But suprisingly he laughed barking your name then orders at you, "fetch this man a cup of water". Only for a split second when he turned were you able to capture a glimpse, the man already looking directly at you. His features resembled your father's, except for his frame he looked thinner his face covered in what seemed to be a mix of dirt and sweat. You nod and quickly keep your eyes down. Whilst you grab a tin cup and fill it with water by the sink you hear the small hushing of their conversation asking where he was headed to and why. Your steps are weary making sure you don't spill the water.

"The Catholics did a number on my people kindness is hard to come by. Could you let me in don't want to bother the young lady ?" His first comment is what makes your father's demeanor change, you see it from a few feet away as his back tenses. He ignores the man's request, "Where you from boy?". Once only a few inches away you decide to lay down the cup by a piece of furniture near by. Eyes creeping behind your father's shoulders it was obvious to see the man was not a boy. There's a glint of a smirk in the strangers lips as he glances at you, "Ireland". That's when your heart drops, with poison your father spits "get your filthy Irish ass off my f*cking property". 

"I don't mean no disrespect, I'd still appreciate that water" he takes a step forward which makes your father push him. You yelp afraid they'd have a full brawl and the innocent man would end up in his grave. "You won't get nothin' here ! Leave my property". Your hands goes up to your fathers arm as you can see his anger exalted, his fist itching to make contact with the Irish man's face. "Father please..." his face full of anger weighs in on yours before shoving your hand away and instead drags you inside once more. "It's best if you learn to keep away from men like that ." He speaks as if the man wasn't there, you can't help but take a look once more offering a look of apology.

That whole night you couldn't bring yourself to sleep tossing and turning, imagining what that poor man was going through. You didn't hear about him the following day or day after that until you found yourself reluctantly putting yet another dead bird into a sack. They were being ripped to shreds, you made sure the coop was secured each night so what could be killing them? It was sundown, the night air hitting your skin in a way that made your hairs stick up. " 'coyote... or fox" your body jolts hearing someone break the silent spell in the air. Immediately letting the bag fall and taking steps back as you twist to see who the voice belonged to. "Apologies I didn't mean to scare ya". It was hard to see in the darkness but the moonlight along with your small lamp on the ground allowed you to see enough to say, "your the man from a few days ago". He was standing behind the fence that surrounded your chicken coop. "Guilty as charged" you couldn't help but laugh along with him. "I'm Remmick" he extends his hand towards you which you can only just stare at. It would've been appropriate to say your name and envelope his hand but you don't. Remmick. "My Irish hands too dirty" he murmurs to himself which makes you start to ramble in apologies insuring his heritage nothing to do with your lack of a response. " of course not It's just that, no offense sir your a- your a...." Your stuttering makes heat flood your cheeks. "A stranger?" He says it so casually no anger laced in between his words just light heartedness. You both stare at each other in an awkward pregnant pause before you find the courage to nod. Guilt weighs in your soul after reflecting "I'm truly ashamed about what happened last time... that is no way to be treated". He just smiles a little huff of air being exhaled as he leaned into the fence, "it happens more than you know darlin' nothin' personal". His deep voice grumbles nicely when he calls you by that little pet name making your stomach flutter. It must've been as clear as the night sky you weren't allowed around men often let alone other people.

Remmick seems intrigued by you growing quiet, tilting his head to the side as he quirks , "the way across the state ain't an easy one.. staying around these parts is easier. would help if I had a place to rest... ". You would offer him your home in a heartbeat but you knew how your pops wasn't fond of him, let alone yourself. He could barely tolerate you. The strangers eyes are trained on your every twitch, chest constricting and trembling hands playing with the loose fabric of your skirt. It was quite nice really it felt like you were a lil' rabbit troubled by your surroundings. Yet You were unaware that the greatest danger wasn't your father, no not your father. It was the devil himself looming over you in this instant.

He smacks his lips making you look back at him once more. His pointer finger is near his mouth faking thought, "well I might just got a deal that could work for both 'f us". Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but you still hear the poor man out. "I can help ya with the lil' chicken problem... in exchange I get a piece of shelter". His eyes nudge at the forgotten sack beneath you then trail up your frame to your face. Your teeth grind trying to thinking If he helped manage the death of these chickens father would probably lay off my back, let me go back out in town for food or what not for he farm.

"So what da ya, say? You gon' let me in?"

You still hear it even after many days of accepting. The way his finger nail clicked on the fence doors metal handle, his words not menacing or inviting just there looming behind your brain and the stillness that overtook the night. He was your secret, like a little frog you hid beneath your bed covers from your father when you were younger. Except he took cover in the coop with the chickens and he was no frog... just a man with everything he'd lost weighing on top of his shoulders. And like those slimy little animals you gave him food and water usually late at night when your father wouldn't suspect a thing, not that he cared much for your safety.

The arrangement went well the chicken massacre was over in just short of days. You were given permission to go back in town and here you found yourself in the shop owned by colored folk. Your pops would be yelling at you through the top of his lungs but he wasn't here who would scold you then? He couldn't tell the difference between the white peoples and the not so white peoples food. It was all the same. You got a few stares here and there but didn't pay much mind your eyes were encapsulated by a nice pocket watch. Not too big to cost lots of money but still a good size your sure Remmick would benefit from this for his travels. "Well well don't tell me the fine lady got a man now?" You clutch the fine piece of metal in your hands but relax once you realize it's Genevieve a worker of the shop you've grown fond of. You shake your head trying to fight the blush surging on your face, "oh no nothin' of the sort just for a friend!". Her arms cross in front of her chest giving you that look of suspicion. "That's how it starts then next thing ya' know you'll be popping those babies out like a damn industrial machine". She speaks with a reminiscent tone. She was a mother of a new born with a doting husband they didn’t have much they were all she ever needed.You can't help but stifle your giggle, the idea of being that way with the Irish man hiding in your barn seeming much too far. Not that it hadn't cross your mind you were just a woman after all and he was a handsome man. "I barely even know him, just a  few days n' countin". Her eyes widen with a smirk, "so there is someone!". You both walk towards the register that seemed to be isolated from the other part of the establishment. "He must be real handsome to be worth all this money. A real dream," she says sarcastically while she has the watch in her hand. You lay the rest of your groceries on the isle next to the register. It was pretty but out of your tax bracket maybe not your fathers but You're sure he'd notice right away on your big spending when the plentiful groceries were baren when you'd bring them back. "...your right, I'm dreamin' far too big " you let out self deprecatingly

"Aint nothin' wrong with dreamin' big, though I have to admit this gift is more of a husband typa gift. Unless... he be your husband?". "No...". She can see you grow a bit ashamed so she puts the watch back in a secure place before she brings out a straw cowboy hat. "You don't see these round here much, but very good for hard workin' men. Keep the sun out their face n' everythin'. Less than the watch... I'll even give ya a deal". If Remmick was traveling by foot your sure the sun would be unforgiving, could be easier to disguise the buy for yourself. Pops wouldn't bat an eye. "You make a good bargain I can't resist Genevieve".  Well most bargains you fell victim to. As you pay for your  things she puts the food in your home bag and places the hat a bit too big for your size on your head, flicking the edge. "Now go tell your man he'll have to make you a wife after this gift" you both laugh as you start walking away until her voice calls out to you right as your a few inches from the door. Turning around she gives you a tight hug which you try your best to return, "stay safe alright people goin' missing round here don't be one of 'em".

Her voice was soft and dripping with concern you thought about her warning as you walked back home. Still an hour or two till sun down which meant your father would be home soon. So quickly you got to cookin' dinner, a potato soup with corn on the side. Not the most cohesive plate but enough to fill the stomach up. With a rumble of an engine coming to a halt you knew he was home. Not so long after dragged in your father with no words exchanged sitting down to eat, you joined him in silence. Your heart was palpating as the sun finally set, in excitement of being able to see Remmick and giving him the hat you had bought him currently tucked away in your room. "Serve me 'nother plate" gruff cut and dry. "Yes sir" you got up going to the too small to even be considered pot with his bowl serving him more. As you placed it on the table there was no gratitude so you went back to your own bowl which you ate slowly. Once he was finished he left his plate deserted going upstairs to the washroom, the trickling of water alerted you to pass by the same room he was in to grab his clothes. The cold bucket of water outside was a perfect contrast to the slight humidity in the air. You tugged the large pants and shirt against the makeshift slab of wood and metal that helped scrape the clothes new. Even with the hair tie a few pieces of hair got in front of your face which you tried your best to shoulder out of the way. Maybe one day you'd run far from these grounds and start living not just slaving away doing chores. You squish the clothes riding them of the water extending them before laying them up in the clotheslines. With a deep breath you take a chance to intake the sweet oxygen. the small sweat building up proving the job was just a bit harder than it seemed

He was watching from the darkness in the trees, the adrenaline once fresh in his veins now soothing and left nothing but a linger. It became a ritual he could never get enough of. Having kept you alive was fun. Not something that only lasted a few minutes but could be dragged on for as long as he liked. He was the reason you were standing there right now tired from your chores. Your pulse seeming to call him like some sort of siren in the ocean. His feet silent beneath the summer grass.

You pondered of what Genevieve had said earlier about the towns folk going missing. The hollowness in the air along with the hanged clothes obstructing your view of the forest surrounding your house urged you to go back inside. With a quick turn you didn't expect for Remmick to be at your side. Automatically you slapped your hands over your mouth successfully hiding your yelp. "You gotta stop doin that!" You try your best to whisper. His creeping was perfect no evidence of sounds being heard as if he were some sort of ghost, maybe a warlock with witchcraft tricks. He tries his hardest to bury his small laugh inside the depthless of his chest throwing his hands up in surrender noticing your frustration. "Ya must know I can't help myself doll". You notice the sweat buildup on his forehead and the little dirt on his face. Swiftly you take the cloth wrapped around your waist dipping it in the clean water remaining then stepped closer to him, wiping it across his skin. "I know you can't seem to keep yourself clean either" you expected him to sass back but instead he just stares adoringly at you as you finish up focusing on his sweaty bangs.  "Why would I? It'll probably be the only time you put your hands on me willingly, I'm trynna cherish it". his hand lifts up to your face caressing your cheek lightly before tucking that stray hair behind your ear. "That's not true.." your words died with his touch. His fingers on your skin make your heart skip a beat, body freeze and your throat run dry. He was being a flirt purposefully. Right? I mean he was usually this way just never so straight forward and touchy. As if knowing you were having a revelation he can't help but tilt his head and let his eyebrows raise.

"-your soup" you blurt out retracting your hand. Trying to unakwardfy the moment you clear your throat as you slowly walk away, "I'll bring you your soup, you must be real hungry n' I don't wanna make it grow colder". You don't give him enough time to respond shutting the door behind you, back pressed against the firm wood. Your hands come up to your chest, finally letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Uncertainty was growing in your head along with the small tingles that ran through your back from being do close to him .... Being able to see every pore, feel his touch his eyes and lips you'd bet he'd kissed many women in his life and you knew they had enjoyed it...how would it feel- enough! You push yourself off the door and get to pouring Remmick a bowl in a hastily manner. Your father's weight creaks under the wood floors but he pays you no mind instead goin' to sit on the small couch with his radio and newspaper in hand. The small grumbling of the static of voices was oddly comforting allowing you to carefully wrap a piece of corn on the cob around a rag. Before going outside you go upstairs to your room scouring for your knitted cardigan. It was a pretty shade of dirt brown with little specs of beige. As you slipped it on your eyes catch a glimpse of the cowboy hat you picked out for the ol' Irish man but decided against removing it from the edge of your bed. He’s just a stranger the voice in your head reminded you.

By the time you go outside once more you expect him to be waiting for you, in that same stance resting against the fence you've grown fond of but to no surprise it seemed he'd gone into the chicken coop early. You weren't sure why it made your heart weigh down on your chest. Though disappointed you don't let yourself fret, placing the bowl and corn right ontop the fence knowing he'd come out whenever possible. Maybe you should knock never know what if he just forgot. Your knuckles softly tapped on the wood not the one that belonged to the chicken coop but the fence. It wasn't to signal for him it was to merely trying to build courage for yourself to actually do so. Ultimately though you retreated back into your home.

Had he taken your abrupt leave as rejection? Was he bothered? Worse what if he no longer wanted to speak to you! Were the thoughts plaguing your mind throughout the day after. Juvenile ones you were ashamed to admit. "Tell me I'm a fool. Tell me I'm doomed please Genevieve" you whined to the woman you always came to bother. She was just a few years older but there was a certain maturity to her you loved like a mother. "Who's not when it comes to love, though I'd push back on the doomed.". "I wouldn't even say love, he's a complete stranger not even from here..". She halts the clothes she was folding completely, turning to look at you, "ya said he was your friend what do ya mean complete stranger n' not from 'round here ? ". It was stern as if the little small details you had mentioned about his appearance, sweet gestures and his "nightly visits" held no validity now. "Well he's not exactly my friend I've known for ages that's why I said stranger". But your poor excuse of a lie didn't faze her, immediately you cracked. "Alright I lied! I only know this man for a little less than 2 weeks he was just so sweet n' needed help but my papa don't like him so he's been staying in the coop where I keep all my chickens!". It was as if she was the one trying to catch her breath at your confession. "Before ya judge he's a very honorable man, he ain't do nothin' weird yet he helps keep the predators away from my small feathered friends n' I just provide him food, water ya know the basic necessities-" That's how you start telling her the whole story from start to finish of how that night when you met went down. All the nitty gritty and the pointless details.

"Oh child may the lord bless ya heart". You were unsure on how to react to her words, an akward smile hanging on your lips. "Is that meant in a good way or-?"  She cuts you off before you can finish. "What in the world ya thinking'! You must wanna visit your grave early girl". You try to scratch the nervousness away behind your neck as you dash your eyes around the store. "It's not as bad as it seems Gene I swear".  "Let me get this straight a man who came begging at your door, which your father kicked out, is now living in your barn house because he caught you late at night offered to help you protect your chickens so now your bending over backwards for him?". Even though you're afraid to you just nod. She sighs deeply, "I swear with the crimes appearin' round town I'd wish you'd be more careful". There's real sincerity in her voice which makes your tone turn a bit defensive. "I live on the outskirts news like that don't reach me so easily..". Theres a bit of silence in the air to make the gears in your head turn. "what exactly happened anyway?"

" some lady n' her husband near the outskirts aswell, don't know exactly where she lives.. or lived. No sign left of 'em  just blood n' their baby. Many said it was a Horrible horrible sight wouldn't wish it on anybody" your body can't help but let out a small tinge of sweat afraid of exactly what fate the babe had met . "So are both of 'em alive?". "No one knows.. as I said lots of blood but yet no bodies" there was a linger of thick air between the both of you, unspoken yet very heavy. "Should probably get home then, I'll keep myself safe". You both said your goodbyes and off you were right as the sun met the edge of the horizon. The walk back had been nothing but peaceful, a weird ambiance of sorts seeming to loom, even the quiet of the house had grown intimidating. Though rinse repeat of the previous days as you made dinner and your father came in the door, eating then leaving you be busied you away such thoughts. While your pops went to sleep earlier, you on the other hand find your place outside once more leavin' Remmicks food out on top the fence like you always did. You were collecting the hens eggs when you noticed the grid near the top of their little home was slowly but surely ripping off. While you stood up to inspect the spot you caught glimpse of Remmick far away walking towards you. You lift a hand up and he does as-well It makes you notice something wrapped around his back. Throughout his stay he would busy himself in the day, you never pushed yourself to ask. You didn't think it would be quite appropriate to know his day schedule, he never asked yours... well not that he had to ask, you always told him the night before.

"Busying yourself with the hens now are ya". You smile at his introduction to starting a conversation. He joined you inside the fenced perimeter. After just a day or two you had grown to miss his voice. "You may protect 'em but I still gotta clean 'em n'  their small home aswell. What's that you got?" You can't help but let your curiosity get the best of you especially when it came to something that looks like an instrument. He swiftly tilts whatever he has around so what looked like a guitar is now In front of him. With a small lean towards you he professes as if he were about to tell you something sacred, "this ol' thing is called a banjo, keeps me company late at night". Your eyes light up, repeating the instruments name in your head and the fact he hadn't lost his spark from a few days prior. Pops never allowed these kinda things here he told you a home was meant for quiet not to be filled with loud yapping and music. "Well you must play somethin' for me now". His fingers tap the edge of the banjo eyes locked onto yours before his voice grows husky. " beg real nicely n' I might just do it" your breath hitches at his words, eyes trailing down to where he was slowly rubbing small circles on the surface of the banjo. This minuscule action had you in a trance. What was he doing to you? What was this you were feeling growing deep in your bones at the depthness of your belly?

You did end up asking him, begging so sweetly he just couldn't resist to let you hear him play . A sweet tune you can't even remember the rhythm to, or his humming he offered. The only thing you were able to remember was the way his fingers strummed softly as you lay in bed. It was the last thing on your mind before the night gently coaxed you to sleep.

It was a fever that overtook your senses as you shifted back and forth in bed, sweat accumulating on your neck and forehead. An unexplainable throb growing between your legs while something wet slithered between yourself like the slits of a book. A plunge invading your most intimate part made you cry, head thrown back as your hips and hands tried to wrestle with this new feeling. It felt sinful, violating, a light sting causing pain, yet addicting. You didn't want it to stop, you didn't want the attack on your folds to end. A rumble, like a laugh made vibrations, shocks travel through your cunt inching that tightness in your stomach close to absolute destruction. You didn't want whatever was happening to stop. That's when you looked down, hands digging into a full set of sweaty hair, pulling to at least reveal the object of your greatest pleasure. Those ice cold eyes, toothy grin with a peculiar fang, his nose bridge. "Beg real nicely f’ me " he hushed his fingers still working overtime. But that's all you needed the puff of hot air on the place he had just been feasting right over your pearl. His eyes never leaving yours. Your moans grow, his name dying on your lips as all you can let out is strings of abnormal sounds as you feel your peak finally falling over.

A loud bang immediately has you sitting straight up in your small bed. "Sleepin' in is for the f*cking birds. Are you a bird?" You rub your eyes, still dazed from what your mind had just made you experience. Yet you know better than prioritizing regaining yourself quickly you groggily speak, "no.. no, I'm not sir". "Right your not so get your ass out the bed and start cleanin'!"  He mumbles out strings of insults as he finally leaves the confines of your room. From the way the sun is blaring you were sure it was closer to noon than your regular wake up time.

You do what he orders ignoring the wetness between your thighs. He leaves and you were sure he wouldn't come back till next morning or next days midnight. He always had the habit of leavin' when the weekend came. Who knows where, all you knew is when he'd come back he'd be drunk out his mind n' rage enough to feed a whole herd of cows with his hands... you find yourself with infinite amount of free time finishing with cleaning the whole house in records time. So you sit near a window gazing at the sunlight, the birds, grass and faint butterflies here n there. It was quite odd really you had never gone past the perimeters of your house grounds only sticking to your home, the trail leading to the town and the town itself. The woods surrounding your home were quite dark, the trees even from where you were sitting seemed to have claws for twigs, all sorts of poisonous plants were just a few distance away and the wild animals.. the ones who had killed 1/4 of your chickens. All danger, you didn't have to put yourself in front of. The chickens invaded your view making you realize you hadn't treated the hens to a proper clean. With a small groan you lift yourself off the window ledge grabbing the cowboy hat you had bought a few days ago. You still hadn't found the courage to give it to him, even though a bit loose around your head it had really proved itself useful with blocking out the sun just as Gene had promised. Especially like now that you were grabbing buckets of water back n' forth, cleaning with rags the outside of the house along with the old broom. Even with the shade created on your face it didn't stop the relentless rays from causing unexplainable heat.

"That darn metal wire" you huff out, mouth dry. When you had believed to be done you took notice of the even wired fence on the top of the hens coop looking in worse condition than before. Did I not take care of this? Before your anger can get the best out of you, shame takes over it instead trickling in big waves. Remmick and his banjo... that's what got me distracted.  You bite your lip scouring for pliers your father kept in a tool box near the coop. The sun was going down soon you told yourself you could catch a drink after you finish this last job. You have to really force your eyes to focus when extending yourself to try and reach the metallic fence. I won't replace it completely just wrap it around itself to keep any unwanted creatures out. Then I'll rest..

Your hands start to shake a bit and your calf's hurt due to you being on your tiptoes. Focus it's not that hard. Successfully you close 3 out of 4 wires needing one left. But then you hear a snap then a sharp sting running down your finger. You hiss in response and let the pliers go abruptly, which causes them to land on your foot. The overwhelming situation makes your breath lose evenness not helping the fight of lack of oxygen your lungs had already been dealing with. Your vision stars to be invaded by growing black splotches. "Sit.. I've gotta, do that..." so you do, hand tightly wrapped around your thumb both covered in that red essence. The sight of your not so little cut makes you grow even more light headed. Before you can even protest the darkness envelops you, too weak to even fight it your eyes gently flutter shut.

You feel it before seeing it. There's a huge pounding in your head that forces your lids to be no more than one centimeter open and a throb. Not a painful one, no one that expresses want on the southern side of your body. It's familiar, like the feeling you had freshly in the morning except unlike in your dream you clench on nothing. Only tingles you can grasp onto but it doesn't create satisfaction. what makes you drift your dazed eyes downward is the pressure felt on your thumb. It was hard to focus, everything was a blur you just catch the sound of wetness. Something holding your hand, it was draining you not just emotionally but physically. Subconsciously you moan it's soft and covered in the many layers of your throat yet this makes whatever is beneath you stop. As it looks up your corneas put in the work even if it's for just a split second. You see the silhouette of a man, unrecognizable with bright red eyes, mouth lightly covered in your dark essence and sharp teeth. It was human n' monster combined n' it was staring straight at you. Your system was beyond exhausted shutting you forcefully down again.

Your left in darkness for a while till you start stirring awake, something cold running across your forehead. "C'mon gotta see you wake up" that voice delights your soul a light murmur of his name under your breath. It earns you a warm grumbly laugh from the depths of his chest, "the one n' only darlin" . You identify the object pressing against your cheek as his hand you can't help but lean into it. Though you did not find absolute warmth you still enjoyed it. He brings a small cup up to your lips urging you to drink which you do. Your dry throat rejoices in the new source of water to quench your thirst. The slight flex to your hand which alerts you of a slight sting sends flashes of faux memories through your brain. The animal the thing sucking your hand or your thumb whatever it had been made you involuntarily jolt subsequently some water spilling on you from the cup. "Sorry, sorry" you quickly say between breaths your low energy not equipping fast reflexes. He quickly puts the cup down comforting you by rubbing his hands down the side of your shoulders. "Are you alright what happened?" You try to cough to hide the embarrassing way your voice wobbled. "I'm good 'just- I'm skittish remember?" You try to laugh it off but you can tell he doesn't buy it. He plays along though. This moment of silence allows you to completely regain your senses to see you were still outside, next to the coop in the last position you remember being in.

"I wrapped your thumb real good, shouldn't bleed no more ... what happened to ya? I swear when I walked up I thought ya were just bein' silly with me" ,you pull your injured hand closer to you at its mention. The pliers not so far from you push you to speak, "I was trynna fix some part of the chicken coop, cut myself, must've lost track of time given I've been out all day in the glazing sun..." the cancerous rays, the heat that seemed to be burning you from inside out. Your healthy hand slaps at your head finding it empty the ground at your sides makes contact with your hand aswell. "Lookin' for this sweet old cowboy hat?" His voice is cocky once you look up you realize why. The straw you bought for was on his head. Fits him perfectly not just around his skull but the way it also frames his face makes you believe it was made specifically for him in mind and he knows this. He can't miss an opportunity to tease,  "Might keep it suits me well, your little brain don't fill it" now it's your turn to not laugh at his attempt to bring light heartedness into the air. You were still disturbed by the weird dream like nightmare you had experienced, adding on your injury aswell both weren't a good combo. Yet even with this you try not to dwell on the way the edges of his mouth tilt downward at your lack of enthusiasm. "That's actually for you.. I was meant to give to ya some time ago 'just was a coward". His mouth does a whole 180 his frown no more instead plastered on is a bashful smile. One that didn't have arrogance, teasing or any ulterior motives behind it. "Well aren't you just the sweetest doll face". You can't help but let the blush roam freely at his praise until that warmth in your belly returns along with a headache. "I should get to bed" as you try to stand a light whince leaves your lips the fact your foot was aching due to the heavy metal pliers that fell on them earlier coming to your attention. Remmick aids you in order to walk out the fence. The chickens were locked in the coop already, his plate of food gone. You don't realize any of this since having your body pressing onto his makes your brain mush.

"I can take it from here, I had just forgot those stupid pliers fell on my foot"  you say as you finally reach the houses back door. He lets you go, "don't forget to clean that wound up tomorrow should help without your pops nagging early mornin'" you laugh and say goodnight the weakness in your bones catching up to you.

The next day right as the sun rises you sit in the kitchen table in silence. A news article from town you had collected left at your door and Alcohol from your father's stash on the table as you stare at the oddly physically pleasant gash infront of you. Something was odd, you've received your own fair share of cuts, scrapes and injuries none of them compared to this one. It was as if where the skin broke was just an illusion, no blood left to clean or seep out just your pink flesh beneath your skin. You shift in your seat recounting the lapping at your finger that sent tingles down to your feet. It was all so weird, you never had vivid dreams like those and you could still feel its presence around you. It's hunger, need to suck you dry... but was it your blood it wanted or your soul? You sound like a kid overanalyzing your nightmares. It was just a nightmare that was all, you told yourself. Plus if any weird animal had been near you Remmick would've of noticed. He would've done something. Would he?

Your brain seems to be enjoying playing devils advocate forcing you to shake your head and stand from the chair in disagreement. Though you connected that the newspaper you had read. 'Couple missing child dead' was who Genevieve must've been talking about. No longer wanting to let your brain to spiral out of control you decide a shower would probably serve you well. So you do just that letting the comforting hands of the water caress your naked body while the wound on your hand isn't affected by the soap. You hum to yourself a tune one you've never heard of before, didn't even know the words to yet your brain simultaneously did. Something so normal you did everyday made you wonder back to the couple from town. 'Bert and Joan' the article of their tragedy had mentioned their names. Were they vigilant knowing something would happen or were they doing their daily tasks like you were right now? They were probably enjoying day until someone decided to make a mess of their lives let alone a baby. Whoever had done that deserved the worst penalty a judge could offer. It sadness your heart too much that you push the subject to the back of your brain. After you brush your hair out and put a new pair of fresh clothes on you decide to take a look at the small box you kept hidden away in your closet. It was your mother's. The only thing you had left of her.

There's few letters you read over too many times to count while growing up, miscellaneous objects and a photograph. It was in black n' white starting to peel right over her face. This photograph had been the only thing that connected you to your mother. now all that was left was a still picture of her beautifully clothed frame and one quarter of her face. Maybe it was for the best, you didn't know much about her and your pops said she just up n' left one day. You still held onto hope. The way she wrote, expressing her emotions just didn't seem to coincide with the woman your father portrayed her to be. What catches your attention though is this book, very dusty n' old. The secrets of the past, your hands trail over the title indented on the cover. Looking at the table of contents it seems to be an explanation book for medicinal recipes, herbs, then towards the end of the book you see "creatures". While trying to flip the pages over to that section you go downstairs. It's past mid day, the sun still strong so you lay down on the couch. With the book in your hand you start reading about wendigos and skin walkers of the sort. Their stalking abilities, ways to manipulate their prey, sharp teeth, their need for human flesh. That specific part was underlined, someone had read this book with passion, little notes on the side, phrases circled. Maybe your mother or a familiar... while you continue your investigation somewhere along the way you knock out. Cold and surrounded by darkness there’s Voices that start to whisper in your ear. They're indescribable except for the way it sounds like they're reciting a prayer. There's no fear just tranquility their hushness proving comforting. You can't relish in it long until they start getting louder a tone of desperation infecting them. Then your name being repeated. You try to move, stir yourself awake but nothing works. Your heart beat rings in your ears taunting you along with their cries, blood curling screams. A voice overtakes all of them in screaming your name.

You sit straight up gasping for air, chest rising and falling dramatically. It felt too real the vibrations of their voices still living deeply inside your ear drums. There's no time left to help yourself focus on calming your tremors down until a knock echos through the living room. Your blood pressure spikes from the sound but you force yourself up. It was dark out making you realize your nap took more than what you believed. The floor creaks underneath your bare feet with every step you take. Once you reach the door you hesitate. What if I'm going insane with stress and you're just hearing things? It was dark out, you were alone with no way to defend yourself... you decide on the next best course of action. Peaking through the medium sized window the door had your fingers pushed the drapes aside eyes coming in contact with a man facing away but you knew that sweaty hair anywhere and the banjo strapped on his back.

Quickly you open the door relieved to see Remmick as he turns around the cowboy hat you'd given him in hand. "Hey sweetheart" but you don't give him a response. He notices your eyes darting left and right the way you fidget with your fingers as if trying to tie a rope. Due to the lack of communication back he speaks again, "you alright 'seem on edge?". You try to brush it off but he moves forward on the little steps located at the front of the door. "I'm here for ya, 'can tell me anythin' ". He was at your doorstep, close to your house something he never did because he was overly cautious of your father catching a glimpse at him. An unspoken rule. "don't forget to clean that wound up tomorrow should help without your pops nagging early mornin'"

"Should help without your pops nagging early mornin'"

"How'd ya know?" You ask before thinking. He's a bit taken back by the out of the context question. "What da ya mean?". "How'd ya know my pops wasn't here?" You can see the warmth in his eyes falter for only a split second subconsciously you stopped leaning towards him. He laughs in your face making you rethink the sudden hostility on your end. "Cars gone, got hurt yesterday with no one to help, he'd done somethin' similar last week? 'Don't know darlin' don't take a genius to figure this one out". You sigh in disappointment at yourself joining him in a chuckle. He was the only one who cared for you, never hurt you, someone you considered a confidant sort of like Genevieve back in town. "Sorry, don't know what's wrong with me   I've just been havin' these nightmares must be the stress.." you rub your temples dragging your hair away from your face. He quiets down his voice more cut dry and for the first time since you met him you heard him sound unsure "What these nightmares about... if you don't mind me askin' ". You look up at him once more eyebrows scrunching trying to recall. "I'm not sure.. uhh monsters, voices or somethin' it's odd" it's not that you didn't want to tell him, you just weren't so sure of it yourself."Well good things they're just nightmares" he hums as he seems to be analyzing you. His gaze made you surprisingly uneasy but this feeling dwindles as he chirps . "There's this place over by the forest, it's where I find myself more often than not ... throughout the day of course. It's real sweet with a stream, nice little area to sit n' sing where the air hits nicely. Would love to share my place of paradise with ya if ya'd want to f'course".

It seemed enticing, intimate, but the crickets in the air and darkness that seeped from the forest haunting the background made you shake your head softly, "sorry.. not today". You had never been one to deny him you were always so eager to please. He forces a smile, "I understand, im a man here asking a lady to take a stroll along the concealed forest alone in the late of the night" you can see him take a few steps down the small flight of stairs. "It's not that Remmick, I really would love to it's just..." you can't find the words, the excuse, because it didn't exist. "... just can't" The last string of events had scrambled your brain like eggs in the morning. You weren't sure what to put faith in. With this rejections you can feel the disappointment In the way his shoulders drop. "It's alright.. I'll be, heading to sleep then, go catch your own z's ". His poor excuse for a laugh following his words was awkward. You should reach out to him, grab his hand before he goes too far for you bare feet could reach. But you never do watching as he settles inside the fence you can only murmur a small "goodnight" that doesn't even reach his ears. the small click back from the door signifies your end of the night as you lock it. You don't glance at the clock just dragging your feet on the floor all the way up to your room. Unlike before where you would just knock your self out with boredom instead you are subjected to torture by your lack of a dormant brain. The inability to succumb to sleep being the perpetrator. You wasn’t insomnia just the fleeting thought of danger being near never leaving, it was like you knew something was bound to happen something terrible, but couldn't pin point exactly when. Your father hadn't come home, the stressful nightmares, remmicks odd behavior or was it yours? This was all too much to digest. You sit up from your bed abruptly standing no longer being able to force your eyes shut to pretend sleep. Hours have already gone by. A glass of warm milk would ease the nerves.

You didn't want to waste anymore time putting a small metal pot over the kitchen stove and fetched the milk pouring no more than a cup and putting the white gallon back in its designated space. With a repetitive tick the flames came to life putting in the work to heat up the milk. You sigh, the nightgown you had on was very weightless, soft and borderline sheer but breathable. It allowed the air from your bedroom fan to save your overheating skin in the night. The sudden feeling of your hairs sticking up from your arms and neck have you holding yourself in a hug. Face darting left and right to find anything to explain the cause but only the endless darkness is to find. You grumble turning off the stove not caring if the milk was treading the fine line between cold and warm. You chug it, big gulps no complains, it wasn't that usual warm feeling that traveled through your intestines just bland mildness. You slam the cup down having to drag your forearm to remove some of the excess. Sleep. Now go to sleep, your bedroom. You take steps to go back, the lights being right before the stairs working in your favor. Once you you hear the click your vision returns to being useless. Mind set on one goal finally catching sleep but a shuffle very soft that could be easily missed if not paying attention makes you freeze in place. There's an urge to turn but you tell yourself to keep going on your way for your own sake. Eyes forward move forward. You don't though, instead you slowly twist your head behind you out of curiosity. It was the same sentiment as being adamant on seeing a spider hiding below your bed instead of living in blissful ignorance and pretending its presence wasn’t there. Except this wasn’t a 8 legged friend. You were seeing eyes glowing back at you as clear as the stars in the night sky. They weren't a beautiful shinny white, odd green or blue like a wild animal.. no a menacing blood red. This should've sent you flying up the stairs but they're hypnotizing persuading you to stay a little longer. It doesn't move making sure you know that it sees you too. With the obscurity of the lack of light you can't make up much apart from its eyes, too far away near a window to even see if the creature was inside the 4 walls of your home or outside. A light breath leaves your soft lips, you could feel the blood rushing in your veins the way your pulse beats. Hesitantly you turn yourself back towards the stairs. This time you do what you told yourself, what you should’ve done in the beginning. Walking up you forbid yourself from looking back, making your way back to your bedroom you finally crawl back into the cold sheets. Your Dazed, staring at the ceiling while pinching your own arm to make sure you weren't in a dream. You were convinced you had officially gone insane. Nightmares are one thing, hallucinations are another. Must be the lack of sleep. You landed on that excuse and finally after a few long dragged minutes you felt the heaviness of your eyelids stars to weigh themselves down. You let it consume you but peace didn't follow.

There's a thud making shuffle but it doesn't sound loud enough to make your eyes open wide. Just squint until inevitably you groan, choosing slumber over worrying. Sleep.

A whisper tingles the shell of your ear . A breeze makes you shiver subconsciously clutching the sheets to keep you warm. That masculine voice around your ear is back again wrapping around your brain like a blanket of safety and security. Something slithers inside your inner thigh, caressing, teasing the supple skin making your breath hitch. It was soft and felt so right. You craved more, opening your body and soul up to the feeling letting it climb up and take as it pleased. No hesitation just need. An offering is what you were, letting it build a home inside, beneath your skin, allowing it the privilege to consume you. And it did, a sharp sting your mind can't even process correctly develops somewhere in your body. A sound comes from your mouth but was it from pleasure or pain?

Your eyes scrunched, a groggy moan ripping from your throat out of frustration. The bright day light hitting your cornea forcing you to wake. Whilst sitting up you crane your neck back and to the side feeling a temporary relief. You shut your eyes, smiling from feeling so free. Even if you were sleep deprived there was some sort of energy helping you feel content. Opening your eyes you pulled the covers off, standing, it isn't till your changing clothes you feel a cold sweat invade your body. While lifting the weightless satin dress you see two bigger than normal bites on your wrist. You could've brushed it off as a bug bite, some spider but you knew that for it to hold validity the spider would've had to been a huge tarantula and craving human flesh or blood. You feel your eyes water, this wasn't caused by a human or animal. So like some afraid child you quickly make haste putting on the necessities skipping brushing your hair and run out of your room ignoring a light stench in the air because your father was of greater concern . It wasn't long till mid day surely he'd be downstairs. "Papa..?" You hesitantly speak once in the living room but only silence greets you. In desperation you go to grab the back door to check outside and you find it unlocked. It was already a weekday today you had forgotten, he was probably at work probably came home and left, that would explain the unlocked door. But he if made it home he would've woke you up early. He hates when you oversleep. There's many thoughts racing in your head as you pace back and forth. You'd just go to the last place you knew he had probably visited, the town.

The roads hug your shoes as you walk by the side walk. As each person passes by you ask if they have seen your father describing him even trying to show them a a picture from home but they all either ignore you or seem far too uninterested. You had wrapped your arm tightly with a bandage to cover your bite which you couldn't help but tug on. It was creating an uncomfortable friction. There was a familiar sign across the street the likes of the people were much kinder there, Genevieve was a great example. But you knew you father wouldn't be caught dead on the other side of the road let alone in a shop full of "foreign useless people". So You go inside the white owned shop instead knowing he'd surely buy his liquor here. While going in you hold the door open for a woman and her child, the child mutters a cute thank you which you try to reciprocate with a 'your welcome' but the mother gives you a nasty look tugging them away.

You stand there at the entrance a bit weary as you finally have to face the many side eyes people were giving you. A particular man stands out who was walking your way, a smile comes up to your lips, rehearsing your lines in your head but he makes contact with your shoulder roughly instead. There's a slight clench of your heart at this, but he goes on as if nothing, paying the cashier for his booze and leaving. Your left there looking stupid and lost. The past days had been miserable leaving you with little will. Should've gone home-should've just waited and stayed home. As you're beating yourself up you don't notice the cashier coming from his side of the counter to you. His kind eyes looking at you snap you out of your thoughts realizing he greeted you, even with a stutter you greet him back. "Is there someway I can help you?". The first person to ask, you try your best to not let your voice wobble, "I- yes.. I'm trynna find my father he's missin' ". He's listening to you muttering out a small, "that's terrible". " it is haven't seen him for days n' I've gotten concerned. But he's usually along these parts of town especially durin' the weekends so I'm sure someone has spoken to or atleast caught sight of him" while your rambling you don't see how he's luring you outside, using the fact you were following him to his advantage. His expression is one of understanding or so you thought, "look I'd really love to help you just can't be bothering the people in there". "I wasn't- that wasn't my intention I.." you realize what he's doing now, feeling the heat of the sun once more. There's a pause in the conversation both of you staring at each other. He simply tilts his head in 'I don't care what you got to say just leave I'm trying to be nice'. Then someone calls out to you from behind with cheerfulness, it isn't till you turn you see finally who it is. "Haven't seen you round' no more how has your chicken coop been?". Her warm voice provides some instant relief from the stress. You allow Genevieve to envelop you in her arms. You even squeeze a little tighter. "Don't come back near my store again or it won't be pretty" the sudden hostile voice of the once delightful cashier leaves you a bit angry but you don't voice it.

