hy3na-b4be

[hy3na-b4be]

“cuffs” - clark kent x female reader

warnings: 18+ so mdni, no use of y/n, smut (porn with plot), unprotected piv (wrap it up pls), use of handcuffs (sub clark kind of), established friendship, clark uses his powers, clark is kind of a pervert (he means well), reader is in her 30s

word count: 2.4k

a/n: short and sweet little fic. possible series — I haven't a clue, but for now, enjoy! :) dividers by @saradika-graphics

You wrote the dating column for the Daily Planet newspaper.

Once a week, your job was to treat the people of Metropolis to confections: digestible samplings of how to maneuver relationships, healthy ways to handle a breakup, and how to live comfortably single. Your experience made you a self-proclaimed relationship expert, dating a wide variety of people and facing nearly every hurdle. Cheated on? Been there. Proposed to? Done that. Somehow, nothing stuck, but at least your knowledge contributed to the column.

Though, you've never dated an alien before? You'd have to come back to that idea for a later installment.

Whatever the case, it made for good journalism. When on break, several members of the team would come over and sneak a peak at what you wrote, making for great conversation over coffee. Clark Kent included. You were sure that in his mind, “break from work” and “talk to you” were interchangeable. Luckily, his thinly veiled crush on you didn't bother you at all. In fact, you found him to be quite adorable.

The only reason you hadn't dated him yet was your fear of reducing him to just another publication. You thought maybe you entered relationships for the sole purpose of writing about them — self-sabotage. You barely had time to miss anyone anymore. Clark was too special to become that.

Today was no different than any other, Clark leaning in over your shoulder to skim what you had typed so far. “‘New year, new you: sixteen ways to spice it up in the bedroom’ — you're a genius, how do you come up with these titles…”

The sarcasm tickled your insides, made you giggle. “They're prophesied to me in my dreams.”

“This one I don't understand.” Clark pressed a finger to the screen, arm reaching over your shoulder, tracing over number four on your list. “‘Handcuffs’. Wouldn't that get in the way? Can't get physical with restraints.”

You held in a laugh with the way Clark described having sex as getting physical. “That's the point. People enjoy temporarily losing their abilities. The dynamic switches from the powerful to the powerless.”

You watched in real time as Clark's ears grew red, the blood traveling to his cheeks for what you assumed was the reaction to him envisioning himself actively using them. Knowing Clark, they were pink and fuzzy. About to ask him if he was okay, you found yourself caught in conversation with Jimmy Olsen. Something about the lunch he bought from a new sandwich place down the street. The light topic completely distracted you, unsure of when Clark disappeared from your side.

You spent the next few minutes hunched over your desk, coffee mug gifted from Clark in-hand, editing away before pausing for a pee break. You rolled your chair back into place, shoes clacking their way to the bathroom. Standing at the sink was Clark, splashing his face with water, glasses set aside. You were sure this was the women's bathroom, but Clark's hands dropped from his face before you could ask.

Your eyes widened, suddenly standing a few feet away from the man of steel. Clark was the spitting-image of Superman. With those glasses gone, what might've been a lookalike became absolutely certainty. You shouldn't be here. You wondered if you could sneak away, taking a single step back. Hearing your very light footstep, Clark caught you in the mirror's reflection. He flinched.

You put a hand up, “I didn't see anything.”

Scrambling for his glasses, “I, uh… I thought I locked the door.”

You glanced behind, the lock completely broken off like somebody couldn't control their super strength in a nervous fit.

You turned back, “isn't this the lady's room?”

Clark went silent, a hand flying to cover his face. “Oh, crap…”

“Don't worry about it. I'll tell Perry that the door gave out on me.”

“I- okay… Okay. Your heartbeat’s in your ears. Mine, too.”

Your chest rose with breath, a hand behind your back patting around for the doorknob. Once you found it, you slipped out the bathroom and returned to your desk. You and Clark didn't speak for the rest of the day.

Clark watched the sun go down from up in the air. He had spent all day on edge, hoping that no one found out you knew about his identity. He doubted that you told, but he'd hate to find out about it in the paper. A whisper over lunch, gossip by the water fountain, and boom: Clark Kent is Superman. Any saving he did today felt unfocused, mind somewhere else. It drove him mad. He aimlessly flew around the city until he found himself on your apartment balcony. Hands on his hips, he tapped his foot as if he rang the door bell and was waiting for you to answer. Unless you were beside the sliding door, how could you know he was there? And he had to speak to you now, the anxiety becoming too much.

For the second time today, Clark broke a door lock.

Carefully sliding the door back into place, Clark was now in your apartment. He decided x-ray vision wasn't appropriate to find you, and opted for listening intently to your movements. Drowned-out music clashed with sounds of fabric, so he closed his eyes and focused on one thing.

Down the hall, to the right.

The large man felt out of place in your space, cape behind him and all. He never thought he'd be in this situation. Last time he stepped foot in your apartment was for a Christmas party the year prior.

Clark hesitantly hit his knuckles on your bedroom door. The music went on, and after a huff, realizing you probably couldn't hear him, he made the risky decision to come in anyway.

And risky it was, with you standing in the middle of the bedroom, back to him, headphones on, damp body fresh out of the shower adorned with only a white pair of underwear and socks, slipping a shirt over your head. Eyes following the lace hem of your bottoms, he sort of just stood there, the situation lost on him.

“Shoot!” He hid behind the door when you realized you weren't alone, cursing and throwing your headphones to the side.

“Did you just break into my apartment?”

“I'm sorry, I… had to speak with you.” Clark's voice was booming, speaking the way you expected Superman to sound, but shielding his face from the sight of your half-naked figure.

Your arms crossed over your chest, “and you thought you'd have this conversation in my bedroom?”

“I didn't know you'd be changing.”

“Don't you have x-ray vision?”

“And what, see through your apartment like some sort of pervert?”

“Right, because that would make you a pervert.”

“I'm sorry, alright? I haven't been in the best mindset today… that slip up today in the bathroom could've ended really badly if someone else had walked in on me. I shouldn't have been so careless.”

You reached the bedroom door, moving it open so Clark couldn't hide behind it anymore. “Then just be glad it was me, and not somebody else.”

He sighed, eyes fondly resting on your face.

“Pretty please, promise me you won't tell anyone.”

“Wouldn't dream of it. Your secret is safe with me, big blue.”

