your best friend geto looks like he's been accosted. eyes wide, jaw slack, face all but screwed up in surprise at the words that have just come out of your mouth. what was it you said you were reading about? triple penetration? he might pass out.
you can't help but laugh at the look he's giving you. "what? you didn't watch porn when you were still a virgin?"
without warning, he snatches your phone right out of your hand and squints at the screen. "my porn was tasteful," he tsks. "this is... uncouth."
"uncouth?" you try to take back your phone, just for him to roll over in bed and hold it out of reach. you're half on top of him in seconds, clawing at his bulky arm. "give it back!"
"what is dac..." he stifles a laugh at the way you try so desperately for your archive of erotica. "...dacryphilia?"
"you don't know? what, no game? no hoes? bitches?"
"i manage, thank you," he rolls the both of you over and pins you down against the mattress, which has your breath hitching in your throat for some reason. it makes him smirk like a fucking idiot. "what, nervous?"
no... yes? you don't know. suguru has never made you feel nervous... jittery, maybe. you'd use nauseous, in both the good and bad way. sometimes he gives you this look that makes you feel like you have food poisoning. your body seems to react to him at the extreme.
you've always been touchy with each other. your friendship has been physical since day oneâif you aren't touching, you're not in the same room. it's just how it's always been, a hand on his arm as you walk together, or his arm around your shoulders when you're seated. it's... normal. familiar.
so thisâsuguru pinning you down by the wrists, his long black hair falling down to tunnel your vision right onto that pretty face of hisâprobably shouldn't get you this wet.
or wet at all, really.
"tears," you say, for some fucking reason. "dacryphilia, it's crying, or making someone cry. like being overstimulated, or... humiliated, to the point of tears. or just crying for the sake of it."
geto looks down at you, and you try not to watch the muscles of his arms bulge as he keeps you locked beneath him. "i know."
you frown. "you know?"
"i just wanted to hear you try and explain it," he laughs. "fucking pervert."
"i'm going to kill you slowly," you wriggle beneath him. "get off me, suguru."
"or what? you'll cry? i think you're into that..." he teases, and manages to shift both of your wrists into one hand so that he can reach for your phone again. he thumbs it open and resumes your 'history' tab with a shit-eating grin. "virginity loss... best friends to lovers... size kink... corruption... breeding? really?"
"shut the fuck up," you hiss. you buck your hips up, not to throw him offâbecause you can admit he's bigger, heavier and a whole lot stronger than you areâbut out of pure frustration. except your movement only presses you tighter against where his thighs cage your hips, and you freeze. you think something pathetic leaves your lips, but you can't quite hear yourself over the mortification bubbling up in your chest.
"oh?" he notices, of course.you want to claw his stupid handsome face off. "don't tell me this is working for you."
"it's not," you snap. "you are so fucking full of yourself, geto."
"suguru," he corrects you. "say it properly. and by the look on your face right now i'd wager that you'd rather be the one full of me."
god you hate him sometimes. "embarrassing me isn't funny."
"it's a little funny."
"fuck you."
"you look like you'd love to," he lowers his hips a little, and for the first time in your life, you feel the weight of a rock-hard cock pressing against you. "tell me to stop and i will. we can go get food or something, forget this happened."
the switch in tone from teasing to gentle makes you smile, which makes keeping up the disgruntled act a lot harder. the thought of verbalising your need right now makes you nauseous, so you opt instead for a shake of your head.
"great," he nods, and slowly releases your wrists. "you can take that back whenever you want, just tell me and i'll back off."
"what are you..." you're cut off when suguru hands you your phone back with a scrunched up nose.
"read it," he says. "out loud. if you stop, i stop."
you're confused only until you check your screen and see that geto has opened up one of your most recently read pieces and scrolled down to a rather graphic scene of the main character being eaten out by her best friend. it's a little ironic, considering the state you're in, but you can't bring yourself to be embarrassed when your own best friend is kissing down your stomach and hooking his fingers under the waistband of your shorts.
he's going to go down on you? but he's hard, and for as much porn as you've read, most of it depicts the guy taking what he wants.
"aren't you going to... you know? fuck me?"
your shorts and panties are pulled down in one swift movement, and suguru buries his face in your thigh to stifle his laugh. his body shakes with the force of it, which makes you frown. your pussy is a few inches from his face, and he's laughing like the prospect of taking your virginity is funny.