"It be best if we go back to mines," she grabs your hand leading you to the other side of the road but you dig your feet in the ground not letting her. Whatever it was inside you or around you it was always following not so behind form your last step. You didn't even know if whatever had bit you was contagious so even with her oh so soothing hand consoling yours you abruptly let go. "I can't.." she turns confused, "what do ya mean you can't?". The top of your teeth catch your bottom lip in a nice grip. For once in your life you wished she wouldn't be so caring so tender and concerned for your well being. "What's wrong?" Yet another question of hers that meets no answer instead you slowly add space even if it's a just a few centimeters. She sees the picture of your father in your hand and the way your eyes were on the brink of tears something was undoubtedly wrong.  "Girl don't be silly with me now n' answer me" she grew loud frustrated with your silence garnering attention from the townsfolk. Your hand fumbles with the edges of the band around your wrist. If she just knew maybe she could help me I wouldn't have to deal with this alone. It happened so fast her hand tugging the cloth , you pulling away in attempt to prevent it from slipping away revealing the two puncture wounds that were now accompanied with purple and yellow hues. You can't help but gasp slapping the skin, covering it with your hand desperately looking around.

Genevieve's eyes were wide a look of disbelief or was it fear overtaking her face? She had heard the murmurs of creatures far beyond the physical realm from her ancestors. When the two people from town went missing it was all the people around her could talk about . The creature with sharp teeth, serpent split tongue Who's diet consisted of consuming human blood.  It seemed far fetched but it was all true and now one of her dearest friends have come in contact with the being and bitten. Under her breath she whispered, "vampire".

You felt exposed like Eve had felt under the gaze of the lord in the garden of Eden; Shame, guilt and Alienation all in one. When you feel the cold tear run down your hot cheek is the moment you start running ignoring the calls for you to stay. The adrenaline pumping from your heart makes you run miles, with no brakes just your legs pushing till they finally make it to the only place that seemed to cause all these problems. Your home, but you don't go inside. Instead you go to your chicken coop wanting to be enveloped in its darkness, the constant patter of the chickens feet simulating a tune and the smell of pleasant must. It reminded you of Remmick. He'd surely come home soon and rid you of your worries, destroy the chaos. You sniffled into your shoulder, cowering like defenseless animal in the corner of the chicken coop. The small gurgles of the chickens offer you an environment to be able to sleep even if it was just pretend. You lose track of time, sun finally setting and wake up when you can't catch a break from the chickens pecking at your skin. The stiff chips of wood stick to your skin but you don't mind releasing them as you stand. With the small creak you stumble outside praying to find your pops car out front and his harsh voice reprimanding you for not having cleaned the house so you could erase the anxiety running rapid through your body as a terrible dream. There's no sight of any of those things though just the lousy cicadas in the night air.

Psst. The noise made you whip around only the darkness present. "Hello?" You speak daringly into the void of the night, heart thumping. "Still gotta work on the not jumping like a little rabbit every time ya'r scared" you can let out the trapped breath in your chest as you see a very care free remmick walk up to you from the outside of your fence. You would've gone to him in an instant if it weren't for the two people behind him. Noticing your hesitance to get closer he experimentally spoke, "brought some friends with me too if you don't mind". They were smiling warmly at you but it felt so empty, their faces reflecting that of the nullified night surrounding them. "Remmick-" you were about to tell him to make them go away, that you just needed a moment alone with him. The whole day you had been waiting. Though picking up on your distress he caught you off guard asking a rhetorical question, "is it the nightmares again?" . You foolishly try to answer "yes but-". "Well your in luck that's why I brought my good ol' couple from in town to try n' cheer ya up" as if on que the 3 of them readied their instruments ignoring your protest and they started playing. It was harmonic very beautiful but to you in this moment it sounded like sharp metal scratching on another metal surface. Undoubtedly Irking your soul. "I picked poor robin clean" the 3 of them sang at the same time but in 3 different tones that came together skillfully. "Picked poor robin clean". You bit your lip in bubbling anger their voices becoming more irritating than their instruments by the second. Certainly you'd explode into a fit of rage, we'll that was until the next line, "picked his head, I picked his feet, I woulda picked his body but it wasn't fit to eat". Their joy, their genuine smirks especially Remmicks when singing those words unnerved you. A jolly tone with odd words that traveled down your spine "oh I picked poor robin clean...

they continue, their words fade out in your head eyes unfocusing as you get sucked into the back of your mind where your thoughts remained. You didn't want to believe it or even consider the very fact that the young couple in-front of you could be who the towns people had whispered about like some sort of myth. If they were what was Remmick doing with them? Was he the one who terrorized them and their babe? your mind recalled many of the times you had found his behavior odd. He only met you in the darkness of night, disappeared during the day, he was the only one who had access to your home. The bruise on your arm he hadn't even pointed it out. He was innocent you pushed back against your thoughts. And you would prove it.

As their song comes to an end stillness hangs in the air. Remmick stands there waiting for you next move. Realizing how guilty you looked you tried to cough the hesitance stuck in your throat. "I never caught y'all's names". Having all 3 of their eyes on you felt like you were back in the town. Except this time it was much more carnal like predators surrounding their prey.  You shift on your feet, remmicks demeanor changing as he leans into the fence form the outside. The couple doesn’t answer just staring ahead as you hear Remmick chuckle, "well.. this right here is Joan and he, he's Bert". You feel your heart drop to the earths core at this revelation, face full of alarm. you try changing it but God knows it's far too late. He notices and knows that you know.

"Took ya so long" your confused at his words but he doesn't waste a beat to quickly diminish your doubt. "I was startin' to think that little brain of yours wasn't good for much". You're unsure if to be offended and hurl a venomous insult back or cower away . His body defies gravity for a second as he lifts himself over the fence standing between the both of you far too easily. "W-what did you do?" There's still hope inside you that this was just a big understanding. "What I do to them .. or to you?" He nudges his head behind him then to you. His eyes trailing up and down your frame until getting stuck on your wrist. This time you don't cover your wound unlike back in town. When his eyes finally lift themselves to yours you see them shine a deep red. The same deep red that tournamented you yesterday night and dreamed about belonging to that creature who sucked your thumb feverishly while his mouth was covered in your blood. A dream. you can't help the way your chest starts to constrict, eyes stinging. He lets out a cold laugh faux concern, "oh please don't cry doll I'll love it too much n' I'll just be forced to make more pretty tears come out of ya." As he takes a step forward you take a step back. It becomes a twisted game he enjoys while teasing your desperation. The sadistic way he showed worry yet loved your helplessness left you disheartened with the idea of this going back to normal. The way things had been when you met him"Stay away.." your voice is weak and wobbly, hands coming up to signal his halt. He doesn't listen leaving you back to the fence as your hand touches his chest. Remmick wasn't a tall man just average but when he got this close to you it made him feel giant. "Thats not what you wanted last night" his empty breath hits your face, an act you may have yearned for before but not anymore. There's a shudder running through you as he presses his body into yours, his leg between your thighs inching your skirt up. You turn your head in shame, knowing exactly what he meant. Despite the mental acknowledgement of the danger this man posed your body still desired him responding eagerly.

He thrived seeing you like this the woman so poised and respectful he had met in tears from her own disgusting desires. An infection he grew to become, corrupting not just your thoughts but body, mind and soul. Nothing could sadate his carnal lust just like you but he wouldn't get ahead of himself yet.

His hand drags your sight back to him with only a finger on your chin. Your pliant submission was back but out of fright not real trust. This time you notice his appearance change again apart from his peculiar eyes. The clear, thick liquid seeping from the right of his mouth. Spit. And the sharp fangs his k-9's became as he smiles at you. It clicks in your head the last words Genevieve had muttered out to you "vampire". You expect him to take a bite to end your life but instead he takes a step back leaving you to fend your weight against gravity. "Should go see if daddy's all good upstairs, haven't seen him out here all day" his voice drips with sarcasm. You take a step back expecting him to play with you more but he doesn't. While you slowly walk away, opening the fence door you take one final look behind him. The couple he had came with was still behind the fence sitting idly by as if they were hypnotized.

When your a good feet apart you dash inside and up the stairs having to fight the growing stink in the house especially when you reach the second floor. "Papa!" You call out to him , the hall seeming too dark and longer than usual. There was the adrenaline rushing through your veins that urged you to be faster . As your warm hands grab the handle of your father's room opening it wide the stench of death hits you before the sight. You have to cover you mouth from the smell and absolute horror. There was blood all over the walls, bed his body and his head... it didn't seem quite attached to the rest of him. Eyes wide in shock staring directly at you as if he had kept the face from probably seeing the monster Remmick was. You didn't let yourself see the specifics of the plethora of wounds on his body slamming the door shut. You have to fight the gag trying to push its way out from the bottom of your stomach. A light headedness winds you as your walking away hand over your stomach from the unsettling scene you had witness forever engraved in your brain. One wrong step as your going down the stairs has you tumbling down. You grunt and let the tears you have kept at bay finally spill rushing down with no limit. You weakly get up close to the kitchen table where the liquor from the morning still laid. Your heart clenched at the reminder of this bottle always being around your dad's hand along with his pestering. He may had grown rude and absent for most of your life but he would always be your father. The man who once was a child who did wrong but was still half of you. You bite you hand in an attempt to get rid of the overstimulation of your lymphatic system. Not caring if it drew blood. "The sadness will subside, will weaken with time. sacrifices must be made for freedom".

Your mood soured hearing his voice. He sounded like a fucking preacher what was he now your savior? Is that what he tought. That he had been doing you a service murdering your father like some wild animal with no dignity? There was an unexplainable fire starting to build in your chest. "I can offer freedom that never dwindles, never ceases to exist. Ya won't be anyone's caged bird anymore-". With not another thought you let your instincts take over swiftly grabbing the almost empty liquor bottle and swinging it behind you. He doesn't for see your sudden action not moving out of the way fast enough all you hear is a big thud. The bottle still gripped tightly your hand with no crack. His head is turned toward the direction of your swing, eyelids twitching as he seemed to be taking in the hit. You stand fiercely a mere a feet or two away. You expect anger a violent action back in response but instead he chuckles condescendingly. "you’re letting anger cloud your judgement doll" . You wished you would’ve never been nice to him, never let him in your home and watched him rot out in the wilderness. “Let that go” he commands seeing the way your grip on the bottle doesn’t lessen. “No..” your eyebrows furrow “ya just don’t get ta decide things for me, y-ya can’t just do this ‘didn’t ask for any of this! ” even through the sadness is still evident in your body, you still find your voice. His words your genuine protest made him displeased . He had seen you marble at utterly anything normal, his instrument, himself and the way you responded so sweetly to his touches. You were a bird in a cage. Your father had willingly created your life to revolve around him and he had simply given you the choice now to be with him instead. Were you just plain ol’ stupid? “Ya needed this, I saved you from your helpless nights, the endless chores, the boring ol’ cycle of your insignificant’ life became”. This is when you see him start stomping over to you with a glint of fire behind his eyes. “I didn’t need no saving” you spit out while your lower back was pressed on the floor able. He calms down before grabbing a hold of your jaw before uttering out, “oh my sweet little dumb thing, you do”. Those crimson eyes slice through your wrath realizing no matter how much you protested there was no way out of your predicament. No matter the many ways you sliced it he couldn’t be moved, like some heavy boulder restricting your path. “You all do..” his sharp nails dig into the skin of your cheeks making them sting. There’s a small but heavy knock at the front door that doesn’t make him react just letting your calmly go. Retracting himself from you he watches as you wrestle with the choice of opening the door or not. His look was forbidding but would require trust from you which he had run out of. It was ultimatum that hung in the air without being said , ‘open the door and your reject him or leave it be then open your arms to the sweetness of “salvation” ‘

Another heavy knock seeming more desperate had you turning and directly heading to the door not caring for Remmick any longer. You weren’t sure who you were quite expecting maybe a passer by, another stranger. “You had me stressing’ girl why’d ya not answer fast enough?” Her honeyed voice and her careful glance was such a contrast to the way you looked now. “My lords heaven’ what happened to you!” Genevieve tries to come inside and grab your cheeks now decorated with little droplets of blood streaming down. But you semi close the door on her not completely but just enough to stop her from coming in. “Gene you have to leave- you can’t be here” your hands shakes on the door knob. You didn’t want her to be affected by the consequences of your own actions. Seeing how far it got you father you didn’t want her to meet his same fate but she didn’t listen. “Look I know what I did back in town was horrid I truly apologize for that.” Every time you try to open you mouth to interject she elongated her sentence. “ I came here to make things right to make sure you okay and to say I can help you I know-“ she’s caught off being pounced on like animal by something or someone out of your line of sight with a thud. You were about to react until a hard hand comes to the door from your side slamming it loudly closed. All you are left to do is be willfully tormented by her screams of agony as Remmick locks the front door. “Promised my ol’ couple some food, they were just hungry as dogs” he says this sentiment with sort of lightness, even letting out a small ‘woof woof’. Your stomach twists in disgust and terror having to create distance between the both of you.

He tsk'ed in disappointment at your choice. Noticing your desire to push him aside he doesn't shy away from twitching his upper lip to show you his gnarly fangs. "What a shame I really did like Genevieve" he mocks you slowly moving forward. Another blow to the muscle pumping in your chest called your heart wetting your dry cheeks once more in tears. What would you say to her husband and her kid if you walked away alive. You wouldn't have the courage to look them in the eye and tell them about your cowardliness. How you watched their mother die whilst you were inside in the comforts of your home.

With a scream you rely on instincts jumping on Remmick . This time he expects your fit of violence being able to take your arms in his grasps. You try pushing and pulling to break free but nothing budges. He wasn't a big man so why in the hell could you not be strong enough to fight his hands? It looked like a dance you both were having with your twisting and turning making you really live out the ambiance of a juke joint wild but free. It isn't until your able to kick him that your able to make him loosen his grip to break away. His rough voice calls out as you dart to the kitchen trying to find something to arm yourself with,"All this fightin' wont end up pretty for ya" you ignore him now scowering the plethora of eating utensils in the cabinet. "givin' ya a warnin' you should really heed darlin' " his cockiness, the pet names is what you wanted to wipe clear from his face forcing his mouth to never speak again. You turn to face him standing in the middle of the room with a knife. Shiny and anything but dull. His eyes seem to light up at the thought of you wielding such a dangerous object. Not a spec of fear in his nonexistent soul as you walk up to him eyebrows furrowed, a scowl on your face and all. "Don't be silly and give me that thing" He had played this game before long ago. Your genuine hatred was being conveyed in one single long look, fingers clenching in dire need to cause damage. He extends his hand up for you to lay the knife in his hand to submit.

Instead once you're close enough with no hesitation you pierce his hand not just slashing but digging it in until you could see it from the other side. With haste you twist it back at him so the sharp metal is now threatening his chest. With a burn in your thighs and all your might you push forward successfully overtaking any attempt of a protest to your attack. There's a loud grunt from him as the fact the knife dug deeply into his upper chest. It's quickly overtaken by the fact he loses his balance, back against the small sofa sending him backward into it and taking you along with him. Somewhere while taking the fall you let go of the knife to protect yourself instead.  Winded you try to catch your breath looking over to the side you realized you had missed the edge of the coffee table by an inch. What terrifies you is seeing Remmick stand up, his unwounded hand grabbing the knife handle twisting out of his chest and hand simultaneously with a squelch. You think this is when he’ll get his comeback digging the knife into your heart as he stands above you. Bracing yourself your eyes close but instead you hear the cling from the knife being thrown aside. His Hands coming to the collar of your blouse lifting you up with no difficulty and harshly sending you crashing into the coffee table. The glass breaks instantly some of the wood creating a hard surface to simulate a hard punch to your gut. “Thought you’d be different but you’ve got a fire that never dies just like your mother”. He’s out of breath as he speaks and when he mentions the woman you have never met you wish nothing more than to commit cold blooded murder. Your hands extend in-front of you carefully to attempt to lift yourself up but his foot comes to press down on the skin on the other side of your palm. “she wanted nothin’ more than to desperately live that’s what made it so much more excitin’ to snuff her out”. You cry out in agony as the pressure of his foot causes specs of glass to carve a home into your palm. He decides it’s enough when you pathetically paw at his shoe. You’re able to take a glance at the disgusting wound before you’re being dragged from your collar again. No care for the way the destroyed table poked and burns your knees or body. He brings you all the way up to the wall facing the front door and forcing you on your feet. Your knees are giving out but he makes sure to hold you in place steadily by your neck

“What do ya desperately want hmm?” He teases with a tap to your cheek as he watches you became the defenseless rabbit he knew once again. Red teary eyes defeated just accepting what would be made of you just like your father and Genevieve. This sight arouses him inching his face closer he breathes onto you obnoxiously, “could’ve had so many delicious nights with ya stuck on my mouth oh do I miss your heavenly taste” you spit at him for talking about you as some sort of object. Realizing all those “dreams” you believed to have had were nothing of the sort. Just your mind trying to make sense of events happening to your sleeping body to warn you of the violating creature you’re ashamed to call a man infront of you at your wake. His wet muscle slides out from his mouth, tongue split in two like some sort of serpent to lick it up from the side of his cheek. A big grumble of satisfaction form his chest. “Now I need me some more”. His lips come to yours not in the doting way you expected your first kiss to be but hungry and lustful. You fight against him the sloppy kiss making spit smear all over your lips. Your teeth chomp down in order to make him stop biting his lip , hard.

he curses letting your neck go sending your sliding down. You thought of fighting again or fleeing but your body was far too tired. So instead You're stuck in place fighting the heaviness of your eyelids and tasting the irony substance in your mouth. He squats down infront of you with a lip decorated in red.

Forced you are to look at the man before you that you once considered a friend, dare you say lover, finding him to be completely unrecognizable. He fixes your sweaty blood specs covered hair whilst grazing your cheek tenderly like he had done a few happy summer days ago. "Every time you wake up in the mornin n' take a breath of fresh air, maybe even while looking at the sun setting with a child on your hip" he starts. The once gentle hands griping the back of your head, hair and all, harshly craning your neck back. You can't even let out a whine properly without your lungs hurting . " 'want ya to remember ya don't get to do that because ya were brave or strong enough" he can't help but grumble at the sentiment of you believing these things about yourself. His tone grows dark as he hushes the final dialogue onto you like something sacred only for you and his ears only.

"no ....it's because I allowed you to"

he licks a long stripe up your cheek relishing your sweet blood before he abruptly lets go of your head and leaves you helplessly on the ground. His light steps barely even leaving a track of sound in your ear drums as he opens the once closed door. He walks over your dead friends body only her legs visible from your spot. His body isn't tense, instead he strolls away with a pep in his step, the hat you had given him on his head and you can faintly hear him hum that song. Pick poor robin clean. As if it were a regular Monday night. As if he hadn't turned your life upside down just for fun. The couple from earlier appear from the sides of the door covered in blood Bert taking a hold of one of Genevieve’s weightless legs. Joan give you a smile and a wave with her sharp canines before they start walking away your friend dragged in the dirt along with them. You reap the consequences while Remmick was walking away Scot free. Your heart burns, skin boils, face scorns, mustering up all of your strength you let out a scream of pain, anger and agony all at once. Not caring if it scratched your throat painfully. He keeps moving unfazed until his body is a mere spec in your vision. Your Pathetically Left behind feeling the ache in your bones deep inside, the blood oozing out of your body the stinging tears trailing down your sliced skin. Choosing the mortal cage called your human flesh.

You knew he'd always be hiding in the shadows of the night, waiting, and in some twisted way that brought you comfort.

Authors note: this was so long in the making! I I tried my best to interpret the character of Remmick to the best of my abilities without having seen the movie. I apologize for any spelling mistakes and if you asked to be tagged but weren’t it’s probably because your acc didn’t show up when I tried tagging you. Apart from that I enjoyed writing this and I hope y’all enjoyed it too! :)

————————————————————————————————————————————

Tags: @duckyhowls @seashelleseashellsbytheseashore @thecutestaaakawaii @akumazwrld

[chososcutie]

AT THE SAME DAMN TIME .ᐟ

summary. when a vampire and a werewolf in rut on a full moon find you, a lost hiker stranded in the woods one stormy night, you find yourself in the midst of the eiffel tower of a century, pun intended.

featuring. werewolf!gojo x fem!reader x vampire!geto

word count. 3k

content. mdni fem!reader, werewolf!gojo, vampire!geto, dubcon, slight fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, petnames, degrading, bloodsucking, biting, oral (m!receiving), hickeys, doggy style, threesome, knotting, possessiveness, spitting, big dicks, grinding, cursing

author's note. this is all pure horny, disgusting smut i wrote in between breaks for my new fic coming out!

an owl hoots overhead, the sound low and foreboding, twigs cracking under your every step.

you glance at the black night sky, and the rumble of thunder moving in quickly, rain already hitting your warm skin in fat droplets that threaten a hard downpour soon to come.

shit.

how had it gotten to this point again?

oh right, your stupid idea of a hike through one of the most deserted places on earth had delved from a light-hearted afternoon walk into a nightmare when you found yourself going in circles, dazed and lost as a stormy night crept closer.

you had tried to call a number that would alert any nearby park rangers or the police, but your phone, battery dead and useless proved to be no help whatsoever.

and now, with a full moon beaming down on you and the rustling of bushes near you, you were out of ideas.

you come to a stop, your back hitting a tree trunk with a loud thump! as you slide down it in defeat.

the only chance of survival you had was to wait it out until morning when people came out to the trails again, and the storm passed, and just as you’re pondering where you could find shelter, a low growl far too close to you as well as heavy-sounding footsteps sound beside you.

“h-hello?” you call uncertainly, your head whipping left and right in the hopes of spotting whatever it was. “is anyone there?”

in response, something snarls, louder than any of the other noises you had been hearing tonight, its hot breath practically fanning across your neck in its closeness.

you turn your head in horror just in time to come face-to-face with a huge white werewolf, its frosty azure eyes big and unblinking, maw slack with lascivious drool pouring down, and sharp fangs glinting ominously.

crash!

thunder, loud and booming, shakes the ground and it’s then that you bolt, with no sense of direction only cold fear to guide you, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you run from the monster-like being, his footsteps hard on your trail.

he's snapping at your heels and growling ferociously as rain begins to pour down, absolutely drenching you with your shirt clinging to your figure like a second skin and your hair plastered across your forehead.

you gasp and pant, and just as you're starting to lose hope, bumbling blindly through the sheets of icy rain coming down hard and chilling you to the bone, you see it.

a cave, with not much to look at other than a slight overhang above it, all gray slated rock and darkness on the inside.

normally, you would be suspicious of such a cave, opting to investigate it a little further before heading in, but all rational parts of your brain disappear as you dart into the mouth of it, your clothes dripping wet and your breathing harsh.

it's only when you collapse onto the floor in a tired, soaked heap, breathing heavily and trying to calm yourself down, thinking that the entrance of the cave would be too small for the bulk of the monster outside to fit through, that you realize you're not alone.

because hanging upside down in the darkness that the cave provides, a blinking eyed bat stares back at you, slowly transforming right in front of your eyes into a tall, looming man, one with fangs jutting out below his lip and lazy, monolidded eyes that flick up and down your figure absently.

"who dares rouse me from my eternal slumber?" he crosses his arms across his chest with a scowl, all ashy pale skin and sunken undereyes.

"who are you?" you try to scramble backwards away from him, but he's quicker, dropping to his knees and pulling you into him by your legs.

he smirks at the small gasp you let out, and the involuntary shudder at the feel of his ice cold fingers dancing lightly along your thighs. "i believe i asked you a question first, love."

you stare back at him, breathless for a moment, your lips trembling as you manage to stutter out a response. "i-i got lost in the woods, and something was chasing me. i'm sorry, i didn't know this was your cave, i'll leave."

and just as you begin to stand up, he pulls you right back, his fangs creeping out. "ah ah, not so fast."

your breath catches, fear making your heart thump painfully in your chest as you try to force yourself to think.

what should you do?

his grip on you is tight and as he leans in closer, soft breath ghosting over the sensitive skin on your neck, you feel your skin prickle, managing to choke out a weak, "what are you doing?"

he smiles against your skin, allowing you to feel the sharpness of his fangs as they press against you, not quite biting yet but just there. "why, you're mine now, pet. my prey. my victim. thy fate is sealed."

he slowly opens his mouth, his hot, wet tongue coming to sweep across your pulse point and just as he's about to sink in, a loud howl is heard, followed by quick, skittering footsteps, or rather paw steps.

the same werewolf from before, with pure white fur and a lashing tail skids to a stop in front of you and the man, panting furiously, his cerulean blue eyes heated as he eyes you.

"she's mine, you bloodthirsty bastard! get off her!" he comes to separate you two, though not without the black-haired man's low curse as he rises once more to his full height, eyeing the wolf with a look of contempt.

"goddamnit gojo, you filthy mutt! what are you doing?"

gojo snarls in reply, coming to press against you from behind, staring at geto with a hint of a challenge in his frosty eyes. "i found her first. why do you think she came running in here?"

you can only swallow as your eyes rove between the two, wondering what was going to happen to you.

the fear had begun to wear off though, replaced with a low curling heat in the bottom of your tummy. they were both unfairly attractive men, and it was no surprise your eye was drawn to the chubbed bulge straining in geto's leathery pants or the way you felt gojo's swollen, hefty cock right up against your back.

"yeah? and why is it that you need her so desperately?"

and it's then that you feel the way gojo is pushing his hips forward, humping you ever so slightly as if he can't control himself, his breathing soft and whimpery as he suddenly bucks into you, desperate.

this doesn't go unnoticed by geto, whose eyes slowly follow the drag of his hot, weeping cock up and down your back, his raven eyes snapping back up to gojo with a snort. "you're in heat."

he says it like a statement, not a question, and at this, gojo's head falls onto your shoulder with a drawn-out groan, his breaths puffing feverishly out against you as any restraint he had snaps, furiously rutting against you and pushing your body slightly forward with every grind.

"yes! fuck, m'in heat!" he grits out. "now, can ya help me out here?"

geto, after flicking a strand of his long, black hair out of his face, pauses, his lips curving up just for a second as if something had crossed his mind.

"i think i have a way we can both get what we want." he practically purrs as he comes to a crouch in front of you, tilting your chin up to meet the burning intensity of his gaze. "but it's going to require you to be a good little pet for us, hm? can you do that?"

you find yourself nodding along eagerly, biting your lip as geto's cool hands curl around your thighs, spreading them open wide for gojo, who eagerly shifts, ripping your drenched panties aside with a rrrrip! of fabric.

you're facing gojo, and laying back on geto, with your head on his shoulder, his fingers beginning to work their way up your neck, pausing every now and then to feel your pulse points.

he chuckles darkly. "your pulse is jumping, sweet thing. ya excited to feel satoru's big cock stretching you?"

you nod weakly, slumped back on his chest, your breaths heaving as satoru begins to smear your gushing slick around your entrance with the reddened, veiny head of his cock, his tip bumping your puffy clit as he grinds in between your folds slightly.

your breath catches in a soft moan and suguru hums against your neck in approval, tongue laving hot, wet trails of saliva to drip down generously.

your plush thighs, sprawled apart and waiting, twitch slightly as experimentally, satoru pushes a couple thickened inches inside your hot, clamping walls.

the stretch is almost too much as you squeeze your eyes shut, gojo grunting above you as he tries to slowly fit himself all the way into your spasming cunt.

geto hushes you softly, cooing praises as one hand comes down to toy with your pulsing clit, rubbing tight little circles as his mouth busies itself on your sensitive neck, sucking purpleish hickeys across the expanse of it.

and when satoru finally bottoms out inside you with a whine, he's immediately rocking into you with fervor as his cock seems to only swell, his knot inflating and bumping your twitchy nub with every small movement— while you squirm and let out little cries of pleasure, suguru cradling you closer as his sucking turns more intense.

it's then that you feel the first graze of his teeth, featherlight but there, just barely a nibble across your flesh.

“hah.. fuck!” you reach up, tangling your fingers in geto’s long hair, pressing his head down harder against your neck as you moan breathily from the added sensation of his fangs scraping across you coupled with satoru’s almost frantic thrusts.

“slow down satoru,” geto murmurs hazily from your neck, almost as if whispering it to himself. “our pet is fragile.”

he lets out a desperate grunt in response, the hefty weight of his balls smacking against your ass as he angles himself to hit deep inside you to your cushy, sweet spot, the one that never fails to make you see stars.

your eyes roll back and it’s then that you feel suguru’s fangs bury themselves deep into your neck, the sharp prick fading to a pleasurable sting as he breathes in your scent with a satisfied groan rumbling deep into his chest.

satoru’s fat cock, with its bumpy veins and girth was edging you closer and closer to release with every sharp piston of his slim hips in and out of you, and now as it bumped your cervix repeatedly with sappy precum flooding out of the head, your mouth hung open with drool beginning to pour out with every shocking smack!

you weren't going to last much longer, and with a cry of, "satoru!" his thrusting turns more intense, his fluffy ears twitching frantically above his head as his dick throbs deep inside you.

and then, you feel it.

nothing more than a bump at first, his achingly swollen knot, just barely brushing your sappy folds.

but then more, as his fat, rotund knot begins to swivel n' push its way inside, shoving all of it past your tight, drooling heat with a drawn-out groan.

it pulsates weakly, halfway in and stretching your pussy lips obscenely around its sheer girth, and you tip your head back further onto suguru's shoulder with a keen, where he's still buried into your neck, simply just breathing you in.

"wan' it, 'toru!" you moan mindlessly, spreading your legs further as your whole body trembles and squirms. "want your knot!"

satoru's whole body jerks in response, his hips stuttering and more sloshes of hot, oozing precum gushing out of his furiously red blushing cock, zigzagging veins massaging your plush walls with every calculated stroke of his.

your skin was sizzling with heat, and your stomach had begun to curl into tight little knots, tears pricking at your lash line from how close you were to tipping over the edge and you mewl, clawing at gojo's toned hips in an effort to draw him impossibly closer.

your release is so close you can practically taste it, your every muscle tensed and coiled while you find yourself bucking back into gojo's sloppy thrusts, drool beginning to pour down your chin— and it's at that exact moment that geto rears his head back and bites hard, fangs sucking filthily upon your neck as if it were a lifeline, that you find yourself cumming.

your jaw falls slack in a silent cry, your orgasm exploding through you so intensely you can't even react other than the jolting of your hips up as you clench and milk satoru's thick cock whilst spraying your gushing release all along his abdominals.

you were squirting— so much of it that it was just flooding out of you, soaking satoru entirely in your honeyed essence.

his white tufted happy trail was dragging along your pussy back n' forth as he huffs feverishly before the raw, lewd plop! of his hot n' heavy knot being bullied into you seems to resound, the filthy wet squelches your cunt was making in response making you wriggle helplessly.

and then he's throwing his head back and cumming, the sight so utterly sinful as creamy wads of ivory sap are spurting deep inside your walls, ribbons n' ribbons of it until it's too much, and even then he can't stop, halfheartedly rutting into you as endless amounts steadily pulse into you.

geto groans, the sound low and reverberating through you as he continues taking pull after pull of your thick, warm blood, the feeling almost orgasmic as he draws it out of you slow, your eyes rolling back with the pleasurable ache.

but soon enough, you find yourself feeling lightheaded and with a weak protest from geto, manage to pull him off, his eyes half-cracked open and hazy with pleasure, crimson droplets dribbling down the corners of his lips which he quickly licks off.

gojo's still cumming, pink sheened lips dropped open and cerulean eyes clouded with lust, and you watch geto's head laze in a downward angle to bring your attention to the massive, rock hard bulge in his pants, twitching for any ounce of attention you were willing to give.

"you gonna help me out too, doll?" he drawls, amusement in his gaze as your breath catches at the sheer size of him when he slooowly drags his pants down his hips to let his cock slap against his stomach, curved and pierced at the frenulum.

he was.. pierced?

he stands up, pants half unzipped and turns your body toward him, gojo's large palms sliding over your hips to flip you onto your hands and knees, knot still firmly planted in place as he starts slowly dragging his cock in little rocking thrusts.

geto tilts your chin upward, smirking and tucks a bit of your hair behind your ears. his hand gently strokes your cheek, and as you gaze up at him with a whimper, growls out a, "open your mouth for me, pet."

you do obediently, and watch as he leans over you, letting a thick, silvery wad of spit sultrily drip down onto your tongue, your mouth instantly closing to swallow.

as you do, he shifts, one big hand wrapping around the thickened base of himself to drag his weepy cock along your lips, salty precum already streaking down your chin.

you slightly part your lips, only for geto to push just the fat, bulbous tip of his cock in between, groaning as your warm, wet mouth engulfs him.

gojo pants from behind, his big hands coming to rest on the curve of your waist, his breathing ragged as he furiously humps into you as much as he can with his swollen knot stretching your pussy lips wide, his seed dribbling out occasionally.

geto groans, a hand coming to tangle itself in your hair and pulling you down hard until his plump, globed tip is bruising the back of your throat, making you choke around him with a small moan, drool trickling down the corners of your lips.

he taps your cheek gently, as if to check on you, and you nod slightly, your eyes glassy with tears from all the stimulation as gojo's veined girth swats around your insides, absolutely pouring helpings of precum into you to add on to his mess from earlier.

and what happens next is something you can't prepare yourself for— satoru's big hand raises itself above the curve of your ass and then comes down in a harsh smack!

geto chuckles, pulling you further down on his cock with a tug on your hair until tears are streaming down your face and you're gagging on the length of him.

smack!

again, and again he spanks your plump, jiggling ass, mouth watering as he watches you, feeling the way your walls clench and spasm around him in preparation.

then suguru starts up a brutal pace, fucking into your mouth with abandon, his head thrown back and baring his adam's apple as it bobs in a swallow, muttering curses as you bob your head slightly to take more, your tongue working in quick flicks below his sensitive head and running along the cool metal of his piercing.

meanwhile, satoru's hips are snapping ruthlessly behind you, causing you to ping-pong between them as they both use you to chase their pleasure, your back arching as you shudder, pussy clenching down hard as your stomach tenses up.

you were close to cumming for the second time tonight, and satoru seemed to take notice, because this time when he raises his hand again, it's positioned directly over your puffy, throbbing clit, coming down in a wet thwack! that has you seeing stars and cumming so hard you think you black out for a second.

your thighs tremble and drench themselves in your own syrupy slick while you squirm desperately, your muffled moans and cries sending vibrations straight to suguru's dick.

and then you feel it. the musky tang of his cum filling up your mouth while he makes a noise caught between a moan and a whine, spurting so messily until it dribbles down your chin, his cock twitching with every webbed, ivory wad of seed he spills out.

and then with one last drag of his hot, bulging shaft, gojo also cums, loudly and messily with pools n' pools of white spilling down your thighs in rivulets and a moan that echoes throughout the empty cave, bouncing off the walls until it's all you can hear, your body trembling and spent.

your eyes shutter closed briefly, and distantly, you feel hands moving you, almost reverently, like you were their new shiny toy and they didn't want to break you— yet.

a hot, eager tongue laps at your thighs, cleaning up the mess streaking down between them, tender gentle strokes that focus on precision rather than overstimulating you further.

and when you're all cleaned up, you find yourself laid out flat, propped up against gojo whose ears twitch, his tail curling around your waist as he nuzzles into you, and geto who lies between your legs, his head on your thigh almost lazily.

you sigh, your eyes beginning to droop, tired, but before you can succumb to slumber, you hear geto's voice speaking to you in a murmur.

"you know you're going to be staying with us now, right?"

"why's that?" you say sleepily.

his mouth curves into a sadistic little smirk. "because you're our beloved little pet now. ours, and only ours."

©CHOSOSCUTIE. please do not plagiarize or repost my works!

a/n: this is kinda bad and a little rushed but i had to get something out

[cheriecoke]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ LOOK, MOM! — nanami kento

yuuji accidentally calls you mom

contents: nanami x fem!reader, husband nanami hehe, this is very silly and random and stupid, fluff, nanami & reader are yuuji's adoptive parents fr, words: 1059

“nanamin!” yuuji waves at the figure approaching from behind you, a flashy grin appearing on his face as he glances at the blonde man over your shoulder. “i didn’t know you were coming by today!”

kento's hair sweeps over his forehead in the wind, a few strands coming free as he heads towards you. it's a brisk day, and he has two hot coffees in his hands that he'd picked up after his mission.

a bead of sweat drips down yuuji's temple, and he wipes it with his sleeve, still breathing heavily. you'd spent the last hour training together, pushing his physical capabilities. gojo had been busy recently, between all the missions and his conversations with the higher ups.

so, of course, you'd volunteered to teach the newest student when he couldn't. quickly, he became your favorite of the three first years.

“i’m in between assignments.” kento hands you the coffee, places a gentle hand on your lower back with a smile that is hardly there. “mind if i steal my wife away for a bit?”

yuuji shrugs, his face still bright as he glances between the two of you. ever since he’d found out two of his favorite sorcerers were together, he’d hardly shut up about it.

“no problem. i’m going to meet up with fushiguro anyway.” he brushes the dirt off his pants, waving to the two of you.

“good job today, yuuji!” grateful for something to warm you up in the chilly air, you take a sip of the coffee. it’s perfect, as always, just what you needed. “you’re improving a lot!”

he grins, proud of his accomplishments. “thanks, mom! see you later!”

there's an elongated moment of silence.

you choke on your coffee as kento stiffens beside you, watching while yuuji comes to a skittering halt.

all three of you freeze. you cough, clearing your throat, and kento's hand, steady on your back, has stilled. “yuuji—“

“oh,” the teenager says, his face turning bright red as he realizes what he’s called you. he glances between the two of you, embarrassment evident. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to—“

though, you don’t give yuuji enough time to protest. within seconds, you’ve gathered him up in your arms, squeezing the younger boy to your chest. “kento, we have a son!”

you feel yuuji tense, before he relaxes, and throws his arms around you in an even tighter hug. there’s some sort of thanks resting there. he laughs, carefree, a sound you never want to be taken away from the boy who manages to shine so brightly in such a dark world.

kento stares at you, folds his glasses up in his pocket, as if to show you both how unimpressed he is. “do we?” he asks, lips flat, though, you see through the facade to the amusement hidden in his irises. “i'm certain i would’ve remembered something like that.”

you make a face at him, covering yuuji’s ears dramatically. “oh, don’t listen to your dad, yuuji. he’s old, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

kento blinks, and then sighs, wrinkling his nose. though, when he sees yuuji’s wide grin, his eager expression, he decides to play along.

“well, then... there must be a lapse in my memory." kento crosses his arms over his chest as he regards the two of your extensively, searching for something. "that would certainly explain the striking resemblance between us.” he says drily.

yuuji laughs, a loud snort. he looks nothing like either of you, but you’re not sure he’s ever gotten to witness kento's sarcastic sense of humor, the one that not everyone really gets.

“exactly!” yuuji quips back to kento’s blank expression. "everyone tells me i have the same smile as my dad!

kento’s trying hard not to let yuuji win that one, but you can see the slight wrinkle around his eye, the tiny quirk of his lips. beside the pink haired boy, you choke out a few giggles, covering your mouth.

“yes," kento nods, solemn. "i’ve heard that as well.”