You playfully punched the logo on his chest. His soft lips pulled into a smile, dimples on full display.

There was something so endearing about how the metahuman in the room carried himself more awkwardly than you. Like the way he maintained direct eye contact as to not disrespect you in your underwear. You couldn't help but smirk, leaning against the doorway with sweet eyes staring up at him. You knew he would ask.

“Can I kiss you?”

You bit your bottom lip, going up onto your tippy-toes. “What took you so long?”

Surprise-surprise, Superman was a fantastic kisser. His mouth would open and close, luring you back into more and more kisses while his arms wrapped around your waist. The pressure of performance lifted off his shoulders, and now Clark could just be himself. Leaning down to match your height, his mouth trailed off to the plains of your face, muttering something in between pecks. “I wanted to try something.”

The hero formally known as Superman sat on your bed in just his underwear, wrists handcuffed in his lap.

The sight felt ripped out of a fantasy, the warm lighting from a nearby lamp making it look all too real. “Oh, my god.”

“What?”

“I just can't believe I've got Superman handcuffed in my bed.”

“Well, don't think about it like that. I'm just… your co-worker, Clark.”

“Yeah, that's still crazy.”

You peeled your shirt off, Clark already hardening at you in front of him already, not to mention when your panties shuffled down those beautiful legs to reveal something irresistible. “Good golly…”

You crawled into his lap, proximity shortening as you both leaned in. Noses nudging, you and Clark kissed again, when the conflict became clear. His wrists strained against the steel frames. A groan left his throat.

“You see the appeal now?”

“I think so. Get up.”

“Hm?”

Clark laid flat on the bed, hands resting at his abdomen. “Get up here.”

You made your way up his body, giddy tingling from your sternum to your fingertips. Thighs at either side of his head, Clark laid gentle kisses to your skin. He appreciated the intricacies — the details that made you, you. His tongue met your slick, a slow, long swipe that arched your hips. Your fingers went down, brushing through his black curls. He had you humming already, rolling your body in waves.

You fluttered in and out of vision, meeting with Clark's eyes at one point. Confidence surged through him, even as the helpless hero who grinded his underwear in search of relief. Even so, he never whined about the handcuffs. They were like a collar for a beast who wished to be tamed.

He blew cool air on your clit for staring at him so long.

“Clark!”

Clark continued his lapping, taking breaks in between for you to just use his tongue the way you wanted. He adored you from below, admiring the stunning sight above him. He used his tongue from the bottom to the top, engulfing your slit with saliva and heat. His mouth focused on your clit, sucking and teasing until the sounds and sensations were too much for you, cumming over his mouth. He eased your arrival, slowing his licks to aid your pulsing. Coming down from your high, you swung a leg over to get off of him.

Clark licked his lips, cleaning your flavor off his mouth. “Mmph. You taste really good.”

Slightly dazed, you chuckled. “You're a hoot, farm boy.” You reached for his cuffs, “ready to take these off?”

Clark moved his wrists away, furrowing at you. “C'mon, let me keep them.”

“As you wish. Just make sure you can handle the rest.” Not wanting to unlock and lock the handcuffs again, you grabbed him by the chain and shoved a pillow in between his arms, keeping the restraints above his head. His chest looked so pretty like this.

The print of Clark's cock straining against his boxers left little to the imagination. For one, he was big. Proportionately big. You had wondered before. You couldn't help it, with his bulky build and tall height feeling so out of place in the office. The piece had weight to it, laying at his lower torso. Pulling down his boxers felt like opening a present. Big, and pretty, too? He was Superman for sure.

Clark blushed the more exposed he felt. He hissed when the air hit his dick, already leaking a bit at the tip.

“You're so handsome, Clark…”

You straddled him for the second time, reaching for him between your legs. Hand wrapped around the girth, just lining him up to you made you whimper. Your walls stretched to accommodate his foundation. Mesmerized by your mouth hanging open, Clark nuzzled into your shoulder. “You've got this, baby. Take a second.”

Damn Clark Kent. Damn him for being so considerate, for secretly being your city's saving grace, and for keeping this dick from you.

The pressure, the movement inside, made your mind fuzzy. Sweet, gummy, addictive. Your diaphragm pushed moans from your chest, and below you was one Clark, who angled his hips upwards and whimpered. He felt so good, heels kicking into the mattress.

As your pace steadily grew, his wrists strained more and more against the handcuffs, until they came undone with a loud pop. Pieces flew across the room, too strong to be contained.

Your lungs filled with gasp, Clark's hands flying to grip onto your ass and thighs, denting the flesh like an impressive marble sculpture. Regaining some control, Clark had the freedom to thrust into you the way his body craved. Even in the moment, the height of both your volumes peaked unexpectedly. The neighbors were sure to complain. He had you impaled at ungodly hours of the night.

Clark, surprisingly, held himself together, what with the enhanced senses such as hearing making it difficult for him. He stared an almost literal hole into your vagina, watching his cock pump in and out of the cavity with his damn x-ray vision. You couldn't see what he saw, but knowing of his voyeuristic mind turned you on almost as much.

“Clark! Clark, I'm gonna…”

“Hold me down, hold me down-”

You two worked well as a team — you interlocking fingers with him to pin him down to your mattress, and him fucking you the way your body liked. That rubber-band-like tension snapped for the both of you — his hot cum spilling into you, groaning like it hurt, and your hips freezing in place, climax crashing over you.

Your knees and arms gave out, growing too tired to hold yourself up. And right when you needed a hero, there he was. Clark swept you up in his strong arms, wrapping them around your torso and laying you on your back. His body weight could lull you to sleep, resting his head on your chest and keeping you close any way he could. The broad expanse of his back covered you like a blanket. When he reached over to turn the bedside lamp off, you weren't one to complain.

Instead, your mind thought up of titles in case you decided to write about tonight for your column. No mentions of his identity, of course.

Out-of-This-World Sex. Why You Should Take A Chance On Your Workplace Hottie. And lastly, Cuffs: Get Yourself a Guy Who Wants To Be Tied Down.