"you couldn't take me," he smiles up at you. "now read."
suddenly self-conscious, you try clamp your thighs shut, just to (once again) find yourself pinned down by his strong arms. "this is weird," you whine. "you're my... i mean we... you know? friends. best friends."
holding eye contact, suguru slowly lowers himself down to press a chaste kiss to your clit. it's not much contact, but it makes you jolt nonetheless. doesn't feel like how you had imagined it when you'd lay in bed late at night with your nose in a book and your hand between your legs. this is... better. feels right.
"still weird?" he asks, to which you nod without really meaning it. "weird like your porn on that phone?"
"suguru i swear to god if you don'tâoh my god."
you forgive that man for all of the teasing he'd one as soon as he gets to work on you. flattening out his tongue against your pussy and tasting you for the first time has him already grinding against the mattress, and has you squeezing your eyes shut as you try to process this new realm of pleasure. you're glad he doesn't tease you for being so wet, but that he instead uses it to his advantage and starts making an even bigger mess of you.
his lips latch around your clit for only a few seconds. he hollows out your cheeks and you think you might die with how overwhelming the sensation is, but it's over all too soon. geto pulls back to do two things:
one, tie his hair out of his face, and two, tell you to start reading.
not wanting to miss out on these newfound pleasures of the flesh, you unlock your phone and start on a random spot on the screen, your voice a lot more shaky than you want it to be.
"he, uh... he ducks down and licks a stripe from entrance to clit, collecting... collecting her wetness on his tongue and falling in love with the taste of her enjoyments."
suguru, suddenly good at following instructions, does as written and leads his tongue upwards. you moan at the contact, but notice suguru starting to pull away at your lack of reading, so you go on.
"she loves the way he feels. he kisses her, uh, sweet center, before continuing to use his tongue to toy with her."
you can feel suguru smiling against you. "sweet center?" he laughs, but continues his ministries nonetheless. you roll your eyes, this has been a lot better of a read when your brain was fogged with unsated need. longing for the man that is now between your legs.
"growing messy, his focus shifts to her clit. his tongue dances with the bud of nerves as he brings two fingers of his left hand, ring and all, and pushes them inside of her. curling upwards until sheâ"
"is that what you want?" suguru cuts you off.
"yeah, yes. i think. just go slow."
"keep reading."
you clear your throat as suguru starts tracing circles around your clit with the tip of his tongue. he looks a little silly doing that, you note as you glance down to enjoy the view for a moment, but god does it feel good.
"curling upwards until she's an ecstatic mess of fulfilled wants. he completes her, in both soul and now flesh. fills her with his fingers in preparation for hisâoh god, suguru, right there."
you hadn't even noticed him pushing into you, you were that eager to feel more of him. his fingers curl up as described in your reading material and suddenly he's brushing over a spot you've never discovered on your own. it blurs your vision, sends your skin hot.
"can't.. can't read anymore," you whine, bucking your hips up in some masochistic need for more. anything bigger than this and you'd keel over, you think, but you'd take anything suguru was willing to give you. "gonnaâ"
he allows it. encourages it, even. quickens his pace on the fingers plunging in and out of you, and starts making out with your pussy like a drunken virgin would. it's good in a way that shouldn't be: messy and needy and you think perhaps that suguru is just as close to coming as you are.
your orgasm is intense. your back arching off the bed and your body trying hopelessly to get more of sugurus touch. you think you moan his name, though it could be a babbled string of 'i love you's that you'll refuse to acknowledge later on in hopes that giving you head wasn't enough to ruin your friendship.
suguru moans loudly against your pussy as he tastes your release, the vibrations no help for your sensitivity, but his hips are stuttering against the mattress and you can tell even through your haze that you've made the cocky idiot cum in his pants.
serves him right.
and because the two of you are friends before you are... whatever this is, the both of you are falling into a fit of laughter upon your comedowns. suguru's lips glisten and your chest heaves with each breath you take, and he's climbing up the bed to press a kiss to your cheek.
"better than reading about it?" he asks.
"nope," you grin, which earns you a mean look that soon gives way to another laugh from him. "you could do it again some time if you wanted, though."
"please. i want to find out what skills you've picked up reading all of that weird shit." he pulls you into his arms and, despite being a little sweaty, you find yourself melting comfortably into his embrace.
suguru loves some soft and lazy sex that still feels intense, like he was thirsting for you, headboard hitting the wall and all.
the best part is that it just happens. heâll slip a hand under the blanket while you two are lying down and slide your panties to the side. thatâs it; thatâs all, but it still feels so fucking good you have to sit in it.
your head leans back to rest against his chest or shoulder while he slowly pushes into you repeatedly, softly kissing your neck and whispering how in love with you he is.