"so you do know how to make jokes, nanamin!" yuuji shouts, nearly jumping in the air as he cheers. "i can't wait to tell fushiguro this."

kento rolls his eyes, but yuuji’s so pleased, and he releases you, his eyes soft and bright as he pulls away.

though he doesn’t say it, doesn't thank you for anything, you can tell he’s grateful. itadori yuuji may be happy with his life as it is now, may have found a home within the friends he’s made at the high school, but you know he misses his grandfather. sometimes, perhaps, he even longs for the conventional family he never really got to have.

you ruffle his hair, the pink strands catching between the cracks of your fingers. “tell him i said hello too.”

yuuji nods, stuffing his hands in his pocket as he steps away. “i will!” his cheerful gaze is pinned on your husband, a secretive smile making a home on his lips. “bye, dad.”

kento shakes his head, and sighs again, though you can tell, a part of him is touched to have won so much of yuuji's admiration. “have a good evening, itadori.”

you watch the young boy scurry away, hands in his pockets as he braces himself against the cold.

"you should be nicer to your son, kento."

kento snorts, throwing an arm over your shoulder as he brings you closer to him. "i am nice to him," he says, kissing your temple softly. "a little hard on him, maybe, but i just don't want anything bad to happen to him."

you soften, look up at him with warm eyes, and you squeeze the hand that is resting on your shoulder. "i know," you say, your heart clenching. you've thought about it before, thought of kento with a tiny child that looks just like him, cradled against his chest. thought of him with a little girl whose hair he can braid, a little boy he can raise to be a gentleman.

but you hadn't talked about it; you'd always thought your life was too busy, too dangerous for children.

"you'd make a good dad, ken," you say, your cheeks flushed as you grin at him.

kento's eyes flash. "really?" an array of emotions scurries across his features before he leans down, kissing you softly. "is this your way of telling me you want a baby, sweetheart?" his voice deepens as he whispers against your lips, smiling. "because i'm more than happy to give you one."

[faestunna]

remmick breeding kink :)

can you handle it?

PAIRING: remmick x fem!reader

WC: 829

WARNINGS: smut (18+), p in v, rough sex/pure porn with no plot, dom/sub vibes, slight size kink, dirty talk, creampie

A/N: anddddd my seat is wet thank you anon! thinking about this concept all day everyday cus remmick is a filthy little freak and i need him so bad

masterlist

Your head leans back against the wall as your eyes squeeze shut, lips falling open just enough for him to see the point of your teeth.

“Just like that, darlin’,” Remmick cooes, holding back a moan. He moves his eyes down to where the two of you connected. About half of his length was hidden inside of you. “Christ, that’s good.” The other half was the only thing keeping his hips from fully pressing against yours.

When you were a little girl, you’d been told to never speak the Lord’s name in vain; the preacher hadn’t said anything about speaking it in pleasure.

For as long as you’d known Remmick, pleasure was all he seemed to know. You’d miss him for a month or so—a time during which your life was ever so drab—until he came lurking around your cottage again. All it took was one “Come inside” and Remmick knew you were his.

That and the way you managed to grip him the same every time he fucked you. “Miss me, honey?” He asks while maintaining the merciless speed of his hips.

You nod rapidly, nose crinkled and hands gripping the table below you. He couldn’t have even waited to get you into the bedroom to have his way with you. Remmick was a man who got what he wanted, and you were the girl who gave it to him.

“M-missed you so bad,” you stutter out. He was stronger than you—a lot—to the point where if you tried to move yourself or switch positions, he’d press your hips down, leaving bruises on the skin.

“I bet so, baby.” It’s unfair, really. Here you are, a trembling, sobbing mess with him between your legs, and he manages to pound into you like it’s nothing. Don’t be fooled—it’s one of the most heavenly things Remmick has felt. He grabs your face by your cheeks and leans in half way, pulling you to him. “Tell you what,” he whispers. “What if you don’t have to miss me no more?”

You peek your eyes open and look at him through heavy eyelids. “W-,” You’re cut off by a moan. “What?”

He angles his hips a certain way so you can feel the tip of him hitting a new spot inside you. As your toes curled, Remmick grinned. “I’ll leave a little piece of me with you. That way,” he caresses your chin with his thumb. His other hand acts as a weight on your stomach. “You won’t miss me when I’m gone. How’s that sound, darlin’?”

It only takes your foggy mind a second to process what he says, and you immediately nod your head. “Please,” you gripped onto his arms.

“I think you need it, honey,” he almost chuckles, and if you weren’t distracted by the warmth building up between your legs, you would’ve scolded him. You could feel every inch of him that drew in and out of you, kissing your cervix so gently but enough that your legs wrapped around him.

A devilish glare overcame your eyes. “I need it,” you confirm, taking his thumb from your chin in between your lips. Remmick’s jaw drops slack as he lets out a soft groan. His pace somehow quickens, leaving you whimpering around his digit.

“Oh, I knew you’d let me fuck you like this,” he says while his movements turn rougher. They’re ragged and sharp, and (from experience) you know he’s just as close as you are. “A sweet girl like you needs someone to take care of her like this. I know you can handle yourself…wasn’t sure if you could handle me.”

Your lips part open and he drops his hand. “Now,” he says into your ear with a small smirk. “I’m wondering if you can handle more.”

His forehead presses against yours. Your body nearly bounces with every snap of hips. There’s still a glorious sensation of yourself stretching open for him. Letting him in. Your legs twist around his frame as if begging him to fill you up with his promise.

When you finish, you crash. It’s a series of both of yours’ high-pitched moans and throaty groans, the feeling of a warmth spurting into you. “That’s it, darlin’, take it all. Every drop of me.” Remmick cooes as your chest rises and falls with desperate breaths. He doesn’t move out of you. His length, still unbelievably hard, plugs you to keep any of his release from dripping out.

A sheer layer of sweat creates a glisten over your face. You smile in a tired pleasure. “Gonna have a piece of you with me forever.” You say, taking his hand and placing it back over your lower stomach.

Remmick nods, rubbing the skin like he’s never felt something so soft. And as he moves forward to place a kiss on your lips—a perfect mixture of gentle and rough—he accidentally pushes himself even deeper into you.

A small moan escapes your throat…and he smirks into the kiss.

© faestunna 2025.

[innorality]

stack x reader (sinners)

cw : biting, blood, spit-play, no protection + finishing inside (I love stack sm yall)

"f-fuck.. stack!" you moaned out, your hands trembling in his firm grip against the table that creaked with every movement of his relentless hips.

you back was flat on the table while your legs were wrapped around his slutty fucking waist— fuck, you could drown in the sight of him.

becoming vampires did have a lot of downsides, but the pros were fucking heavenly.

he had more stamina, more force, more speed. your sex life? upgraded for as long as a dagger doesn't get in that pretty little chest of his.

"shit– sweetie.." he lowered his head, nuzzling in the crook of your neck. "you smell so fuckin'..." he trailed off, and you felt his dick twitching inside of you as he inhaled your scent.

his thick cock battered your insides, turning you into a limbless puddle of pleasure. his free hand—the one that wasn't holding both of your wrists—trailed down your body and onto that puffy little clit of yours. "I wanna- fuck.. wanna make you cum.." his fangs bared, "'cuz.. when you cum.. your blood- shit.. your fuckin' blood.."

and he feels like he's about to cum himself.

his balls tightened at the sound of your honey-coated voice dripping out your swollen lips, moaning his name, at the sound of your heart pounding faster by the second, at the sound of your blood rushing to flow in your veins.

he rubbed your clit faster, pinching and slapping it every so often, and when you finally climaxed, it hit you like a rocking ball.

it took you by surprise, to be honest.

one second you were listening to your demonic boyfriend ramble about your blood flow when you came, and the next, an overwhelming wave of pleasure filled your senses. and you didn't know if it was the fact that your senses were heightened aswell, or if he just fucked you that good, but you swear that you saw the pearly gates of heaven for a moment.

your velvet walls came clamping down on him, cream coating his length with every greedy thrust he made. he watched your tits bounce up and down as your body moved with his like a fucking ragdoll.

"s-shit.." was the only word he could even think of uttering when his eyes bored back down to where the two you connected, and he saw the amount of gooey cream that you coated him with and he just can't help himself–

"f-fuck baby– im-" and he's biting down on your neck. hard. hard enough to draw blood, hard enough for it hurt. the pain felt delicious, and you only ached for more, so you fought through the overastimulation and overall need to just lie down, got a hand out of his wrist lock, and pushed him even deeper on your neck.

and shit, he thinks he might just die. the smell of taste of your blood, the feeling of your oozing pussy around him, the deafening sound his tip made everytime he hit your cervix... it all catches up to him.

he cums. hard. his abs clenched like he was having a seizure and he whimpered. you vampire ex-soldier boyfriend just whimpered in your ear. "f-fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck- why do you feel so fuckin' good, baby? shit.. bet you wanna- bet you wanna taste yourself huh?" and he quite literally fights gravity to bring his head back up. you parted your lips obediently and suddenly, a stream of a mix of your blood and his drool dripped down from his mouth to yours.

you swallowed as he pulled out, feeling his sticky cum dribble out of your still clenching hole, panting.

maybe this new vampire life wasn't so bad, after all.

[jeonstudios]

anatomy of a vampire | 01

a young man returns to a small town he hasn't seen in years, and a house he hasn't lived in since before the last president was born, only to find that a stray cat has given birth to kittens in his closet.

pairing: vampire!jk x nerdy f veterinarian!reader (with a special interest in the science and biology aspect of the supernatural lol)

genre: sorta scifi-ish, fluff, minor angst, some smut later on

word count: 4.7k

warnings: none in this part (maybe anatomy talk/vet talk?), but there's gonna be like... inspection kink-stuff later on 🤪 more detailed warnings to come <3

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 1/? 

<previous | next>

© anatomy of a vampire is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

You’re halfway through your lunch when Namjoon pokes his head into the break room, a stethoscope around his neck and thick-rimmed glasses low on his nose.

“Reception just got a call about a home visit.”

“Today?” you ask, your mouth full of chicken sandwich as you glance at your wristwatch. You and Namjoon are way too close for you to care about being ladylike.

“Mhm.”

You pause. Not many clinics in your small town offer home visits, and even fewer do it on short notice. For your clinic, it’s usually about an old dog being put to rest at home—incredibly sad, but not an emergency. 

“Is it urgent?”

“Not on the minute, but needs done today.”

You glance at the patient chart on the table in front of you. “I think this’ll be quick. I’ll go after this one.”

“You sure?” Namjoon asks. “Technically, it’s my turn.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. You should see Oakley when he comes; he’s not very fond of me.”

Oakley, a returning patient with chronic stomach issues, has managed to spray paint you a yellowy brown on three different occasions. From both ends. It’s like he aims.

Namjoon snorts. He hasn’t been hit once.

Checking your watch again, you push the last bite of your sandwich into your mouth, chewing it while you grab the chart. Namjoon is already on his way to greet another patient and their owner, and you take a second to swallow and wipe any crumbs off your scrubs before you follow his lead, heading into the waiting area.

“Millie?” you call, smiling when a young woman rises from a chair, her red dachshund's nose practically glued to the clinic floor.

It’s two-thirty when you pull out of the clinic parking lot, the clinic’s old station wagon rattling faintly as you steer onto the main road. The address in the confirmation email is farther out than you expected but still technically within the town limits, and you watch the short apartment buildings give way to larger, more spaced-out houses as you drive.

You don’t often find yourself in this part of town these days, although you’re very familiar with at least one house here. Many Halloweens were spent here back in the day, kids dressed up as various creatures daring each other to fight through the overgrown lawn and peek inside the dark windows. Countless stories were told about the abandoned house, each one slightly more insane than the last. Of course, you were like… eight, and a large, seemingly empty white house with a big, black gable was doomed to be haunted.

Still, you’re very surprised when you stop at the red pin on your phone’s screen, and it’s outside that very house. Momo, who works the reception, must’ve forgotten to fill out the pet owner’s name on the confirmation form she sent you, so all you have is this address and a brief line of patient info.

Even though the sky is gray—fittingly enough threatening September rain—it’s not as scary as you remember. Probably because it’s not a dark Halloween night, and you’re not a kid anymore. It also doesn’t actually seem to be abandoned. To be fair, it was never really run-down aside from the lawn, but now there’s a big black SUV parked outside. 

Getting out of the car, you grab the rectangular veterinary kit bag, accidentally shutting the trunk a little too hard. The sound echoes down the quiet street, letting anyone who wasn’t already aware know of your arrival. A chilly breeze has you pulling your softshell jacket tighter over your light blue scrubs as you lock the car. When you turn back to the house, you pause to take it in once more. It’s a pretty house—two-story, painted white probably a long time ago but still holding up surprisingly well. Black shutters frame the dark windows, and the tall, black gabled roof reaches impressively toward the gray sky. The lawn has either been trimmed within the last few years, or your childhood imagination really exaggerated it because you can clearly recall it looking more like a thicket with tall grass than just… an overgrown lawn. You distinctly remember more... shrubs.

Climbing the shallow steps, you stop in front of the black-painted door and raise your hand to knock. As you wait, you tilt your head back, once again letting your gaze linger on the house. Who exactly are you here to meet? Maybe it’s some introverted old woman who rarely leaves her house? Or a grumpy old man? But then again, the SUV looked awfully modern. Maybe the ancient resident has a grandchild visiting?

A short moment later, the door opens with a slight creak.

It’s not an old lady; it’s a young man. A tall young man—probably the most attractive one you’ve ever seen—looking down at you. He’s broad-shouldered and lean, visibly fit even despite the thick, black hoodie and baggy jeans he wears. You try not to stare at the shadow created in the fabric between his pecs, or the way the oversized hoodie still somehow manages to cling to the top of his bicep as he keeps one hand on the door handle. His black, relatively straight hair doesn’t look styled, just like it naturally falls into its part, the sides of it a little shorter than the top. Everything about him screams effortless, like he just wakes up looking like that.

One thing’s for sure: he wasn’t who you expected to open the door.

“Uh, hi,” you introduce yourself, telling him your name, “Did you… call for a vet?”

For some reason, he looks almost as surprised as you. “Hey. I did, yeah. I’m Jeongguk.”

Though he smiles politely, he doesn’t offer his hand for you to shake. It’s not something you dwell on. Quite a few of the pet owners you meet prefer not to shake hands.

“Come in.”

You nod and step inside, having to almost squeeze past him in the narrow hallway as he shuts the door behind you. Like always when you enter a strange man’s home alone, you say a little prayer in your head. If it came to it, you’ve got a bunch of pointy things in your bag, but you’d still prefer it if he wasn’t crazy to begin with.

As you move past him, you’re almost surprised that you don’t… smell him. Men—at least in this town—are very fond of their colognes and sprays, but you don’t catch even the slightest whiff of him. You wouldn’t say that you particularly enjoy the strong… scents, but the total lack of one from a hunk like this is almost disappointing.

When you go to slip your shoes off, he stops you. 

“Keep them on,” he says, voice kept low due to the distance. Or rather, the lack thereof. “It’s… not very clean.” 

There’s something in the casual smile he gives you besides an attractiveness you’ve never seen before. Maybe it’s a tad of… sheepishness? It doesn’t matter; your skin still heats under his gaze

“Oh, okay,” you say, trying to remain unbothered and professional while waiting for him to take the lead. Luckily, you don’t think he notices.

Even with the heads-up, you’re not sure what surprises you more as you follow him into the house—the layers and layers of dust, or the Edwardian, neoclassical interior design. The faded, beige walls are paneled, and as he leads you toward a staircase, you catch a glimpse of what appears to be the living room through an open archway. In it, you spot a pale green velvet sofa and two upholstered armchairs, fitting right in. There’s also a rectangular fireplace, a gold-framed mirror above it, and what catches your interest the most: a chandelier. Its size is impressive, and so is the fact that it looks like it was made for real, live candles. The same goes for the brass wall sconces placed on either side of the fireplace. You’ve only ever seen those in movies.

“They’re up here,” he says, and you nod, reaching for the wooden railing as you follow him up the stairs.

The steps creak loudly beneath your weight—another reminder of just how old this house probably is. At the landing, he turns, leading you to a bedroom. It’s surprisingly small for a house this size, but it’s cozy and warm in a way you weren’t expecting. You guess the clouds outside have eased up a little because the smallest ray of sunlight filters through the practically sheer beige curtains and highlights the dust particles floating in the air.

The four-poster bed is made from dark wood, its canopy rails bare and the headboard curled softly. Like most things, the white sheets appear pretty much untouched, and the only real signs of life are the footsteps disturbing the dust on the floor. You've followed a path all the way from the door, and when you look closer, you see paw prints venturing outside it.

Noticing your lingering gaze, Jeongguk scratches the back of his neck.

“I haven’t been here in a while.”

You figured. It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here since… the late 1800s. Although it’s certainly a stylistic choice—and one you wouldn’t have expected from someone so young and otherwise modern-looking—it has its charm. Even if you’re not sure there’s even electricity or running water.

“I arrived earlier today and found them here,” Jeongguk continues, approaching a standalone wooden wardrobe placed against the wall. One door is already slightly ajar, but when he carefully opens it wider, you see them. The cat with kittens. “I read that you’re not supposed to move them.”

The mother cat, who looks to be all black, has made a little nest on top of a crisp white shirt that’s fallen from its hanger above.

“Oh,” you breathe, crouching slowly to get a better look. “They’re brand new.”

“Yeah. And I think one is smaller than the others.”

Your eyes travel over the small beings, each with varying patches of white to go with the black. None of them, from what you can tell, have even opened their eyes yet. The mother cat stops licking one of the kittens to give you a warning hiss. You listen, rising to your feet and turning away, a plan already in mind.

“Okay, I brought some food that might help lure her out,” you say, setting the bag down on the floor and crouching to reach into it. “This stuff’s usually pretty irresistible…”

But when you look back at the man—a jar gripped in your hand—he’s already holding the mother cat. Just straight around her middle, as if he’s never held a cat before. She doesn’t seem to mind very much, just hangs there, looking around.

Jeongguk looks at you, a little surprised too.

“Oh, okay. She seems to like you better,” you smile. You can’t help but think that he looks… sweet. A big, clearly very muscular and attractive man who’s liked by animals? It’s definitely both a green flag and a personal weakness for you.

The food goes back into the bag, and you reach for the equipment you’ll need instead. With a stethoscope around your neck, a small kitchen scale, and a thermometer, you kneel in front of the wardrobe. In the meantime, Jeongguk sits down on the bed, the cat perched on his lap. He keeps his large hands around her, gently keeping her in place in case she changes her mind.

Very gently, you reach for the smallest kitten first. It squirms in your hands, mouth open and paws sticking out in a silent protest. 

“Sex is notoriously tricky to tell on kittens, especially this small, so I’m not even gonna try,” you say with a smile, giving the kitten a general once-over before focusing on its face. It’s a sweet little thing, crying a little as you inspect it. This one is mostly black but with two white front paws.

“Well, I’d definitely say they’re only a day or two old. This one has a suckle reflex but hasn’t opened its eyes yet. That usually happens between day five and fourteen. The umbilical stump is still attached too, and that usually falls off around day two to four.”

“So that’s… good?” Jeongguk asks, and when you look at him, the mother cat is bumping her head against his abdomen. He peers down at her on his lap, extending his veiny hand in a wordless offer. She accepts it, rubbing her head against his palm and letting him pet her.

“Yeah. That’s normal.”

You return your focus to the little being in your hands, carefully looking into its mouth again to check its gums and palate. 

“Pink gums and no cleft. That’s good, too.”

With one hand, you grab the stethoscope from your neck, putting the earpieces in place. Getting a clear heart or lung reading on kittens this tiny isn’t easy. Their heart rate is fast, making it easy to miss abnormalities, and their small, wriggling bodies make it hard to even position the chestpiece properly in the first place.

Focusing, you hold the kitten still, placing the stethoscope on the left side of its chest just behind the elbow. Then you listen closely, trying to ignore the soft purring from the adult cat.

It sounds… good. Alright, at least. Shifting the stethoscope slightly, you first listen to one lung and then the other. You don’t notice anything abnormal there, either.

“Heart and lungs sound okay,” you declare, slipping the stethoscope back around your neck.

“What’s next?”

“Temperature,” you answer, reaching for the digital thermometer.

“What should their temperature be?”

“Somewhere between thirty-six and thirty-six point five degrees Celsius.”

“Isn’t that a little low? I mean, compared to a human?”

“Adult cats are more similar to humans, but kittens generally run a little colder,” you explain, focusing on getting the reading right. “They don’t have the ability to regulate their body temperature properly for the first couple of weeks.”

The thermometer beeps.

“Thirty-six point two,” you mumble. “So that’s within the range. A little low, but not necessarily dangerous.”

With one hand, you reach for the kitchen scale, setting it on the floor in front of you. It powers on, and once it’s ready, you place the kitten on it, keeping your hand floating above in case the little animal tries to wiggle off the tray.

The number settles, and you read it out loud. “Eighty-one grams.”

“Too small?” Jeongguk wonders.

“On the lower side, but not dangerously so. At least not yet.”

You take the kitten and carefully place it back in the makeshift nest for the moment. Before reaching for another kitten to examine in the same way, you grab a small notebook in your bag, quickly jotting down the numbers so you don’t forget them.

Jeongguk looks on as you inspect the rest of the four kittens, occasionally asking another question. It’s not unusual for pet owners to ask questions, but considering these aren’t even his cats—and from what you gathered, he only found them today—it makes your chest warm. Not everyone would go to such lengths for stray cats. It also doesn’t help your growing soft spot that you get to talk about animals and their anatomy to someone who seems to want to listen. After all, you’re a bit of a nerd, and this is your number one fascination.

One by one, the kittens get their clean bill of health and are placed back on the shirt, and then you shift your focus to their mother. She’s standing on Jeongguk’s lap, still headbutting his chest. While she’s preoccupied, you quietly reach into your bag for the microchip scanner, but the moment you try to get close, she notices and hisses. 

“Give it a try, please?” You hold the scanner out to Jeongguk, keeping as much distance as you can. “Press this button and move the scanner over her, focusing on her neck and back.”

Jeongguk takes the scanner from your outreached hand, doing as you instructed and pressing the button. It beeps, and he begins to move it over her.

“Like this?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed almost angrily as he focuses.

You nod encouragingly. “Yeah.”

“Is it to see if she has an owner?”

“Yes. But sometimes, even if they are microchipped, there's not a registered owner. But we can hope.”

He continues to search for a chip, but when nothing happens, he looks at you with those dark eyes, silently asking what to do.

“Try her belly and even her legs. Sometimes, they migrate.”

Adjusting his grip on the scanner, he moves it lower.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” he says a moment later, handing the scanner back to you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, taking it to put it back in the bag. Although disappointed, you’re not surprised. “Would you mind helping me check her out? She seems to really like you. A whole lot better than she likes me, at least.”

He matches the soft smile you give him. “Sure.”

“Okay, well, she seems to be in okay condition, but I need to rule out any birth-related injuries. 

“What do I do?” he asks, scooting closer to the edge of the bed, the cat still happy to receive his attention. 

“Just… hold her like that… Yes, exactly. And with your other hand, move her tail away for me?”

A little awkwardly, he follows your instructions again, and while you don’t think the cat particularly enjoys it, she doesn’t fight it. You move closer, trying to get a better look while doing your best not to stare at his veiny hands instead. In any other setting, they’d be way too much of a distraction, but knowing that this cat depends on you to evaluate her health, you divert your gaze.

“Alright… I don’t see anything... unusual, no swelling, no blood, no discharge. If she were injured, you’d usually spot it, but she’s not thrilled with me, so I won’t push it,” you chuckle, leaning back.

Having animals dislike you is unfortunately part of the job. Sometimes, it hurts your heart a little, but when you remember that it’s easy for an animal to associate the scrubs or equipment with something unpleasant and maybe even painful, it makes more sense. Briefly, you wonder if this cat has ever been to a vet or if her dislike for you stems from something else. It’s definitely normal for new mothers to have a bit of an attitude, but you’d think that would include every human in the room. Or maybe she doesn’t dislike you in particular; maybe she just really likes Jeongguk. Which... you know, fair.

Almost as if sensing that the examination is over, the black cat jumps down from Jeongguk’s lap, leaping past you to get to her babies. 

“Alright,” you say, wiping your hands on your pants before you stand up. “It’s important not to disturb them too much, but they’ll still need some supervision—especially the small one—just to make sure they continue to eat and grow. And they’ll need a better place to nest, somewhere a little warmer, softer, and less… dusty. No offense.”

Jeongguk chuckles, standing up as well and brushing some cat hairs from his hoodie. “None taken.”

“So, if you want me to, I can take them with me. We have a foster program and a few great volunteers.”

Jeongguk looks down at you, his brows furrowed in confusion this time. “I thought they were too small to be moved?”

“Yeah,” you nod, bending down to quickly gather the rest of the used equipment and put it back in the bag. “Ideally, they wouldn’t need to be. But I understand if you can’t or don't want to look after a stray cat and her kittens.”

“No, it’s… uh… It’s fine,” he says, appearing to land in a decision and sticking by it, his eyes traveling to the little bodies nestled into the white shirt. “It’s not that hard, right? Just keep an eye on them? If you think I can do it, of course. I already have a litter box.”

You blink, a little surprised. “You just happened to have a litter box?”

“No, I asked some neighbors after I called you. I figured you'd have some tips about the other stuff. Like food and such.”

Your smile grows as you watch him. He is… oddly endearing. “Yeah. Of course,” you say, your voice softening. The fewer cats and kitten taking up the very limited space at the volunteers', the better. “Okay.”

You begin drafting an email to send to him. It includes everything you've talked about plus cat food recommendations for the mother cat and a link to a cat bed that’s cheap but comfortable enough for a nursing litter. While you write, you talk him through everything again, like what to watch for, when to weigh them, and what to do if anything seems off.

He asks a few questions, making it very clear—if it wasn’t already—that he doesn’t really have any experience with animals. While he’s never appeared scared or nervous during your visit, you can tell that he’s not quite sure what to do. He moves slowly, almost a little awkwardly around the cats, but it’s more like he doesn’t want to scare them.

“You really like animals,” he points out, watching you tuck your notebook back into the bag.

You glance up at him. His tone isn’t mocking but more... curious. Still, you nod, a little self-conscious of how nerdy you can be.

“Yeah, animals are incredible. Not only because they’re such good companions—some of them at least—but, they’re so fascinating? How they function and how they’ve evolved.”

But there’s something else in his curious gaze that you finally pick up on, and it dawns on you.

“You think I’m a freak too, don’t you?” you say with a smile, pulling the stethoscope you’d forgotten to pack from around your neck and tucking it into the bag as well.

“No, no,” he shakes his head.

You lift an eyebrow. “But you know about it? My paper?”

His eyes are so dark. “Yeah…”

You look away, trying not to let it affect your professionalism. Speaking about it brings up memories you’d rather not be reminded of. “I thought you said you hadn’t been here in forever?”

It’s weird, right? If he doesn’t live here and hasn’t been around in a long time, how would he know the gossip?

“Town called a few years ago. About the electrical wiring needing to be upgraded. So I came here to fix it.”

Oh. That makes sense, you guess. A few years ago was when it first happened. That’s probably also why the yard looked different from what you remembered.

“And you heard about it?”

He smiles apologetically. “Yeah. It’s a small town, I guess.”

“It’s not like I think Ariel is real. Or that dragons roam the sky or that Dracula lives in a dark castle somewhere, wearing a black cape over a white, frilly shirt,” you defend, slinging the bag over your shoulder. “I just wrote about how much we don’t actually know about the living organisms around us and how some of the 'supernatural' traits aren't really that crazy, anatomically speaking.”

“No, I get that,” he assures, sounding like he genuinely didn’t mean to upset you. “I found it very interesting.”

“So is that why you looked so surprised to see me? Because you recognized me?”

“No. Or… well, yeah. I spoke to the receptionist, and she told me a man’s name—Namjoon, I think—would come.”

“Oh.”

“But I did also vaguely recognize you, I think. From the image.”

Lifting your wrist, you glance at the watch. “I should start to head back. Lock the clinic up.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Jeongguk says, and when you meet his dark eyes again, he looks genuine. “I don’t think you’re a freak, I promise.”

“It’s alright,” you say, offering him a quick smile. “I’m not supposed to be out this long anyway. I have to get back and finish up the bill. I’ll email it to you along with the advice, is that okay?”

He nods, clearly accepting that he did in fact upset you to some degree. “Okay. Thank you for the help.”

You smile again, relaxing your shoulders and taking a deep breath. Maybe you should cut him some slack. Technically, he wasn’t even the one to bring your paper up; that was all you. And besides very, very handsome, you haven’t once thought of him as anything other than sweet.

"No problem."

The drive back to the clinic is quiet. You don’t even turn the prehistoric radio on. It doesn’t matter because your thoughts are loud enough anyway, circling back to one thing. One thing and one person.

The paper you wrote in vet school was a mistake. Not that it was bad per se—it was a perfectly science-based paper, focused on the more unusual biological traits found in the animal kingdom. 

Unfortunately, you made the grave mistake of connecting some of those traits to various mythical creatures and their ‘unbelievable’ biology. Some of your peers—predominantly men—found it absolutely ridiculous and teased you for it. The more you tried to defend yourself, the funnier they thought it was.

You’d think it at least would’ve stayed within whatever small circle vet med is, but when your small town happens to be known specifically for the vet med program, a surprisingly large chunk of the population has some connection to it. You’re lucky that not many wish to stay in town after graduating, or you would’ve been last on the list to get a job. You still remember your current boss’s inspecting eyes as she interviewed you, trying to make sure you weren’t actually batshit crazy. That was maybe five or so years ago, and you haven’t really had to think about the paper in probably at least a year. 

Until today. Again, it wasn’t Jeongguk’s fault, you don’t think he even meant for it to be brought up. It still caught you off guard, though, because even if you don’t know him, he didn’t give off the same vibe as the people who laughed at you. And now, you can’t stop thinking about him. About his build, and how the oversized clothes hung off his strong, muscular body. Or his large, veiny hands as he gently pet the mother cat. His dark eyes, sharp jaw, and strong eyebrows. Even his nose—with its straight bridge and softly rounded tip, creating such a striking, masculine profile—had a way of completely mesmerizing you.

Not only is he probably the most attractive man you’ve seen in a long time—maybe ever, but he seemed… warm. You wouldn’t expect a man like him to care for a stray cat and her newborn kittens, much less call a vet out to help, but he did.

Back at the clinic, you take a seat in front of the desktop computer, typing your notes into the chart and updating the bill. Besides the obviously tragic parts of dealing with sick and injured animals, the worst part is probably billing the owners. You need money to live just like everyone else, but you’ll always feel wrong charging worried owners to care for their family members. Even now, as you’re adding the services to… Jeon Jeongguk’s bill, you think about how the cats don’t even belong to him.

The cursor hovers over his name. Who is he? How did he come to be the owner of that house, and why own it if he’s not living there or at least visiting regularly? Why bother even fixing the electrical wiring if it’s just gonna stay empty? And just how long had it been empty?

The questions whirl in your head. Though it’s not really any of your business why he returned, maybe you could’ve at least asked him where he’s from? It would’ve been acceptable small talk, right? Could you also have asked why he felt the need to take care of the cats, even when you offered to take them off his hands, or would that have been rude? 

Realizing that you’re not getting anywhere, you bill him for a standard home visit of half an hour—even though you stayed closer to one—and for the gas just so you don’t lose money on the visit. You don’t add the same day fee or charge him for the used materials.

<previous | next>

author's note: i hope you liked it and are excited for the rest because i think it's gonna be good!!! i also had some moodboard pics of the house made so let me know if you'd like to see them <3

[nastyzombii]

How Often Do You Feel Lonely? (Remmick x F!Reader)

summary: you live alone in the middle of the woods, just how you like it. at least that’s what you tell yourself. your peaceful night in is interrupted by a knock at the door. a man, pleading to be let inside just to catch his breath… but of course, that’s not all he’s after.

wc: 14.5k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit depictions of sexual acts! little plot mostly smut, vampire sex, p in v, oral (both giving and receiving), lots of drooling, spit drinking, face fucking, mutual masturbation, creampie(s), face down ass up, hair pulling, claws and teeth drawing blood/leaving marks, blood tasting (he’s a vampire… duh), fingering, multiple orgasms, threats of violence, manipulation, mentions of voyeurism, abandonment and death.

A/N: special thanks to @eternalstrigoii for beta reading, @spikedfearn for inspiring me to get back into writing smut, and of course everyone in the remmick discord for cheering me on and filling my head with wonderful filthy ideas <3 love u guys | translations for gaeilge provided at the end.

The sun had finally set, nestling itself amidst the spiraling, twisted trees. The sky shifted from a crisp orange to a comforting blanket of dark purple, the stars winking from a distance. Clouds hung lazily, dotting the starlit night with blots of grey. The moon, half-full, occupied the sun’s empty throne. 

Although the sun drifted to its nightly embrace, the air still hangs heavy with the humid summer heat. You kept the windows open, though it wasn’t much help. Even keeping the door open a crack didn’t aid in letting air into the stuffy house. 

The dark, empty house - lit only by the soft moonlight and a few candles scattered on the mantle and other various surfaces - creaked. Not unusual for the old place you call home. You live alone, but the creaks and groans didn’t bother you much. Not anymore, at least. You’ve grown used to it, the sounds kept you company, especially at night. A delightful symphony in comparison to the deafening silence that surrounded you most days. 

Sometimes that’s all you need. The familiar creaking of the house, the serene night sky, a good book, a myriad of flickering candles, and some refreshing tea - iced or hot, depending on the weather and your mood. Tonight it was iced, on account of the sticky summer heat. 

Despite having what you need for a peaceful night, you knew deep down in your heart that something was missing. It troubled you to ponder what exactly left you so empty inside, but you regularly stifle that feeling. 

No use thinking about that. No use at all.

You grab your freshly brewed tea, take a sip and set it down on the nearby coaster. You snatch the most recent book you’ve started digging into from the shelf and sit in your typical spot by the window. It was the perfect spot. You could see the moon and stars coalescing in the clouds, their soothing light shining just bright enough through the window for you to read peacefully. Your chair was wooden, but the throw pillow on the seat made it perfectly comfortable.

You curl open the book, a classic Bram Stoker novel, right where you left off. You slide the bookmark from its place and set it down on the table in front of you. Taking another hearty sip from your glass, you begin reading to yourself: 

“I pray to you, be seated and sup how you please. You will, I trust, excuse me that I do not join you; but I have dined already, and I do not sup.”

A shadow, swift and sudden, passes by the window. You barely spot it out of the corner of your eye. You twist your head to catch a better glimpse, but the presence went as fast as it came. 

It was probably just an animal. A wolf or a vulture, maybe even a bear. It’s hard to say. Plenty of animals congregate around your humble abode. Living in the middle of nowhere meant that any movement outside was normally a woodland creature just drifting through on their way back to their family or catching their prey… or running from a predator. Nothing more. Except for the occasional birds flocking to your outdoor feeder, they stick around longer than most animals - longer than any guest you’ve ever had, really. 

However you couldn’t shake the feeling that the passing shadow might have been something different. A stillness sets in, yet the candles continue to dance in the darkness, the blazing waltz reflecting in your eyes.

You inhale a sharp breath and try to perish the thought. The loneliness is really getting to you tonight. You shift your eyes back onto the page but a sound startles you before you can begin reading again. 

Your ajar front door creaked. A different creak than you’re used to. There was no wind, not tonight, yet something caused the door to sway and moan. Something was lurking out in the woods. Or worse, someone.

An unfamiliar chill runs down your spine. An animal… that’s all it is. A hungry animal. A scared animal. Reluctantly, you leave your perch once more to shut the door, setting the book page down in your chair. You were determined to not let these noises get under your skin. Not while you’re trying to enjoy a quiet night of reading. You could do without the willies tonight. 

You press one hand on the rustic wooden door frame, the other on the knob. Your eyes travel to the crack, peering out into the darkness. Nobody was there. Nothing was there. Just your overactive imagination getting the best of you. A wave of relief washes over you. 

The door shuts with a groan. Finally… back to peace. You take a step to the side, primed to dive into your reading and enjoy a relaxing night without distraction. Without issue. Peace and quiet, just how you like it.  

Right as you’re about to settle in your chair, you hear a loud knock.

KNOCK KNOCK

Your heart thuds in your chest - it was an unusual sound for you. Nobody comes to visit, not very often. Certainly not at this hour. Fear ripples in your throat as you take in a gulp of air. You just checked outside with no sight or feeling of a presence on your doorstep. How is that possible?

The moisture from the summer heat mingles with the nervous sweat on your forehead. Your heart thrums faster as the rapping on the door continues.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Hello? Hey, is-is anyone home?” The choked voice of a man breaks through the barrier of your door. A southern twang riddled the man’s gravelly inflection. It didn’t sound natural though, more like someone mimicking an accent they’d heard once before. “Hello? Please, I need some help.”

The begging stranger continues knocking at the door, his pleas growing louder. His pounding grows more urgent. You didn’t want to answer. Anxiety claws at your chest. A man? Here? At this hour? I didn’t see him when I peeked outside. I was sure there was no one there.  

“Please, p-please,” The man’s voice is desperate, calling to you like a siren. Your breath trembles as he cries out. “I know you’re in there. I can see your shadow movin’ around.”

You inhale a deep, staggered breath and inch closer to the door, the heavy wood shifting with the man’s incessant knocking. Your hands shake as you slowly open the door - just a hair, to get a look at the man at your doorstep. 

His eyes, a soft but wild blue, meet yours. He wasn’t as imposing as you imagined. Far from it, actually. 

Dark hair sits messy on his sweat-slicked head. He sports a sleeveless, collarless white shirt that clings to his broad shoulders - drenched in what looks like perspiration and god knows what else. A golden chain drapes around his thick neck. His dirty, torn work pants are accentuated by undone suspenders that hang loosely around his sides, as well as a worn out leather belt with a metal buckle - suspenders and a belt? Strange fashion sense, you think to yourself. 

A pungent odor wafted from him - you aren’t able to make out what the exact scent is. A mix of body odor, singed flesh, old blood and pure death. Unpleasant, to put it lightly. 

“Oh, miss. I am terribly sorry to bother you this time of night but I-I’ve been runnin’ for what feels like hours,” he speaks, his voice a low rumble, cracking between every word. Running for hours… that would explain the copious amount of sweat beading on his forehead… and the smell. “I didn’t mean to frighten ya. I-I saw your house in the distance and thought you might be able to help me out of a pinch.” 

“Why were you running?” You ask. A man running in the woods, in the dark, didn’t bode well. Something about this stranger strikes you as suspicious. His stammering and disheveled appearance didn’t help much. ”Mighty strange for a man to be running around the woods at night.”

“I was bein’ chased,” he huffs. “I-I was hopin’… well I was hopin’ I might be able to catch my breath at this quaint little house here.”

“Chased? By who?” Your curiosity piqued. 

“That don’t really matter,” his voice a hushed rasp. His eyes focus on yours, their blue sheen flickers with the dancing candlelight on your mantle. “M-may I come in? Only for a moment. I just. I need a second to breathe, maybe somethin’ to drink, and I’ll be on my way. I swear it.”