[hy3na-b4be]

i'm so glad people enjoyed my remmick fic! here's my next victim:

also feel free to use my inbox — I can't really take requests right now because fall semester is about to start, but I'd love to answer questions or just talk to people lol :P

[hy3na-b4be]

“ptolemaea” - remmick x latina reader

warnings: 18+ so mdni, no use of y/n, smut, heavy angst, canon typical vampire violence (blood, gore), animal death, plot-reliable human deaths, detailed imagery and descriptions of gore, light usage of a gun, reader lives with her parent but she's an adult, historical conflicts and themes, use of “Indian” when referring to indigenous Americans, usage of generic Spanish, possible mistranslation of gaelic language, gothic romance with a literal vampire so necrophilia, mentions of menstrual sex, references made to remmick being dead, themes of identity, assimilation, and hunger, and of course spoilers for sinners (2025) dir. ryan coogler.

word count: 7.9k

a/n: yes this is a self-insert and no I won't be answering any questions at this time (kidding). also happy birthday jack? felt appropriate to post lmao. title is an ethel cain song. graphic by @saradika-graphics !!!

Early 1930s Colorado. Prior to the events that took place on October 16, 1932.

My fingers are running through a bucket of maize. I'm sat beside the doorway to the chicken coop inside my mother's shack, staring at the morning sky like it was commissioned for me. I spend most mornings like this now, alone, working on the farm. My mother is off with her lover on a trip east — half business venture and half leisure. I don't blame her, and the quiet of our secluded home in Silverton isn't lonely at all. It kept my mind at ease, besides the howling animals at night and our rooster who never failed to wake me up at the crack of dawn.

My father isn't here. If he were, I wouldn't recognize him. Plenty of people in the states are moreno.

The house is on the outskirts of town by the mountains, making it a good walk to and from. My mother made that walk at least every other Sunday. She says church is good for the soul. It saves people, she says. Ma says a lot of things. If she were here, she would've reminded me to pluck in between my eyebrows too.

Spending early mornings alone is better for the soul, that's what I would tell her if she were here. Still, I'm not against wearing one of her rosaries just in case. A prideful man doesn't accept help. A strategic man weighs his options.

I take a deep breath, allowing the smell of farm and fresh air to ground me. But right when my shoulders relax, my precious solitude is stolen from me by the screams of a lunatic.

My head whips over my shoulder. I stood from the hay bale beneath me and reached over to the shotgun leaning on the wall. Sometimes coyotes got a little too curious about the chicken coop. This was different.

“That's one pale-ass coyote…”

He banged at the front door, twisting the doorknob like he had the key to it already inserted in. I slipped in through the backdoor, carrying the heavy weapon close to my body. When I opened the front, he fell to his knees like it was the door to a chorus of angels.

The man was a pleading mess, but before I could even hear the desperation in his voice, the stink of burnt flesh hit my nostrils with little restraint. My hand flew to cover my nose, my eyes scanning over his lively corpse.

“...Please, you gotta help me, ah- I beg. I need somewhere to stay, I won't be a bother to no one, please just let me…”

His skin was fileted, peeling and blistering at the seams. A faint sizzle accompanied the smoke following his every movement. His shirt was torn, exposing the expanse of his chest where the sweat and seared skin continued. I snuck a glance. Must've been the will of god keeping this man together, and not much else. He kept turning to watch the sun, as if he couldn't let it get too close or he'd be caught in the worst game of hide-and-seek. The light didn't seem close enough for all this ruckus.

I completely forgot about the gun in my grasp. Something odd about the man's energy — maybe his smell — made it impossible not to gawk. Like this interaction would stay with me forever. “What is your name, señor?”

His breathing was frantic, hands feeling the floorboards of the porch he kneeled on for balance. Had the sun taken upon itself to beat this poor man nearly to death? He could barely keep his eyes open, and when he did, they landed on the silver rosary draped over my neck. I could see his thoughts multiplying in real time. He scrambled until he found a way to convince me.

“Name's Remmick — ma'am please consider granting me shelter. I'd be eternally grateful, good woman. Have mercy on my soul, grant me salvation…”

He skipped past his name like that was the unimportant part. All that religious nonsense drowned in my ears. I gestured to the yard where the morning began for me. “Go ‘round the house, you can stay in my shack.” There was no way I'd allow that smell inside my home.

The burnt man nodded, rising to his feet only to stumble around the corner. I turned back around, sliding through the backdoor again to make my way up the hill, towards the shack.

The chicken clucks grew louder, until they were entirely spooked by the man's appearance. His humanity remained unrecognizable, so I couldn't blame them for thinking a predator was nearby.

That being said, I raised my gun with one eye closed for accuracy. Didn't really need it with him standing a few feet away, but it emphasized my point. The burnt man flinched and surrendered, hands in the air up by his head.

“Ho- Hold on now…”

“Who's after you and what the hell did you do to deserve it?”

“I didn’ do nothin’, I swear, ah… Was them Indians. They did this to me.”

He laced the word with venom, seemingly having several run-ins with them.

“And they probably had every right to.”

“Nah, they a ruthless people.”

“Well, my gradaddy's Indian, on my ma's side, so what does that make me, hm?”

The burnt man froze like he had just waltzed into a minefield. I knew what he was thinking: if I knew the Indians, could I let them finish what they started? Truth was, I wasn't well acquainted with that side of the family. He just fell for my bluff. Only part of it was genuine.

“Pardon me, then. Desperate times call for desperate measures, but see — you're not like them. They hunt in groups. You've got no one nearby for miles. Civilization's that-a-way,” he pointed off to somewhere distant with a jab of his thumb, “and I don't see no ring, meaning that you really do live alone. These some dangerous parts, lady.”

“You're telling me?” I said, still holding the shotgun aimed at his head.

He fell down to his knees again, crumbled up like tears were about to spill. I had never seen a man so destroyed. It made my heart flutter. Eyes widden. “Please, lady, I beg of you, I didn’ mean to cause no harm! Word spreads like wildfire and now all of a sudden I've got a tribe on my ass in every state. I never done nothin’ to no Ute, I swear.”

Contemplating, I sighed, lowering my weapon. It would be a waste of bullets anyway. A push could kill this guy after all he's been through. My boots crunched the dirt below, pushing through the door and setting my gun down on the table to search through the chicken supplies. Whenever it got cold in Silverton, I covered the metal coop cage with blankets to help insulate it.

The wool blanket fell comfortably onto the wooden paneling floor of the shack, yet Remmick remained outside. He sat on the grass, I'm guessing he never stood up after dropping to his knees, and watched me arrange things for him inside from the doorway. He stared maybe in disbelief, eyes tracing the interior slowly. His presence was magnetic.

“Adelante, señor, ‘fore I change my mind and strangle you with this here wool.”