âyou feel so good.â his breath is warm against your neck, tickling you, and his hands are gripping you tightly.
it gave both of you everything it needed to; you never needed more.
sometimes youâll even lazily ride him, your forehead resting on his shoulder while he helps guide you, low grunts in your ear, your eyes closed and his half closed.
suguru wouldnât be lying if he said early morning sex with you wasnât his favorite; it was something about how wet you were in the morning that turned him on.
itâs like you were begging for him, and he loved it so fucking much. there was no better feeling than touching and teasing you, then hearing you softly moan into the pillow.
neither of you had to perform; it was just skin on skin moving in harmony, humming to each other while feeling good.
âyou okay?â his voice is soft and low in your ear while his hand rubs over your side and his chest is pressed against your back.
âmhm.â your eyes were still closed, but your body was feeling everything; it was even more sensitive when you were half awake.
sometimes he'll do a little more and slip under the blanket and get in between your thighs, licking you over slowly and lazily, but not the kind of lazy that didn't put in any effort.
eating pussy is muscle memory for suguru, so it always feels nice, but when he's half awake, it's sweet and intimate; it makes you open your thighs more, his nose pushing into your clit.
it's something about the way he made it unintentionally sloppy; it had your body buzzing with pleasure, and all you had to do was lay there feeling good, and that was suguru's favorite view.
your eyes were closed, but you were still there, your chest rising and falling gently, your toes twitching every few seconds, your soft moans filling the air. it was all so perfect.
You either love or hate make out session_:(ÂŽàœ`ă â ):
"Aye, Suguru, spin the bottle!" shouted Satoru from across the room.
It was midnight, the air was thick with heat, and tension hung heavy â the kind everyone felt but no one wanted to name. Everyone was a little too warm, a little too tipsy, and undeniably horny.
No one dared to admit it, of course. So Satoru, grinning like the devil he was, suggested a game of âspin the bottleââ just you, Suguru, Satoru and Satoruâs girlfriend.
âI donât mind kissing her,â satoruâs girlfriend said, flashing a smirk. âBut not you, Satoru.âas she kissed him.
She was the jealous not jealous type, and you never really understood why. She was beautiful â stunning, really â and had nothing to fear. Still, that insecurity always seemed to creep in.
âI wonât mind if you kissed Suguru,â Satoru replied casually. He wasn't the jealous kind. Confident, comfortable â it was just a kiss, after all. Right?
"And everyone knows Iâm the hottest â plus the best kisser here," he added with that trademark grin.
You resisted the urge to laugh. If only he knew. The last time you kissed him was back in high school, and honestly? Dare you say it, it was the worst make-out session of your life. Messy, rushed, too much tongue â the kind of kiss that made you reconsider your feelings entirely. Youâd decided then and there: friendship suited you both much better.
âAnyways, so suguru itâs your turn.â You faced him with a slight smirk. To you Suguru was attractiveâdrop dead gorgeous, you wouldnât even think to look at him but this time? You were so horny, you werenât even thinking straight, traveling with him, single? You couldnât thank Satoru and his girlfriend enough to get Suguru to come with you and to be your âunknown by himâsummer fling.
âAlright," he said.
The bottle spun, wobbled, then came to a slow, teasing stop â pointing directly at Satoruâs girlfriend.
She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. âYouâre still okay with this?â
Satoru gave a shrug and a lazy smile. âNo problem.â
Without hesitation, she stood up and crossed the room, sliding effortlessly onto Suguruâs lap. At first, she took his face in her hands and gave him a quick, almost playful peck on the lips. But then â Suguru pulled her closer, one hand at the back of her neck, and kissed her properly.
It wasnât just a kiss. It was slow, deliberate⊠intense. â but he wasnât looking at her the whole time.
From the corner of his eye, he was watching you. It wasnât obvious, not unless you were paying attention â and you were. His gaze would flick toward you, brief and sharp, like he was gauging your reaction. Testing something. Daring you to say or do anything.
Your pulse quickened, though you kept your face carefully neutral.
She didnât notice. Too caught up in the moment, in him.
And suddenly, the room felt a little too quiet.
You werenât sure when youâd started holding your breath, but as their kiss deepened, you became painfully aware of it.