“It’s not very smart to let strangers in, you know,” your eyebrows furrow, concern scribbled on your face. Not just any stranger, but a man. Not only a bad decision but potentially a dangerous one. Surely he’d understand your hesitation. “Especially at night.”

“I know, miss,” he whimpers, his eyes glistening with despair. He seems desperate to get inside. Whoever, or whatever, he was running from must have really shaken him. “I-I know. I know, and I empathize. Letting a stranger in… never a good idea, no ma’am. I know. I don’t mean to be a burden, but I just… oh, I just need a quick respite. Please, I’m beggin’ ya.”

“Why should I?” You hiss, your hand faltering on the door knob. He notices the way your body is shaking, the door trembling with you. A pout forms on his plush, pink lips. He falls to his knees with a hopeless sigh. The shredded holes of his pants force his bare legs to scrape against the hard wood of your porch. You almost feel bad for him. Almost.

“Oh… I know you don’t got a reason to let a strange man like me in, but I will do anything,” he puts his veined, calloused hands together in a weak prayer. “Anything at all.”

You didn’t respond. You watch his lips quiver as he bows his head - you could see how soaked his unkempt hair was with sweat. Little strands of his dark locks spiked out towards the back of his neck. You feel a bizarre sense of power watching a man crumble like this at your doorstep. You were used to men making you crumble. 

“I-I can give you money,” he falters, scrambling his hand down into his front pocket. He pulls out two sparkling coins - from what you could tell, they didn’t look like any sort of money you were used to seeing. They looked like solid gold. Ancient. The coins shake in his palm, clinking together. ”It’s not much but it’s all I got. You can have it. I don’t want nothin’ from you other than a place to stay for just a moment… somethin’ to drink. Then I’ll get outta your hair. I swear to you that’s all I ask. Please.”

He shuffles near the crack in the door, his hand rattling the coins for you to get a closer look. They were definitely real and you weren’t the type to deny money. Not like you needed it that much beyond grocery trips and occasional house repairs. Still, you can’t help but find yourself enticed by the shining currency and the man’s choked pleas. He’s easy on the eyes too - an added bonus. 

“You sure that’s all you want?” You ask, still suspicious of the strange man kneeling before you. Out of everything you’ve learned in life - men only ever want is one thing - has rang true the most. 

“I promise,” he croaks. His body trembles on the floorboards of the porch, the old wood squeaking beneath his weight. He looks up at you, his gaze wet with distress and yearning. You’d never seen a man look so… pathetic. Weak. His promise feels sincere - he didn’t seem so dangerous to you anymore. 

You sigh and open the door all the way, pulling the ample wood inward and fully revealing yourself to the stranger. He looks you over, darting eyes studying you up and down. A pleasant expression washes over his angular features, almost like he was amazed that you accepted his offer… and all it took was a bribe and some begging for you to fold. His smile is as soft as his eyes, with imperfect teeth lining his gums. His canines glint in the candlelight as his grin widens at the sight of you. 

Something about him charms you. Maybe it was his blue-eyed gaze filled with wonder and a touch of sorrow or maybe that cute, crooked smile. The way his voice cracks desperately while he pleads. The way his body trembles and prays at your doorstep as if you were a goddess made flesh. The way the candlelight dances around his handsome face. Maybe it was the money… no, no… there was something else. Something more carnal. It’s not entirely clear to you, but whatever it is, he charmed his way inside your house. 

“Alright, you can come in,” you exhale, beckoning the stranger into your home. What am I thinking? What am I DOING? Oh god, oh GOD… Your mind races as you watch the man lift himself off the porch. His heavy boots carefully take a step forward through the entryway, hesitant to fully stride in. 

“Oh, oh thank you. Thank you, miss. Thank you,” he repeats his gratitude over and over again, nodding his head continuously like an overzealous puppy. His hands snap back into a prayer position to further emphasize his appreciation. He takes another step, broad shoulders pushing past the threshold of your home. His awestruck eyes never leave you. “Thank you.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” you smirk, shutting the door behind him. It’s too late to turn back now. “You have a name, stranger?“

“You can call me Remmick,” he murmurs, setting the two gold coins in your open palm as he continues his voyage into your personal space. His hand is drenched with sweat. You recoil as the moisture coating the coins kisses your skin. The coins are heavy, definitely real gold. You place them down on a nearby console table by the door and wipe your hand on your pants while his back is turned. 

Definitely an unusual currency for someone to be carrying along with them. The name Remmick… also unusual. You’ve never heard a name like that before. It was different, but you like the ring of it. Remmick. 

“Alright, uh. Remmick,” you nod. “Take a seat, I’ll get you somethin’ to drink. Water or iced tea?”

“Thank you, again, miss,” Remmick’s grin hadn’t faded. If anything, it grows wider as he continues to speak with you. “Water’s fine. I ain’t too picky.” 

“Comin’ right up,” you smile back at him. The stranger takes a seat in your reading spot after moving your book onto the table. He gives you a friendly nod. Great. He’s gonna stank up my favorite chair. You try to shake the thought of your peace being disrupted as you stride to the kitchen. It’s only for a moment, then he’ll be on his way. 

You reach into the cupboard and snatch the closest glass. Did I make the right decision letting this guy in? You can’t help but ponder the outcome of your choice as you let water fill the cup. What if he IS dangerous? What if he just tricked me by acting helpless and scared? Am I going to regret this? What am I thinking…? Why did I let him in?

Water overflowed onto your hand while you were musing. Maybe you’re just overthinking things. Not all men are bad, surely. Maybe he is just passing by. Maybe he was getting chased by something in the woods. What are the odds that a good man just randomly shows up on your doorstep…? Give him a chance. You dry your hand off and try to clear your head. A chance… Everyone deserves a chance. Even smelly weirdos carrying gold coins.

As you make your way back into the living room, you see Remmick holding your book, his eyes scanning the sentences. He hears the creak of your footsteps and turns his attention to you. He’s sitting lax in your chair, making himself right at home. His legs are crossed and propped up on the nearby table. The candlelight accentuates the veins in his hands and the furrow of his brow. A sly smirk creeps across his face.

“Dracula, huh?” He scoffs, flicking his wrist so that the cover of the book faces you. He lets out a little chuckle and cocks an eyebrow as he reads a passage out loud. “Listen to them - the children of the night. What music they make!”

“What’s the problem?” You bark, unamused by his seemingly mocking tone. He quickly reels back.

“Oh, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” he pauses. “I just hear it’s… a little scary, is all. You ain’t scared?”

“Hard to be scared of somethin’ that’s not real,” you sneer, inching closer to the strange man in your chair. You hand him the glass of water. Instead of taking a swig like you’d expect a parched man to do, he places it down next to your iced tea - the collected condensation dripping onto the wooden coaster. “Besides, I like a good monster story. I recently read through Frankenstein and it was a hoot!”

“Oh?” Remmick grins, tilting his head to the side. “What makes you think monsters ain’t real?”

“The only monster I know is men,” you snap back. “Vampires, werewolves, stitched together abominations - they’re just fairy tales. Fiction.”

Remmick contemplates for a moment, his fingers still curled around the book’s spine. He looks back at you, his eyes gleaming in the light. They almost looked like they were shining a different color - crimson. But it was nothing more than a trick of the light. 

“Hey now, fairy tales ain’t always fiction. Always a little truth to ‘em,” he teases. He sets the book down pages first on the table, making sure you didn’t lose your place. “‘sides, if you ever met a real monster… oh, I guarantee you wouldn’t be leavin’ your door open or your windows cracked. I wager the heat is safer than the possibility of somethin’ evil creepin’ down the hall.”

Something about the way Remmick spoke of monsters troubles you. His eyelids drooped halfway, hiding his intentions under their shadow. He stares at you, his gaze never wandering from your trembling body, burning into your core and twisting your stomach in knots. Your eyes drift to his left finger - the light of the candles drawing attention to a ring. A wedding ring?

“You married?” You change the subject as quickly as possible, the less talk about monsters the better. His eyelids perk back up. He looks directly at his ring, almost as if it’s the first time he’s noticed it’s there for quite some time.

“Once,” he murmurs quietly. A somber expression plastered on his face, his eyes shying away from you. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it further. “You?”

“Once,” you reply. You lied. You were never married. You were engaged once - but the man you once considered your life. Your soul. Your very home. He has long since abandoned you. All alone in this empty house. Remmick didn’t prod.

“Do you live alone, miss?” Remmick inquires. His tongue licks his front teeth before he shuts his mouth. He still hadn’t taken a sip from his glass of water. You weren’t sure what to say. You didn’t want this stranger to know that you did, in fact, live alone. Better make something up. 

“No, but… I am alone for the night,” you continue to lie. You weren’t always the best liar, and you were almost positive Remmick could tell, but you carry on. “My sister is out in town with her fiancé. They won’t be back for a few hours.”

Remmick nods, sinking into your chair with a hearty sigh. He looks over at you, studying you once again. His eyes pierced through your skin, as if he was looking directly at your soul. Even from a distance his gaze gives you goosebumps.

“But you ain’t alone right now, are ya darlin’?” his eyes soften as he speaks. The polite southern cadence sung through his charming smile. He swapped his gracious honorific for an informal term of endearment. You feel your gut clench when this stranger refers to you by a pet name, followed by a fluttering sensation in your chest. It’s been awhile since someone spoke to you like that. “How often do you feel lonely?”

What a strange question, but one you think about more than you’d care to admit. It’s like he was digging into your brain with a venom-encrusted shovel, asking just the right things to make you squirm.

“Not too often. I don’t mind being by my lonesome. I think I’m good company,” you laugh awkwardly. “Why do you ask?”

Remmick pauses for a moment. You couldn’t pinpoint the expression on his face, but you could see him turn to the window. He stared at it longingly, still silent, still thinking. You could slice the silence in the room with a knife. 

He begins to sift in the chair, uncrossing his legs and setting his boots down on the floor with a heavy thud. Remmick’s head swivels back towards you. 

“I ask because,” he starts, standing up. His shadow flickers on the floor with the dancing candlelight, enveloping you in shifting darkness. “Well… I sure don’t like bein’ lonely.”

Remmick’s voice falters, his words stricken with a hint of sorrow. Your brows knit together. Concern and fear pool in the pit of your stomach as he slowly approaches you.

“And I been lonely for a very, very long time,” his voice cracks slightly. A low growl rumbling deep in his throat. “It’s hard to find good company for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Your eyebrow cocks upward, concern simmering into curiosity. Be careful. Curiosity never fails to kill the cat. 

“A monster,” Remmick exhales. He marches forward, his head bowed down to the floor. The air grew heavier the closer he lurched. You wanted to back up, but something was stopping you. An invisible force holds you in place as this stranger continues his pace forward. This stranger, that you let in, stomps closer and closer. Your entire body tenses with every step he takes. “And I ain’t good enough company for myself. Never have been.”

By the time his feet meet yours, you could feel a yelp blossoming beneath your breath. You stifle it the best you can, gulping it down with a hard swallow. Your heart hammers in your chest and your hands grow clammy. He lifts his head, ever so slightly - a droplet of sweat dribbles from his glistening forehead. His eyes flicker maniacally in the candlelight. 

“I’ve seen so much death. War. Famine. Lost so many loved ones. My wife… killed right in front of me,” he rasps. “I can still hear her screams in the silence… echoin’ in my head.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. How COULD you respond to that? This stranger who went from imposing, to pathetic, to sincere, right back to imposing - unloading his trauma on you completely indiscriminately, completely out of nowhere. What was he expecting from you? What exactly does he want?

You remain silent. Silent enough that you could hear the candle wicks crackle. This seems to agitate Remmick, the corner of his upper lip twitching. 

He looks deep into your eyes, his pupils dilating like a wild animal. His eyes shift violently between blue and crimson. You weren’t so sure if it was a trick of the light anymore or if his eyes were literally changing. Either way, it was unnerving. 

He reels himself back a bit, a sharp inhale filling his nose as he lifts his head up to meet your eyes. Your body shudders with anticipation for whatever comes next. 

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. I’m bein’ a real wet blanket, ain’t I?” He chuckles a little, realizing his emotional outburst might have been a bit too intense. “Forgive me. I just uh. I get a little emotional when I take in the sight of a pretty thing like you. You… you remind me of her, is all.”

He gently reaches a hand out and cups your cheek. The sudden touch, chilling and coarse, makes a tingle twist down your spine. He caresses your face softly. The rough pad of his thumb traces circles on your lips. He stares deeply into your eyes again, honing in on the emptiness in your heart - something the two of you seem to share.

Your eyes twinkle in the candlelight as you gaze back at him. You could sense a deep pain buried underneath his rough and tumble exterior. You weren’t entirely sure how to feel in this moment… on one hand, you missed the touch of another human on your skin. On the other, your sneaking suspicion was starting to rear its ugly head. This guy might be dangerous, or worse - he might want something more than he let on. 

Something in your mind pleaded with you to let it happen, begging for the attention you’ve denied yourself. The need for connection. The need for embrace. 

You decide to welcome Remmick’s touch. You raise a hand and plant it firmly over his. A smile forms on his roguish face, those crooked teeth baring themselves. His hand was unnaturally cold, but the feel of it against your face brings you a sense of comfort you’ve long since missed. 

His intense eyes burned into your very being, hypnotically enticing you to stare back. That odor you whiffed before letting him in washed away with his touch, now all you could smell was the burning wicks of the candles and the night air rolling in from the open window.

“Her eyes sparkled exactly like yours in the right light,” he speaks tenderly, musing on his lost love while delicately stroking your face. “Her lips pursed in a way I’d never forget, either.”

He leans in close, his hand never leaving your face. You could feel his hot breath on your skin, his lips nearly brushing yours. 

“May I kiss you?” He whispers, polite as ever. He hovered close enough to your lips that he could lay one on you if he really wanted to. He at least had the courtesy to ask permission. You pull away briefly, contemplating whether or not allowing yourself the embrace would be worth it. But nothing was worse than the fear — what happens if I DON’T? 

You nod, but before you can open your mouth to say anything, his lips crash into yours. His warm mouth covers yours with a searing sweetness. You could feel the stubble on his chin rub against you.

A flurry of emotions caught in your chest. The cold caress of his palm on your face coupled with the warmth of his lips coalesced into a strange sensation, but you weren’t complaining. 

He lets out a soft purr as you purse your lips to return the same fervor, matching his passion. Your eyelids flutter closed as you lean deeper into the kiss. His other hand reaches behind you, splaying ever so gently on the curve of your back. His fingers languidly stroke your back. Without warning, you feel his tongue slither between your lips. You exclaim softly, feeling Remmick’s lips twist into a satisfied smirk as he delves his long, flat tongue deep into your mouth. 

It flicks at the back of your teeth, as if he were tasting your last meal. You let out a breathy, unprovoked moan as his tongue completely wraps around yours in a wet, slimy embrace. He chuckles, thrilled that you’re enjoying this, even a little bit. His hand that cupped your face shifts up into your hair. He takes hold of you gently, pulling you even deeper into the kiss. His fingers knot into your hair as he continues his relentless exploration of your mouth.

A tight, swelling warmth pools in your stomach. This man, this stranger - kissing you with a passion you hadn’t felt in so long, if ever. You were right about one thing. Men only want one thing, but maybe… just maybe, you did too. You allow your tongue to coil with his, melding together in a glorious harmony.

“Santaíonn mé thú…” Remmick whispers into your mouth in a language you’ve never heard before. His tongue hadn’t ceased moving along yours, saliva mixing together with a furious momentum. The hand caressing your back slides further down, nearly grazing your rear.

Your senses begin to come back to you, causing you to pull away - a strand of spit still connecting your lips. He looks at you, eyelids half shut, lips still pursed together.

“My sister and her husband will be home soon,” you say with a hush. He shoots you a look, his hands still gripping you. His lips curve into a devilish sneer.

“Thought you said your sister had a fiancé?” His grasp tightens in your hair. He gives a wicked chuckle that bellows deep from the confines of his throat. “‘sides, I ain’t worried. Your sister don’t live with ya. And she ain’t comin’, not tonight.”

A chill shivers down your spine. You were right again, Remmick could tell you were lying. 

He leans in close, his burning gaze paralyzing you.

“I’ve been watchin’ you for a while now, darlin’,” he growls. “You ain’t ever felt these eyes on you? Heard noises at night outside your window? That was me. Keepin’ ya company when no one else would.”

Panic swirls in your mind. You’d never felt his gaze before today. Not that you could recall. Was he just messing with you? Or was he actually watching you… waiting for the perfect moment to strike… when the loneliness of this empty house had finally caught up to you? 

“Don’t you worry, sweet thing,” he coos, his gaze and his grip softening. His hand trails back up and massages small circles on your back to put you at ease. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya. Don’t wanna hurt ya. I sensed how alone you were. Could sense the hurt in your soul. Thought maybe you needed someone. Needed me.”

His lips peck your cheek, planting a soft kiss. His lips travel further, kissing down to your slender neck. 

He remains there, perfectly still. You could feel him deeply inhale, breathing in your scent like a beast teasing its prey before the kill. Before you could react, his tongue juts out, licking your neck. You shudder as the slimy appendage leaves a trail of spit on your exposed neck. He sighs at the taste of your skin. 

“You know, I wanna thank you,” he mutters. His hot breath weighs heavy on your throat. “I want to thank you for letting me in. Thank you for indulgin’ me. Quenchin’ me.”

“Quenching you?” Your eyes dart to his full glass of water, the condensation nearly soaking the table it sat on. “B-but you didn’t even drink the water I gave you.”

He let out a dark, foreboding laugh. He met his eyes to yours, the blue color you recognized had been completely usurped by a reflective crimson. Your heart thuds ferociously beneath your breast as his grin grows wide, damn near ear to ear - but it was different this time. 

Instead of crooked, imperfect human teeth was a row of pointed, twisted canines. Fangs. 

His fangs glint in the candlelight, sharp and horrific. Saliva began forming from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down to his scruffy chin. Thick and viscous like a snake’s venom. 

“Aw, you sweet girl,” he takes a breath in, the clamp of his fingers in your hair and on your back growing tighter again. Constricting you and forcing you close against his body. So close you could feel something thick and warm twitching against your groin. Close enough to feel the faint, slow beat of his heart. “I don’t got a need for water, as kind as it was for you to bring it to me. My tastes are more refined. I can lie too darlin’, I am picky and I wasn’t runnin’ from anythin’… I was runnin’ to you.”

His lips meet your throat, fangs grazing delicately along your sensitive skin. You could feel his tongue slither down your neck like a mindless slug. You couldn’t move, paralyzed by fear. 

“I wanna taste you. Just a taste. I ain’t gonna bite too hard… not yet,” he mumbles into your flesh. A sharp prick digs into you before you even have a chance to protest or process what was happening. It doesn’t hurt, but it definitely stings. A warm drop of blood drizzles down your neck. Remmick’s tongue is quick to lap up your essence as it trickles out of your fresh puncture wound. He moans into your throat, hands still gripping onto you as if you’d vanish the second he lets go. “Mmm, like heaven.”

His face journeys upward, his nose sniffing you deeply as he kisses you. Tiny little pecks peppered up your neck, to your cheek, and all the way back home. His lips meet yours once again, the coppery taste of your own blood bitter on his tongue. 

Your mind races. Afraid, aroused - all at once.

He lied to you, he lied to get inside, betrayed your already fragile trust… and yet, the thrill is utterly insatiable. You were petrified but you didn’t want him to stop. The conflicting emotions subdue you, giving into the sweet surrender this monster, this man, was lulling you into. You couldn’t speak, could barely think straight. 

“God… you taste… exquisite,” Remmick licks his lips after leaving yours. He sniffs at the air, his nose working overtime as if tracking the scent of something stronger. Something even more delicious. His hand slides from your back and slides its way to your stomach leaving goosebumps in their wake. It splays wide, the length of his fingers enveloping your womb. “Mm. I wanna taste all of ya.”

With a sudden movement, Remmick scoops you up into his arms, cradling you tight against his chest. He picked you up as if you were weightless. His chin nuzzles your head as you sink into his arms. You don’t try to fight it. It’s not like you had much choice. 

This man that you let into your home was dangerous, you were right to be suspicious. Your intuition rarely fails you. You let your guard down and now you’re being whisked away, carried like a sack of potatoes in your own home. 

The worst part is… you didn’t hate it. In fact, you like it. 

“Which way to the bedroom, darlin’?” His voice a low, husky rasp. You knew exactly what he wanted, and if you didn’t give in, it’s likely something horrible was going to happen to you. A part of you wanted it too… desperately. 

You bite your lip, your body shuddering in his strong arms as you point in the direction of your bedroom. Right down the hall. The loneliest, darkest room in the house.

He strides towards it, not skipping a beat as he kicks the door open, no longer in need of an invitation. The musty smell of old furniture fills your nostrils as he places you gently on the bed. His red eyes shine faintly in the dark. Still hungry. Starved, even. 

“Stay put,” he says, exiting the room for a moment. Remmick’s brief moment of absence, this little moment of peace, left you feeling that empty pit in your stomach again. Perhaps you really were more lonely than you thought. More empty, more longing. It was a feeling you shoved deep down, in hopes that keeping to yourself and enjoying your own company was enough for you. 

But in reality, it wasn’t. 

You see two orbs of orange light bob down the hallway. Remmick, carrying two of the candles from the living room, makes his way back through the door. He sets one candle down on the left night stand, the other on the right. 

“I want you to see me,” he croons, kneeling down onto the bed. His lean, muscular frame canvases you as you decline further into the bed. His broad shoulders cast a mountainous shadow. The light of the candles prance around his features - his soft, wicked smile a ballet across his face. The light bounces off of the gold chain dangling helplessly from his neck. “I want you to see all of me. Every emotion on my face. Every drop of ya on my lips.” 

Your heart fluttered at the last sentence. He lowers his face down to you, mapping kisses along your cheeks, down to your neck where the puncture wound was still fresh. He kisses your wound delicately. 

His cold hand creeps underneath your blouse, navigating up to your sensitive breastd. You let out a surprised breath as his hand caresses the supple mound. His other hand lifts your shirt upward and over your head, revealing your naked torso. He inhales sharply as he soaks you in. 

“Faith and begorrah…” he mutters under his breath, his southern cadence cracking into something more foreign. Brogueish, if you had to guess. His hand is still clutching desperately at your breast, fingers kneading it gently. Drool trickles from his open mouth, his hand picking up the pace. He catches your rigid nipple between his fingers, pulling it forward. 

You let out a whimper, a pleasurable little sound, as he continues to play with your breast. The heat of the summer and the heat of your pleasure started to swelter, sweat causing your hair to stick to your forehead and your breath to develop into a pant. 

Remmick shoves his lips onto yours, his hand rhythmically circling the sensitive skin around your nipple. His other hand raises to your neck, gently wrapping around it to deepen the kiss. His tongue matches the beat of his hand, swirling around yours in a duet of pure bliss.

He inhales deeply again, his nose twitching. He smelled something on you. Something sweet. Something intoxicating. Something delicious. His lips leave yours, his hand not far behind. The strand of spit connecting your coupling breaks apart as he opens his mouth to speak. 

“You smell that?” he asks, his nose huffing the air like a hungry dog. His face travels down your body before finally reaching the apex of your thighs. He takes a mighty whiff again before letting out a sharp whine. “Ohhh, darlin’ you smell divine. You smell like nectar. Warm, exquisite nectar. A sweet honey the bees could only dream of producin’.”

Remmick’s fingers curl around the hem of your pants, pulling them down in one swift succession. His hand finds your panties - a pool of warmth already seeping through the thin layer of cotton. You feel a sense of shame thinking about how much you were enjoying this. His eyes widen as he traces a finger along the lines of your folds through the sopping fabric. 

“Mm. I knew I smelled somethin’ sweet,” he giggles, bringing his dampened finger to his mouth. His tongue wraps around the length of his digit, swirling around the coat of fluids. He moans, the taste of you washing a current of ecstasy over his face. “Ohhh. Wow. Even better than blood, baby. Heavens above, I need more. May I? May I taste you?”

You nod, your body quaking underneath him. Was this really happening? You could feel your cheeks burn hot with anticipation. 

His veined hand tears your panties away in one hurried motion. You let out a wince of surprise as he exposes your sex to the open air. He quickly lowers himself, his face eye-level with your lower half, eager to plunge himself into you. 

“I want you to look at me,” he demands. His hands possessively grip the outside of your thighs. His eyes blazing wildly in the light as he stares up at you. “Watch me, like I’ve watched you, sweet thing.”

When your eyes draw to him, his grin widens as he licks his lips. With no more hesitation, his mouth encloses around your cunt. A jolt of electricity hits your body as the warmth of his mouth encases you. His nose sat comfortably on your clit while his tongue playfully twists at your folds. You could hear him moan into you, tasting every inch of your tender entrance. His tongue pushes forward through the threshold, lapping up all of the juices that flowed from you. 

You shudder. No man has ever done this for you. No man has ever tried to make you feel this way before. It wasn’t a feeling you were used to but, by god, could you get used to it. You let out a moan of your own as he pushes onward, letting yourself fully succumb to the pleasure. 

Remmick’s grip on your thighs tighten, his nails digging red crescent shapes into your skin. His tongue dove as deep as possible into you, circling your walls with an intense dedication. His fangs tease the curve of your cunt, not enough to hurt but you could feel the sharpness graze you. 

You look at him, as he wished. His eyes were shut, mouth working over time solely to please you. You take the reins, reaching down to grab onto his messy dark hair. The greasy strands tangle around your fingers as you pull his face deeper into your heat, anchoring yourself to him. The two of you moan in tandem as you hold on for dear life. He shifts beneath you, digging his hips into the bed as he ground his sopping face against you, licking with all of the power he could muster. 

One hand slips from your thigh and onto your sensitive clit, rubbing delicate circles as he continues his feast. His tongue snaking faster into your walls, keeping up the pace of his thumb on your little bundle of nerves.

You could feel an intense, broiling heat swell deep in your groin. The pace of his thumb and his tongue rapidly increase along with the grind of his hips. The old bed creaks beneath the two of you. You could feel the warmth of his breath as he pants heavily against your entrance. 

“That’s it, baby,” he groans inside you, the tips of his fangs poking at your flesh as he speaks, his voice a low growl. He could feel your release coming, the way your walls fluttered against his tongue. “Sing for me.”

As if spurred on by his words, you feel the tension of your climax overwhelm you. An explosion of pleasure unleashes from you, your body spasming from the intensity. You scream as your walls clamp and contract around Remmick’s tongue. 

He lets out a triumphant grumble as his tongue wiggles furiously inside you, lapping up every drop of your essence as if it was his sustenance. The fuel for his undying fire. 

As your climax ebbs out, Remmick lifts his head, fixating his sights on you. His mouth, wet with your slick, hangs open. Your juices and his saliva dribble down his chin, licking his lips to savor the flavor. He slides two of his long fingers into your dripping, sensitive cunt. He brings his face up close to yours. 

“I want you to taste yourself,” he says, his fingers sliding in and out of you with a similar pace to his tongue. Your body ripples with delight, still recovering from your overwhelming climax. “Taste this delicacy.” 

He crashes his slathered face into yours, his tongue finding itself back home inside the pillowy warmth of your mouth. You have trouble describing the taste, but it was uniquely yours. You’ve never felt anything quite like that, not from any of your partners. No one else has made you feel like that. Remmick was different, really different. Eager to please.

Your heart pounds in your chest - but not from fear anymore. From pure, unmitigated pleasure.

The pace of his fingers falters before he fully removes them, the sloppy sound echoing in the room. You felt something heavier grinding at your groin. Remmick, still fully clothed but baked in sweat, grinds his hips against your quivering cunt. You could feel his pants grow tight against his body, constricting his throbbing girth. His pants are swiftly soaked with you as he continues to rub on you, slowly and meticulously. 

“Mm… feel that?” he moans into your mouth. “Do ya feel what you’re doing to me?”

He snatches your hand and cups it on his clothed length. You could feel it writhe in your grasp. It was big, bigger than you’re used to. You squeeze it, causing Remmick to let out a breathy groan. 

“Oh… le do thoil… let me free,” he rasps, his southern drawl once again breached by a melodic lilt, the heavy brogueish accent riddling his growling voice. You like how it rang in your ears, how desperate he sounded. You oblige him, his needy and wistful eyes piercing into yours as he watches you undo his belt with a metal CLICK.

In a rush to release his throbbing arousal from its clothed prison, he unzips himself. He pulls his pants down past his ankles and onto the floor, slipping his boots off in the process. He wasn’t wearing any undergarments. 

You could see it amidst the dark and unruly pubic hair - his weeping, twitching cock springing free, bobbing up and down. Thick, blue veins bulged on his thick shaft. The slit on his crown leaks, excited to meet you. Your mouth starts to salivate as you gawk at the massive girth before you.

He swiftly removes his shirt, only opting to keep the chain around his collarbone. His chest was bare, not a single hair or scar to be found other than a large cross tattoo etched into his left side. Ironic, you think to yourself. A sinning saint. 

He leans into you, his body looming on top of yours. His crimson eyes, glowing with desire, lock onto you. His mouth dangles open, sharp teeth peeking out. A thick strand of pearlescent drool trickles from the corner of his mouth. The sweat on his skin glistens in the candlelight. 

He maneuvers the head of his cock to your entrance. It twitches and leaks as it sits gently between your folds. He teases it against you, using your combined slick to rub it up and down, kissing your sensitive clit with every stroke. He bends his head down, his slimy drool dribbling carelessly onto your lips. 

In the heat of the moment, you stick your tongue out and lick the viscous slobber pooling onto your lips. Remmick lets out a surprised gasp. 

“God damn,” he mutters, a dumbstruck smile worming across his face. “Shit darlin’, you want some more?” 

With your eyelids half-lidded, gazing at him seductively, you open your mouth wide. He’s taken aback by this, but more than happy to fulfill your twisted desire. He puckers his lips and allows a controlled stream of saliva to cascade from his maw. The slow, painfully slow, drip of his thick spittle eventually finds its way onto your tongue. 

You swirl it around as it flows into your mouth. The taste is oddly sweet, combined with the taste of your own juices and a slight hint of coppery blood still lingering. It was warm, syrupy, and you hate to admit it, but you fucking loved it. 

He lets the last drops of his drool hang from his chin before wiping it off, only for you to grab his hand and lick the excess smear from his palm. You utter a soft moan, making sure you swallow every last morsel. He smiles a wide, sinful grin. His cock twitching even more violently against you.

“Christ,” he laughs, elated by your lewd gesture. “Fuck, you’re perfect. Ohhh I knew I liked you.”

He leans in for another open-mouthed kiss, mixing more of his saliva deep down your throat. His cock still nipping at your entrance, but not pushing forward. As if an invisible barrier stopped him from penetrating you.  

“Tell me I’m allowed in,” he whimpers into the kiss, sweat sprinkling onto you as the sticking heat of his forehead touches yours. “Invite me into you, baby. I need to hear you say it. You gotta let me in.”

This plea gives you the same sense of power you felt the first time he begged at your door. He wasn’t allowed to fuck you until you gave him the power to do so. He had permission to walk inside your house, permission to kiss and devour you, but fucking you was an entirely different boundary he needed access to. 

You let him linger there, staring up at him with doe-like eyes as he shudders and shakes. He breathes a heavy pant as he sits there idly, cock leaking on your folds. You feel it throb and writhe. He wanted this more than anything.

You remain silent. The silence was agonizing for him. Desperation painted on his face. Just waiting for you to give the word. He balls his fists and grips onto the sheets, anchoring himself to the bed. 

“Please baby, please don’t leave me hangin’ like this,” he whines, the despondent cry of his voice choked from his lips. His eyes began to water, starved by desire and longing. “You want me to beg again? You want me on my knees, prayin’ to the heavens? Prayin’ to you?  ’Cause I’ll do anything, sugar. Anything you want.”

He bites himself with his fangs, a trickle of his blood beginning to flow from his lower lip. He lets out tiny whimpers as he trembles above you, his cock impatiently yearning to claim you. His brows knit and his lips shape into a pout.

“Please, please, please,” he begs, his cock driving onto your clit, nowhere else for it to go. He rocks back and forth. His engorged head smooches your little bundle of nerves over and over as he incessantly repeats his begging, sounding more desperate by the syllable. He glides on your slick folds errantly. “Please, ohhh please. Please, please please. Please. Please. Pleeeeaaaase.”

His pathetic, needy whines awakened something in you. The thought of bringing a man to this state of desperation spurred on your own desire. His whines and whimpers, pleading just for you. The thrum of his cock against your sensitive nub marching onward. His damp crimson eyes flutter open and closed, tears starting to form on his eyelashes. You could feel both of your fluids mingling together as he leaks helplessly against your folds. You love every second of it.

Finally, you say it.

“Come on in.” 

Those three little words were all Remmick needed. He wipes away the desperate tears and looks down at you, smile growing wide enough that you could see the gleam of his mouthful of fangs in the warm candlelight. A fiery, emboldened glint flickers in his crimson eyes.  

He got exactly what he wanted, and now? He could enter you as many times as he pleased. There was no going back. And you were more than okay with that. 

With no further delay, he guides the head of his cock into your entrance. A quiet, staggered breath escapes your lips as the crown stretches you open. The gripping, wet heat welcomes him inside.

“Fuuuck,” Remmick moans, his voice a low grumble. His eyes roll back into his head as he slowly begins to drag his girth deeper. He stops for a moment once his cock is shallow in you - halfway inserted and yet the stretch of him was beyond your usual capacity. It twitches eagerly between the tight cushiony enclosure. Every vein and ripple caressing your insides. “You feel like home.”

He sheaths the rest of his arousal into your warmth with a single, powerful thrust. A hoarse cry escapes his throat once he completely buried himself to the hilt. Your soft, slick walls squeeze and flutter around him as you let out a squeal of your own. His girth fills you completely. Fills that emptiness in your core. It feels good. Real good. 

He remains still, taking in the heat of you around him. Taking in every inch of your body. The curve of your hips, the shape of your breasts. The way your eyes flirt with the candlelight. The sounds of pleasure squeaking from your lips. He commits it all to memory. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers. One hand taut around your thigh, the other reaching out to touch your face. His head lolls to the side, eyes closed and lips pursed. He pulls back ever so slightly only to smother his cock in you again. He splays his hand across your womb so you could see the bump of his cock buried deep inside you. “Ya see that? See how deep I am?”

The obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes in the room when he begins to pick up his pace. His thrusts slamming waves of pleasure into you, the friction driving you further into a blissful abyss. 

Remmick drags his cock out to get a look at the fruits of his labor, his tip still hitched in your entrance. The shine of your juices coat his shaft. He grunts, almost inhuman, before snapping his hips back into you. 

A guttural noise escapes your throat. With every roll of his hips, brutal thrust after brutal thrust, you could feel the tension begin to spin deep within your body. Your steady moans in sync with his ceaseless rhythm. 

He pants heavily, tongue drooping from his mouth like a ravenous mutt. Drool continues to cascade from him. He lets it fall onto his pistoning cock, lubricating it even more as it continues plowing into you. You could see the immense pleasure plastered on his face - eyelids fluttering, jaw hung open, lips curved into an expression of pure, unbridled ecstasy. 

He lifts up your leg to push himself as deep as he could possibly go, this new position allowing him to plunge into that perfect hidden place inside you. The swollen head of his cock kisses your sweet spot with every swing of his hips, bringing you closer and closer to your peak.

Your chest tightens, heart rabbiting in your ribs. Your insides stretched and pulled. A burning, boiling heat brewing deep in your chest, rippling throughout your entire body. It coils in your groin, every nerve ending set alight and ready to burst. 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. Remmick hears you and slams into you harder. Faster. The intensity of him hitting your sweet spot, more and more, over and over, was unbearable. Your fingers clench onto the bedsheets. The headboard of the bed rocking into the wall with each roll of his hips. 

“Don’t fight it, sweet thing,” he coos, the relentless drag of his cock pushing you further and further over the edge. He circles his hips, making sure he hits every nook and cranny within you. “I wanna feel you squeezin’ ‘round me. I wanna feel you close in. Your body seizin’. Ohhh, I can feel it comin’. Come on, baby. Come on and come for me.”

In an instant, a rush of ecstasy flows through you. You let out a loud, gasping sob as your climax crashes into you like a tsunami. Your hips buck and wince. Your walls clamp around Remmick’s cock. He sits idle, his eyes watching your body seize around him, convulsing like a live wire. A devilish, satisfied sneer spreads across his face. He was loving this, but he wasn’t done with you yet. Not even a little bit. 

As your climax starts to dwindle, your body still involuntarily jerking, Remmick continues to drive his hips forward. The sounds were messy. Filthy. The wet, sloppy sounds of his skin slapping against yours, indulging in the mess you made, filled the air. 

His breath grows ragged, his chest heaving. He was close. You could feel it. 

“So warm… so wet… tá tú chomh tais… fuck,” he moans through gritted teeth, brogue accent and foreign words slipping out of his lips. His eyes roll back into his head again, his pace otherworldly fast, growing erratic and uncontrolled. Hitting your perfect spot hard enough to spur on another mini-climax of your own. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

With a final, brutal thrust - he buries himself entirely, howling louder than a wolf, as he forces himself deep enough to reach your cervix. You feel an overwhelming heat flooding deep inside you. His cock pulsates and his hips buck, filling you to the brim with the molten flood of his passion. 

His body tremors, folding over you like origami. His head rests between your breasts. You could feel the wetness of his mouth as he moaned on your skin. Cock still sheathed, still pumping its thick essence into you. It leaks down your ass crack onto the sheets. It seemed endless. His cock continues pushing, instinctually prodding his seed even deeper. 

A sharp pain in your thighs causes you to wince. You peer down to see Remmick’s fingernails - once human and crescent-shaped, were now sharp. Ferocious. Monstrous. Digging deep enough to make you bleed. He gripped you tight, holding you in place to make sure not a single drop of him was wasted. 

“God… damn,” he murmurs, his face still planted in your chest, his breath heavy on your skin. “Holy shit, that was… god damn.”

He kisses your chest before lifting himself off of you. He noticed how deep his claws were digging into you. A look of surprise washes over his sweat-bleached face. He removes his claws - his fingers had grown long and gnarled, dripping with fresh blood. He sticks his bloody fingers in his mouth, tasting your divine essence, quietly moaning as he licks himself clean.

“I’m so sorry darlin’, didn’t realize what I was doin’ to ya. Got carried away. You’re just so… mm. Intoxicatin’,” he sighs, mouth still red with blood and moist with saliva. 

You hear the wet sound of his still-erect girth slithering out of you with a squelching snap. You could feel the excess releases seep out of you, warm against your skin. 

He climbs his way closer to you on all fours until he straddles your chest with his chiseled thighs. His aching, dripping cock twitching over your naked body, leaving a trail of your combined fluids in its wake. 

”Open wide for me, sweet thing.” He nudges the drenched tip of his cock to your lips. The salty mess smears a thin, slimy layer on your mouth. His slender claws tangle in your hair. “Go on and clean me up now.”

Delirious, you follow his directions and open your mouth, your tongue laying flat on the tip. He bares a toothy grin, slowly pushing himself into the warmth of your mouth. He lets out a soft moan as he feels the wet embrace of your tongue wrap around him.