He chuckled at that, but it didn't sound like he found it funny. His chuckle was dark, glad.

Remmick savored each step inside. “A good woman you are, indeed. May God grant you with the same generosity you've shown me today — amen.”

I adjusted his makeshift bed, patting down the sheet for a space all to himself. I figured it didn't have to be too comfortable. He wouldn't stay for too long, I'd make sure of it. “You're gonna need a lot more than prayer to nurse you back to health, sir.”

“You think so? A believer, with no faith in your God?”

“He's not my God.”

Remmick stood away from the door, lingering in a corner where no sunlight could hit him. I accommodated, closing the blinds so the warm rays weren't so harsh on his exposed flesh. “Mine neither. But my, is that a lovely chaplet.”

“It's my mother's.” My chest rose with sharp breath, something on my mind. “What kind of a name is ‘Remmick’ anyway?”

He was by my side before I could turn around, hand hovering over the space in my chest where the cross lay. His restraint slipped far enough to stand next to me, but not enough to touch the silver. His eyes — they were dazed with his mouth agape. I spoke again, softer this time. “Where are you from?”

“Far. Real far.”

Remmick tilted his head, a bit of drool spilling past the corner of his mouth. My eyes caught it glimmering in the light.

“You must be starvin’.”

“Famished. You got something for me?”

His words were throaty. Suggestive. I did have something, I just couldn't give it to him.

Hurricanes were mostly foreign to this side of the country, but one raged inside the shack. The warm air rose, humidity prickling my skin and making me sweat. His dark curls stuck to his forehead, shirt worn out and plastered onto his fair skin. All that, and yet the temperature radiating around his fingertips was no warmer than ice itself. I could thaw his soul with my palms alone. Hot breath to melt him down to a heat that made sense. Or he could close the space and find an equilibrium between our bodies.

He chuckled through his nose, half of his lip pulling up to flash me a canine. “Not like that.”

“I wasn't-”

“You're too kind.”

I huffed. He's a complete stranger and he's already under my skin. I bent down for the bucket of feed, nothing else to see here.

“Hide. Heal. Leave. I don't give a damn, but I've got no pittance for you. I want you gone by sunup. ¿Entiendes?”

I didn't glance back when I brushed past the burnt man. Theoretically: out of sight, out of mind. The only downside to that saying was it didn't account for the sound of the hens begging me not to leave his stank with them.

I hated feeling paranoid. For the first time in weeks, a pair of eyes accompanied me during my daily-tasks. He ate with me at breakfast, treaded the wet floors with caution as I mopped, sorted my mail, washed my hair, tucked me into bed, all without moving a muscle. The burnt man didn't step foot outside the shack the entire time — maybe sitting back to watch me look over my shoulder all day, expecting him to be there. Even in the dead of night, when we both should've been asleep, I jumped out of my skin, sitting up with an obsessive compulsion to check if Remmick was still there.

Watching me.

The next morning, I woke up out of habit. Never had it been so eerily quiet. Hairs from across my body united to rise in anticipation. A sickly sweet feeling settled in my gut — not a school-girl sensation like butterflies, but instead the urge to give Remmick something to eat.

I convinced myself to sink down at the vanity and get to plucking, redirecting that energy towards the skin between my brows. Ma would be proud. A man and a makeover before the day even began.

Usually the hens never had to wait this long for me to feed them. It took picking the right outfit to drag me out of the house: an old blue frock from my mother's wardrobe, brown-leather oxfords, my hair tied low, adorned with a matching blue ribbon, and panty hose that were a pain to slip on. That only meant they'd be a joy to take off.

The tin bucket of maize crashed onto the floor the moment my eyes met the mangled rooster corpse waiting for me at the doorstep. I froze in place, throat threatening to scream but my tears flying first. The past six years of mornings spent together came to a sudden stop, now that he lay there lifeless in front of me. Apart from the green shimmer in his feathers, what remained wasn't too recognizable; a feast for the flies. A coyote couldn't have done this. His body was deliberately set there to rest for me to stumble upon.

It was the burnt man.

I worked out a motive as I buried the rooster's body in the yard, away from the hens’ line of sight. They were trying to warn me of what man could accomplish once he felt hungry, placed on this Earth merely to corrupt and consume. And it was all my fault.

For the rest of the day, I tried so hard not to think about him that it ended up being the only thought in my mind. How infuriating it was. Apart from selling eggs and buying from the market, I had no reason to linger in town, so, to my mother's displeasure, I was never meeting people. Meeting boys, now men. Any man I had met was quick on his feet, blindly searching for things within the clutter and leaving once they found what they were looking for; they couldn't be bothered to stay behind and help me clean the mess.

I thought Remmick would be the same, and it didn't bother me this time because it would be on my own accord, but he seemingly came across the rooster first and guiltily returned its body here. A simple meeting, but it left us both craving more.

That's why when I heard one of the hens squeal in the middle of the night, I ran out of the house immediately. No time for a jacket or slippers, even if that meant wandering the woods in just my sleepwear like a maniac.

The dry forest floor could have been kinder to my bare feet, but it barely ever rained in June. In addition, I wasn't in any position to complain. I made my way through the vignette, glittery stars above me offering no help. Branches reached for the sky, hiding la luna blanca, prying her gaze away from the infidels roaming the night. Brittle bones made for little warmth. Truly every sign possible yet I refused to go back inside.

Not until twigs began to snap in my direction. And suddenly my breath was not the only sign of vitality. Nor my eyes, as two red dots stood across from me. An ache struck my temple — the evolutionary reflex to start running for my life.

Within minutes, my lungs ran out of air enough to make breathing hurt. Leaves revealed my exact location no matter where I ran, and even the trees betrayed me, protruding their roots to trip me until eventually I fell, whipping a stick to my knee on the way down. By the sound of it, the lace hem of my sleepwear ripped too. Layers of earth didn't offer much cushioning, my hands and chin hitting the ground hard.

When a predator is on the hunt, stay down.

I panted into the blades of grass, awaiting his approach. My body tensed while weakly flipping to lay on its side, my chest tall like hills and valleys.

Remmick stepped in no rush, keeping the image of me dirtied and torn intact in his memory. His eyes shined like rubies trained on my existence. Most strikingly so were his teeth, too large for his mouth but so beautifully framed by his lips. A shiver went down my spine, face to face with something human only from a distant memory.

“Hello, lass. We meet again.”

