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Alright yall I got a pt 2 of Meet Your Match in the works. Did not expect anyone to read that shit LMAO.
Love yall tho 🙂↕️
I’m super open as far as this acct goes which means I’ll take suggestions and comments. I’m just doin it for the love of the game.
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Meet Your Match
Remmick x fem!reader fic
Summary: You are a bit of a loner admittedly, but you are NOT a damsel in distress. With a mother who practiced traditional spiritualism from her homeland and a father native to the land you call home, you’ve heard tale of vampires. So, when one starts to show up around your cozy little slice of home on the outskirts of the woods—you know just what to do with him.
Potential smut warning: not in this but if I continue there ABSOLUTELY will be lmao (I’m just a girl)
Yall i am not trying to edge anybody i just dont know if anyone will read this lmao, if you want more I’ll write more mkay :)
This is my first fic so liek, if there are mistakes no there aren’t!
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The sun is just starting to lower behind the distant mountain range on the western horizon. You watch as the rays of warm golden light refract scattered beams onto the river. They paint the flowing water in a kaleidoscope of color as it passes your calves, licking them with cold.
Woven cloth skirt tied up around your hip to keep from the frigid water, you look over the few portly fish you’ve managed to trap against the rocks and finesse into your basket and hum with satisfaction.
Yes, this’ll do for tonight.
And if you flay the meat and dry it properly, it will make an excellent dried snack for your travels on horseback.
Your skin is warm from the sun of the afternoon, and you relish in the sensation of it before stepping out of the river and onto the soft bank.
There, you wrap up your catch and sling your fishing basket across your chest where it rests snugly against your shoulder blades. Home isn’t far, and your spirits are high.
The late spring time is beautiful in Mississippi. Sunlight heats up the towns like hot plates, but here in your own little piece of land on the edge of the forest it warms things just right.
The air is jumping and lively with moisture, but the buzzing gnats have only just started to emerge. It’s the sweet spot of the season.
Swish in your walk and a soft song on your lips, you make your way home.
A trek you’ve made many times, it requires almost no thought. Your legs are strong, and muscle memory carries you in between ancient redwoods and over rich land.
By the time you make it home the last bit of sunlight has kissed the horizon.
It feels right to move this way, guided by the sun and moon and the light, just as your mother did-and hers before.
What you have isn’t much, but it’s yours. Your little dwelling is more than enough. Before your birth, your father had built and fortified it himself with broad tan hands you had loved so much to hold as a child.
They were always riddled with cracks and blisters from long days of labor, but you never minded.
Seze, your broodish mare, chuffs at you as you pass her. She’s snout deep in the grass behind your home, chestnut brown tail flicking behind her, back twitching in an attempt to keep the unruly flies away.
“Always such attitude for me huh-”
You stop to greet her, laughing starkly as she presses her wet nose into your hair and begins to nibble your exposed curls.
Gently swatting her away, a wide smile curls the corners of your lips.
You release your basket from and set it down by your unlit hearth and the smoothed redwood logs laid out around it.
The cicadas are singing now, and the sounds of a wet Mississippi night lay heavily over you like a heavy blanket.
Shoot, need my knife to get to work on dinner.
The thought broaches your mind and you have every intention of grabbing your trusty flaying knife from inside. With long strides you come up on the threshold, back facing the darkened tree line.
Just as you move forwards and press through the beaded chains lining the entrance, you hear it.
“Howdy there ma’am”
A man’s voice, dripping in Mississippi southern charm, scares the living soul out of you.
Startled and entirely taken off guard, you turn on your heels.
Heart rate through the roof, a hand clutching your racketing heart, you lock eyes with your unexpected visitor.
He’s. . .not what you expected by his voice alone. His pale skin has an almost luminous quality in the fresh moonlight. He’s tall but not impressively so, about your height perhaps, with hair that could be sandy blonde or pitch black with the way it’s washed out in moonlight.
You can’t quite tell.
However, there are two things that strike you right away.
The first–you don’t get unexpected visitors.
You’re at least a ten mile trek from the nearest big town on foot, and nestled right up against the river in a way that makes you purposefully undetectable to most.
The second, his eyes are entirely wrong.
Wrong, not in the sense of brown or blue, hazel or green.
Like a predators, they’re darkened with black and you swear that under the moonlight they almost glow. A halo of red illuminated in the darkness. Blood red like the sweetest fruit and the freshest sin.
As most white men in the nearby towns do–he’s dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark brown pants, suspenders and all.