“I’d say watch the teeth, but… well, that’d make me a hypocrite wouldn’t it?” he chuckles, shoving himself deeper until you could feel him teasing the back end of your tongue, a drawn out rasp ripping through his throat. He holds you in place, sharp tendons clawing at your scalp. 

You taste the bitter, savory flavor of your combined excretions as he ruts his cock back and forth on your tongue, slathering it deeper. His cock continues to twitch and throb with each thrust. You could feel every ripple, vein and texture of his skin on your tongue as it glided itself in and out of you effortlessly. 

“Mm. Fuck. I wanna feel my cock in your throat,” he growls, his pace increasing and the grip on your hair tightening, animalistic urges overtaking him. His voice became harsh and cruel, like gravel underneath a steel-toed boot. You look up at him with watering eyes, streams of saliva dribbling down your chin. His red eyes sear back into you with a needy and insatiable glow. “I wanna feel your pretty little throat constrictin‘ me.”

With a sudden movement, he thrust himself deep down your throat. You gag the moment the crown of his cock hammers into the back of your esophagus. A surplus of spit leaks out of the corners of your stretched mouth, coating his balls with a frothy sheen. All you could do is breathe out of your nose and wait for it to end.

He stalls there briefly. Completely still besides his quivering cock. It trembles wildly against your tongue. His claws tighten in your hair, keeping you trapped close to him - your nose squashed against his pelvis. His girth damn near choking you to death.

“Ohhh, fuck, you fit me like a glove. My sweet, filthy girl,” Remmick croaks. He begins to rock his hips slowly at first, each thrust touching the very depths of your throat.  “It’s like you were made for me.”

Your mind starts to blur, the intensity of his strokes making you dizzy with lust and lack of proper oxygen. The corners of your vision grow dark as you swallow him whole.

“Just like that,” he snarls, losing himself with every deep stroke of his cock. Your throat expands and massages him as he smothers himself in you. Your mouth wrapped taut around his length, breath coming in hot, quick puffs against his skin. “Juuust like that, sweetheart.”

His hips continue to rock, a little bit faster with every roll, your moans and muffled sounds reverberating along his shaft. Puddles of your saliva pool onto your skin and down to your breasts. His sounds of pure euphoria were all you could hear amidst the wet sounds of his cock slamming into you and his balls smacking your chin with every stroke.

“We taste good together, don’t we?” He moans. You feel his cock twitch and squirm on your tongue, the swollen crown leaking salty precum down your throat, ready to explode at any moment. His claws tighten their grip in your hair, keeping you steady against his gyrating groin. 

With a thunderous, beastial roar, he heaves himself deep into your mouth one final time - the pulsing head of his cock spewing thick, hot waves of his desire down your throat. His body shudders as he holds you close against his hips. You feel the never-ending eruption pulsating and painting your throat a shade of white. 

As if nature itself told you to, you swallow down his release, swirling your tongue around him as he continues pumping his essence into you. He lets out a squealing moan as you work your magic, cupping and massaging his balls with your hand, coaxing every last drop out of him. Frothy saliva oozing out of your mouth - snot bubbling from your nose as you struggle to breathe through it. You feel the thrashing of his cock slow down, his own breath steadying.

His grip on you finally loosens. He slowly pulls himself out of you, inch by excruciating inch, until the swollen head of his cock escapes your lips with a loud pop. You cough and gasp for air before one last weak spurt of his pearly white passion pumps onto your face. The warm, salty taste of it coats your lips. 

“Oops,” he chuckles, clawed fingers pressed to his mouth, a playful smile hiding behind it. He bends down until his face is eye level with yours, one hand still clutching your hair - much more softly now. 

His tongue presses flat on your lips, lapping up the light layer of his own release, moaning as it glides between them. He weasels his way back into the warmth of your mouth, pushing and swirling his remaining spillage onto your tongue and down your raw throat. 

You could feel the twisted fingers of his free hand reach back down to your dripping heat, cupping it gently. One finger presses onto the swollen nub of your clit, rubbing small circles until a familiar jolt of electricity surges through your body. The claws retract so they wouldn’t scrape you too harshly. 

“Mmm, darlin’,” he mumbles into your mouth, his finger still tracing sensual rings on your devil’s doorbell. He pulls his face away from you, a strand of spit still connected on your bottom lip.

His hand frees your hair from its grasp before slowly and intimately grabbing hold of your hand. He keeps it there for a moment, interlocking your fingers together. His hand is large, even larger with the gangly claws. He sighs longingly. A sweet, soothing sound after the chaos he just put you through. 

“Darlin’… oh, you sweet, sweet girl,” he coos, his eyes meeting yours. The harsh red tint glowing in the candlelight, searing deep into your soul. He looked like he wanted to kiss you again. Instead, he places your hand on his still-throbbing length. It’s still hard, still aching for your touch. “I know how bad you been wantin’ this. Almost as bad as me.”

One hand wraps around yours, guiding you up and down his length. It dribbles more precum, allowing your entangled hands to slide smoothly around the throbbing shaft. The other hand continuously presses your button, two fingers slipping in and out of your slick entrance. Your body tingles from the dual sensations.

“I know how you been hurt," he whispers, his grip around your hand tightening as he jerks himself with your palm. “I know how many sleepless, lonely nights you been dreamin’ of someone there with ya. Nights where you pleasure yourself, all by your lonesome. But you weren’t alone - not really. I was there, outside, waitin’. Waitin’ for the perfect night.”

Your hips buck in tandem, waves of pleasure uniting the two of you. His cock twitches in your grip, the friction from your movements causing his breath to catch in his throat. The rubbing on your clit and fingers in your depths picking up speed. His words are a blur as your focus narrows onto the way you’re feeling in the moment. The feeling of pure, unmatched ecstasy - the heights of which you’ve never climbed before.

“Waitin’ for the perfect night where your loneliness was at its worst,” he groans, feeling his climax building with every stroke of your hand on him. “Ohhh, I been waitin’ ever so patiently for you. I’ve dreamt of ya. I could sense your achin’ heart, sweet thing. Your achin’ cunt. I know you were dreamin’ of me too.”

Drool drips from the corner of his lips as he speaks. Your mind in a haze of lust, the unbearable intensity of pleasure consuming your every thought. Maybe you have dreamt this stranger before. His glowing, red eyes lurking in the shadows of your brain. His sharp, hungry smile just itching to sink into your memories. Haunting you from the inside-out. Deadly desire that woke you up, soaking and aching. Aching for him. 

Maybe he was always there in the back of your mind, and now? He’s here with you. In your bed, by your side. His cock in your hand. You always knew, deep down, that you wanted something like this, but never allowed yourself to let it in. Until now. 

“Achin’ for someone like me,” Remmick continues, his breath faltering. He releases his hand from yours, allowing you to tug on him at your own pace. His tongue lolls from his mouth, the coupled pleasure at the mercy of each other’s hands bringing you both to the brink of another release. “I’m here now, darlin’. I’m here to give you the lovin’ you deserve. Make ya feel whole. Make ya feel complete. Loved.”

With one last buck of his hips, another round of hot release spills onto you. It pumps into your hand. Warm, sticky seed drenching your fingers and your breasts, splattering on them like paint on a blank canvas. He plunges his fingers deep into you, adding a third and hitting that sweet spot hard enough to make you surge upward. Your own climax sweeps over you. You writhe and convulse on his spindly digits, feeling the gush of your fluids careening onto the sheets. Both of your mouths gape open, synchronized moans flooding the room. His fingers slip out of you as both of your orgasms fizzle out. 

The room reeked like sweat, sex, and the faint earthy scent of the burning candles. His hand cups your cheek, lightly petting you with his thumb. He twists your head to the side, showing him your slender neck - open, tantalizing, irresistible. Blood pumping through your veins with the thud of your heart. 

“Grá mo chroí… love of my heart,” he purrs, voice low and sultry. “You ain’t my long lost love, no, but… oh, you make me feel the same way. Make me feel things I ain’t felt since I was human.”

“What… are you, exactly?” you weakly pant, your glazed-over eyes gazing desperately into his. Your body trembles a bit. You already know the answer but you want to hear him say it.

“I told ya, sweet thing,” he laughs, baring his fangs at you. The candlelight only serves to make them look sharper, even more dangerous. And yet? You weren’t scared of him. Not entirely. “I’m a fuckin’ monster, baby. A creature of the night. A creature of desire, a cold-blooded killer. Blood-hungry beast. That book you were readin’? Well, consider it research.”

In a single, swift movement, he flips you onto your hands and knees. He shoves your head down into the pillow, arching your back and presenting your ass like a freshly cooked meal. The surprise of the sudden shift startles you, causing you to stumble - but he catches you. His hands wrap around your stomach, holding you close to him. 

You could feel his hips pressing up against you. His still-hard, still-weeping cock twitching against the meat of your flushed backside. The ridges of his girth rolled against you, smearing his leaking head all over your ass. 

“The things you do to me, darlin’,” he whispers, sweet words pouring into your ears like honey. “Never felt a cunt so perfect in my life.”

He maneuvers the head of his cock towards your glistening folds. It nudged insistently - prodding you, begging to be welcomed back and embraced into your gripping heat. His other hand sits firmly on your ass, the claws digging into your flesh as he teases you - gliding his engorged crown across your glistening folds with ease and precision. 

“I don’t need an invite anymore,” he rumbles, his voice low and coarse. You feel him pumping his cock with his hand - it brushes against your entrance with every movement of his fist. The slick head helplessly sobbing. “I can come in… anytime I want. Your home, your mind, your mouth, your perfect cunt. You’re mine now, sugar. All of ya. And I don’t think you mind one bit, do ya?”

His hips buck, plunging the head of his cock into you. You let out a gasp as he slides the rest of him as deep as possible, sheathing himself to the hilt. Your body adapted so easily to his size. It molded itself to him, gripping him like a vice that didn’t want to let go. Holding onto him like he was always meant to be there.

“Aw, look at ya,” he jeers, pulling himself all the way out of you. “Look at her. I leave her for one second and she’s already quiverin’ for more.” 

Was he… talking about your pussy? Your hazy mind thought for a moment, only to be overtaken by a searing pleasure when he slams himself back into you with a wicked snap of his hips. A guttural noise escapes your throat as he continues this teasing motion.

All the way out. All the way in.

Out.

In.

The rhythmic rolling of his hips punctuated by obscene smacking sounds. His claws grip onto your ass, pulling you into him with every deep thrust. You didn’t mind the pain anymore - the pleasure was all-consuming, encompassing your entire being with electric energy.

You were under his spell. 

“Mm, that's a good girl,” he coos. Drool continues to drip from his mouth, falling carelessly onto your bare cheeks. He wipes it off and smears it onto his cock for additional lubricant, not like he needed it. His praise and his drool only amplifies the pleasure he was already pumping you with. You couldn’t remember the last time someone praised you. “Takin’ me so good. Takin’ me so deep.”

One hand detaches from your reddened ass and tangles itself in your hair. He pulls your head from the pillows, arching your back even further. A choked groan escapes from your lips as his thrusts only grow more rapid, slamming deeper into you. You could feel the head of his cock kissing your cervix, nearly deep enough to break through the sensitive barrier and into your womb. 

The tension in your loins begins building again. Sweat pouring from both of your pores as he relentlessly fucks into you, the smack of his balls on your clit only ramping up the heat broiling in your core. Moans and filthy sounds of coupling flesh flooded the room. 

“Say my name, baby,” he leans into you, his voice a gentle whisper. He flicks his tongue out, licking the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Scream it to the heavens when you come undone. I know it’ll sound real pretty comin’ outta yer lips.” 

“R-Remmick,” you whimper. He thrusts into you - HARD. The sudden, powerful motion makes you hiss out of clenched teeth.

“Pretty, but you can do better,”  he demands, the grip on your hair and ass tightening. “Louder.” 

“Remmick,” you moan, almost teasingly. Another brutal thrust. 

“I said louder,” his voice shifting to a hoarse growl. He puts his mouth to your neck, his fangs making contact with your skin. If you don’t scream his name, he was going to rip your fucking throat out. “Louder or I’m gonna shred this pretty little neck of yours to pieces. Gonna drink my fill of you. Drain ya dry. Make ya scream my name one way or another.”

The pressure rose to unparalleled heights. He continues relentlessly pounding into you as hard as he could without completely splitting you apart. His fangs poke at your neck, raking against you as he moves. His hot, broken breath puffing onto your skin. Tongue pressing flat against you. 

You could feel his mouth start to close in, sharp teeth ready to rip you open. Shivers spark down your spine. There was a chance he was bluffing, teasing you into submission, but you weren’t willing to take that risk. 

Your body tenses, tingling with that familiar sensation. You feel your walls close in, squeezing his cock as it rams into you with no sign of stopping. He unclaws his hand from your ass and slides it down to your clit. His gnarled finger twirling rigorously around your swollen nub.

The pain of his claws poking at your sensitive nerves and his fangs fixed at your throat paired deliciously with the pleasure of the drawn out circles being drawn on your clit and his cock furiously driving deeper and deeper into your sweet spot. It’s unbearable. It’s searing. It’s fucking bliss.

In the heat of the moment, when the tension swells to its highest possible peak, your floodgate bursts open.

“REMMICK!” 

A mischievous smile stretches across his face against your throat at the cry of his name out of your lips. Bursts of color and light flash in your eyes as your entire body convulses on him. A powerful gush of arousal rushes out of you, coating Remmick and the already soaked sheets below in a glossy, sopping wave of relief.

“Ohhhh, fuck yes, sweet thing,” he rasps, leaning back from your neck, holding himself steady inside you. He watches as your release completely unravels you, taking in the beauty of the rapture he unleashed. He absolutely loved watching you wriggle and writhe underneath him. He slowly pulls his cock out just enough to see how drenched you left him. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Like music to my ears, baby.”

He hilts himself back into your spasming warmth, the sloppy squelch as he reimmersed himself tears a breathless moan from his heaving chest. Both of his hands mindlessly slide back to your hips, pulling you tight against his pelvis. The swollen head of his cock twitches against your battered cervix, as if begging to push past it. 

“You’re mine, now, sugar,” he rumbles, punctuating his words with every deep, passionate roll of his hips. “I ain’t ever lettin’ you go. Gonna visit you every time you’re feelin’ lonely. Every time you’re scared. Gonna keep you close to me, darlin’. Ain’t—ever—gonna—let—you—go.”

The movement of his hips grows erratic, uncontrollably plunging into your still-fluttering depths with animalistic abandon. The sound of his rasping moans mingle with the wet, obscene sounds of his thrusts. 

You’re still dizzy from the throes of your multiple climaxes. Your face flops back into the pillows, eyes glazed-over and drool all over your face. Usually, the only person who could do that to you was yourself. Your own hands, your own tools. Rarely ever has a man been gracious enough to send you into such a euphoric state of bliss - let alone more than once in a single night. 

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, ya know that?” He says through ragged breaths, his own climax gearing up. His voice shifts back and forth between that southern drawl and melodic lilt. “Perfect. Perfect body. Perfect face. Perfect… so perfect. Tá tú ar foirfe. Perfect.”

He pulls out of you almost entirely before hilting his entire length into you one last time. He lets out a deep, bellowing roar of pleasure as his cock throbs violently within your core. His entire body shakes and shudders above you. His claws hook deep into your skin. 

You were enraptured, captivated by the way his body tremors against you. The way his moans fill your ears like a symphony, a song meant to serenade only you. The way the scalding splatter of his release floods every ridge, every crook of your depths. His cock pumps endlessly, stirring his seed as deep as he could with every weak jerk of his hips. You feel as if your belly is swelling with how much of his thick essence spills into you. 

When the aftershocks of his climax finally begin to fade, he collapses onto you. He releases his grip on your flushed ass and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you down onto the sheets with him, laying you down on your side. His softening cock still buried in you, plugging you up so none of his pearly white proof of passion would dare to escape.

He nuzzles into the nape of your neck. His sweat-soaked forehead rubbing gently on the back of your head. Soft purrs of satisfaction slip through his closed, smiling mouth. 

He starts leaving gentle trails of kisses along your neck, stopping at the knicks he left with his fangs. He kisses them even softer, apologizing for the damage he inflicted on you. 

“I could get used to this,” he sighs. His arms caressing your naked body as the two of you lie side by side, still conjoined at the groin. His hot breath brushes against your shoulders.

“Me too,” you hum. You turn your neck to face him, gazing longingly into his crimson eyes. This sets his undead heart aflutter. You feel it beat gently beneath his chest. Your own heart thuds wildly against your rib cage.

The quiet was palpable for a moment. The chaos of your coupling had finally settled. The candles continue their dance around the room, illuminating the curves of your entwined bodies.  

“You mean it?” He murmurs. A soft smile melts onto his face, eyes twinkling with awe. He sounds stunned by your words. Surprised that you’d reciprocate. “You really mean it, darlin’?”

“Remmick,” you start, fully twisting your body to face him, careful not to let his softened cock slip out of you. His arms are still wrapped around you in a warm embrace, eagerly waiting to hear what you were going to say. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun. I’ll be honest… you terrified me at first. You terrified me every time you had your fangs in my throat. But I don’t know... it… it thrilled me. I liked the danger. I’ve spent so long cooped up alone to protect my peace that I started to miss spending time with another person... thank you.”

He looks at you, a shimmer of what you could only describe as longing glistening in his eyes. His wide, crooked smile radiates a sense of comfort. Despite the danger, the fear he caused you, you feel safe in his arms.

“Oh, sugar,” he whispers, one hand freeing itself from your waist to cup your cheek. His thumb lovingly brushes over your lips as he stares deep into your eyes. “How sweet of ya. I do apologize for frightenin’ ya. It’s in my nature, y’know. But… oh, it warms my cold dead heart to hear that comin’ from you. Thank you.” 

He captures your lips in a searing, passionate kiss before reluctantly sliding himself out of you. You feel his absence instantly, already missing the way his rigid girth perfectly squeezes into your walls. The remains of his essence drip down onto the drenched sheets. 

“I should get goin’, the sun’ll be up in a few ticks,” Remmick sighs with a hint of uncertainty. He didn’t seem to want to leave your side, but he starts to unhook himself from your waist in an effort to get up. You grab his retreating arm before he can completely let go.

“Stay. Please,” you beg. You caress his arm, soft hands kneading small circles across his skin. He studies your face with wistful, misty eyes. He didn’t want to leave, even if he felt like some kind of invisible force was pressuring him to. As if nature itself called for him to scurry off into the night and hide from the dawning sun. “I have a cellar you can stay in. No windows, so light won’t touch you. There’s even a little cot in there for you to sleep on… big enough for two.” 

Silence permeates the room between you. That emptiness you felt, the lonely feeling you tried so hard to shove deep down, vanishes with his touch. It disappears with him by your side. 

You didn’t care that he was a monster. You saw past that. He brought you back from the depths of isolation, and you knew, in your heart, you did the same for him. 

“Ohh, darlin’, I’d love to, I really would, b-but,” he stammers, desperately trying to fight against nature pulling him away from you. “I still gotta feed before the sun comes up, can’t go to bed on an empty stomach. I’ll be back tomorrow night, I promise. I promise you I will. Cross my heart and hope to die. No more lyin’.”

You gaze at Remmick as he slowly lifts himself from the bed. He picks his clothes up from the floor and starts to dress himself, his eyes refusing to leave you, as if he wanted to commit every ridge of your face to memory in case he’d never see you again. As if your body was a beautiful, one-of-a-kind painting that he wanted to soak in for hours.

He ties up his boots and zips his pants back up, fully prepared to head back out into the fray of the night. Before he finishes fixing his suspenders, you climb to the foot of the bed and reach for his hand.

You interlock your fingers with his. The gentle thrum of your heartbeat pulsing underneath your ribs. You slowly tilt your head, presenting your neck to him. His eyes widen with surprise and his mouth starts to salivate. He quietly descends, kneeling down to face you. He presses his lips against your supple flesh. Instead of sinking his fangs into you, he simply peppers your throat with delicate little kisses.

“No,” Remmick whispers into the crook of your neck. “Not tonight, sweet thing. When I drink from you, I wanna make it special. I don’t wanna turn ya on our first meetin’ like this, as much as I’d love to. It just don’t feel right.”

Despite saying he wouldn’t bite you, he takes your finger to his mouth and pricks it on his fangs ever so slightly. He puts your finger between his lips, suckling on the tiny droplets of blood that trickle from the small puncture. He lets out a broken moan from the flavor of your sweet scarlet nectar before releasing your finger, wet with his saliva. His eyes glow a blazing red, the fires of his feral hunger stoked from the mere taste of you. 

“Exquisite, simply exquisite,” he gently strokes your face with his calloused hand. “I swear to you, darlin’, I’ll be back tomorrow. And even though I don’t need it anymore, I’ll still beg for ya to let me in. I’ll beg like it’s the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on a beauty like you.”

With that, Remmick plants one long, tender kiss on your lips. He holds your head in both of his hands, pushing his mouth closer into the intimate embrace. He pulls away slowly, his eyes burning into yours. A touch of sorrow gleams in his crimson gaze. His hand takes yours to guide you out of the room with him.

The two of you make your way down the dark hallway. The darkness starts to embrace you, knowing that once he walks out that door, its over-encompassing reach will consume you as it always does. Your heart sinks to your stomach at the thought. 

Remmick stands at the door, his free hand twisting the knob. You take a good look around your living room. Your private little space, your personal sanctuary. Your tea and his untouched glass of water completely soaked your coasters with their condensation. Your book sitting idle in the same position Remmick left it. The candles had burnt nearly down to the holster, the dying flames petering out, their dance coming to an end. 

The night air is still humid, but a crisp breeze wafts through the opening door. Remmick stands still for a moment. His clammy hand is still firmly, possessively gripping onto yours, afraid to let go. 

He turns to you, hungry eyes gazing into yours. His hand slowly starts to release from your grasp, pulling your heart along with it. The stars twinkle dimly in the sky behind him. The crickets chirp, the nocturnal animals chitter and howl, and your old house… your old, soon-to-be-empty house creaks and groans as it always has. As it always will. 

“Until tomorrow?” 

“Until tomorrow.”

Remmick walks back out into the night, his body fully enveloped by the darkness. He leaves you, for now. But he left with a promise, something no man has ever followed through with. You were confident that this time, this man - this vampire - would come back. Tomorrow. 

Tomorrow. You’ll see him again tomorrow. 

translations provided by both google and @fuckoffbard ------------------------------- Santaíonn mé thú - I want you Faith and begorrah - by god / expression of surprise le do thoil - please / "with your will" tá tú chomh tais - you're so wet for me Grá mo chroí - love of my heart Tá tú ar foirfe - you are perfect

[angelanimedesaray]

Wings in the Dark Chapter 35: Soul to Soul

AN: Don't worry, I know the last chapter was heavy. This is the second part of the massive chapter I wrote that got split into 34 and 35, and ironically the way the split happened put all of the comfort and fuzzy and spicy stuff here hehehehe

Don't get too excited, no smut QUITE yet, though things are starting to heat if I do say so myself, hehehe. ANYWAY, ENJOY!!!! I shall eagerly be awaiting your reactions/feedback!!!

Also, apologies ahead of time, there's another Alternating POV cause I wanted both of their POVs in this chapter. It's mainly from Levi's POV, but you'll get bits from Reader's POV and I did my best to have the switches not be jarring.

Characters: Levi, Fem!Vampire!Reader

Pairing: Levi x Fem!Vampire!Reader

Warnings: Language, Brief Mentions of Death, Blood, Blood Drinking, Very Mild Smut (No Sex)

Word Count: 17134

<----Previous Chapter Masterlist

*Levi’s POV*

Levi had no idea how deep into the night it was when she seemed to have finally spent the last of her tears and bled out the pain she’d been trying to suffocate.  He didn’t let go of her through the whole thing, making sure she didn’t lose that bit of human contact he needed to give her to let her have something to anchor to.  Even though he was stiff and sore by the end, he waited until she’d gone silent, and even then he waited several more long moments to make sure she really had gotten all of it out before he moved.

Her body had been heavy against his, enough so that for the first few seconds he thought she’d cried until she’d passed out.  However, when he pulled back her eyes were open, still shining and bloodshot from the harsh cry she’d just struggled through.

He’d take it.  It was much better than the look that had been in her eyes what felt like hours ago but may have only been a few painfully long minutes ago, and it meant he was doing something right that she still had a semblance of herself.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing while he was trying to comfort her.  He had comforted her before, but he’d never had this kind of relationship with someone on the bloodier days, had never tried to comfort someone he was this intimate with after one of the horrific operations that gave the Scouts such a bad reputation amongst the population.  He felt like more than his usual was needed, that he needed to put in more effort than normal, but he couldn’t quite decide what that was supposed to look like, unsure in his actions and what the right move would be.  

He knew what he’d do if they were just comrades, just friends, he knew the kind of silent support he would give, then.

This was different.  This was her, and she was suffering.

And he needed to try and make it better.  He knew he couldn’t fix it–there were enough broken shards in his own soul that was a testament to just how many things couldn’t be fixed–but here with her, unlike up on that damn wall, he could do something.

For now, he could start small; start with what she needed physically, and go from there.

Once he knew that she was awake, and the shuffling back to let him move let him know she was responsive, Levi carefully brushed the hair back from her face before reaching over to start working on getting her out of the excess layers of her uniform, undoing her ruined cloak and helping her slip free of the jacket beneath before he started in on the straps, loosening them from the back plate and shimmying them off her shoulders.

“You’re a filthy mess,” Levi muttered as his fingers worked blood and mud stained leather off her bit by bit.  “The gear can wait for tomorrow:  once we get this off you, I’ll draw a bath, and you clean yourself up, okay?”

The fact he said we seemed to clue her into the fact she could help undo her own gear, working on the straps of her inner thighs and waist, undoing the main unit, and pulling the bloody and possibly ruined wrap around her waist free to lie carelessly atop the growing pile.  Levi’s practiced hands had her free of the upper half of the harness in no time, and he had already started getting her out of the boots by the time she was ready to pull free of the straps around her legs and feet.

When all that was left were her socks, pants, and ruined white shirt, he got up and headed for the washroom, not saying a word about the haphazard mess the pieces of her uniform were lying in at the moment considering the miserable state she was still in.

He’d take care of it before he headed to his quarters to wash up.  She didn’t need to worry about anything else tonight, no matter how small a task it may be–she had enough to deal with.  They all did.

Once he had the bath filled with the appropriate amount of water and it was the right temperature, Levi came back to where she was still sitting on the bed, noting that she hadn’t moved an inch since they’d finished taking off most of her uniform, and he couldn’t help but take a moment to look her over, to make sure she wasn’t slipping back into that catatonic state.

Once again, he felt like he needed to do something more to help and comfort her right now, and he tried to think of what she might need, what she might do for him if she was the one trying to comfort him, what he knew of what had torn her up so much about this far beyond what had been eating at the rest of them.

He could think it over in his own bath–they both needed to get clean, first.

“Get yourself cleaned up,” Levi told her in a soft murmur, grasping her hand to pull her up to her feet and using his other hand to steady her and make sure she would stay on her feet before he gave her a little nudge towards the bathroom door.  “I’ll go clean up in my room.”

She suddenly turned at that, gaze locking onto him with a desperation that cut him deeper than he would have expected it to.  

“You’ll come back…yes?”

Levi swallowed at how raw and cracked her voice sounded, worse than his had been the last stretch of this day, gaze locked on hers–one last check to make sure she wasn’t going to shatter again while he tried to scrub the horrors of the day off his skin.  

“Of course.”

He’d make it a quick bath.  He didn’t want to leave her alone any longer than he absolutely had to.

Levi stayed where he was standing until she’d disappeared into the washroom, moving over to the bed once the door clicked shut.  He took the time to fold the clothes that were salvageable, debating placing them in a corner out of view where they could be gathered for cleaning in the morning–he knew it would be easier to clean the blood the sooner it was treated, but it had already been hours, and her wellbeing was more important than tackling stains that would take him some time to properly get out.  

Considering everything that had happened and how drained she looked, Levi changed his mind and instead started to carefully layer the folded clothes that could be salvaged, her gear that needed cleaned, and the clothes that were beyond repair and needed thrown out in an organized stack that he carried with him out of her room.

He’d take care of it.  It was probably wise not to leave the bloody reminder of what happened in her room while she was in a more precarious state–he’d take care of it all in the morning and get it back to her before anyone could notice he had two sets of gear in his quarters.

The halls were silent, and the trip went uninterrupted.  His room was unnervingly quiet after the constant noise of the day, between the trip to the wall, the long conversation with Y/N, the battle, and then her breakdown in her room.  Knowing she was in the silence of her own room struggling with her emotions that had been in a fever pitch all day probably made the silence seem wrong and dangerous, reminding him she was elsewhere and not in a good mental state while he was here.

Yes, it would definitely be a quick bath.

After preparing the bath water and making it a little hotter than he preferred to give it time to cool to the right temperature while he undressed, Levi made quick work of his gear, setting it atop his dresser to be tended to tomorrow beside Y/N’s, and then looking over his clothes to figure out what he could salvage with a good clean and what needed thrown out.  He put the carefully folded piles of salvageable clothes on either side of the corresponding gear, making it easy to tell which mechanical set was hers and which was his without having to look for distinct minor scrapes or scratches to tell them apart.

As Levi sank into the water filling the tub, his necklace laid carefully out on the washbasin table in wait for when he was finished, he finally felt the soreness and the tight strips of his taxed muscles, letting out a slow sigh and leaning his head back as he took a few seconds to let the heat loosen and soothe the worst of it.  The clean water was already starting to turn colors before he’d even started to scrub down, the smell of the soaps waiting just within reach by the bath for him to use a welcome contrast to the scent of blood, sweat, and shit he’d reeked of since the retreat.

His wrist twinged where it was resting against the rim of the tub, and Levi grimaced slightly, pulling his arm back in towards him with his fingers circling the skin just below where the mottled fingers shaped bruise on his wrist was.

Damn vampire strength…he knew she held back to avoid hurting people, but she had never used her strength on him like that before.  Not that he held it against her, she hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly when she did it, and it would only ache for a short while and be gone in a few days. 

Releasing his wrist and choosing to ignore the bruise entirely, Levi cupped the water in his hands, raising it up to his face to start cleaning up, beginning by wiping away any blood, mud, or salt crust from sweat he may have missed earlier when he was getting the worst of it out of his eyes, mouth, and nose.

185 people…

Levi felt his heart contort unnaturally in his chest, bringing another handful of water to his face and wiping it along places he’d felt crusted blood and sweat.

Out of 300,000…

He leaned forwards, putting his head firmly within the confines of the tub as he started to raise handfuls of water to wet his hair, letting his fingers seek out any crusted filth that may have made it down to the roots, hair eventually running rivulets of water back into the tub.

They’d never seen casualties like that.  Even during the fall of Maria, with how quickly the Scouts and Garrison had reacted, there weren’t nearly as many deaths as there could have been–a few thousands in comparison–and mostly made up of civilians in the initial areas impacted while the military was mobilizing, military that got caught in scuffles with the Titans or had fought to try and hold the Titans back long enough to give people time to evacuate, or people that hadn’t believed the warnings that the wall had fallen.

But of that three hundred thousand that had almost been entirely wiped out today, the vast majority of those casualties had been civilians.  Though the Scouts had suffered severe losses to their numbers as well, given how few of them had been on the return trip.

Once his hair was damp enough, Levi started lathering the soap into his hair, making sure his fingers threaded deep enough to rub along his scalp and make sure he was removing any trace of filth within until the soap was a thick foam between his fingers and clinging to his hair, dripping down onto his shoulders and down his back.

She had to hear it.  The rest of them just had to wait in that silence for something to happen, but she’d heard it happening.  Her senses had not allowed her to tune any of it out and had forced her to experience far more of it than anyone else on that wall.  And the way she’d looked at him, the way she’d pled for him to give her something else to listen to, to make it so she didn’t have to sit there and listen to the whole thing unfold–

He wished he could have done more.  He didn’t feel like what he’d done had been enough, given what just happened in her room.

Levi started in on washing the soap from his hair, cupping water back up to his head as he leaned it back to keep the soap out of his eyes, ran his fingers through over and over until he wasn’t coming away with any soap, and then one last pass to pull the hair back from his face and rub a fresh handful of water across his face, reaching for the body soap to lather up and wash his face, neck, and ears, careful not to miss any crevice dirt or blood may be hiding.

He’d seen enough people go into shock to know what was happening to her during the silent ride back to headquarters, but they hadn’t been in a position for him to do anything about it besides ride next to her and watch for if she was about to spiral into something dangerous.  She’d pulled through without any hesitation when she was needed to fight and to save people, to defend her comrades.  But when it was over and there was nothing but the quiet travel back…

Levi set the soap aside again while he rinsed his face and neck, waiting until he’d passed the water everywhere and he was certain there wasn’t any more soap before he rubbed a bit more vigorously at his eyes than he needed to.

Fuck, that look in her eyes.  Out of everything that had happened today, that had been the part to scare him the most.

He had seen dead eyes, flat eyes, empty eyes–the eyes of people who had shattered beyond repair in their soul and were simply a husk waiting to die, the eyes of people with nothing but malice and greed, the eyes of people that seemed to be trying to reflect the horrors they’d seen onto the people who dared try to meet their gaze.

The pain that filled her gaze had cut, had plunged into him like a serrated knife that sawed its way into his core.  The tears hadn’t stopped flowing, her whole body shaking from the force of all the emotions trying to spill out of her at once, struggling to breathe around her sobs and gasps for air to the point Levi had worried she’d pass out from the inability to get enough oxygen into her body.

What was worse was seeing her still, thinking she was going into shock again the first few moments before he realized she wasn’t calming, she wasn’t going numb, it was something else.  It had been like watching the emotions, the light and soul, bleeding out of her eyes, emptying until there was less and less of a person staring at nothing in particular and just this cold, unnatural thing filling the space instead. 

He’d seen the humanity start to drain out of her, seen the unfeeling otherness smother out any warmth and life in her eyes and replace it with this empty void.  She’d turned so still it was unnatural, had almost stopped breathing, started to go as blank outward as inward, and Levi saw, for a few moments, a peek at what she would be if she ever gave in and shut out her humanity.

Cold and death.  Completely devoid of what made her Y/N. 

Other, and not in a way to be praised or lauded as exceptional.

Dangerous.  Unfeeling.

Monstrous.  

He knew she was capable of immense violence, could be cold and calculating, could be lethal when she wanted to be–that was a part of her.  She was a vampire, but that wasn’t all she was.  There was more to her than the prowling beast beneath the surface that could tear a man to shreds without difficulty if pushed wrong.

That beast could still be playful, coy, affectionate, passionate, protective–he’d seen glimpses of it already, how in those moments where her vampire instincts took over, she was still herself, still mindful of him, still cared, protected him when he was in danger…

This had been different.  Dark.  Something that made a chill crawl underneath his skin even now despite the warm bathwater, something that hissed against the back of his neck secrets of nightmares and evil from the shadows.

A glimpse of the demon he’d thought he’d been up against before he’d confronted her in the warehouse when she first joined the Scouts.

She’d been right to be afraid of what would happen if she shut out her emotions.  What he glimpsed when she started to shut out all the things that made her who she was, tried to turn it all off and reduce herself to blood and instinct to avoid the pain…

He never wanted to see her so empty and broken, never wanted to see her pushed that far again.

Realizing he was staring at nothing in particular and that he’d come to a standstill in his cleaning, Levi straightened up suddenly, reaching for the soap and getting to his feet so he could finish up with the last full body lather, taking his time to wet down every crevice and make sure he scrubbed at any stubborn spot left on his skin until he was certain there was nothing left.

Thinking of that void, how close she’d come to shutting out her humanity, was enough to get him to put the urgency back in his movements.  He finished the rest of his bath in record time, climbed out to start drying, got his necklace back on–the cool metal was sharp against his skin after the warm bath–pulled his pants and a button up shirt on, socks, and he left his boots behind since they needed cleaned.  Instead, he slipped on the sole pair of dress shoes he owned for whenever Erwin dragged him along to show him off at those damnable high society events trying to drum up funding and support.

Something he was probably going to have to tolerate again, soon.

He needed to get back.  He didn’t know how long he’d be there, if it would be until she fell asleep or even for the whole night, so he needed to be decent enough he could slip out in the morning without drawing too much attention when he made his way back through the halls.

He’d worry about that in the morning.  First, he needed to get back to Y/N and make sure she was still holding on, make sure she stayed grounded to herself, made sure she was still her.

He just wanted her to still be her.

*Alternating POV*

She was waiting for him when he returned, pacing slowly back and forth in front of her bed, barefoot but otherwise similarly dressed as him, though there were a few more buttons undone on her shirt, and it was a different color than the white he was wearing–which was probably a good thing, given the way it stuck to her at certain curves and crevices that gave away her skin hadn’t been entirely dry when she’d put it on.

The fact she was moving around without a blatant necessity to move was progress in his eyes, and put another piece of his mind at ease to see she was getting better, even if it was slowly, even if he was still worried about what may be going on in her head and heart.

Once he entered the room, her attention shifted fully to him, a sliver of light entering her tired eyes once they landed on him–or maybe that was just the lamplight reflecting off them as she turned his way.  In a few steps, she had crossed the room, his name falling from her lips in a soft exhale that made his heart pound harder in his chest and his skin down his neck and shoulders tingle as she drew closer, her hands raising to gently cusp his cheeks in that tender gesture he was still working on adjusting to. 

It threw him every time she did it, only because the way it made him feel, the way the warmth seemed to seep into him from her hands and straight to his heart, the way his heart seemed to raise up into his throat and he instinctively wanted to tilt his head closer to her while sinking into the gesture itself…it was unfair how much power that tender gesture had, and he needed to figure out what he could do that would have a similar effect for her.

Once her hands found their place cradling his face, Levi stepped closer and leaned into her, letting her rest her forehead against his as his hands settled loosely on her wrists, thumbs idly stroking back and forth inside her palms or on the sensitive skin of her inner wrist.  Relief slowly eased the tension from his shoulders at her affection, relief that even if everything still wasn’t okay, she wasn’t falling apart at the seams anymore.  She was coming back to herself, she was still here with him.

You didn’t say anything–not yet.  You simply breathed him in, the fresh scent of his soaps wrapping around you like a balm while his warmth–slightly higher than normal given he just came from a bath–helped disperse the chill that had been hanging over you since getting out of your bath.  His presence chased away some of the shadows still trying to echo the dying screams of those people towards you, and him being here now gave you something so much warmer and comforting and bright to focus on.

You’d done enough thinking of all this hell today–for a lifetime.  You’d suffered through it on the wall, spiraled on the way here, internally thrashed through the rapids of emotions that had tried to drown you and gone from the numbness of being completely overwhelmed by your emotions, to almost empty, to drowning in the rapids again, until all the emotions had been bled out of you for the night.  Then you’d gotten to be haunted by those feelings all over again while you were alone in the tub trying to clean up, trying not to think of what was echoing over and over in your mind–

Enough of that.  It had been far too much tonight, you needed something else to ground you, to keep you sane–something else to focus on, something good, something calming and right, something that remained despite all this loss and hell–

You needed him.  No one else, nothing else, would do, because right now he was the only person in this nightmare of a world that knew and understood as much as he did about you.  You just wanted–needed–him now.  Needed to feel him solid and steady against you, to know he was here and with you, alive and close–you needed him.