I smiled, pushing my hands onto the ground to lift myself but hissing when I felt the cut at my knee. Nothing too deep, just one of those annoying scrapes. Same went for my chin. Remmick paused, expression falling and replaced with unease. There goes that calculating again. Flickering from my face, to my knee, and back, before rapidly blinking out of it. Whatever the dilemma, he had made up his mind. Remmick hushed me, pressing a crooked finger to his lips.

“Shh, I've got you now, sweet girl. Don’ pout.”

He bent down, helping me up, then hooking his arms below my limbs to lift me. The whole way back, I curled into his hold, a lingering metallic smell from his clothes hitting my nostrils. He didn't consider bringing me inside the house, heading straight towards the shack.

He set me down at the edge of the table, my gun from earlier leaning against the wall. I hoped to meet his eyes again, but he was more concerned with my wounds.

Remmick gently traced his nails over the meat of my thighs, not at all trying to inflict pain despite their previously sharp nature. He pressed his lips to my cheekbone and pecked down the side of my face until he met my chin. Hands, long and large, grabbed my jaw and held it in place as he sighed over the scrape.

“S'just a scratch.”

He groaned. “I'll make it better.”

I sat still while Remmick swiped his tongue over the scrape. For a moment it stung, a hiss escaping past my teeth, but he eased the pain with a kiss to my chin.

His nose pressed against my jugular when I asked, “What are you?”

No answer, until, “Take a gander?”

“We have a word — anticristo.”

“Antichrist? Well, personally that's not fair. I ain't against anybody.”

“You murdered my rooster.”

Remmick sighed at my collarbone, dragging his mouth the whole way there, breath hitching and brows curling as the rosary burned his lips. “And he was tasty, darlin’.”

“What do you want wit'me? Gonna kill me too?”

“I want the same thing you want with me. To satiate you. Or am to I misunderstand your runnin' about? And here I was, tryna be a gentleman.” His snout traced the shape of my breast and laid a kiss to my ribs, encouraging me to rest with a hand sliding towards my back. He slipped his mouth to the inside of my other breast ahead of his words. “Next time I'll just take you there on the forest floor instead.”

Words clogged my throat, forbidding myself from interjecting. If I had just let him inside my home, gave him something to warm eat, that rooster's blood wouldn't have been on my hands. But something told me this was no longer in my control, or that from the moment he appeared at my front door, I no longer had any control at all. One last nip at my hip bone and he was gone, sneaking onto his knees.

“Been a while, ain't it? I could tell… been eatin’ me with your eyes since the moment we met.”

His fingertips peaked underneath my gown, searching for my underwear. Peeling the silk layer down, the air made me jump, mingling with the conflicting temperatures of Remmick. The cold tip of his nose, juxtaposed by his hot tongue. Flat and everywhere, so engulfed in his warmth I couldn't keep still.

My head fell back, leaning on the wall, finding it hard to keep my mouth shut as he invaded the space between my legs. Fangs teased my lips, Remmick not wanting to cut me but the hunger at the front of his mind. His hands held my thighs down so the wet onslaught could continue. Only when my fingers awkwardly fidgeted in my lap did he let go, placing me at his head. I looked down, grabbing at his brunette locks when our gaze finally met. The view of him below me was simply erotic — nuzzled in my hair too stubborn to pull away, eyes glazed over and swiping his tongue inside me with an unrelenting desire. He favored the button to see my reaction. My bashful thoughts had become reality, pervertedly hoping for this since he stood nearly dead at my doorstep. The real thing was somehow even better. Remmick craved it just as much as I did.

He knew when I was about to come before I did, listening to the flow of blood swelling the area. He drew back and spat at me. Each second we spent apart made the pleasure pulse away, causing me to groan. Remmick stood, licking my taste off his lips, words by my ear and fingers at the focus of my stimulation. “Pretty pussy, ain't she? I'd roam the desert for a drop of her. Drives me crazy…”

His other hand splayed over my tummy, applying pressure over the digits wriggling inside. Remmick coaxed a reaction out of me, massaging my walls, my heels nearly lifting onto the tabletop as I cried out fragments of his name. Obscenities bounced off the wooden shack walls to his satisfaction, my own juices mingling with his saliva from a moment ago.

“Oh, ceòl àlainn (beautiful music)!”

Remmick and I panted like wild dogs, the rhythm making me croon and making him match the pace with his hips, mindlessly humping at my unscathed knee, leaking a wet spot in his slacks. I released him from the tightened seams to wrap my gown around his length and pump him over the cotton. His jaw dropped, knees threatening to give out as a pathetic sound left his throat. I held him close by the back of the neck, pleading for my life while my nails dented his skin. I spoke in grunts before the words could find me. “Remmick, please.”

He chuckled at me, resting his forehead over mine. His thumb rolled my clit like a pearl between his fingers. I spasmed and cried, Remmick mimicking my face when he dripped cum onto my thighs, staining the fabric where the cloth met his tip. His heavy fingers slid out and into his mouth with little hesitation. Meanwhile, I sat there, brain buzzing and catching my breath.

The transition from the table to the wool blanket on the shack floor had the same amount of care Remmick put into everything else tonight. I laid my head on his torso, and he set his hand on the side of my hip. We both could get used to this level of domesticity, I could tell because of the conversation we had after.

“Earlier, you said something. What language was that?”

He smirked, sitting up on his elbows. “My tongue, y’mean? Gaelic, from the motherland. Éire.”

I blinked in confusion, having enough gripes with English and Spanish alone. “Er-ruh?”

“Eh-ra. Eh-ra — yeah, you've got it.” Remmick cupped my face with a hand, directing my mouth the way he wanted. “Éire.”

“Éire.”

He patted the side of my face, “Ah. Gorgeous, hm. Anyhoo — a lost language — that's what it is. The light s’dimming with no sticks to keep the fire alive. My people… we've lost so much. What about you? You, and your Romantic tongue?”

“Stop it. I'm not fluent. My ma raised me with English and Spanish, but the more I live in America, with American peoples, the less I find myself using it. Ma says I shouldn't stop trying, else I'll lose myself.”

“Thas’ good. Never lose yourself.”

“Hey, maybe we can learn each other's languages.”

“I could make that happen. We can have each other's memories. Show you all of Éire from here right in our shack. Make you like me. And all you have to do is feel jus’ a pinch. You'd want that?”

Hmph. “I'll have to think about it.”