Too clean, too proper for these woods.
“Well that’s my bad miss, I truly didn’t mean to scare you. Jus stumbled upon this lovely home of yours by happenstance.”
He steps out from the tree line with his arms up in a casually familiar gesture that does absolutely nothing to lower the raised hairs lining your arms and legs or slow your racing heart.
Unclenching your fists, you swallow your apprehension and answer him.
“Is that so?”
Your voice is stern and even, you give nothing away.
Unsure of what to make of him just yet, your eyes follow him with every movement.
The blood of your ancestors is singing through your veins with warning.
The humming of the night has gone deathly quiet all of a sudden. Your breath quickens and your pulse begins to thud deeply behind your ears.
“Now please, forgive me here ma’am. I had no mind to frighten you.”
His voice washes over you, sickly sweet and thick like syrup. The longer he speaks the more his southern charm feels almost artificial. You can’t place it, but you’ve lived in Mississippi all your life–and something ain’t right with the way this white man curls his a’s and tightens up his t’s.
Hand over his heart, he steps forward again, closing the distance between you slowly, cautiously.
This close, maybe 50 or so feet apart, you notice the way harsh way light reflects off his teeth as he smiles a charming, toothy grin. Clearly attempting to soothe you out of your better instincts.
He’s handsome, in an imperfect yet pleasing way.
The type of face that feels strong of character.
The kind that feels easy to love.
Yeah, I know better don’t I?
Instinctively, your arm shoots out straight in front of you with an open palm.
“Right there is far enough, thank you.”
This time your voice has an edge, a warning. You couldn’t keep the fear from tinging your voice this time. The threat in the air feels palpable now.
In the back of your mind there are racing thoughts, memories of old times when ancient beings with inhuman forms and red eyes used to drown people in fear.
Of how they used to be capable of cunning manipulation with their slick words. Of how achingly beautiful they could be. And oh, how wicked.
“Woah there, no need to be afraid. I’m not here to cause ya any harm miss. . .?”
He trails off in that almost impeccable southern twang, arms still raised, looking at you expectantly.
Simultaneously, you realize the evident coincidence of his arrival and the waning presence of the sun.
Oh he’s good.
His gaze is greedy underneath all of that charm, like a cat watching a Canary–envisioning the swift kill and the sweet reward.
You have no intention of answering him.
Don’t give anything away.
Inside, you know your father’s absolute clunker of a shotgun is loaded and waiting, just across the threshold.
You know your twin colt pistols are stashed underneath your bed, and that your hunting arrows can be coated with poison in less than 30 seconds under duress.
The rest of the cooking knives are small but useful in a pinch, but there’s one in particular that could get the job done.
Focusing your attention on him keenly now, you speak.
“I think it’s best if you get on now, it’s late and I’m sure you’re aware it’s a long way back to town.”
Your words come out at a measured pace, sticking your meaning with every word.
“Ah that’s not very nice now is it? It’s quite a ways back to town and I’m tired as a damn dog.”
The facade begins to drop, just a little. Is that desperation slipping into his tone?
You notice how he’s managed to edge a few more feet forward, his eyes lock onto you with a sharp hunger that burns through his unsuspecting demeanor.
He must be starving .
Realizing the severity of your situation, you hedge your bets. Pulse thrumming, palms sweating, you make your decision.
Ah, fuck it.
“Leave now. You’ll get no blood from me tonight, demon.”
As your voice carries over to him, the distance between you suddenly feels all too small.
Like somehow he’s compressed it with sheer will.
The air crackles with tension, a bead of sweat drips down the back of your neck.
Bowing his head, you feel yourself startle all over again as this stranger starts to laugh.
It starts as a deep chuckle, rolling into a loud boisterous laugh. Under different circumstances you might’ve even found the sound attractive.
Not in these ones.
Shaking with the effort of it, he slowly raises his head to meet your eyes.
Razor sharp teeth crowd his mouth with a deadly grin, saliva dripping from his lips, eyes burning red and black as night.
Somehow still so unearthly handsome.
“Oh darling, I’m not just here for blood”
Fuuuuuuck.
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- It was me. I was the guy who shot and missed.
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PRINCESS MONONOKE 1997, dir. Hayao Miyazaki
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Hellboy (2004) Directed by Guillermo del Toro
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Omfg I’m back from the dead and am actually writing holy shit
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an mj being taller than peter appreciation post
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Pedro and Baby Yoda being too cute for words ♡
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