And you wanted him to feel the same way in needing you.  Maybe he did, and he was just better at hiding it, maybe he was so focused on taking care of your needs he was hiding his own, maybe he’d want that comfort and closeness, too–maybe he needed to feel the good between the two of you to ease the pain of all this horror just for a little while, to create a respite for the both of you, just for the night, in this small room where no one would see…

She was shaking.  It was slight, but he caught it, could feel it in her arms beneath his hands, knew it wouldn’t be the only place, that he would feel it in more of her body if he pulled her closer, held her tighter. Despite the shake, the way she touched him was far more gentle, more tender and intimate than the desperation of earlier, though there were still some traces of that desperation lingering in the way she didn’t seem able to even lean away and could only weave further into him.

When she kissed him, every movement was drawn out, like she was savoring every second, memorizing the feel and how he moved, how he responded to her.  Her fingers curled and pressed slightly, dragging in a gentle pull along the shaved down edge of his undercut near the back of his neck and pulling him deeper into the kiss with her.

By the time she broke away, it felt abrupt; the fact he was mildly dizzy from the lack of oxygen was not even enough to stop him from thinking that she’d pulled back too soon.  She stayed right in that position, so close their noses still brushed against one another as she took a breath, a second, the little exhales as she tried to catch her breath puffing against his lips–

“Make me forget,” she whispered to him, one of her hands sliding up to tangle in the damp hair at the back of his head, giving her much better leverage to guide his head in whatever angle she wanted it while his heart skipped a beat in it’s quickened pace, wondering to himself what, exactly, she was proposing they do to ‘forget’.

“Just make me remember the good that’s still here,” she murmured, expanding upon her plea without him having to even ask for clarification.  “I just…I just need you.  Kiss me.  Hold me.  Drown out the rest for tonight.”

He’d wanted to know what he could do to help, to comfort her, to do more, to try and soothe the hurt.  Now here she was, giving him clear instructions, and what she was asking for was something he could do.  Holding her, kissing her, being close, being here for her and trying to focus on one another, giving her the pieces of himself he still had to spare–pieces that he’d been uncovering as they both fumbled through trying to understand their relationship and how it was supposed to work…

He could try to drown out the horrors of the world with her tonight.  If she was offering that…he wanted it.  He’d allow himself the escape just for a little while, to avoid thinking of everything that had happened just a few hours more, and find it here with her.

There were only a few moments of silence after your request where Levi seemed to consider your words, gaze locked on yours, body sturdy compared to you.  You felt like you would be knocked over by a passing breeze right now if you didn’t have anything to ground you, like your knees were weak and your strength was frayed, that you would collapse if someone pushed too hard.  You knew you were just exhausted and emotionally drained, completely depleted by the day, but the thought of sleep wasn’t enough–especially when you feared you’d be met with gruesome nightmares.  You wanted him and his steady presence here to comfort and stabilize you, to make you feel like it was okay you didn’t feel so strong in this moment, that you weren’t okay right now, and that he would make sure that you got through it.  He would, you knew he would, but you wanted to feel it, too–wanted to feel him.

He didn’t leave you to linger in uncertainty or overthink the moment.  He knew better by now, knew you sometimes needed to be pulled from your thoughts for your own good, that there was a difference between your deep thoughts and overthinking, and sometimes he needed to make you focus on the here and now.

And that was just what he did.

Levi leaned in for another kiss after your request, lips sealing over yours in a tenderness that still took your breath away every time.  His hands slipped up your arms, guiding them to wrap loosely around his shoulders while his arms pulled you tight against him, one of his hands curling around the top of the back of your neck to cradle your head, the other tucking under your arm with fingers curling over your shoulder. 

His embrace kept you pressed securely into him, and though you could feel that gentleness in his actions that came when he was trying something new and attempting to go at a slower pace with lighter motions just in case you didn’t agree, he was still firm enough to be a support, for you to melt into him in eager relief.  Your hand at the back of his head threaded deep into the damp tresses of his hair, feeling them slip a bit heavier than normal through your fingers as you started instinctually threading and unthreading to lazily play with his hair during your kiss, not missing that his grip tightened slightly and he pressed a bit closer in response.  Your other hand stayed against his jaw, your touch turning from a cradling gesture to now feel the warmth and the tremble of his throat, the flexion in his jaw while he kissed you, keeping him leaning into you–

He came in gently, his kiss soft and tender, but your kiss was more desperate now that you were getting what you craved, desiring more than the sweet gesture gave.  Levi didn’t need you to break away and ask him for more–your need seemed to seep into him in return with every kiss, the press of his body against yours becoming more of a solid embrace that wasn’t allowing retreat from either of you, soft gasps for air slipping between the more bruising lock of his lips around yours.  You could hear his heart pounding in your ears, the heady scent that made your head swim reminding you his blood was rushing just below the plush skin of his lips, the warm trembling skin of his throat–

Levi’s breath hitched in a sharp intake of breath when he felt one of her fangs nick his lower lip and draw blood.  It wasn’t the first time it had happened–their first kiss immediately jumped to mind–but her tongue swiped away the beads of blood before Levi could even instinctually lick at the cut.  Her lips locked around that tiny part of his kiss-swollen lips, pulling up in a slow break away of the more sensual kiss before she came back a third time with a small suck, trying to pull more blood from the small wound in the process of the kiss.

It seemed her need for him and her need for blood had momentarily bled together in her mind.  And she did need blood–he remembered the way she’d been healing slower near the end of the retreat, how exhausted she’s looked since they had started their way back, but he’d been far more focused on her emotional state than her hunger.

Letting the hand that had curled over her shoulder drop down to the small of her back, Levi turned them around a half step until his back was to the bed, keeping her held against him as she pressed hungrily into their kiss, clinging to him.  It wasn’t even a full step backwards before the back of his knee bumped into the edge of her bed, prompting him to let himself fall back into a sitting position on the end of her bed.  The motion pulled her free of the kiss briefly as they moved, but his hands didn’t fully let go of her, dropping to the side of her neck and her waist and pulling her down and in towards him with his movement.

Her knees planted on either side of his hips as she straddled him–a choice that made his throat clench from anxiety at the thought of what she might feel in a few moments if she stayed in this position–hands sliding up his chest and shoulders and lips having already found their way back to his, tongue running briefly over that cut that was no longer giving her beads of blood before she went back to a deep kiss, fangs occasionally grazing his lips without actually breaking skin.

Once she was situated and they were comfortable, Levi’s hand moved from the side of her neck up into her hair, fingers threading deep at the roots to gently tug her head back, breaking their kiss again.  He leaned his head back and tilted it slightly to the side, exposing his throat to her before the hand tangled deep in her hair pulled her back in until her lips were against his throat. 

He could feel her fingers slip under the collar of his shirt, pushing it back and to the side, try again to press it back further as she kissed the sensitive spot he was used to her drinking from and causing goosebumps to break out in the wake of her lips, her fangs grazing and pressing into his skin without biting yet as she restrained herself a few seconds more.  Apparently unsatisfied with her own efforts to simply push his collar aside, Levi felt her hands drop a bit lower and center, before her fingers slipped the first button free, then the next–

She was working on the third button when her fangs sank into his throat, the slight shift of his head and her own motion leaning into him causing her to bite higher than normal, turning what was about to be a question into a moan as he felt the familiar rush of his blood from him to her, felt more than heard the rumble of her own muffled groan in her chest.  The tension uncoiled instinctively from his body as he fell into the familiar relaxed acceptance of her feeding off him, felt his skin tingle and the flush of heat through his body starting the familiar build in his chest and gut, the hand that had been tangled in her hair sliding down to instead rest against a shoulder blade.  He wasn’t sure if it was just in his head because of the heat of the moment before she’d bitten him, but he swore her bite had felt smoother and gentler than before–

He didn’t have much time to think about it as her fingers slipped another two buttons free, her hand sliding under the fabric of the shirt and across his skin in a motion so light he shuddered beneath it and he held his breath for a few seconds.  The why she was opening his shirt was answered by the sudden feeling of blood trailing down his neck, her hand maneuvering his white shirt off his shoulder and out of its path a split second before the trail reached the hollow where his neck met shoulder.

Her fangs released from his throat far too soon–there was no way in hell she was already satisfied–head dipping to press her lips into the hollow of his throat with just enough pressure to make his back arch up into her and his head lean further back as her lips dragged up along that trail of blood that had escaped before it could deviate further down over his collarbone, eliciting a ragged gasp from him.

“What are you…ah…Y/N–”

His question about the shirt and the early release from his neck disappeared in the sounds she elicited from him–she was hardly above his collar when her fangs sank slowly into his throat a second time in another bite, the pace intentional, a hum vibrating from her to match his second, deeper moan at the unexpected feel of another bite.  

His hand that had been resting loosely in the small of her back fisted the fabric of her shirt to pull her tight against him–against his mostly bare chest.  While he’d been distracted by her lips and teeth and what she was doing with his throat, she’d almost finished opening all the buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric off both shoulders and letting it hang off his elbows and at his sides.

What she was doing wasn’t just feeding.  It was far more sensual, the way her lips dragged along his skin and her teeth sank tenderly into his throat, the way her tongue now ran languidly along the inner edges of the wound where the blood was pooling, lingering and tasting more than just blood.  Hot, buzzing need and desire rushed through his whole body, breaths coming ragged and in pants and gasps, sweat easily beading across his hairline considering he was still a little flushed from the hot bath, head starting to feel slightly fuzzy with how distracting he was finding the tightness in his chest, his gut, his pants–

The rapid pounding of his heart no doubt made her feed easier as the intimacy of the whole exchange reached a new high.

Levi’s hand clenched tighter at the small of her back, the fabric of her shirt bundled up between his fingers as his head turned into hers, lips brushing her ear, other hand attempting to reach back up into her hair.  The pull of his shirt at his elbows reminded him he wasn’t entirely free of the garment and that its current position restricted his movement, even as her hands came back to rest against his chest and the unbitten side of his throat.  Reluctantly, Levi released his hold on her, just long enough to try and tug his arms free of his shirt as quickly as he could so he could get back to holding and feeling her against him while she drank from him, as if that would cool him off instead of raise his temperature.

While his arms were otherwise preoccupied, she retracted her fangs from his neck a second time, lips running quickly up the length of his throat to catch any stray blood.  Her hand that had been resting on the unbitten side of his throat came up to rest just below his jaw, gently tilting his head the other direction before her fangs sank into the side she had never bitten him on before.

The unexpected action caused a noticeable shudder through Levi that sent him arching into her with an unmistakable gasp of surprise and pleasure.  Cheeks immediately flushing from the overtly sexual and loud sound that had just escaped him, Levi buried his face in her shoulder, fingers clutching tightly into the fabric of her shirt as she drank indulgently from him. 

She didn’t seem to react much to the sound, not that he could tell, but he was quickly distracted from any reactions she may have been having due to the fact his body was responding to the multiple bites to his neck, the feel of her pressed against him, her hands burying themselves deep in his hair, the way she was straddling him which now also threatened to expose his hard kept secret about just how arousing he found her drinking from him, especially when it was like this–

You could certainly tell just how excited Levi was getting in the heat of the moment, the evidence hard to miss with how tightly your legs were locked around his waist, the sudden, solid press against your body in the middle of that last gasp was unmistakable even with the fact you weren’t that experienced in relationships.  Kissing was about as far as you ever got in your human years, but that was unmistakable.

You were fully ready to pretend you didn’t feel it, though, to play innocent and give him an out, considering the way the blood seemed to rush up to his cheeks and he hid his face to muffle his pants and the moan his gasp had turned into, the way his shoulders suddenly tensed and the blood came not quite so easily as it all started trying to rush to different places as he flushed and hardened–that thought sent a zap of a mix of excitement and nerves right down to your core, though you tried to ignore it and push past it before it could settle–prompting you to ease off the force of your drink instinctually so it wouldn’t hurt him.

The multiple bites thing had been an impromptu, spur of the moment idea, and motivated entirely by the fact that you knew how pleasurable you drinking from him seemed to feel to him.  In your mind, if you focused more on biting soft and slow and focused more on the pleasure of the bite than the utilitarian purpose of feeding off him, if you bit more than once to elicit that euphoric rush he seemed to get when you initially bit down, he might worry and stress less on the task at hand and get lost in the moment with you a bit more easily.  

It seemed your little plan may have worked a bit too well, though, given his reaction, the way he clung to you, and the ragged breathing against your shoulder.  At least you had been mindful enough of your actions that if he called for a break, if he asked you to back down, you could do that, too.  You had still gotten the blood you needed, still enjoyed every heady drop and weren’t about to let any of it go to waste, even if the shallower and more sensual bites meant it was a bit more messy and you had to remove his shirt just to make sure no accidental spills stained his white uniform.  You were mostly satiated now, anything more you got more out of desire and indulgence and a pleasant bonus in the pursuit of trying to elicit that blissful reaction out of Levi.

Levi tried to shift, tried to keep it subtle and move his hips away from the locked position he was in, but there wasn’t really anywhere for him to go, and after a few moments of squirming, you finally heard him gasp your name, heard the notes of discomfort, the starting tone of a request–

Your hands slipped back down to his chest, teeth letting go of his throat once more and, without hesitation–momentarily mourning your sheets and the fact you were going to have to discreetly clean blood off them when no one was looking, now–you pushed him back, easing up from the straddling position to allow him to fall back onto the bed.  Of course, you followed after him, though you were careful of where your legs and waist were positioned this time, knees planted into the bed just above his waist and keeping on all fours over him without laying atop him, hands planted above his shoulders, giving him that space without fully sacrificing the closeness you wanted–and needed to clean up some of that blood on his throat.

It was hard to focus on the blood, though, when his hair was falling and spilling across the bed underneath you, your mother's silver chain draped across the base of his throat with the medallion having fallen and momentarily disappeared in the sheets next to his neck, the shirt was long forgotten somewhere around the end of the bed and you could see every plane of his chest, every dip and curve, the recently agitated chafing where he wore the ODM especially tightly that was more of an irritated red tonight than was likely the usual given he’d been fighting only several hours ago, scars decorating his skin that were mostly unknown to you and a couple that were–all caught in a glimpse on your way up before your gaze was pulled to his neck where your three bite marks were still beading blood on one side, welling with more blood around the fresher mark…

Your gaze flickered up to his face, catching the flush in his cheeks and ears still, noticing the little cut on his lip that had stopped bleeding as he sucked in a steadying breath, the starting sheen of sweat on his brow, the way his eyes–trained on you, of course–seemed dark as the night when the moonlight was stifled behind a cloud, especially with your shadow cast across his face as you leaned over him–

Trying to salvage your sheets before he bled on them, you dipped your head low to seal your lips around the fresher bite–just your lips, you didn’t bite again, you’d done enough of that for tonight.  You let your lips catch the drops slipping down his neck towards the bed, let your tongue run along the bleeding wound to soothe it and swipe away the blood.  You felt Levi's hands come to rest at your side and in your hair, his fingers twisting idly along the strands, movements relaxing once more, going back to slow and tender as you both slowed down from the more feverish high you'd started.

Once you were certain the bleeding had slowed to droplets that would cling to the wound, you pulled away just enough to tilt your head back to the other side, lips grazing his Adam's apple along the way and earning a soft hum from Levi before you ran your lips along the shallow wounds on the other side of his neck, swiping away the beads of blood in the process.

After it was clear that you had cleaned the last of the blood–or at least that the blood wasn’t going to be running down his neck anymore–Levi suddenly pushed up and over, flipping the two of you over so that you were lying on your back staring up at him while he hovered over you, eyes still dark as night in the shadows of the room, pupils wider than normal and swallowing some of his steely blue gaze.

Once Levi had her turned over and on her back, he held her there for a moment, breaths still feeling heavy in his chest that his heart was beating against, that coiled, uncomfortable tightness from a solid erection that had prompted their position change so she wasn’t straddling him anymore still plaguing him–

He needed a moment–a couple moments–to breathe and get ahold of himself again.  His eyes were locked on hers, tracking the ebb and flow of that red glow within them, both to know where she was emotionally and to give him anything else to focus on.  They had likely been almost if not entirely crimson while feeding from him, but it was fading now, dulling to a gleam of red mixed into the usual color of her eyes as the two of them gazed at one another, catching their breaths, calming down…

When he trusted himself to have enough control of his own actions to not prematurely cross his own lines before he was truly ready, Levi leaned in, keeping himself hovering over her and ignoring the bump of the now warm metal of his necklace knocking against their chins as he kissed her, cautious with himself and keeping the pace slow and gentle.  He couldn’t feel her fangs pressing into their lips anymore, which assured him that she was calming back down as well.

Her fingers brushed against his chin, the touch light and barely there, making the skin she touched tingle in her wake as they traced further, under his jaw and over one of the two bites on the one side of his throat.

Levi pulled back from the kiss, just enough to speak.  “Indulgent tonight?” he asked, voice low as if he was taking care not to disturb the quiet in the room.

She tilted her head up to kiss the corner of his lips.  “You didn’t seem like you were complaining.”

Levi could feel his face heat up, unsure if she was talking about his usual gasping and moaning at the sensation of being bit and her drinking from him, or if she was referring to the erection they both knew he’d had by the third bite.

There was no more holding to the foolish hope she didn’t know just how excited he got, he knew she knew now, and he didn’t think he was entirely ready for that conversation.  If that was what she was referring to, that was not the conversation he wanted to have, words failing him utterly as nerves clawed their way from his stomach all the way up to a tightening in his throat as he pulled away with a mumbled, “Fuck off,” that had no bite to it.

Settling at the edge of the bed, Levi reached up to feel the bites for himself, feeling the marks and where they were and getting a few beads of blood on his fingers in the process.  Normally the bites were easy to hide, but they might have gotten a little carried away this time–he may not be able to hide this, at least not all of it.  And the two bites grouped so close together would be much more eye-catching than the usual low set single bite.

He felt the warmth of her fingers tentatively glide over his bare upper back, resting atop his shoulders as he felt a gentle kiss just in front of the hairline of his undercut where the back of his neck started to turn into the more sensitive flesh of his throat.  Her movements, the pressure and weight she put into it, were light and cautious, ready to pull back if he tried to give himself space or told her he didn’t like the new gesture.

“Sorry,” she murmured softly into his ear before her chin rested against his shoulder, settling between her thumb and pointer fingers.  “I got a little carried away this time, didn’t I?”

Levi sighed, leaning back into her as a silent way to let her know he didn’t mind and she could hold and touch him like this.  “I’m just thinking of how I’m going to hide this the next few days,” he admitted, turning his head just slightly so that his temple pressed against her forehead.

He liked having her close like this, liked how warm he felt when she was resting against him, liked feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing or her breath against his skin, liked the way his skin seemed to prickle with awareness wherever her hands decided to rest against his bare skin, liked the feel of her head resting against and supported by his shoulder, liked how still and quiet the world would seem as they settled together…

He didn’t think she could touch or be close to him in a way he wouldn’t like, not at the rate they were going.  He was still ready to make it known if there ever was something he didn’t like, or if it went too fast, and he deeply appreciated that she took the extra effort to make sure he had time and space to adjust to the newer gestures of affection.

She hummed at his comment, her hands starting a gentle rub at his shoulders but never wandering too far down, allowing him the time to adjust to her touching his bare skin–he did feel her fingers ‘catch’ on a scar of his that slashed across the curve of his shoulder, breaking ranks from the rest of her fingers to trace the line of the scar instead.

“I know you’ve said no the last couple times I’ve brought it up, but a little of my blood would fix that easily.”

Levi let out a short sigh, and couldn’t help the quick, half eye roll before he turned his head to look at her out of the corner of his eye.  “That shit again?”

“I know it’s different for you, and not ideal–”

“It’s disgusting,” he cut in, nose wrinkling at the memories of the very, very few times he’d had to drink her blood.

“--but it does fix the dilemma at hand.”

Levi drew in a breath to speak, then held it as the words evaded him.  ‘It’s disgusting’ was really the only reason he had, and she blew right past it.  He’d had it before–entirely out of necessity–but it was still revolting.  She was a vampire, she was made to drink blood, for it to taste good to her.  He wasn’t.

Though she did have a point that a little of her blood would solve the need to hide that she was feeding off him, she’d always had that point.  But to his surprise, the thought of her bite marks disappearing entirely from his skin was…dissatisfying.  A part of him didn’t like the thought of not being able to see those marks like he normally could, which might have been a cause for some of the resistance.

She took his hesitation while he pondered as an opportunity and pressed a little further into the matter.  “I mean, there was that one time you kissed me before I could even get your blood off my lips–”

Levi’s heart skipped a beat or two at the reminder of that moment, a ghost of the desire he’d had coursing through him in that moment that had driven him to ignore the blood flashing through his body.  He shoved it back down as fast as he could before his erection returned full force at the intimate memory and the directions his mind wanted to go with it.

“That was–That was different.”

“Not really.”

“Yes, it was.  We were–things, feelings, got intense, and I, I got carried away–” Levi attempted to defend, stumbling over his words as he tried to explain on the spot the things he felt then and still felt now when she fed from him, things he’d never said aloud or discussed with her and he certainly still choked on now, not wanting to get into that mess of emotions he’d acknowledged but didn’t know how to communicate, at least verbally–he felt more comfortable showing how he felt than making a fool of himself trying to explain it.

She arched a brow at him, sensing that she had an advantage.  “Are you saying I shouldn’t have stopped to ask and just started to share while we were both caught up in the moment?”

Damn her for not giving him a way out and pressing the opening.

He probably would have been more agreeable in the heat of the moment if she’d been kissing him and a few drops dribbled past their lips here and there, probably wouldn’t have thought much if anything about it until later…but he did appreciate, again, that she took the time to make sure he was okay with something instead of just doing it when it was something a bit bigger, like this.

However, he also didn’t like how on the nose the comment was with something he was still working out for himself and struggling through his emotions and words for, the discomfort with the thought that maybe, if the circumstances and emotions were right, he was okay with it even if when he was calm and rational he balked at the thought.

Even if it was still disgusting.

So, he went from defensive to trying to squirm out of the conversation entirely.

“Now you’re just being a pain,” he complained in a low mumble, looking away.  She had this little quirk of his figured out, and he had the sense she would get him to cave to some agreement if she kept up with it.  He probably should agree if he didn’t think he could cover up her bites from tonight, but the rational part of him was still balking.

“I’m not meaning to be, promise, just…”  Her fingers reached out to gently trace along his jaw, getting him to turn his head to look at her again.  She leaned in to quickly kiss his cheek, attempting to placate the disgruntled part of him that didn’t like the conversation at hand.  “I think you’re getting into your own head about it.”

Overthinking it, like she tended to.  She wanted him to stop thinking about it so much and try it, see what happened.  Or at least not think about it so much and go along with it and solve one of the smaller risks of her feeding off him, the chance someone could see the marks.

He–apparently–liked the marks, though.  The small and subtle ones, at least, that he knew were there that no one else saw.

Levi eyed her, reading the look in her eyes, the focus, how close she was, turning over her words in his mind…

“You’re not going to let this go until I agree, are you?”

The small smile she gave him looked almost apologetic.  Almost.

“I promise, I’m not trying to manipulate or force you or anything like that, I just…it’s a solution.  It doesn’t have to be a lot, like when we’ve had to save your life.  And you’ve tasted blood in small quantities before, albeit in the heat of the moment, so…why don’t we try and figure out a way it works for you?” she proposed, her voice turning timid near the end, as if she was shyly asking for some tea brewing techniques instead of asking him to find a way to be okay with drinking her blood–just a little, maybe so little it couldn’t even be considered drinking, more like a small taste, but still–

She wasn’t going to let it go.  And as much as he hated it, she had a point, especially right now when he needed the night’s bite marks to disappear so they wouldn’t be noticed tomorrow.  At least she was willing to be flexible and find a tolerable way, which meant she wasn’t going to use something like the methods that flashed in his mind whenever she proposed this–mostly the wildly unpleasant images of the last two times he’d drank her blood.

Still–he didn’t want to lose the little marks on his neck entirely, and he had a couple ground rules to lay down before he was willing to try and see if they could make something work.

“This isn’t going to be a regular thing,” he warned, and of course, he saw her eyes light up in victory to hear him start negotiating instead of blatantly refusing.

“Agreed.  Only when asked or necessary.  That seems fair enough to me,” she promised, her fingers gently running in a soothing stroke down his throat on the opposite side from where she had her head resting.

“Not a lot, only a little.”

“Only enough to heal or however much you want to take, no more.”

He didn’t miss that word choice allowed for him to change his mind and take more if he wanted.

Not fucking likely, though.

“Don’t…spike my food or drinks with it, or try to offer it to me like it’s some kind of fucking cracker or some shit like that, just…” He struggled with how he wanted to phrase it.  He didn’t want it slipped into his food or drink, he would notice the taste difference, and he wasn’t going to drink it straight up with nothing else happening, that felt too strange, and all he’d be able to think about would be the fact he was going to consume blood.

She pulled him out of his thoughts by kissing the corner of his mouth that had turned down into a frown, making it a quick peck once, twice–the third she placed more properly on his lips in full, drawing it out slowly until he was leaning in and kissing her back in a way that had him sinking back into her…

“I’ll find a time it seems appropriate,” she promised, lips brushing against his as she whispered her assurance.

Well…he supposed that was that.  She wouldn’t do it right now, but it was going to get slipped in there sometime tonight while they were doing…whatever came next.

Apparently, what came next was more kissing, considering her lips were on his again once it was clear he didn’t have another verbal answer for her.  However, the kissing was less desperate and heated than earlier–earlier she’d been driven by multiple kinds of need, but now she’d fed and calmed, and he had a chance to calm down from how worked up she’d made him.  As a result, the kisses were slow, sensual–more of what he’d expected when she’d asked him to make her forget, to kiss and hold her.  It was the kind of kissing he enjoyed the most, where everything slowed and every touch seemed to have more to it.

One of his arms reached to hook around her back with his hand cupped at the base of her neck, while his other arm rested against her side, his hand planted in the bed behind her for stability and support as he leaned into the depth of the kiss.  She had one hand still lingering on his shoulder for the time being, though the other was slowly making its way up the back of his neck to twine into his hair once more, the gesture bringing even more of a sense of rightness and calm to the kiss.

After a few long moments of the two of them taking their time kissing one another, her hand that had been resting on his shoulder brushed lower, across the top of his pectoral.

Suddenly, the fact that he was still shirtless became one of the details at the forefront of his mind instead of being shoved aside as less important than everything else they were doing or saying.  If her hands were going to start to wander further down…

Levi’s breath hitched between your kissing, and you could hear his heartbeat pick up in speed as well from the calmer pace it had settled into while the two of you talked.  Beneath your fingers, you could feel the goosebumps rising, the quiver of his skin when you brushed against it, slight flinches from the gentle touch–though he didn’t pull away entirely.

He was jumpy like some of your earlier gestures of affection had made him, and you were quite aware of the fact tonight was the first time you’d seen him shirtless while you two were intimate and the situation wasn’t some kind of medical emergency.  Perhaps he was worried that you might try to press this a bit farther, like earlier–pursue the state of arousal you’d worked him into earlier.

No, that wasn’t what was on your mind–far from it, actually.  It might end up an unexpected side effect, but your goal was not arousal.  Your fingers had brushed along the scar on his shoulder while you’d talked, and you were…curious.  It felt strange, perhaps you were being silly and he’d tell you to knock it off and you’d go back to just regular kissing, but…you wanted to take the time to discover his scars–at least the ones you could find in his current state of undress.

Sex was not the kind of intimacy you had on the mind tonight.  It wasn't what you needed to soothe the pain in your soul and chase the shadows from your thoughts long enough to find stable footing again.  What you wanted was…deeper, an understanding and a closeness that you hadn’t had the chance to work up to, yet.  You wanted to be seen, and you wanted to see more of Levi, too–to dig past the officer and the support he'd had to be most of today and get him to take off the mantle of responsibility and meet you eye to eye as two people that just needed to be seen and understood tonight.

This was a good start.

Not breaking from your kiss, the hand that had come to rest atop his pectoral pushed him back until he was falling back onto the bed, with you following close after him.  Levi didn’t lay all the way back like he had the first time, still a little jumpy about where you were going with this, so he stayed propped up on his elbows, eyelids halfway open to watch your movements between kisses.

You didn’t try to climb over him like you’d been when you were feeding off him, not fully, anyway.  His positioning made crawling over him difficult, but it also left space for your hands to explore his back when you got to that point, so you didn’t complain.  Instead, you situated yourself side-lying beside him, propped up on one elbow so you could easily reach over and kiss him but your other hand was free to roam and explore.

Now that you were in a position that would work for what you wanted to do, your lips wandered from Levi’s at a steady and undaunted pace, working their way lower, past his jaw, down his throat, to his collarbone…

Your kisses slowed once you passed his collar–not stopping entirely, but you weren’t blazing a trail anymore.  Now you were observing, your head tilted to rest slightly on his shoulder, letting your hand trace that scar you had found earlier, feeling the curve, the slight raise that suggested the wound hadn't been too terribly deep when it had been fresh, noting how the paler skin of the scar stood out even in the lamplight.

This had to have been a gash from a blade of some kind–not like the ultrasteel, this had to have been smaller, a knife that someone had reached and brought back in, cutting into his shoulder.  It was older, too, the mark faded and long since healed over–likely from his time Underground.

“What’s so interesting?”

Levi’s voice broke the silence, quiet but curious.  He seemed to have calmed down from the jumpiness of a few moments ago, the skittishness giving way to curiosity to figure out what you were actually doing, since clearly this had not gone in the direction he had been nervous about.

“Did you get this Underground?”

There were a few moments of silence after your question, as if to give you a chance to answer his own question before he responded to yours.  When you didn’t clarify what you were doing, he spoke again, words slow and careful, his gaze still focused on you.

“...Yeah.  Lucky hit during a knife fight.”

He didn’t expound any further on the history of the scar, but you didn’t need him to.  The direction of the scar, the way it lay across his skin, the depth–you knew whoever it was had come at him from behind, and they hadn’t had contact long enough to dig in deeper or for it to be particularly long.  Levi had handled it almost as quickly as the knife had connected with his skin.

After the confirmation for the scar on his shoulder, you moved to press your lips lightly against the old knife scar, hearing his breath catch and hold at the action.  The tender gesture didn’t linger long before you pulled back and allowed your fingers to trace lower, trailing lightly across the freshly raw chafing marks from his gear straps.  You didn’t need any explanation about those, you knew exactly how he’d gotten them, they were self-explanatory.  You only placed a gentle kiss against some of the more presently agitated spots, and your fingers didn’t trace all of them, trying to keep your progress fairly linear as your focus dropped to a collection of various sized puncture scars.  

One was larger than the rest, a slight divot in his skin with jagged edges that were more noticeable than the others.  Marking it as an entry wound was easy when there was a smaller exit wound to be felt in his side, not quite as rough as its matching entry scar, but still testifying to what must have been a more serious wound.  It wasn’t another blade wound, the edges were too unevenly jagged and strangely shaped…he’d been impaled–shallowly, thankfully–by something rough and slender, something that went in at an angle and came out the side.  If you were to take a guess, you would say it was–

“Wood,” Levi murmured, having sat perfectly still while your fingers traced the edges of the old scar over and over, trying to discern its origin.  You’d almost gotten there–the how was a mystery, though.  “Titan launched itself at us near some trees, made splinters and shit fly everywhere–took a larger piece to the side, and some smaller ones that had to be dug out.”

That explained the loose cluster, the jagged edges…you knew what it was like to have splintered wood sticking out of your body, and it was a painful experience even with a healing factor…

…and it was not the only time he’d had a chunk of wooden debris pierced through him.  Your eyes shifted to the larger jagged scar near the center of his abdomen, one that had faded and healed unnaturally well to the point that it was hard to see, the slightest raise of a shade paler skin, hard to differentiate from the rest of the planes and dips of his muscles.  If he had been a vampire, or perhaps if you had given him blood during the scarring stage of his healing, there wouldn’t be any scars to testify of what he’d survived thanks to your blood.

Your fingers only brushed briefly across that barely visible scar, able to see the injury clear as day in your mind’s eye, the way he’d been impaled on that broken framework, the blood rapidly blossoming across his shirt, could feel the open wound beneath your hands that were trying to shove what didn’t feel like enough fabric into the gaping hole in his middle to stop the bleeding–

A wound you had caused because you hadn’t been careful, a wound that very nearly killed him, or could have turned him.

Gently, apologetically, your lips lowered to kiss the barely visible scar, lingering there a few moments longer than you had with the others.  “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

You never wanted to be a source for his pain or injury ever again.

You could feel a shiver go through Levi at the brief kiss, could see goosebumps breaking out across his skin at the touch and the brush of your breath against his skin as you started to pull back, and before you could sit all the way up, his fingers were curling around your chin to lift your eyes to look at him as he shifted into a side-lying position that mirrored your own and also kept you from moving on to the side of his torso you hadn’t explored for scars, yet. 

“No point in bringing up shit we’re long past,” he chastised, a gruff edge to his voice.  Still, his eyes were gentle as they searched yours, probing and curious.  “Why are you even asking about some stupid scars?”

You were quiet for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to put it to him.

“Scars are stories, witnesses to what we’ve seen and experienced, what we’ve survived.  I want to know yours.”

The grip on your chin tightened, just a hair, a knee jerk reaction from Levi as something vulnerable flashed in his eyes too quickly for you to fully process what the emotion was other than some pain and surprise before his guard was back up.

“Nobody wants to hear that.”

Carefully, you reached a hand up to brush just above his eye, where that cut had been when he’d been attacked by the vampire Underground–there was no scar, but you knew it had been there.  

“I do.  Whatever stories you have to tell, I want to hear them.”

“Why?”

The question hung in the air, and you gave it a moment to sink in so that you could make sure you answered what he really wanted to know.  The easy answer would be that you wanted to know more about him, wanted to understand him better–but he could probably easily deduce that part on his own.  He wanted to know why, of all the ways to come to understand him better, you were tracing and asking about his scars, why that was one of the paths you wanted to take to get to know him better.

Your eyes dropped to the bite marks on his neck, and the faint and faded ones from your repeated feeding off of him for some time now, marks that were part of his history now, a physical manifestation to the relationship between the two of you, that he trusted you enough to feed off him regularly, that he knew what you were and accepted it and believed in you enough to risk his life and put himself in such a vulnerable position.  You knew there was a scar on his back, the proof that he would put his life on the line for you, a reminder of how deeply he cared, as harrowing as the experience had been; and the scar on his abdomen, a reminder of just how far the two of you had come.

“The marks from all the hard work, the experience–experiences…I can’t have that,” you finally said, voice low and barely heard, as if it was some secret.

It felt like you were confessing something that was already well known, and doing so with a disproportionate amount of sorrow.  This wasn’t something you should feel sad about, it was a good thing not to scar, that you healed perfectly, that there would be no chronic pains or old aches in your long life–this was such a strange thing to complain about, wasn’t it?

Your eyes shifted again, towards the hand that had curled its fingers around your chin, down to the wrist you could see fresh bruising in the shape of the grip you’d subconsciously held him in earlier.  A reminder that the impaling back in the warehouse wasn’t the only time, and that you needed to be careful with him, even if he could keep up with you better than most.  The guilt rose back up in your chest again to see it, but you didn’t voice it this time considering how he hadn’t mentioned it so far and had shrugged off the apology for an accidental injury just a few moments ago.

Instead, you let your hand curl around his fingers, loath to remove his fingers from that tender gesture around your chin but wanting more to raise his hand towards your face.  You turned and dipped your head just enough to let your lips brush against the mottled bruises on the tender inside of his wrist, ignoring the steady thrum of his pulse below your lips with ease being freshly fed, careful and light in your gesture to avoid making the bruises ache from the pressure.

After the careful and apologetic kiss, you turned your face into his hand, leaning into it and feeling his fingers carefully uncurl to instead rest his hand lightly against your cheek with your hand cupped gingerly over his.

“It all gets wiped away on me like it never happened.  I don’t have that visual history, and…and I want to know yours.”

Levi’s gaze searched hers after the confession, even as her gaze flickered up to him and then looked away just as quickly, as if embarrassed by the admission she’d just made.

He never thought of his scars as anything special–they were just scars, some of them just normal wear and tear from being in the Scouts, a lot of them injuries from things he hadn’t been quick enough to stop, hard lessons learned, moments of foolishness that he didn’t repeat…some had more meaning, like the little scars on his neck from her feeding on him, or the one on his back from when he saved her life.

Now that she was bringing it up, she had a point.  There were some scars he’d rather not think about, some memories that he’d rather leave buried in the past, but…she was right, there was a story to almost every scar.

Maybe not all were stories that they wanted to be sharing tonight, though.  There had been enough loss and grief tonight.  They didn’t need to be revisiting older pains.

But the way she’d traced his scars, the way she eyed some of them even now while she avoided meeting his gaze, some of the scars he got from the Underground, scars he got in rougher fights–the look in her eyes, the understanding was more than just a recognition of what kind of weapon or injury had caused it.

How many scars, how many injuries, had her vampire healing covered up?  How many pains had she suffered that her body naturally hid from the world?  How many scars should she have for him to map and recognize that he could only wonder at?

More than he could likely imagine.  He knew that sometimes, especially with how faded the scars from his two near death experiences with her had become, it felt surreal that it had even happened, like perhaps he’d dreamed it all, yet there were scars to prove it, as unnaturally faint as they were for how recent they still were in comparison to the rest of his scars.  He doubted they would even still be there in another year or so, erased as if they had never been when he should have had them for life.

How strange must it be for her to have none, to have no proof of the things she’d been through, what she’d survived.

He knew some of the scars she should have, though–he knew where she’d been hurt while he’d been around her, some of the places there would be proof of her history, as she put it, if she hadn’t been a vampire.

Levi sat up and resituated so that he was kneeling on the bed, pulling her towards him and getting her to similarly position herself kneeling directly in front of him.  He had a thought, something to help soothe this feeling of hers, but part of it…part of it made his stomach clench and his throat tighten.

“They happened.  I remember them,” Levi told her, voice firm in purpose despite the nerves over what he wanted to ask.

Hesitantly, one of his hands dropped to the topmost button she’d done on her shirt, reminded in that moment she’d left a few buttons undone at the top and bottom of her shirt, whether for comfort or just because she hadn’t had the energy to button up all the way he wasn’t sure.  He didn’t immediately start unbuttoning, however, and let his fingers linger on the fabric and the small little metal button under his thumb–

“May I?”

She was taken aback, and he felt her tremble beneath his fingers before she gave the tiniest nod, holding her breath and looking down with him as he undid the buttons one after another.  

He was confident for the first two, but once he saw her bra underneath, his fingers slipped on the next button from the slight shake in his hands, causing him to inwardly curse the clumsy action before he pushed relentlessly on, now trying to undo the buttons as fast as possible and toss the shirt towards where his was still neglected on the floor.