Sleep captured me well, Remmick's cool, dead body below me acting as the best pillow imaginable. He was gone when I woke up, getting a head start on rising up before the sun did.

Our next encounter happened about a week later, at sundown. I had come back from a day at the market, catching a figure with a makeshift bouquet of flowers in his hold. We wore matching colors, his mustard shirt and my light yellow dress. Thin material for the heat, and easy on the eyes.

“Missed you,” he muttered, nodding my way. I kissed him with a lifelong intimacy, delivering a hum from my mouth to his. Even so, he still refused to follow me inside. “We have to be invited in first.”

The decision seemed like an easy one, but it held weight. A moment ago I wasn't aware he couldn't waltz in a room all willy-nilly, but now granting him access to my home meant irreversible entry for the rest of time. That usually wasn't something you could control. Well, at this moment, I wanted Remmick inside my home, and he would have to respect my boundaries otherwise like any regular human-being.

“Come in.”

He sat across from me at the dinner table, candles lit, watching me eat with a kind, stupid smile as though the corned beef and rice satiated his belly too.

“Why chickens?” Most of our conversations were question-based. That's what a relationship is like, I suppose. Getting to know the ins and outs of a person. Within these discussions was where I learned the stipulations of his vampirism; and how much my silver rosary tempted him.

“I don’ like goats.”

Remmick raised his thin brows, already amused. “Well, go on then.”

“We had just moved here. Ma was looking for business, and it was between a couple o’goats or a coop with chickens. I begged her not to take the goats. Not with that billy starin’ at me like that. Black coat and horns curling in on themselves. Mm-mm. Looked like the devil incarnate. I grew up hearin’ stories about a monster that would eat livestock in the dead of night. Sounded like it was just doin’ God's work to me.”

He stared at the table and smiled, taking my story as a compliment. “Oh, I have another one. Tell me about your family. The day we met, you said your grandfather's an Indian?”

“Yeah, my ma's father. He fell in love with a woman outside of the tribe. He got shunned, as they couldn't accept his wife as part of the family. Things got complicated. My mother made things even worse, getting knocked up by a cattle rancher, who got on his horse and rode away before I was born. When the time came, my mother assimilated for a lump sum of money from the government. We moved to this house when I was six, giving up any ‘Indian-ness’ for a full-fledged Latino-American lifestyle.”

“Wow.” Remmick shook his head in sympathy. “Labels often get in the way of fellowship.”

I wiped my mouth with the tablecloth, shrugging. “You like music?”

“Oh, I love music.” He put a hand to his chest, “music brings people together. Universal language of life.”

The topic ignited a fire in his eyes. I felt glad I brought it up. “I'd love to dance with you, Remmy. Wait here.”

I rose from the table, leaving Remmick patiently waiting while I made my way down the hall and to my mother's bedroom. Discarded for almost a month now, the room smelled distinctly of her scent. Her signature perfume and favorite lotion stayed behind, leaving the room a frozen frame in her memory. I dug through her things until I found what I came for. The tambourine in my grasp jingled when I flinched, not seeing Remmick at the doorway until now. He stood quietly, staring past me and at the room. The scent brought him here, evident in the way Remmick's nose twitched. I shook the instrument purposely this time, rising to my feet. “Found it.” He motioned an arm towards the living room, and I happily followed, a smile forming on my face from how much louder the house became already. With him here, I didn't have to get used to the silence.

On deciding what song to dance to, muscle memory kicked in and I hit the tambourine to a tune my mother used to play for me. For the life of me I couldn't remember the words. I just played in a circle, my skirt swishing around me, until Remmick wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and joined in.

"It's been the ruin of many a poor girl... and God, I know I'm one..."

The song had been one we heard on the radio in town. A nearby shop had it loud enough you could hear the music down the street. Something about it brought us loving joy, the earworm staying with us until this day.

Remmick and I partied like children on a sugar-rush, working up a sweat before giving our feet a rest by laying on the cool tile, limbs spread out. We had flown through songs, Remmick pairing the sway of my hips with sporadic kicks. I attempted to teach him salsa, apologizing every time I nearly stepped on his feet. His solution was to make me laugh, picking me up and spinning me in the air. In return, we waltzed, Remmick holding one hand up to guide me and the other on my back to keep me close. He alluded to his childhood being much farther from mine, but dancing with me made him feel like a kid again. His cheeks plumpened with a genuine smile, so sweet it stuck to your teeth. He was happy here, no longer on the run from people trying to hunt him. Could they really blame his will to survive? We all have to eat, anyway.

I awoke in bed. Remmick set me somewhere more comfortable before making me wait even longer for his return: two whole weeks, afraid of staying too long he might get comfortable. This deeply saddened me. He cannot continue to isolate, not when I was at home waiting to love him.

I spent more time in town to snuff out my boredom, stuck in a rocking chair listening to the other women gossip. One woman, who I knew since moving here, had gotten married recently. Sitting in a chair, anxiously playing with her gold wedding band, she went on and on about her husband, ranting about how he seemed so perfect, but mysteriously disappeared the night before. She was convinced he was off with another woman.

I never had any stories to tell, until she caught me smiling to myself. “What's got you so giddy?”

Everyone averted their gaze in my direction. I kept my head down so I wouldn't have to make eye contact. “I met someone.”

The women chattered in unison, shocked and bombarding me with questions:

“You met someone? Cooped up in those mountains like you do?”

“What does he look like? Is he handsome?”

“Is he any good? Y'know…?”

All I had to do was nod once, and the chattering doubled. I felt like I was back at home, sitting in my shack beside the chicken coop, waiting for Remmick to return.

One fateful night, while preparing to run out into the woods again, forcing another confrontation, I caught him lingering outside in my backyard. He dug his shoes in the dirt, hands in his pockets, lost in his thoughts. I folded the bedsheets over, angrily stomping uphill towards him. In the distance, a thunderclap.

“How long you been standin’ out here?”

“‘Bout ten minutes.”

“Why do you keep avoiding me?”

“Darlin’, we can't keep doing this.”

A flash of lightning, followed by more thunder. I froze. It wasn't going to end like this. My silence meant he could continue, “it's in my nature to want to kill you. Every touch reminds me that my teeth were carved to puncture your skin. When you fall asleep in my arms, it's in my instinct to make sure you never wake up. Your life is my forbidden fruit, and I cannot keep putting you in danger. Why'd I even…”

I could see him deconstruct our relationship, regret creeping into his expression, and I couldn't accept it. “No, Remmy, be honest with yourself. You love me. And I love-”

“Darlin’, please don't-”

“I love you, too!”

My vision went white, the lightning getting too close. In a desperate attempt to scare me away, Remmick hissed, lunging at my throat with nails threatening to cut me. He had bared his teeth, top and bottom row elongated within seconds, prepared to tear into muscle. His eyes were inhumanely red and blank, like a mindless animal who only knew how to hunt. This had been the monster he warned me of. I only flinched at the initial sudden movement, I swore.

He cradled my head, one hand large enough to wrap around my entire neck, staring down at me like I was supposed to accept death. I reached for his face and kissed him. Heavy rain poured from the night sky.

Surprisingly our first kiss, our lips crashed and our eyes closed, melting into each other to finally find that equilibrium. One of his arms traveled down to my waist, fondly holding me close. Remmick bit my bottom lip, drawing less blood than he would have if he hadn't given up on intimidating me. I spoke over his mouth in hushed words, “don't leave me, too…”

He growled in response, leading me backward before using the slightest incline of the hill to pull me into his arms, carrying me back down and kicking the back door open. Upon reaching my bedroom, Remmick laid me down and returned to my mouth. I felt him everywhere, our hands shedding damp layers until all that remained was hair and skin, my rosary banished to the bedside table. He found sanctuary between my legs, grinding himself and hardening with my arousal. The golden chain draped over his neck swung to the movement. Our bodies rocked together, matching hurried breaths as my fingers scratched at his nape, lacing through his sweaty brunette locks.

Remmick whined, met with brutal realization he was meant to be here. He no longer had to hide, leaking precum down the center. “Oh, baby, you makin’ a mess out of me,” he whispered, allowing the loudest sound in the room to be our bodies. The tip paused at my entrance, squeezing him tighter the farther he pushed. His hold forced my hips down by the bone. He kept at it until he sobbed. Watching his eyebrows curl to meet in the center, he filled my cavity to the brim. I arched my back from the sensation, removing the space between our naked chests, when Remmick spoke soothingly at my jaw: “I was made for you… a millennium came and went, and I finally found my destiny, here.”

His weight drew in and out, sloppily sliding out before clicking back in like a magnet. A low moan forced itself from my diaphragm, the repetitive motion utterly euphoric. “Fuck.”

Remmick entertained the idea of speeding up. Our skin slapped upon contact, only adding to the pervasive noises. Skin began to bounce, alluring Remmick to gently bite the delicate skin of my breasts, leaving dents. Each thrust drove me into the mattress, squeaking my bedframe, and earned whimpers from Remmick. He simply took it upon himself to tell me how good he felt. When my hands clawing at his lower back became too much to handle, he flipped us over.

Remmick's thumbs pressed into my hips, gripping them tight enough to leave the skin pink underneath. I gifted him his own set of pink marks, scratching lines down his pale chest. He kept mumbling to himself, evolving into loud groans of pleasure. “The heaven they speak of… It surrounds me — and now I believe.”

Remmick pulled my body down to lay on his, splaying a hand over my lower back to control the pace. His pistoning hips electrified me from the inside-out. “Grind yourself, milis (sweet),” he said in my ear, “use me.”

Bodies stuttering in sync as we braced for impact, the orgasm hit us at the same time. Remmick and I were one in the same. Two exhausted bodies; tangled limbs, drooling in a blurred haze, bounded in a contract signed with sweat. He bared his teeth, teasing over my shoulder so carefully that only one tooth pierced the flesh and drew blood.

The thunderstorm outside hadn't quit. I don't think it would've mattered anyway, as our lover's quarrel happened an hour before dawn. We remained in bed, staring out the window behind the safety of drapes, wasting the day away. Our scents mingled until they unified. I belonged in his arms, transitioning in and out of sex and sleep. I wasn't even ashamed of it. Remmick belonged with me. Tracing shapes onto my side, he promised he'd do anything to keep us together.

I understood the appeal of having a man waiting for you at home. I returned to my chores, greeted by chickens who were less than happy to see me, and spent my days inside with Remmick's company. At night, he would leave to get his fill, then come back bloodied when it was time to start all over again. I adjusted my schedule to this new lifestyle, selling eggs late in the afternoons. Every morning he'd join me in the bath, letting me scrub the copper smell off his body and replace it with romantic lavender suds.

Another month came and went; Remmick and I were inseparable. He soothed me through a menstrual cycle. I was taken aback at first, noting that time truly flies by when you're having fun, but Remmick was the medication I didn't know I needed. He'd leech onto me, draining me of my blood, pain, and sorrows. Everything seemed so much more tolerable with him around. He was my life partner.

And evidently he felt the same way, cooking me dinner one night and asking me to get “dolled up” for him. The nicer dresses were kept in my mother's closet.

Entering her room again after all this time felt melancholic. Webs formed amidst her things. She abandoned me. My mother deserved the life she always wanted, but to leave me here expecting her, with no real intention of coming back, soured our last goodbye. But if she could move on, so could I. I went for the vibrant red dress hung at the back of her closet. Frilly and lively — even if I wouldn't be.

Remmick helped me prepare for the night, bathing me and crafting me in his image. His dinner was unlike anything I had ever seen. One serving, clearly meant for me: golden brown rabbit chunks, surrounded by all sorts of vegetables and garnishes, with a beige stew to tie it all together. This included an off-white beverage poured in a glass to the side, which he motioned toward me, proud his hard work came to fruition. “Buttermilk,” he said with a toothy grin. “Homemade. Thas’ a lavish color on you. We chose well.”

“What's all this for?”

“For your last night human, I thought you'd appreciate a hearty supper. Afterwards, a surprise. Come, sit.”

He monitored every bite, making sure I appreciated the sacred meal, as it would be my last. When the sun fully set, we migrated outside to join the rest of nature. Hand in hand, me and my beloved navigated through the forest, albeit aimlessly. I laughed to myself, nudging his arm. “Are we lost?”

“Couldn't possibly. It'd be hard to miss.”

Right when I was about to ask what he meant, the path abruptly stopped. A gaping hole in the ground, large enough for a person to fit inside, awaited us, about six feet deep. My heart rate spiked, the imagery making all of it feel a bit too real. I gulped.