Yes, he’d seen this before–yes they’d both seen each other shirtless before, but it had been a medical life saving necessity in the past.  This was…different.  His mouth felt dry, his heart was pounding so hard he couldn’t ignore it, and he was hyper aware of how warm and soft she felt under his hands as he removed her shirt, especially after their discussion about her inability to scar.  He was aware of the uneven skin on his own body, the dips and raises from old wounds, the layers of calluses his skin had developed from his lifetime fighting and work with the ODM gear…

She was right.  Her skin was smooth, unblemished, not so much as a faint discoloration from an old burn or a small cut–nothing to see visually to testify of the long life she’d already experienced.  But he knew…

He didn’t start at the top, like she did.  Self conscious about their similar states of half undress with neither of them planning on and both of them actively avoiding sex, he was finding it a touch difficult to look her in the eyes.  He found it easier to simply focus on the task at hand, on remembering and…

Trying his best to emulate the gentle way she’d touched his scars, Levi let his fingers ghost against the spot in her abdomen where the vampire had driven that piece of wood into her when she’d protected him in the Underground. 

He tried to imagine, based on his own scar from the wood shrapnel and being impaled, where the edges of the scar would be, where it would dip like a small gouge in her skin and where there would be jagged thin edges that jutted across her skin like the edges of broken glass.  His fingers did their best to map it out across her skin, the imagined edges of what should have been there, the missing scar.

His hand moved to the other side and a touch lower, recalling where his blade had cut her in their fight in the warehouse, finding the approximate spot he had made contact and tracing the slash across her body up to her other shoulder, fingers hovering over but not actually touching when he passed where her bra was still keeping her semi covered.  He kept the pangs of guilt for causing her that harm to himself, considering he’d been the one to brush off his own scar from the warehouse fight as ‘shit they didn’t need to dig back up’, so he didn’t need to bring it up himself a few minutes later.

Near where the scar from his blade would have ended, he knew there would have been a small arrow puncture scar from the hunter that had pierced her shoulder–perhaps it would have been worse with the burning poison of the sage, perhaps it would have had the small puncture scar with splotchy or spiderweb patterned burn scars, but however it would have turned out, he knew it would have been right here, in this sensitive hollow of her shoulder–

Considering these two scars were positioned just above her breast, while his fingers traced the imagined lines of her unseen scars against her skin, he could feel her chest rising and falling with faster, heavier breaths under his touch.  She was shaking beneath him, but she hadn’t yet moved–like he had, she was trying to stay still, to let him explore and find all the places her scars should be.

More than just a little self conscious about it, Levi let his hand move lower, just beneath the support of her bra and finding a very specific rib with the press of his thumb, a place his knife had unwillingly slipped over and over in their practice spars when they pretended it was a stake, a place he had once seen a stake protruding out of at thankfully the wrong angle to drive home where it needed to be to prove fatal.

The ribs that could lead a properly angled stake to drive deep into her heart.  A place that had been targeted and attacked and should have had a layering of scars from repeated wounds over it.

As his thumb brushed that sensitive spot with the utmost care and admittedly a bit of reverence, she made a sound that caused him to look up at her at last, despite his attempts to avoid looking at her eyes as he adjusted to seeing her shirtless in this entirely different context from before.  His eyes hadn’t even found hers before both of her hands found their way to cradling his face, pulling him in for a kiss that was purely raw emotion, feeling warm splashes and smears of water–tears, from her–across his cheeks.

The kiss was deep, slow, fervent, and the way she pulled him into her was filled with an unspoken need to have him as close to her as possible.  The tears continued–she wasn’t sobbing like earlier, but there were tears that occasionally dripped onto his skin–but it didn’t stop her from kissing him.  Her hands moved back, deep into his hair, angling his head so he was kissing more up into her, her legs shifting so that she straddled one of his thighs, mindful not to straddle his whole waist.

For those first few heartbeats, Levi’s hands stilled, his thumb still pressed lightly into the spot just under her bra, the other on her waist by where his blade scar would have started.  When the kiss broke long enough for her to take a staggered gasp, one of her hands slipped slowly down his neck, down his back, until her fingers found the more pronounced scar on his back, the one over his heart–the scar from when he’d taken the stake for her.

She was still feeling his scars, finding them with her fingers even if they were too caught up in the kiss to seek them out visually.  He could feel her fingers follow the curves, dips, and raises of old injuries from his environment Underground, old fights, beyond the wall–she wasn’t leaving any stone unturned.  If she could feel the scar, her fingers found it, and she was taking the time to familiarize herself with each one. 

Since she was still seeking his scars, he let his hands resume their wandering across her smooth skin, doing his best to map out the injuries he knew there should be a physical manifestation of, to recall her history to the best of his ability and substituting his hands for the proof she lacked.

And yet, even as he tried to recall the injuries he’d seen her sustain, the wounds he knew of from her stories of the past, he knew it wasn’t anywhere close to the real number of scars she should have had.  Her skin was smooth, soft, warm, unblemished thanks to her vampiric abilities.  And yet, he knew that the body so warm and gentle against his own was a body that had been broken down and battered more than his, that had suffered death more than once despite how flawless and invulnerable she seemed on the surface.

But he was learning the fissures, the weaknesses, the gaps in her armor that he wanted to cover and shield with his own body.  He was learning the way her emotions slipped like a knife between the cracks and cut right into her heart.  He knew the burns she’d sustained from the worst of all the Titan steam earlier had taken longer to heal by the stiff way she’d moved around, as if the skin was stinging, scalded, pulling painfully, slower to recover due to her weakness to burning and her more sluggish healing factor after all the energy she’d spent just in this one day. 

Never would he forget the black veins that spiderwebbed through her body when she was poisoned by the white sage, the way her skin charred, peeled, and bubbled, the sickly pallor.  Above all else, he was vigilant of that precious space where her heart was, how she was still oh so vulnerable if she was struck the right way or with the right material.

Following her example of what she’d been doing earlier with his scars, as Levi finished mapping the injuries he knew about for her torso–and unable to reach her arms for the many he knew about on them while they were wrapped around his body–he moved onto her neck not with his hands but his lips, his arms wrapping around her waist to hold her securely in place.

It required breaking the fervent kiss that they were locked in, but the small sound of bliss she made when he kissed the spot his blade had cut into her throat, when she leaned her head back with a soft exhale of his name as he placed slow, closely packed kisses around the spot that vampire Underground had ripped into her throat with his teeth–those sounds she made were more than enough to make breaking the kiss worth it.

While his lips made their way around her throat, her fingers brushed all the way down his spine, one of her hands trailing back up in a stroke that set his skin flush with sensation and made him struggle to resist shivering or arching into the touch.  It was distracting enough he didn’t even realize her other hand had dropped away, not until he felt something warm and wet smear across his collar and pulled back enough to see crimson flowing down her collarbone and smudged across his chest from their close embrace.

She’d cut herself while he’d been distracted so he could drink from her like he’d semi-agreed.

He didn’t give himself the time to second guess it–she’d heal up fast, and he’d rather she didn’t have to inflict the wound a second time because he hesitated.

Carefully, Levi switched his attention to the other side of her neck, leaning in and letting his lips circle the fresh wound.

As Levi gently kissed the spot you’d just cut deep enough to draw a decent amount of blood, you were reminded fleetingly of what felt like ages ago when he’d nipped at your jaw and throat, the spike of excitement that had flashed through you when he’d broken the pattern and had been the one to bite you–albeit lightly and not hard enough to leave even a faint mark–instead of the other way around.

Now, having him drink from you, from your neck, was…you weren’t sure.  There was the excitement, the pleasure from the way his lips brushed against your skin, the way he was still holding you pressed flush against him, the shivers that raced through your body to feel his tongue brush against the wound.  There was a touch of relief that he wouldn’t have to worry about covering up your indulgent bites from earlier, and a small sense of victory for having officially won the debate of whether or not he should partake in at least a little of your blood, just enough to heal and recover after the more serious or…overzealous biting.

But there was something else that was blooming in your chest, spreading like a rush of warm water through your body, outwards from your heart to your hands as if your whole circulatory system was aware that you weren’t the only one it was sustaining.

The other two times you’d shared your blood, you’d been overcome with fear and it had been out of dire necessity, it had even been forced to a degree, whether from Levi’s mistrust that first time or his struggle to respond the second.  During his recovery from the stake, you’d spared a few drops mixed into his food and drink, but it hadn’t been like this, hadn’t been voluntary, active, personal.

You’d never shared your blood, not since becoming a vampire, not like this.  To feel him drink from you in such an intimate and voluntary setting sparked something inside you, made the whole moment feel strangely precious, like some instinct had been roused.

Whatever that instinct was that had woken inside you, that was causing something to happen, was…strange.  Not a bad kind of strange, it was a lightness, like you would be carried away in some current that was about to sweep you away in its rapids.  It pulled at you to respond, and the urge to bite him suddenly reared its head again, a temptation to feel blood flowing from Levi to you and from you to Levi, linked in some strange way.

But you resisted the urge, well aware that you had bit him enough tonight.  Any more would be too much, so you buried the temptation.  Instead, you tilted your head back to the ceiling aglow with the flickering lamplight, closed your eyes, let your fingers anchor deep into the freshly washed threads of his soft hair, and focused on the raw feeling of the moment.  You focused on the way your body was curved into his with the way you arched into him, the feel of his hands sliding up your bare back, the feel of his lips pressed lightly to the curve of your throat while his teeth latched on around the still welling and occasionally spurting blood, his tongue running over the spot in a careful, languid motion that you thought might be purposely emulating you when you fed from him–meant to make you feel good while also keeping any extra blood from spilling free.

It didn’t last long–it was fleeting compared to when you fed from him, given your healing and the fact that you had just fed more than you needed to from Levi.  You’d made the wound deeper and messier in an attempt to make it last long enough he would get the amount he needed.  When you felt the blood flow coming to an end, Levi’s kiss had released from your neck, lips moving to try and clean up the rest, kissing the spots the wound was still healing just to make sure.  Lowering your head back to look down at him, your fingers ran along his throat, feeling only smooth skin and only the small, barely seen marks from your feeding in the past left behind.

You were fed, he was healed, you’d shared a moment where you felt seen and known as he traced your unseen scars and you had taken the time to start learning his, you had calmed and settled back into yourself, your emotions were more manageable and controlled, and you could feel warmth and light in and around you again, the world wasn’t all cold, dark suffering.

There were good things in this world that were worth it, things to be cherished and protected, things to keep living and feeling for.

When Levi pulled back, you didn’t hesitate to bring him back to kissing you, back to the slow kissing he would relish, not giving him time to really think over the fact that he’d just drank some of your blood–and in a manner that did not suggest disgust, unless he was just better at swallowing that down when it was in the heat of the moment.  Still, the kiss was a distraction, but it was also a desire to feel him, to keep him close, to bask in this warmth and light that was him.

Even as the quiet, the lack of a goal, the tenderness with no plans to do anything more, allowed your mind to wander, let the sorrow creep back into your heart for what had happened.  Having him, having his comfort and his presence, the care and affection, the way he touched you like something precious to be cared for and protected, made the sorrow bearable, made the weight not so crushing.

You’d endure.  You’d both find a way.  He’d grounded you when you were drowning, and now that you were on steady footing again, you wanted to make sure you did the same thing for him.  You’d promised, even if it hadn’t been verbally, that you would support him.  You were going to keep that promise.

You’d felt the tears that had escaped him earlier while you’d been having your breakdown.  You knew he needed it, even if he was so focused on your wellbeing he wasn’t going to voice it.

The kiss she had pulled him into slowed, lingering on the press and drawing out the parting of their lips for every kiss until they stopped entirely, until her forehead was pressed gently against his, her hands cupped around the back of his neck, his hands splayed along the center of her back, holding to each other in that moment with eyes closed, relishing the quiet, the closeness, the contact.

He didn’t want her to pull away, and he was glad that even though their kissing had ground to a halt, she didn’t try to back off, she stayed in his arms.

When he finally opened his eyes, it was to find her already gazing down at him, waiting patiently for him to finish relishing in the moment.  Once he was gazing back at her, one of her hands reached up to gently brush the backs of her fingers along his cheek, starting a feather-light, repetitive stroke that made his heart lighten.

And her eyes…they had glimmers of red speckling them like light reflecting off a gemstone.

It wasn’t just the red in her eyes that caught his attention, though.  He could read the emotions swimming amongst those flecks of red, probably causing some of them.  There was the tenderness she looked at him with, a knowing edge; but there was also the sadness, the grief creeping back in with the way her brow furrowed closer together, the bittersweet feel of the small smile she gave him, the sudden thickening of the atmosphere in the room.

She was thinking of the day again, of what they’d seen and experienced.  She wasn’t cracking this time, though.  She seemed steady against him, grounded in his arms.  If anything, that knowing look in her eyes seemed expectant, searching his expression.

She wanted to know how he was handling it.  Now that she was steady, she was checking on him.

And he…he had been compartmentalizing it.  With her spiraling, he didn’t have much time to process it, though he was allowed some time to feel it while she’d been trudging through the emotions crying in his arms earlier, and while he was in the bath.  He’d processed bits and pieces of it, but how he felt now, how he was handling it…?

Levi leaned into the gentle touch against his cheek, feeling his heart clench at the reminder of all the death, of the responsibility that sat on their shoulders as Scouts now, briefly wondered how Erwin was handling the larger portion of the responsibility as the Commander that had overseen the planning and been given the responsibility, even if Pyxis and the Garrison had helped in the execution of it all.  He thought of how it had broken her for a few hours, how close he’d come to losing her in the process of her shutting out her humanity.

He thought of all the horrors she must have heard having to stand on that wall, all the people dying bloody and excruciatingly, thought of the powerlessness in his inability to do much to help her and in knowing all those people were dying and he was supposed to let it happen.  He thought of the people they still couldn’t save even after they’d finally been given the go ahead to save people and not just stand by doing nothing.

His soul was laden with the knowledge and the loss of life, of the impact it was playing on the people around him–especially her.  His heartbeats were painful in his chest, as if the chamber for it to beat had been compressed into a too small space.

It hurt, and he doubted he would sleep tonight.  It would plague him for the foreseeable future.  He was still steady on his feet, though, stable enough to be a support, to keep pushing forwards–and far more determined than ever to eradicate the plague of the Titans tormenting humanity.

Levi’s gaze didn’t leave hers as he processed all of the emotions and the weight, felt the pain but didn’t buckle under it, and leaned against her to seek out the comfort of her touch as he came to his conclusion, letting his gentle shift into her and the soft though somber expression speak for him.  She seemed satisfied by what she saw, at least enough not to press, and she kissed his cheek, shifted to kiss his temple, and gently pushed him back down onto the bed.

There wasn’t more making out, no more steaming kisses or tempting positions.  She tucked herself into his side, the position much more comfortable than when they’d tried to cram together side by side on the couch, her legs lying loosely beside his.  One of her hands twined slowly into his, as if drawing out the contact to make sure she felt every moment of connection from fingertips to the base of her palm before their fingers were laced together, and she brought their intertwined hands to rest just over his heart, causing a soothing warmth to spread through him when he felt her hand resting tenderly over his heart and covered with his own, eyes closing when he felt her rest her head against his chest right by their hands, close enough he was certain she could effortlessly listen to his heart beating.  Levi’s other free arm shifted around her to hold her against him, hand resting on her side with fingers idly tracing a loose line up and down her waist and ribs.

The way she was nestled close to him suggested she was seeking refuge, so Levi let his voice briefly break the silence, keeping his words quiet so he wouldn’t disturb the gentle stillness between them with his question.

“You okay?”

He just wanted to make sure, before he settled in and relaxed, that she really was going to be okay, that she wouldn’t shatter when he wasn’t looking.  She didn’t have to be fine–no one was going to be fine tonight.  He just wanted to know that she was going to be okay.  

She was quiet for a while, long enough that Levi worried she had fallen asleep and might not have heard him, though he doubted she would have fallen asleep that quickly.

“...No,” she finally admitted.  He was grateful for the honesty, but his heart still ached to hear the slight crack in the whispered admission.  As his embrace tightened around her, she continued.  “But I’m still me, and I have you.”

That was all he could ask for tonight.  They weren’t fine, neither of them were doing great, but having this, having each other…

It was something good, something pure to hold onto, to help them keep anchored, to keep themselves.  Both of them had been and in a way still were soaked in blood, but this good thing still remained, was still a small light that could burn away the filth and darkness long enough to find each other again.

They weren’t okay.

But they were still here, and they weren’t going through it alone.

Strikethroughs Couldn't be Tagged

Everything Tags:   @antistellxr 

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn @ayatosmlktea @whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea @hauntedhousecat @peaches-and-clouds @imaginationmess @wubbawubwub04 @lollobos @pasteldays @itsmeaudriee @macaronnv @tokyo-banana @apuci-kis-szornye @momowantscats @yellowminb @ashikothedog @notgoodforlife @spnwinchestersd @xxdarkdarlingxx @joy-the-reader

Wings in the Dark Tags: @regalillegal @animeluver23 @theshylittleelfgirl @queenthorin1 @dilucs-thighs @lady-ragnvindr @subtlepjiminie @queenondeezmatatas​​ @linxiajei17 @levisbebe @toni-jones @pinkberrymilktea @ascybous  @emmaandemmel @wolfie3616 @aot-fanatic @jencyib @zombiukas  @syviis @captainyanag1

[bella-rose29]

Bite Me master list

Vampire!Lockwood x fem!vampire!reader

I have no idea when I'm going to update this (probably every Saturday or something), but here is the master list for this series!!! it was in very wide demand, so here you go!

Prologue

[cherry-lala]

Some things Don't End, They Echo

Part 1, Part 2

Pairing: Female! Reader x Remmick  

Genre: Southern Gothic, Supernatural Thriller, Dark Romance, Psychological Horror. Word Count:11.4k+

Summary: The dance continues in a world unraveling at the seams, where ghosts wear familiar faces and every silence hides a price. As Y/N moves through shadows thick with hunger and half-truths, she must decide what kind of freedom is worth the ache—and whether redemption can bloom in soil soaked with sorrow.

Content Warning: Emotional and physical abuse, manipulation, supernatural themes, implied and explicit violence, betrayal, transformation lore, body horror elements, graphic depictions of blood, intense psychological and emotional distress, explicit sexual content (including bloodplay, coercion, and power imbalance), references to domestic conflict, mind control, and religious imagery involving damnation and corrupted salvation. Let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Here it is—Part 2 (and the final chapter) to The Devil Waits Where Wildflowers Grow, the one so many of y’all asked for. I enjoyed watching this, even with exams beating me around. Writing it was a comfort, a catharsis—and your support on Part 1 meant the world. Thank you for every comment, like, and reblog. You kept me going. As always, I hope it haunts you just right. Again, Likes, reblogs, and Comments are always appreciated.

Taglist: @alastorhazbin, @jakecockley, @dezibou

The room smelled like lavender and starch, thick with the stillness only Sunday mornings knew.

Mama hummed a hymn under her breath, the notes trembling like moth wings in the golden light.

I stood still in front of the mirror, hands folded over the folds of my white cotton dress.

White gloves. White socks with the little lace trim.

The picture of innocence, shaped by hands that still believed innocence could be preserved if tied tight enough.

Mama’s fingers, careful and calloused, smoothed my sleeves. She tucked a wild curl behind my ear and smiled at me through the mirror — a tired, proud smile she saved only for mornings like these.

“Pretty as a picture,” she said, her voice carrying all the love and all the fear a mother could fit into a few words.

I blinked.

And the world shifted.

I turned in her arms, meaning to reach up and hug her.

But somehow, suddenly — I was taller.

And she was older.

Her hands trembled on my shoulders, confusion flashing across her lined face.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Mama asked. Her voice cracked at the edges. “Why are you cryin’?”

I hadn’t even realized I was.

A tear slid hot and slow down my cheek, dripping onto the lace.

Before I could form words, Mama gasped — a raw, wounded sound — and stumbled back, the white ribbon slipping from her fingers to the floor like a dying bird.

I spun toward the mirror.

And saw it.

Saw me — but not the girl I was.

Not even the woman I thought I’d grow into.

No.

The thing in the glass wore my face, but wrong.

Eyes black as cinders, ringed in a seeping red that ran down my cheeks like melting wax.

My mouth hung open — a silent scream caught behind broken lips.

The white dress, once so carefully pressed, now bloomed with stains the color of old blood.

Mama pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.

Her voice came out in a whisper too full of knowing to be anything but truth.

“The devil has visited you… and left a raven’s feather at your door.

And you — you accepted it.”

I spun toward her, arms reaching — pleading —

“Mama, no—!”

But the floor cracked open first.

A black mist poured out like smoke from a curse long buried.

It wrapped around her ankles, her knees, her throat.

Her body jerked once — then dissolved into ash, crumbling through the air like burned prayer paper.

And through the mist, a mouth formed.

That mouth.

That smile I had trusted.

The one that once whispered safety under the stars, now pulled wide in a predator’s grin.

The world tilted.

Blurring.

Fading.

I came back to myself with a ragged breath, choking on the thick air of a dark, unfamiliar room on the floor, cold sweat clinging to my back, the faint flicker of an oil lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The room dim and silent, except for the slow creak of wood… and the quiet hum of breath that wasn’t mine.

Sitting across the room, watching me carefully — was Stack.

At first, my heart leapt — a familiar face in a world gone cold.

I almost ran to him — almost — until I caught the gleam in his eyes.

Not brown.

Not human.

But white.

Blazing and empty as a snowfield under a full moon.

His smile stretched just a little too wide.

Predatory.

Slouched in the chair across the room, arms folded, watching me with a patience that felt wrong.

“What…” I rasped, backing toward the dresser, “what happened to you?”

My voice trembled. “What are you?”

The mirror above the dresser caught me just as I turned.

I saw my own eyes — or what used to be mine.

Pitch black. Red glowing like coals flickering deep in the hearth.

A fire that didn’t warm — just warned.

I stumbled back, mouth opening with a soundless gasp.

Stack chuckled, low and lazy like the devil warming up a sermon.

“I’m like you now,” he said, tilting his head as if showing off the whites of his eyes. “Well… kinda. He gifted us freedom. From all that heartbreak, all that heaviness. Gave you freedom the way you thought was best.”

Desperation gripped me.

I lunged for the window, tearing the heavy curtains aside.

Sunlight poured in.

It hit my skin—

and the world fractured.

It wasn’t fire.

It wasn’t pain.

It was terror.

Ripping through my mind like a pack of wolves.

The golden light twisted into knives, slicing into every hidden corner of me — dredging up every buried fear, every secret shame, every broken promise.

The sun I used to love—

the warmth that once kissed my skin—

now roared inside my skull like a nightmare I couldn’t wake from.

I collapsed, a hoarse, broken scream tearing from my chest.

Clawing at the floor, at the walls, trying to escape what was already inside me.

Stack watched.

Silent.

Almost sad.

He reached out with a casual hand, pulling the curtains closed again.

The light vanished.

I lay there, a trembling wreck, sobbing into the dusty boards.

Stack crouched low beside me, voice dropping soft and cold as winter mud:

“She’ll learn,” he said.

“This life’s better for her.

True freedom.”

His boots scraped the floor as he stood again, leaving me crumpled there.

The door clicked shut behind Stack, and for a moment, the room was quiet again — too quiet.

Then came the sound.

Soft boots on old wood.

He was here.

Remmick.

The air changed with him, thickened until it tasted like copper on my tongue.

He crouched beside me, slow and easy, like he was soothing a frightened animal.

His hand brushed against my hair — a pet, a comfort, a mockery.

“You’re all better now,” he crooned, voice low and soft enough to make my teeth ache. “Sometimes… the first taste of freedom’s too sweet for a belly that’s been filled with bitterness too long.”

I jerked away from his touch, scrambling back until my spine hit the cold dresser behind me.

The mirror rattled above it, showing me both of us:

Me — trembling, broken.

Him — smiling, patient.

Like a god admiring a sculpture he’d half-finished.

He didn’t follow.

Just stayed crouched there, red eyes gleaming like coals, eyebrows lifted in that innocent, boyish way that used to warm me from the inside out.

Now it just made my heart twist the wrong way.

Not because I hated him.

Because I still loved him.

And love like that…

It’s worse than hate.

It’s the knife you twist in yourself.

I choked on a sob, the words clawing free without thought.

“Why did you turn me into this monster?” I whispered. “This ain’t freedom… it ain’t even enslavement. It’s worse.”

Remmick’s mouth pulled into something almost pitying. Almost.

He stood slow, dust shifting off his shirt.

“I only did what you asked of me,” he said, voice syrupy sweet. “Don’t talk like I didn’t give you a choice. You wanted this, darlin’. You begged for a way out. I just made the decision easier.”

His words spun the air — circles with no end, no beginning.

“But it’s alright,” he drawled, stepping back, giving me room to breathe and suffocate at once. “Once I find lil’ ole Sammie… this lick of freedom will be just a taste of what’s to come.”

At Sammie’s name, my heart leapt.

He was alive.

Maybe others were, too.

I clutched at that hope with trembling fingers, already piecing together desperate plans. Run. Warn him. Stop Remmick.

But Remmick chuckled low in his throat, like he could taste my thoughts.

He dropped into the chair Stack had occupied moments before, sprawling like he owned the whole damned world.

“Oh, darlin’,” he said, voice dripping pity. “Don’t be so eager. Sammie won’t trust you no more than he trusts me. Thinks you’re the devil’s pawn now—”

“Fuck you!” I snapped, the venom lashing out before I could leash it.

He didn’t flinch.

Just smiled wider.

A crescent moon smile. Hungry.

“Aw, no need to get upset,” he cooed. “I’m doing this for the best, you see. For me. For you. For all those poor souls that ache for a world without chains.”

His eyes shone when he spoke. Like he believed it. Like he tasted salvation and didn’t even know it was poison.

“You don’t know what’s best for me,” I hissed, fists curling tight enough to split new claws into my palms. “You never did. You preyed on my need for compassion. For hope. Fed me lies, called it love.

You’re no savior.

You’re just a lost soul that drunk the wine of lies and deceived yourself.”

For the first time, Remmick’s smile faltered.

Just a flicker.

He dropped his gaze to his hands, turning them over slow, as if even he didn’t recognize what he’d become.

When he looked back up, his face was empty.

“Never said I was a savior,” he murmured. “Only came to set the captives free. To bring peace to a broken world. And…”

His lips twitched up again.

“Well, I guess I did come to save after all.

Look at you, darlin’. Finally usin’ that pretty head.”

He turned, heading for the open door with lazy grace.

“I’m going to warn them,” I spat after him, my voice shaking with fury and terror. “I’ll find Sammie. Even if it kills me.”

He paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder.

A shadow stretched long behind him, darker than night itself.

“So stubborn,” he mused. “No vision.”

He tapped his lips, mock-thoughtful.

“But that’s why I didn’t turn you fully.

You fight too much.

You keep me… entertained.”

His smile sharpened.

“But don’t think I came unprepared, darlin’,” he said, voice sinking low. “When I changed you, I made sure you couldn’t end it easy.

Didn’t want you throwin’ yourself into the sun like some tragic heroine.”

He shook his head, tsking.

“I left you more living than dead. Call it mercy,” he said. 

His voice thickened, dragging the room down with it.

“And now?

The sun don’t kill you.

It holds you.

Burns your mind.

Plays every mistake, every grief, every lie you ever swallowed — on a loop.

That’s your true punishment, sweetheart.”

He stepped into the hall.

Paused just long enough to drive the last nail into me.

“Now you’ll finally see just how close you’ve always been to the devil.”

The door closed with a whisper of finality.

The door closed with a whisper—quiet as sin, soft as silk over a blade.

And I shattered.

My fists struck the dresser like thunder begging to be heard, splinters flying like a cry unsaid.

The mirror spiderwebbed outward, each crack a fault line in my chest.

The lamp flickered—once, twice—then danced wild shadows across the wreckage of the room.

Shadows that didn’t move like they used to.

I dropped, sobbing.

Raw.

Broken open like fruit too ripe for this world.

Tears carved tracks down my cheeks, hot as blood.

And in the fractured glass, she stared back.

Me.

But not.

Black-eyed.

Twisted.

Monstrous.

I had become the thing I swore I never would.

The thing I once pitied.

The thing I feared.

I had tasted freedom… and drank too deep.

And now?

The devil wore my face.

That quiet little sound—just a door closing—rattled through me like a funeral bell.

It echoed too loud.

Too final.

Like the world had whispered its last breath and left me behind to rot in the stillness.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Not really.

The silence pressed in—soft at first, then tight, cruel.

Like fingers around my throat, wrapping around my ribs, filling the hollows of me where hope used to live.

Squeezing.

I backed away from the door on legs that no longer felt like mine.

My fingers shook—not from fear.

From truth.

Because I understood now.

Not just what I was—

But what I’d lost.

No freedom.

No peace.

No promise.

Just a hollow thing with something vile curling inside her chest.

A mistake dressed in skin.

I staggered.

My knees buckled, and the floor met me hard.

My chest heaved like it remembered how to cry for help, but the air wouldn’t come.

All I could feel was him.

Remmick.

Still here. Still everywhere.

His voice smeared across the walls like oil.

Like blood.

“You’re always closest to the devil.”

And that smile.

God.

That fucking smile.

My hands clawed at my chest, trying to hold on to something warm, something human—

but all I touched was the burn.

It pulsed.

Grief.

Rage.

The taste of love soured and rusted on the back of my tongue.

I choked on it.

Choked on the truth.

Choked on the ache of still loving the thing that broke me.

Because that’s what he did.

He cracked me open and called it mercy.

Called it freedom.

And I let him.

I followed him down, thinking his voice meant salvation.

And now?

Now I didn’t know what I was.

A woman?

A monster?

A memory?

Just a shell shaped like me.

I dragged myself to the mirror, arm trembling.

Bones screamed under skin that didn’t bruise like it used to.

And when I looked up—

She looked back.

Not me.

Not anymore.

Eyes like polished obsidian.

A red glow flickering deep inside like the devil left a candle burning just beneath the surface.

Like coals waiting for breath.

I touched the glass.

It was cold.

And it didn’t feel like mine.

And for the first time—honest and low—I whispered it.

“I’m not strong enough.”

Not for this.

Not for what’s coming.

Not to stop Remmick.

Not to bear this hunger in my blood, this weight in my bones.

Not when part of me…

still wanted him.

Still ached for the sound of his voice.

Still dreamed of his hands.

Still missed the lie of being chosen.

The tears came quiet now.

Not hot like before.

Just steady.

As if I was already halfway gone.

The room swayed, broken, tilting on some axis I couldn’t fix.

I curled up.

Surrounded by shattered glass

and the dust

of a woman I used to be.

Because now I saw it clear:

Remmick didn’t destroy me.

He rewrote me.

And I didn’t know if there was a way back.

Not anymore.

———

Sunlight. Soft, dappled through the canopy overhead like God’s own fingers pressed gentle against the earth.

I was little again.

Knees diggin’ into warm dirt out behind Mama’s house, the kind that clung to skin and crept under fingernails. The hem of my baby blue dress puddled around me, streaked with grass stains and the green breath of summer. My breath came light. Easy. Like I’d never known sorrow.

In my small, shaking palms, a bird fluttered. A little thing — brown wings tremblin’ like paper caught in a storm. It looked up at me with one eye, scared but still trustin’. Caught between dyin’ and hopin’ I might keep it.

“I’m gon’ fix you,” I whispered, voice soft as a prayer. “Mama says you gotta press gentle on the hurt. Let the hurt feel heard.”

I wrapped its crooked wing with Mama’s rag — one that still held the warmth of a stovetop — and moved careful, clumsy. My hands were filled with the shaky pride of a child who still believed love could mend what life broke.

“There,” I said, satisfaction curling around the word. “That’s better, huh?”

It didn’t answer, but it blinked at me. And that blink — Lord, that blink was enough. I set it down like I was settin’ down a blessing.

It stumbled. Hopped.

And then—by some mercy—it flew.

That’s how I remember it.

That’s the memory I held like gospel.

But memory lies.

Because when I blinked—

The world shifted.

The ground grew darker. Wet with somethin’ more than earth. The rag I’d tied ’round that little wing was soaked through — red and seeping.

The bird wasn’t flutterin’.

Wasn’t breathin’.

The rock sat beside it. Just there. Like it’d always been. Heavy. Stained.

And my hands — my baby hands — were red.

I gasped, staggered back like the sky’d tilted.

“No,” I whispered. “I didn’t—I didn’t—”

The screen door behind me slammed open.

Mama stood there, her eyes wide and wild, brimmin’ with fury and shame.

“You killed it,” she hissed, voice like the strike of a switch. “Lord have mercy… what did you do?”

“I tried to help—”

Her finger pointed, shakin’ so hard I thought it might break right off. “You ain’t no healer. You’re a curse.”

The words hit me like stones. Like God Himself had turned His back.

“No,” I breathed. “No, I loved it. I loved it—”

But her face blurred. The edges of her eyes twistin’, meltin’.

The memory broke apart like ash.

And when she spoke again, it wasn’t her voice.

It was his.

Remmick’s voice. That slow, slick honey-coat of a man born of sweet lies and sharpened teeth.

“You’ve always been a killer,” he said.

“You just needed someone to show you how to be honest about it.”

———

I woke with a jolt, lungs burnin’. Another nightmare. Another slice of hell carved from the corners of my mind. I sat up in that dusty bed, heart jackhammerin’. Couldn’t rightly remember how I got there — just flashes of me, scribblin’ out a plan on scrap paper, mind runnin’ circles ’round Sammie.

It had happened twice now. Slippin’ like that. Losin’ whole hours to black. Like my brain weren’t mine no more.

Remmick hadn’t shown his face since. Just leavin’ me to rot in that room, watchin’ from shadows, waitin’ for me to break in two.

And maybe I already had.

Maybe that was the plan all along.

I pressed my hand to my chest. Couldn’t even trust my own thoughts. They felt borrowed. Bent.

Before I could blink again, the house filled with sound.

A choir.

No, not a choir.

Voices — too many, too close. Low and strange.I rose, legs stiff, bones screamin’. Walked slow to the curtain, peeled it back.

Moonlight sliced into the room.

Out there, just past the tree line, shapes moved. Dancin’.

No.

Spinnin’.

Hypnotic. Like they was caught in some kind of trance.

I opened the window without meanin’ to. The music crawled in. Sank under my skin.

It sounded like sorrow strung with sugar.

Before I knew it, the house was behind me. I was out there — feet crunchin’ twigs, heart poundin’. Every step felt like I was bein’ pulled by strings I couldn’t see.

They danced in a circle. Counter-clockwise. Backward. Like time rewound and never stopped. 

It almost felt like how it was back at the juke joint, something spiritual. Like a copy to some degree. But somethin was missin. Like eating a lemon but the taste is sweet than sour.

And in the center — Him.

Remmick.

He was smilin’. Eyes like burnin’ paper under moonlight.

He beckoned me forward, just like always. And I obeyed.

He grabbed my arm, pulled me in close — too close. The others danced on, hummin’ Merle in voices that didn’t sound like they came from mouths no more.

“You feel it don’ ya?” he said, his breath warm on my cheek. “You feel this energy, this magic, but you also feel how somethin’s missin.”

I couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t blink.

“That somethin’ missin is Sammie and his gift,” he said, low and smooth. “And the longer we wait, the more time is wasted on not bein’ truly one family.”

“And we don’ want that, now do we y/n?” Mary’s voice cut in like a blade, and there she stood — eyes white, smile gone bitter cold. “We just want to be one big happy free family.”

Tears welled up, but they wouldn’t fall. My body — my soul — refused to spill for them no more.

Then the pressure cracked.

My voice came back, and Lord, it came sharp.

“You say Sammie is that somethin’ missin, or is it really because you can never invoke the ancestors — past, present, and future — like Sammie can? You can never truly have that, because the people you turned will never have that connection that drawn you to the juke joi—”

He snatched my face in one hand. Squeezed ’til my cheeks burned.

His eyes flared, teeth grit.

“You just love to run that mouth of yours,” he said, too calm. “Should’ve just taken over your whole mind instead of half.”

That grin — it weren’t playful no more. It was mean.

“Don’t forget who at the end of the day can break this pretty mind of yours. Did it once. Don’t make me do it again. It’ll be worse than what hell the memories the sun can burn in that head.”

He shoved me hard.

My body moved without askin’. Stepped right back into the dance. Circle never broke.

And all I could do was watch through the window like eyes of mine.

Watch the world spin the wrong way.

Watch myself disappear.

———

The moment I came back to myself, it was like the dark got peeled off my eyes. Breath caught sharp in my chest. I shot up off from the same dusty bed, fast but quiet, hands movin’ like they already knew the truth was waitin’ where I left it. Dropped to my knees and lifted the warped floorboard — the one with that stubborn edge I had to dig at with the crook of my nail.

There it was.

Paper, curled and brittle with dust, still hidin’ where I’d stashed it. I pressed it flat on the little nightstand near the closet, fingers shakin’ as I picked up the stub of that pencil. Lead near gone, wood splintered at the tip — but I didn’t care.

I had to finish.

Didn’t matter if it took blood instead of graphite.

I wrote fast, every word scratchin’ against the paper like a cry from my chest. A warning. 

Then came footsteps.

My whole body froze.

Heavy. Sure. Drawin’ closer like the tickin’ of judgment.

Quick as I could, I folded that letter, shoved it back in its hidey hole, laid the board back down — just as the door creaked open.

Stack stood there, leanin’ in the doorway like he owned the place. That grin on his face made my stomach turn damn near inside out. Like he was proud of somethin’ that oughta haunt a man.

“Remmick wanna see you,” he said. “Don’ want no trouble. Just talk. His words, not mine.”

I stood slow, my limbs feelin’ older than they had any right to. Didn’t speak. Just followed behind him through them crooked halls, each step echoing like the house itself was watchin’.

He led me to another room — one I ain’t never been in before.

No bed.

Just two chairs.

And a chess table.

Door shut behind me with a hollow click that made my heart skip. Then I saw it — and God help me, I wished I hadn’t.

Remmick was sittin’ there, leanin’ back easy like a man on a front porch. Blood streaked from his mouth down to his bare chest, open shirt hangin’ loose like he ain’t had a care in the world. At his feet, slumped and still, was a man. Facedown. Dead lookin. Neck at the wrong angle. Gone cold.

I staggered.

My breath caught hard.

“Oh, no need to be worried, darlin’,” Remmick said smooth, like we was talkin’ over sweet tea. “He just got too close to where he wasn’t s’posed to be. Guess he wanted to join the family.”

His teeth shone through the blood. Sharp. Too many.

I opened my mouth — wanted to scream, cuss, beg, anything.

But I couldn’t.

Somethin’ else stole my focus.

“Aw, darlin’,” he drawled, that voice low and syrupy. “You droolin’.”

I blinked — felt warmth on my chin, lifted my hand to find it slick.

Thick.

warm.

“No,” I whispered. But it was true.

“You just hungry is all,” he said. “Come here. I can share.”

And I did.

Or rather, my body did.

Dropped to my knees, crawled across that splintered floor like a dog he’d called home. Every movement wasn’t mine but felt like mine all the same. Like my soul was screamin’ and my limbs just smiled.

He reached down, fingers under my chin, tiltin’ my face to his.

“No matter how much you resist it,” he murmured, “it’ll push back ten times harder.”