Remmick dove in first, holding a hand out for me to join. Sensing my hesitation, he thought a smile would ease my nerves. “I've got you, love.”

I accepted his offer, awkwardly sliding down the dirt and planting my feet in the soil.

Palms clasped, I watched as Remmick closed his eyes and began the reception. “Dearly beloved,” he spoke to the wilderness, “we are gathered here tonight, without a soul or almighty being to witness, binding in eternal matrimony, as betrothed. Repeat these vows, as I bestow the bands.

You are blood of my blood, bone of my bone.”

For a moment, my voice never rose to the surface, stuck in my throat and afraid to participate. “You are blood of my blood, bone of my bone.”

Though sealed, Remmick's lips strained against his teeth, which steadily sheathed. My beloved slid a golden ring over my left finger, a single jewel in the middle. “I give you my body, that we might be one.”

My brows furrowed at it, sensing its familiarity. “I give you my body, that we might be one.”

His salivating proved to be too much for his mouth to handle, spilling down the sides. “I give you my spirit, until our life is done.”

Tears prickled in my eyes, unbearably happy. I never dreamt of death. I fantasized about forever. Perhaps I understood why my mother left for love. My turn arrived, sliding a similar ring onto him.“I give you my spirit, until our life is done.” My voice trembled.

He sighed, calmly dropping his shoulders. His predatory red gaze caught in the moonlight. I didn't care for heaven and hell, but if this was the devil across from me, I knew nothing but my love for him. And his, for me.

Remmick led me down in the grave to lay on my back, knelt over me once I was. We were one with Earth and sky, my death-bed of dirt below me with the stars overcast him. He brought the left hand to his face, pressing a kiss to my ring finger and leading his lips to my wrist. My skin crunched, his teeth piercing through as though he were eating an apple. I couldn't hide the pain from my face, and I don't think he expected me to. He didn't flinch at the sound of my shriek. In fact, it seemed to cheer him on — Remmick biting farther to my forearm, switching to my other arm, then my neck — littering me with bites. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by my own blood, the thirsty soil soaking up anything he hadn't. There was when I lost consciousness, going in and out of reality until I eventually became too tired to stay alive.

“There's my sunshine. Took your time, didn'cha? Sorry ‘bout that. Went a little overboard…”

My gums were obnoxiously sore. Vertigo and nausea hit me the moment I sat up in my grave. Still night outside, I must've been gone for no more than ten minutes. Remmick awaited me at the foot of the hole, offering the same hand to help me up. Every movement, no matter how sudden or expected, made the sickness swell in my throat. Visions flooded my eyesight, reaching out to hold Remmick for balance. Fields of green, oceanside cliffs, foggy mountains, Éire; memories that weren't mine. Blood, centuries of insatiable hunger, and inexplicably, my mother.

Her screams, begging for mercy as Remmick's perspective tore into her jugular and ripped apart layers of muscle and skin to drink straight from the source. She cried, calling out to her lover, who was off to the side, slumped into the ground, lifeless. She called out to her savior, praying for the pain to cease, but ultimately met with silence. Lastly, she called for me. Whimpering my name, clawing the space over her heart. She fell back, dead, in my beloved's arms.

My palms and knees met the ground first, despair taking over me and releasing a wail into the previously silent night. Of all his memories, the one of my mother's death looped in my mind. Remmick rubbed my sides, trying to soothe my misery. A comfort to no one, he knew exactly what had me so distraught. “Let it out, darlin’... she didn't suffer long.”

My sobs were so powerful, I must've cracked a rib. I clawed at the ground, nails digging in the dirt to drag my corpse away from the vampire. So overcome with disgust, in myself, in him, I regurgitated the ridiculous amount of saliva collecting in my mouth. “You knew?”

“And how it pains me for you to find out this way. Honey, come back here, let me explain-”

“No! You betrayed me. You abused my trust — you used me like shelter for a parasite!”

“Come on, you don't mean that.”

“You murdered my… my… ma? Ma, estaremos juntos de nuevo (we'll be together again)!”

I crawled until I made it to my feet, stumbling through the forest like a headless-chicken, with Remmick issuing a warning from behind me, “Don't make me have to control your thoughts, milis. I wanted to give you the chance to understand first, ‘fore I make you.”

Remmick stalked after me, relentlessly following now that I've become unobliging. A crazed killer in the woods, with no weapons of his own other than the fact he was the weapon, luring me here to claim me entirely. Strip me of my freewill. Make me like him. Twigs snapped under his strides, until it went completely silent. I glanced behind at the moon, and saw him hovering above, leaping into the sky. I would not escape, which is why he remained in no hurry. I saw my home in the distance, safety within reach when I caught Remmick in my peripheral. He managed to reach my shack, shotgun in both his hands, snapping it down the center over his knee. I wasn't allowed to take the coward's way out. Once inside, I shut the backdoor behind me, hurriedly sliding the locks into place.

“That won't work for you no more, darlin’. I've been invited in!”

Remmick, confident in his delivery, was convinced he knew how this would end. My feet found their way to my mother's bedroom one last time, in search of matches. Then, in the kitchen, for booze. No time for hesitation. The vampire met the front door with violent kicks, busting it down until he found a way inside. Finally, it gave out. Remmick shook his head at my naivety. “I didn't think you'd be this bothered — quite fond of my company you were. I don’ mind a little challenge here and there, but this? All your runnin' about? No worries, I'll make it better. I always do…”

His footsteps hurried when he realized the smell of alcohol was too strong to be coming from a single glass. The flames grew quicker than even I expected, sitting in the center of a ring of fire that would soon engulf the entire home. I would burn among my mother's things. My last decision would be to save myself, after all the danger I had put myself through. Danger mistaken for safety, and unconditional love.

Stubbornness got the best of him. He tip-toed, looking for a way out, trying to steal me from my own salvation, but in the end, he couldn't die for me. Not when he had other goals to achieve. “You and I will meet again, my sweet. Everything will return to the way it was, and then, we'll truly be happy. You'll see. Until then, comhpháirtí saoil (life partner).”

Remmick lingered around until the sun rose, watching the house burn all night long until I reduced to ashes along with it. My death proved to be another tragedy to fan his flames. Another person he lost. Now, just another person he wanted back. Remmick wouldn't stop until he could get a hold of those gifts, unity through music like the filídh could. He would no longer allow the possibility of normalcy to distract him any further.

He'd make this right.

He'd save me.

He'd make it better. He always did.