Then he kissed me.

Deep.

Long.

Blood warm on my lips on my tongue , seepin’ into the cracks like it belonged there. I moaned — not from pleasure, but from the horror of likin’ it for a split second. My hands climbed his thighs, desperate and trembling, until they found his arms and held on like I could keep myself from drownin’.

When he pulled back, he tapped my cheek real sweet, like a man might to a wife who made his supper just right.

“You look so much better with a lil’ blood on ya.”

My chest clenched.

Hard.

But I didn’t let it show.

“Remmick,” I croaked, voice cracked open down the middle, “why you so hellbent on makin’ me more of a monster than I already am? Can’t you let me fake it — just a lil’, for my own sake?”

He leaned in close, voice soft but cuttin’.

“You ain’t no monster, darlin’,” he said, brushin’ hair from my face. “You just a step forward to bein’ a goddess — my goodness. And if you’d just help me finish the plan, well… the world could be ours.”

His hand cupped my cheek like I was sacred.

But his words?

They tasted like honey poured over rot.

And still — I let it coat my tongue.

Even though I could already feel the cavities settin’ in.

——

Remmick takes my silence as support. I don’t say a word when he comes back with newly turned people or when he’s off on the manhunt for Sammie. I don’t say a word when he seeks me out after another failed attempt of finding Sammie. I don’t say a word when he comes back blistered and burned from the setting sun, cursing that them Natives found him again killing Annie and Mary -though the weight in my chest lifted a bit at that, knowing they were finally free now, along with a few others he so-called new family, saying that we had to leave by sunrise or they will kill us all.

 So we fled my note left at the front door. A woman taking clothes off the clothing line from a full day's dry in the sun is who his next victim was. He easily overpowered her and changed her and when she stood back up knocking on her door her husband opened it and invited her in with no hesitation she then turned him. The house was free to roam now. The day passed with no signs of the natives in the area and as soon as night fell again, Remmick was out again hunting down Sammie like a man starved. 

He has become restless but so did I. After he left I waited a few before changing out of the bloody dress I’ve been wearing since that night at the juke joint to whatever dress was in the closet in the first room I went in. I threw on a dainty brown hat before walking out of the house to town. I squeezed my hands into fists hoping that Grace didn’t close up her shop too early.

Once I reached town, the moon was high up and most of the businesses were already closed. Some folks were still out, bringing shipments into the shops before locking up. I made my way to Grace's shop, the light inside was still on but the door was locked. I quickly but quietly knocked on the glass and waited. The hushed background noise of conversation outside filled the empty space. 

As I was about to knock again I see her silhouette come from the back making her way to the front. She unlocks the door about to make a comment about how the shop is closed but when she locked eyes with me she ate her words. She quickly invited me in before locking the door behind her.

“I got your letter, them natives dropped it off to me earlier in the day.” She said getting straight to the point. “You said very little in the letter but I know it’s more you couldn’t share on paper.”

I nodded with a heavy sigh before hugging her, a sob breaking from my lips.

“Things are so fucked right now, Grace, everyone I knew is gone.”

She comforts me, patting my back, “news broke fast at what happened down at the juke joint, people say it was the klan but didn’t find any body’s. I’m just glad you’re alright,”

“That’s the thing Grace, I’m not alright. Something changed in me and I can’t even trust myself but I know I can trust you.” I gave her another folded piece of paper that I quickly wrote in before leaving earlier and handed it to her. “I know you and Bo know where Sammie and Smoke are laying low at but I don’t want you to tell me just pass this note to him please.” She nodded as she took it from my hand, a determined look on her face.

“I have to go now but please be safe out there, there’s more monsters lurking out there than the klan.”

After our exchange, I quickly headed back to the house. When I reached it there was no one in sight letting me know Remmick was still out on his crazed hunt. I opened the door; I entered the home easily as it didn’t know whether to let me in or keep me out. The clothing I wore tore the veil and I slipped in like I never left.

I tossed down the hat on the table in the kitchen, making my way to the room to change back into my old garbs before Remmick gets here. I opened the door as I began to unbutton the front of the dress.

“Went dancing without me, darlin’?” I jumped in my skin at the sudden voice and turned slowly before making eye contact with the culprit.

Remmick sat in the darkest corner in the room, tapping his long fingers on the armrest of the wooden chair. 

“I-I” the lie was caught in my throat as he stood reaching my shocked form. His sharp nails digging into my side and I wince a bit in pain. “No need to lie darlin, I’ve caught you with your hand in the sweets jar.”

I pushed his hands off me as I created space between us, sitting on the small bed in the room. “You knew I wasn’t going to sit here and let you continue your manhunt for Sammie and do nothing about.”

“Who did you meet with?” He ignores my previous words, and I scoff a bit. “No one that concerns you or your heinous plans.” I spit. A choked noise came from my throat as he wrapped his hands around it squeezing it; I gripped his wrist to try to pull it off me but he only squeezed it harder.

“I just keep on letting you get over on me because I care for you and all you want to do is destroy this plan of mines. Don’t you get it? I’m trying to make heaven on earth. Didn’t you want that? “ he lets go of me before taking a step back looking away from my choked form. “I didn’t want that, all I wanted was for you to save me from my life with Frank, from his hands. But now I see it, that you’re no better than him. I guess the devil does come in many forms.”

He sighs before kneeling in front of me, leaning his cheek on my thighs as he caresses them, “I’m sorry, darlin’ I got ahead of myself.” His voice soft now, his emotions giving me whiplash, “it’s just I lost them all today, them Natives never left from checking the premises and they killed them all,” he sounded defeated and I felt elated with this information, he’s at his lowest right now and I can now carve his mind the way I need to.

 “Oh wow, I-I’m sorry.” I say sadly, playing the part as I run my hands through his hair in a comforting way. “Maybe we should lay low for a while so they can get off our backs. The more we rush this, the more we lose.” He groaned at my words like he disagrees or doesn’t want to accept it. “I can’t stop; I’ve gone too far.

 This is the time I’ve been waiting for centuries and now that I have the opportunity in my grasp I won’t let it slip from me so easily, especially when it’s right in front of me.” I sigh in my head at his words knowin’ it wouldn’t be that easy to persuade him but at least I tried on to the next plan. “Well let me help you find Sammie.” He lifted up from my lap quickly a suspicious glint in his red eyes. “And why would you want to do that?” I can see his walls begin to build itself up again so I quickly respond “because now I see how you truly care to give people freedom from their pain and chains in this world and the longer I sit back and watch the more I wish to make a change even if it has to be by this way.” I say like I was reluctant to the idea but understand him.

He looks at me with those pouty eyebrows like something softened in him from my words, “Darlin’ you don’t know how much I needed those words.” He reaches his hand out caressing my cheek; we kept eye contact before he broke it looking at my lips before locking eyes with me again. Remmick stared up at me like I was the sin he’d spent centuries chasing.

The room reeked of blood and tension, the kind that coils tight and doesn’t let go until someone breaks.

His lips brushed mine—brief, testing—before I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down hard, our mouths colliding like a war. It was messy, greedy, all tongue and breath and teeth. He tasted like heat and iron and the kind of ache that never goes away.

Clothes didn’t come off—they were ripped. Thread popped. Buttons scattered. Neither of us cared.

He shoved me down onto the bed, hands already between my thighs, spreading me open with a growl low in his chest.

“You’ve been starvin’ for this,” he hissed, fingers pressing where I needed them most.

“So have you,” I gasped, grinding down on his hand. “I can smell it on you.”

He chuckled darkly and dropped to his knees, dragging me to the edge of the bed. His mouth was on me in seconds—no hesitation. He licked like a man denied heaven, tongue greedy and practiced, lips curling into a smirk every time I gasped or bucked or cursed his name.

His fingers dug into my thighs, pinning me open. I came fast, hard, writhing under his mouth—but he didn’t stop. Didn’t let me go. Just kept going like my climax was just an appetizer.

“You gonna beg for me now?” he murmured against me, voice wrecked and low.

I pulled him up by the hair and kissed him hard, tasting myself on his tongue.

“Fuck me,” I snarled.

And he did.

He bent me over, hand in my hair, other gripping my hip like he owned it. When he pushed inside me, it wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t romantic. It was claiming.

Every thrust was deep, brutal, intentional—meant to remind me of what I was, what he made me. My hands fisted the sheets, the wall, his arms—whatever I could reach.

“Look at you takin’ me,” he growled in my ear. “Body’s been beggin’ for me every night.”

I didn’t deny it.

Couldn’t.

All I could do was moan—low and guttural—my mind white-hot with the sensation of him hitting just right, over and over.

We flipped again—me on top, straddling him, clawing at his chest as I rode him rough and fast. His hands roamed everywhere, nails scraping, teeth biting, drawing blood that only made us crazier.

I leaned down, lips brushing his throat, and bit deep.

He gasped—head snapping back, hips bucking up hard into me.

His blood filled my mouth, hot and electric, and I moaned into the wound.

He grabbed the back of my neck and bit me too—shoulder, collarbone, throat. Marking me. Claiming me. Drinking me. His blood mixed with mine, thick and sacred.

“We were made for this,” he groaned. “You feel it too. Say it.”

I didn’t.

But I screamed when I came again, body clenching around him like it never wanted to let go.

He followed, snarling into my skin, coming deep and hard and endless.

⸻

We collapsed together, breath ragged, bodies slick with sweat and blood.

He tangled his fingers in my hair, lips pressed to my shoulder.

But I didn’t close my eyes.

I just laid there, heart still pounding, blood still thrumming, the taste of him thick in my mouth.

Because this wasn’t love.

This was warfare.

And I’d just given the enemy every inch of me.Again.

——

Two Days Later – Nightfall

The house exhaled behind me as I slipped out the front door, closing it with the kind of care that makes no sound—like I was sneaking out of someone else’s life. The sky was dark as velvet—the kind of night that clung close, hushed and watchful. Still. Heavy. No wind, no whisper, just the faint hush of pine trees breathing in the distance.

Remmick was upstairs, lying low like he said. Said the Natives were still lurking, waiting to strike again. Said we needed to be cautious. Said he needed me to go check the edges of the woods, see how close the threat was.

He said it like it was nothing.

Like he trusted me.

So I nodded and played the part.

But I turned toward town instead, boots moving quick beneath my hem, the cold dirt road swallowing each step. The air was damp, alive with the kind of silence that feels like it’s listening.

No one stopped me. No one looked twice. Just another shadow among shadows, passing quiet under the unlit porch lamps and shuttered windows. I walked with my head tucked low, hat pulled firm against my brow. I’d learned how to walk invisible.

By the time I reached Grace’s shop, the quiet felt louder. And I knew before I even stepped close—something was wrong.

The lights were out.

The door locked.

Stillness pressed against the windows like a held breath. No smell of boiling herbs. No faint silhouette behind lace. Just absence.

I knocked once. Gentle.

No answer.

I waited, blood rising loud in my ears.

I was about to knock again when I heard it behind me.

“Evenin’. Lookin’ for Grace?”

My hand fell, slow. I turned just enough to see the man across the street. Older. Thick coat. His store sign swung gently above him—dry goods. He was locking up, half in, half out the door.

I offered a nod. Nothing more.

He chuckled. Not mean, just tired. “She’s alright. Her and Bo both. Took sick, maybe. Word is she’s been out for two days. Bo’s been back and forth quiet-like. He’s home now. Taking care of her, I’d guess.”

His voice was casual, but it didn’t land right. My stomach pulled tight.

“Thanks,” I said soft, barely above the hush of the wind. Just enough to pass.

He tipped his hat and disappeared into the warmth of his store, door shutting behind him like punctuation.

I stood there a beat longer, just watching the door. The silence around the shop didn’t hum with illness. It hummed with absence.

Still—I crouched low and slipped the folded letter under her door. Just like before. Quick. Clean.

Didn’t knock.

Didn’t wait.

Just turned and made my way back to the house, faster now. The shadows felt thicker. The road shorter. Like something was following me home.

———

The house looked just the same as when I left it—tilted quiet, half-forgotten, the way places get when they’ve seen too much. The porch creaked beneath my feet, but only once. I pushed the door open slow, stepping into the stale hush that lived between these walls.

Inside smelled like wood smoke and old iron. The kind of scent that clings to grief.

Remmick was in the parlor, long legs stretched out, one boot propped on the table. He was toying with a deck of cards, shuffling with one hand while the other cradled a glass of something dark. His eyes stayed on the cards.

“Well?” he asked, voice lazy.

“Didn’t see no one,” I said, brushing my sleeves off. “Nothing but trees and dirt. Think they’re gone now.”

He nodded slow, like he already knew. “Good. Gettin’ real tired of lookin’ over my shoulder.”

I walked past him and sank down on the couch, letting my breath out slower than I should’ve. The fabric under me still held the shape of his weight from earlier. He’d been there not long ago, waiting for something.

His eyes flicked up to me once—just a glance—and then back to the cards.

“You did good,” he said. Smooth. Steady. “Ain’t nobody better I’d trust to check.”

I hummed, not bothering to answer.

He didn’t press.

Didn’t notice the way I dug my thumbnail into my palm just to stay here, in this moment, in this lie I had to wear like skin.

Didn’t notice how I was listening—for movement, for footsteps upstairs, for the scrape of someone else in the dark.

I leaned my head back against the cushion, eyes drifting toward the ceiling, where the wood grain twisted into patterns I used to trace in dreams. Now I couldn’t stop seeing them shift like they were trying to spell out a warning.

“You tired?” he asked after a while.

I shrugged.

Remmick cut the deck again. “You been quiet lately.”

“Just thinkin’.”

“Dangerous thing to do in this house,” he muttered with a smirk.

He tossed a card on the table face-up.

The devil.

I stared at it. Couldn’t look away.

He watched me then. Not just glanced. Watched.

I felt it.

“Somethin’ botherin’ you, darlin’?”

I turned my face slow, gave him a smile I didn’t feel. “No. Just tired. Like you said.”

He smiled back, like that answer pleased him.

But I could tell he was listening harder now.

I shifted on the couch and let my eyes close. Just for a moment. Just long enough to make him think I was at ease.

But I wasn’t.

Grace was missing.

Bo too.

Remmick hadn’t suspected a thing. Not yet.

But this plan I’d been shaping in shadows? It was slipping through my fingers like water, and I didn’t know how many more nights I had left before he caught me trying to hold it.

——

The street felt longer this time.

Quieter, too.

I walked with my head down, arms wrapped around myself like that could keep the ache in my ribs from spreading. Remmick was out again, gathering what scraps he could—new bodies, new followers, anyone who could fill the void of the ones he’d lost. And I was left to sit in the hollow of his house, mind chewing itself raw.

Grace hadn’t reached out.

Not a whisper. Not a sign.

Something twisted in me the longer I waited, and by the time I pulled my shawl over my shoulders and stepped into the night, I already knew I wouldn’t come back whole.

Her house came into view at the edge of the lane—familiar and wrong all at once. The blinds were drawn. The porch light was off. Stillness pressed up against the walls like something holding its breath.

I climbed the steps slow.

Knocked once.

Waited.

Another knock.

My pulse started up in my throat, heavy and loud, until—

The door opened.

And there she was.

Grace.

Same face, same eyes, but not the same woman who once whispered promises in the back of her shop.

She didn’t look sick. Didn’t look surprised.

Just tired.

Like she’d already made up her mind before I even got there.

“Grace,” I breathed, relief and confusion tangling in my voice. “I’ve been waitin’ for word—what happened? Are you alright?”

She looked at me for a long moment before she spoke. No hug. No warmth.

Just cool, clipped words.

“I can’t help you no more, Y/N.”

My breath caught.

“What?”

She crossed her arms. “Whatever it is you’re stirrin’ up, it’s followin’ you. You done brought danger to my door, and I can’t let it near Bo , Lisa or me again. Not now.”

I blinked, heat rushing to my face.

“But you said—Grace, you said if I ever needed—”

“That was before,” she said, voice hardening. “Before I realized what you’d turned into. What’s waitin’ in the woods behind you.”

She looked past me then.

Not at the trees.

At what she thought I’d become.

I shook my head, mouth parting, searching for words that might save whatever this was. “I’m still me—Grace, please—”

“I need you to go.”

And with that, she closed the door.

Didn’t slam it. Just shut it soft.

Final.

I stood there, staring at the wood, like maybe it’d open back up and undo what just happened.

But it didn’t.

The porch creaked as I sank down onto the top step, arms limp at my sides. The air had that thick weight to it again, the kind that made your bones ache like they remembered something awful.

My last string to Sammie was cut.

I didn’t even know if he’d gotten my note.

Didn’t know if he was alive. Or hiding. Or already lost to Remmick’s hunger.

I didn’t cry.

Didn’t have anything left in me for that.

I just sat there, for what felt like hours, until the wind shifted and I knew I had to move.

———

The house felt colder when I returned.

Not in temperature—just in presence.

Like it knew something had changed.

I pushed through the door, not bothering to close it quiet this time. The shadows felt heavier. My skin prickled like the walls were watching.

I drifted through the parlor, my steps slow, heavy. Sank into the couch, my eyes fixed on nothing. Time blurred. I could still feel the echo of Grace’s voice, the chill behind her words.

I stayed there until I heard the latch click.

The front door creaked open.

Bootsteps.

Remmick.

He stepped in with his usual ease, closing the door behind him. His shirt was wrinkled. Dust clung to his cuffs. His eyes locked onto me, curious at first.

But I didn’t give him time to ask.

I stood.

Crossed the space in three sharp steps.

And kissed him.

Hard.

His mouth met mine with that familiar pressure, warm and dangerous, and for once I didn’t flinch from it. My hands curled into his shirt, fingers pulling him down into me, my breath caught somewhere between fury and grief.

He staggered back a step with me in his arms, mouth moving against mine with a growl of surprise, then heat. His hands found my waist—firm, possessive.

I kissed him like I needed to forget.

And maybe I did.

Forget Grace.

Forget the weight of a name nobody said anymore.

Forget that I’d lost the only person left who believed I was worth saving.

He didn’t ask what I was running from.

Didn’t need to.

Because Remmick knew what it looked like when something broke in you.

And he knew how to kiss like it was the cure.

Even if it was just another poison I drank too willingly.

Even if I was the one reaching for the bottle Again.

———

I waited until the moon sat high and clean above the trees before slipping out again, coat pulled tight over my frame, the last chill of daylight still clinging to the edges of the wind. Remmick was still hunting what he’d lost — what he thought he could recreate with blood and sweet talk. He didn’t ask where I was going tonight. Just told me, quiet and easy, “Be back before it’s too late.”

Too late for who, I didn’t ask.

The road to town stretched long, silent. My boots crunched softly over gravel, a sound that felt too loud for the kind of thoughts I was carrying. I counted the minutes with each step, mind racing faster than my feet. I needed clarity. Grace’s face hadn’t left my mind since she shut that door in it. Something was wrong, and I couldn’t let it go.

I turned onto Main, the familiar wooden storefronts all shadowed in lamplight and memory. I spotted the dry goods store across from Grace’s shop — the one where that older man had spoken to me before. I approached slow, cautious. The windows glowed from within.

I stopped at the edge of the porch and knocked gently against the doorframe. Not too loud. Not too soft. Just enough to say: I don’t mean no harm.

The man inside looked up from behind the counter. Recognition lit up his face, though he squinted just the same, like he wasn’t quite sure if I was real or not.

“Evenin’,” I said, voice calm but low. “Can I come in?”

He hesitated for a second, then gave a small nod.

“Come in, sure,” he said, walking over to unlock the door. “Don’t often get visitors this late, but it’s your kind of hour, I suppose.”

I stepped inside, the warmth of the store meeting me like a familiar hush. It smelled like cedarwood, dust, and old paper — like things that kept secrets.

He moved behind the counter again, leaning slightly against it as he regarded me. “You lookin’ better than last time I saw you. Seemed a little… restless then.”

I gave a small smile, not enough to reach my eyes. “Still restless.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Ain’t we all.”

I didn’t waste time. “You remember what you said about Grace being sick?”

He blinked. “Sure.”

“Well, I saw her. She ain’t sick. And she wasn’t surprised to see me. She just… shut me out. Like I was poison.”

His frown deepened. He scratched his head, gaze drifting toward the window like the answer might be hiding outside. “I don’t know what’s what no more. She and Bo kept to themselves the past couple days. Didn’t even open the shop since you came by. But I do recall…” His fingers tapped rhythm on the wood. “Something strange.”

He snapped his fingers suddenly, his expression lighting up. “Damn near forgot!”

He ducked behind the counter, rummaging through drawers and stacked papers until he pulled out a folded note — weathered but intact.

“Grace gave me this in a hurry a few nights back. Told me if a woman came lookin’ for her at night — to hand it over. No name, just a description. Figured it was you.”

My fingers trembled as I took it. “Thank you,” I said, voice soft.

He nodded, already turning back to wipe down a nearby shelf. “Hope it clears somethin’ up.”

I unfolded the paper with care, and Grace’s familiar script met my eyes like a balm and a blade:

Y/N—

He got it. Your letter. Sammie read every word.

I don’t have a reply from him — he didn’t risk sendin’ one.

Things got bad quick. Too many eyes. I’m layin’ low for now, maybe longer.

But listen close —

Sammie and Smoke are heading north. Five days from when you sent the letter.

He’ll wait as long as he can, but once the time comes, he has to go.

It’s not safe to stay.

I don’t know when you’ll get this, but you’ll have to move fast. Here’s where to look——

God keep you.

–G

The words rang through me like a bell toll.

Five days.

I counted backward in my head, trying not to panic. Three had already slipped through my fingers. Two remained — if I was lucky. If he was.

I closed the letter, fingers stiff, and slid it into my pocket with trembling care. I turned for the door.

“Thank you again,” I said over my shoulder, not waiting for him to reply.

Outside, the wind bit a little harder. I pulled my coat tighter and walked with purpose toward the alleyway.

No one followed.

The trash can waited like a sentinel.

I tore the note into pieces, sharp and fast, letting them fall into the dark.

Gone.

Gone like the chance I was clawing to keep hold of.

I looked once more at the glowing windows of Grace’s house in the distance. Still drawn. Still closed.

And then I walked back toward the house I shared with the devil — heart pounding like a drum, like war.

——

Remmick was still gone when I got there.

But not for long.

And the next move would have to be mine.

The plan was set. Rough around the edges, held together by frayed nerves and desperate hope—but it was all I had. Tomorrow night, it would be enacted. No more waiting. No more second-guessing.If all went well, I’d be gone.Possibly leaving Remmick behind. The thought pierced deeper than I’d anticipated. A dull ache settled in my chest, one I couldn’t quite name. 

I sat on the couch, the room dimly lit, lost in my thoughts when the door creaked open.Remmick entered, exhaling a sigh that spoke of exhaustion. He moved with a weariness that seemed to seep into the room. He settled into a dining chair behind me, the weight of the day evident in his posture.

“Things are moving slower than I’d like,” he began, his voice tinged with frustration. “People are hesitant, resistant. It’s… taxing.”

I nodded, offering a noncommittal hum.

After a pause, he asked, “Any updates on Sammie’s whereabouts?”

My heart skipped a beat. “No,” I replied quickly. “Nothing concrete. The town’s been quiet.” 

He studied me for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re sure?” 

I forced a smile. “Positive. If I had anything, you’d be the first to know.”

He nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied.The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I stood, the need to bridge the distance overwhelming. I walked over to him, noting the way his shirt was discarded to the side, suspenders hanging loosely at his waist.His eyes met mine, a glint of red flickering in their depths as I settled onto his lap.

“Just wait a little longer,” I murmured, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Who knows? Sammie might just walk to you.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rough. His hand found my waist, pulling me closer.

“Or maybe I’ll find him,” he said, voice a whisper against my skin, “because I never lost him.”

A shiver ran down my spine. I silenced him with a kiss, desperate to drown out the implications of his words. I didn’t want to hear the rest. Didn’t want to know if he was bluffin’ or boastin’.I just needed to forget.

I slid off his lap, down to my knees between his thighs. My hands moved on instinct, unfastening the button at his waist, pulling the fabric down slow. His cock was already half-hard, twitching to life under my touch.

Remmick watched me with a quiet, ravenous hunger, his eyes flickering red like they remembered old wars.

“You sure about this?” he murmured, voice dipped in syrup.

“No,” I whispered. “But I ain’t stoppin’.”

I wrapped my lips around him, taking him slow, tasting the salt and musk of him as I worked my tongue down his shaft. His head fell back, a low groan rumbling from his chest. His hand curled into my hair, not pushing—just there. Guiding. Praising.I sucked harder, deeper, letting him hit the back of my throat, letting him feel every inch of my want and denial.

He cursed, low and shaky. “Fuck, darlin’. You feel like you’re prayin’ with your mouth.”

His hips rolled, shallow thrusts meeting the rhythm of my mouth. He tasted like power. Like a promise I didn’t want to keep.My hands slid up his thighs, holding him steady as he twitched in my mouth, his moans climbing higher. Faster.

Until he bucked hard, one hand clenched in my hair, spilling into me with a growl that sounded like a broken vow.I stayed there a moment, letting him ride it out, then pulled back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to breathe through the weight in my chest.Afterward, the room was silent save for our mingled breaths. I rested against him, heart pounding, mind racing.

He brushed a strand of hair from my face, eyes searching mine.

“You won’t leave me now, would you, darlin’?”

I hesitated, then shook my head slowly.A smile touched his lips. “Good. Wouldn’t want the woman I love to leave me to forever loneliness.”

The words struck me, a mix of warmth and dread curling in my stomach. I buried my face in his neck, the weight of my decision pressing down on me.

——

The moon wore a veil of clouds tonight, like it didn’t want to bear witness to what was about to happen. Half-bright and mean-looking, it hovered above me as I crept away from the house like a thief in the dark. Remmick had already left—gone off chasing ghosts and pieces of a plan falling apart in his own hands. Said he’d be back before sunrise. I knew he would.

And I knew I wouldn’t be.

This was it. No more stalling. No more swallowing screams in that house where the walls watched me breathe. My plan—frayed at the seams and stitched with desperation—was all I had now. And if the stars were kind, it might buy me a few hours’ head start.

I followed the path Grace had described, further from town than I expected. The ground grew rockier, the trees thicker. Shadows pressed in close. My nerves were wired so tight, every rustle in the trees felt like someone whisperin’ my name. But I kept walking. I had to. The house wasn’t far now. I saw it through the branches—a small thing, hunched in the dark with a car parked in front. A flicker of breath escaped me. Relief. They hadn’t left yet. Grace’s directions had been good. I hadn’t been followed. Not yet.

My steps quickened, hope making me reckless.

And then—I froze.A rustle in the trees behind me. Not the wind.

My skin went tight. My body wanted to run, scream, fight—but I stood there locked in place like prey.Then something small burst out of the treeline.I nearly screamed. Nearly ran. But the shape straightened. A face I knew.

“Grace?” I whispered.

She stumbled toward me, her breaths ragged, tears streaking her cheeks. Her dress was torn, her hair wild.

“They got them,” she sobbed, falling into my arms. “Bo—Amy—oh God, I watched them turn ‘em right in front of me. I hid, I ran, but they—they knew, Y/N. They knew.”

I held her close, one arm locked around her trembling body as the other reached instinctively for the gun hidden in my waistband. My stomach sank with her words.

This wasn’t just a ruined plan. It was a massacre in motion.

“We have to go,” I breathed. “Now.”

The two of us ran the rest of the way to the house. My mind was already racing. I didn’t know if they’d followed Grace, if they’d followed me, if they were already here—but I wasn’t about to lose this chance.

I pounded on the door.

It opened so fast it startled me.

Smoke stood there, rifle raised—but the moment he saw our faces, his expression broke wide.

“Y/N? Grace?”

“Can we come in?,” I gasped. “Now.”

“Yea.”He stepped back fast, letting us in. He looked both ways before slamming the door shut behind us.

Inside, Sammie was in the hallway, tense and alert—eyes wide as he saw us. Then soft, just for a second. He was alive.

I rushed to him and pulled him into a hug. The weight of his arms around me almost brought me to my knees. He smelled like sweat and pine and something old and burnt.Then I saw it. A claw mark across his cheek, still scabbed and angry. I reached for it. He lowered his head like he was ashamed.

“Remmick,” he said quietly.I said nothing. Just dropped my hand.Smoke locked every window, checked every corner. We gathered in the parlor, breathing too loud, too fast.We shared what we knew—Grace telling how Bo and Amy were caught. I told them what Remmick had lied about. What he was building. What I let him build.None of us had words for what sat in the room with us. We just knew we had to go.

Smoke pulled a heavy sack from the floor. “We leave now,” he said. “They’ll trace Grace’s steps soon enough.”

I nodded, numb. My hands moved on their own, grabbing bags, helping load the car. It was muscle memory. Fight or flight. Survive.Outside, the wind stirred the trees.Grace tugged at my arm, pulling me aside as the others worked.

“I think we should stay another night,” she whispered. “Just till things calm a little. It’s too sudden. We’ll draw less attention—”

“Grace,” I said gently, but stopped.

Something was wrong.

“G…Grace,” I said again, and my voice cracked. “You’re—you’re drooling.”

She wiped her mouth. But it was too slow. Too calm.Her lips stretched into a smile that wasn’t hers.

“Guess the cat’s out the bag.”

I stumbled back.

“Smoke!” I shouted.

He turned just as Grace’s eyes went white, glowing like a lantern lit from within.

“Ah, shit,” he breathed.

Too late.From the trees, more figures emerged. Calm. Confident.

Bo. Stack. Amy.

Grinning.

Like puppets with the strings still showing.My stomach flipped. I counted bodies.

Annie. Mary. More of them. All the ones Remmick said had died.Liars. Every last one of them. Or maybe just him.

And then—there he was.

Remmick.

Stepping through the trees like he never left them.

He looked just the same. Dusty boots. Rolled sleeves. Hair damp with effort. But his eyes?

His eyes burned.

“Should I call this a family reunion?” he drawled, voice cutting through the night like a whip.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. I wanted to scream, to cry, to laugh from how stupid I’d been.

“You fuckin’ liar—”

He cut me off with a soft tsk. “Now, now. Don’t give me that, Y/N. You been lyin’ to me since day one. Thought it was only fair to give it back in double.”

The others fanned out, blocking the car, the trees, the road. There was nowhere left to run.

“I kept an eye on you,” Remmick said, stepping closer, every word heavy. “Even when you thought I wasn’t around. Every errand. Every letter. Every secret little knock on some poor girl’s door—I saw it. You think you were foolin’ me, baby? I let you.”

My mouth opened—but I couldn’t find a lie good enough to cover the hurt.

“You played me like a fiddle,” he said, voice suddenly sharp. “But only one of us got stuck. Only one of us saw the bigger picture . And now look what you done. Wasted time. Endangered what I built. You think I waited centuries for this just to let you get in the way?”

His voice dropped to a growl. “I could’ve made you a queen. Instead, you chose to be a warnin’.”

The pain hit like a slap.

But it wasn’t the betrayal.

It was the shame.

Because I had loved him.

Even when I shouldn’t have.

Even now.

Smoke stumbled, wounded and breathing heavy, his arm barely lifting the rifle. Sammie moved to help—but Remmick was already there.

He grabbed Sammie by the collar, mouth open, teeth sharp—

I didn’t think.

I just moved.

Grabbed the gun from the dirt, raised it, and fired.The shot cracked through the clearing.Remmick dropped Sammie, staggering back, shock and fury twisting his face.

He turned to me.Eyes burning. Hurt. Betrayed.

“You really wanna do this, darlin’?” he whispered.

I didn’t know I was crying until the tears reached my lips. “I can’t let you make anyone else suffer. You’ve done enough.”

The moon tilted in the sky, shifting just enough that I could see the edge of morning begin to rise.Sammie struggled to his feet, limping.

“I should’ve never let you play with my plan,” Remmick said, quiet now. “I guess… my love for you was my weakness.”

Sammie grabbed the stake. I saw it. Saw him raise it behind Remmick.

I dropped the gun.I stepped forward.

And kissed him.

Remmick stiffened. Shocked.His hand cupped my face. For a moment, it was just us again.

And then—

“Do it, Sammie,” I yelled.

The stake drove through his back.

And into my chest.Pain like I’d never known.

He snarled.

I gasped.

“You were never meant to be mine in this life,” I whispered, forehead pressed to his. “But maybe in the next…”His skin began to blister then burn. The sun rose.

Screams echoed around us—his followers lighting up like bonfires as they tried to run.He tried to pull away.

But I held him.Held him until the flames took us both.

And everything went black.

———

1985

Somewhere in Louisiana

The market smelled like July holdin’ its breath—hot tar, overripe peaches, and molasses gone sour under the weight of the sun. A Marvin Gaye tune played low from a radio tucked behind a fruit stall, half-swallowed by the hum of cicadas and the thump of crates bein’ moved.

I came for coffee beans. That’s it.

But fate’s got a funny way of reroutin’ simple errands.

He passed me like a ghost wearin’ skin.

Not ‘cause he was fine—though he was.

White tee soft with time, tucked into jeans worn pale at the thighs. Denim jacket slung careless over one shoulder. Boots steady on the ground. Hair a mess like he’d just woken up from somethin’ deep.

But that ain’t why I stopped.

I stopped ‘cause my body knew before my heart remembered.

Like my bones stood still for someone they used to ache for.

He paused. Turned.

Brows drawn in like he was tryin’ to place me in a dream he couldn’t quite recall.

“‘Scuse me, miss,” he said, voice smooth as aged bourbon. “Do I… know you from somewhere?”

I blinked once. Twice.

“I—maybe,” I said. My voice came out soft, like it hadn’t spoken sorrow in years.

He smiled, half-tilted, cautious. “That’s funny. I was just about to say the same.”

I nodded slow. “You ever been down to Mississippi?”

His smile dipped, then stilled. “Once. Long time ago.”

That somethin’ passed between us—

not quite tension. Not quite peace.

Just an old ache that ain’t ever learned how to die.

He stepped closer, like he didn’t mean to but couldn’t help it.

“I know this is a little forward,” he said, reachin’ in his pocket, pullin’ out a worn scrap of receipt paper and a pen, “but… would you wanna grab a drink sometime?”

My breath caught.

Not from surprise.

From remembrance.

That voice.

That tilt of the head.

That kind of question that could rearrange your whole life if you let it.

I didn’t let it show.

“Sure,” I said, smiling faint. “I’d like that.”

He scribbled down a number, handed me the paper like it held somethin’ sacred.

I took it, my fingers brushing his.

“Remmick,” he said.

“Y/N,” I answered, just as quiet.

His eyes searched mine for a second too long. Somethin’ flickered there—like déjà vu grippin’ his ribs too tight.

Then—

“Y/N!” a voice called out behind me, sharp as a church bell on Sunday morning.

“You gon’ make us miss The Movie! Move your feet, girl!”

I turned quick to see Mary, arms crossed, grin wide watching my exchange.

“Oh—sorry!” I laughed, half-startled, shakin’ my head as I gathered my bags. “I’ll call you later,” I told him, already steppin’ backward.

“Hope you do,” he said, lips curvin’ easy.

I turned toward Mary, my heart beatin’ fast for no reason I could name.

Behind me, he watched.

Eyes flickered red—

Just for a second.Gone before the blink finished.

And when I looked back one last time—

he was walkin’ away, hands in his pockets, hummin’ low to the rhythm of a song only he remembered.

[bunnis-monsters]

Imagine being a surrogate for monsters that want a half human baby, or monsters that need your womb to keep their young safe.

Instead of being inseminated in a hospital, the monster fucks load after load into your fat pussy, insuring you’ll be swollen with their baby/babies by the end of it.

At first you did it to help monsters out, but now you do it because you just love the feeling of a monster cock stretching you out and filling you with its hot cum until you’re close to bursting. It’s almost worth the differing amount of time it takes to grow and then birth their child.

But honestly… you love it. You enjoy being pampered and spoiled by the monsters during your pregnancy, their instincts screaming at them to protect you and keep you to themself.

They always end up fucking you over and over, wanting to keep you on their cocks while you’re pregnant, feeding you right and keeping you full of cum~

And once the baby is born and you’ve recovered, you get to do it all over again…

[calummss]

Shower with Me? | Elijah Mikaelson

masterlist

summary: you come back from your trip and have elijah wrapped around your finger

pairing: elijah mikaelson x fem! reader

words: 700

a/n: i love elijah

It was late in the afternoon when the grand doors swung open as you stepped inside, dropping your bags onto the floor with a soft thud, letting them know you were home.

“I’m back!” Your voice light and sweet as you made your way towards the living room, heels clicking against the floor. “Traffic was bad, remind me to use my vampire speed instead of a car.”

Inside the living room the usual scene awaited you; Kol was lounging on the sofa, flipping a coin between his fingers with an air of boredom. Klaus stood by the window, focused on his canvas, adding strokes of colours to his work. And Elijah sat in his favourite chair, ever so composed as he scanned the newspaper, a glass of amber bourbon in his hand.

Kol barely looked up but his voice coated with amusement as soon as he opened his mouth. “Back so soon? I was hoping for a few more days of peace. New York City that boring?”

“Depends on how you define boring, Kol. I was a blast, the city on the other hand couldn’t handle me—Maybe I should go to LA?” You trailed on. “Why? Miss me that much?”

Klaus smirked but didn’t stray from his canvas. “Depends. Did you bring us souvenirs, love?”

You placed your hand over your mouth, pretending to be shocked. “Oh, no I forgot the ‘World’s Best Sibling’ mugs.”

Kol snorted, tossing the coin into the air. “Might as well has brought back a halo for Elijah while you're at it.”

You turned towards Elijah, who had yet to acknowledge the playful banter, his eyes still scanning the newspaper. You walked around his chair, placing a soft kiss on his neck. "You’re awfully quiet."

Elijah flipped a page, unbothered. "I was merely enjoying the silence before you lot turned this house into a marketplace."

You grinned, leaning down to wrap your arms around his shoulders. “So broody.” You removed your arms from his frame and straightened your back, dramatically stretching your arms before turning towards the grand staircase. “I’m gonna go shower,” you said, turning around to lock eyes with Elijah as a smile formed on your face. “Come and join me?”

Silence.

Elijah lowered the newspaper from his gaze, head slightly tilted as his eyes sent an undeniable thrill down your spine. But it wasn’t just Elijah who stopped. Klaus had stopped mid stroke, and Kol caught his coin. Both brothers were staring at Elijah with barely restrained amusement.

Elijah exhaled, setting the newspaper aside with measured grace. Then, with complete sincerity, he spoke: "Darling, you know I keep a dagger hidden in this house." He paused, his voice smooth but firm. "If I ever say no to that question, I want you to dagger me."

You beamed.

Kol let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Well, that’s one way to prove devotion.”

Klaus smirked, continuing his painting. “Careful, brother. Keep this up, and we might start thinking you’ve gone soft.”

Elijah didn’t spare them a glance. He had already risen from his chair, his full attention on you as your hand reached for his as he followed your lead. You turned, heading toward the stairs with a satisfied sway in your step, knowing full well Elijah was right behind you.

Kol leaned back, a wicked grin playing on his lips. “Think they’ll actually shower?”

Klaus huffed a laugh. “Not a chance.”