Suguruâs fingers had slipped into her jaw, his other hand resting lightly on her thigh. She wasnât resisting â quite the opposite. Her body leaned into his, their kiss slowing down like they had all the time in the world.
Satoru just watched, expression unreadable. Arms crossed, lips curled into a half-smile that didnât quite reach his eyes.
And then, as suddenly as it started, the kiss ended.
She pulled away, breathless, a ghost of a smirk on her lips as she returned to her seat. Suguru didnât say a word, just ran a hand through his hair and leaned back with that quiet, knowing confidence he always carried.
The bottle sat on the floor between you all, waiting.
No one moved. Then Satoru looked at you.
âYour turn.â
You licked your lips, nerves tightening in your chest as you reached for the bottle. With a flick of your wrist, it spun â slow at first, then faster â and you could feel his gaze on you the entire time.
You glanced up.
Suguruâs eyes met yours for a second... then drifted away like he hadnât been watching at all.
The bottle finally began to slow, wobbling uncertainly, then leaned⊠and landed right between Satoru and Suguru.
Of course.
But Satoru was the first to speak, his grin already forming.
âItâs my turn. You already got kissed, Sugu.â His tone was light, teasing. Then he turned to his girlfriend. âYou donât mind, right? Itâs just a kiss my love.â
You noticed the slight shift in her expression. She wasnât thrilled â her smile was tight â but she didnât say a word. She trusted him. And you.
âYou better come here, âcause Iâm not!â you laughed, trying to shake off the tension.
âYeah, right,â he said, crawling over with that lazy confidence.
Satoru didnât say anything at first.
He just looked at you, eyes a little too bright, a little too steady â like he was waiting to see if you'd flinch, or lean in first.
Then, with a lazy grin, he closed the space between you.
He slid a hand behind your neck, fingers warm and deliberate, and the other settled low on your waist like heâd done it a hundred times before. Like he knew exactly where to touch to make your breath catch.
And then he kissed you.
It was slow. Not soft â but measured. Like he was tasting, not taking. Like he wanted you to feel it, every second of it.
His lips moved with a confidence that didnât rush. That said he knew what he was doing â and worse, that he knew you knew, too.
His thumb brushed just under your jaw, tilting your face the way he wanted it.
You barely noticed when your fingers curled into his shirt.
And when he finally pulled back, it wasnât abrupt. It was deliberate. His lips lingered near yours, breath mingling with yours, and when he smiled â just barely â it was the kind of smile that stayed under your skin.
As if to say: told you I got better.
When you glanced around, your eyes met Suguruâsâand he was already looking at you. Not casually, not in passing. He was watching you like he knew exactly what you were thinking. His girlfriend noticed too, her gaze flicking between you both.
A wave of shame flushed through you, and you looked away, heart pounding. Satoru returned to his spot beside you, but his presence barely registered. The air felt heavier now.
Later, after Satoru and his girlfriend shared a long, intimate kissâone that seemed to go on just a bit too longâit was Suguruâs turn.
He flicked the bottle with a smooth, effortless motion, his fingers brushing against the glass like he was controlling more than just chance. The bottle spun endlessly, or maybe time just slowed for you.
Your pulse thudded in your ears. And thenâ
It stopped. Pointed directly at you.
You didnât move. Neither did he. Suguruâs lips curled into the hint of a smile, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.
You swallowed hard, but there was no denying the thrill that shot through you. Part fear, part longing.
You wanted this.
And he knew it.
Suguru didnât move right away. He just looked at youâopenly, deliberately. His gaze didnât waver, didnât hide. He wasn't asking for permission. He was daring you to look away.
Then, slowly, he stood. Every movement of his felt intentionalâmeasured. His eyes never left yours as he crossed the space between you, stopping just inches away.
Your heart slammed against your ribs, but you didnât flinch. You couldnât.
He leaned in, his eyes dropping to your lips, then back up again, a slow, knowing smile forming.
âYouâre not backing out now,â he murmuredânot a question. A fact.
His fingers brushed under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. The touch was light, but it carried weight. Certain.
He didnât wait for a replyâdidnât need one.
Then he kissed you.
It wasnât soft.
It wasnât hesitant.
It was firm, deliberateâhungry. His hand slid to the back of your neck, keeping you close, like he was making up for lost time or punishing you for every second youâd spent apart.
His hand at the back of your neck tightened slightly, fingers threading into your hair. He tilted your head just enough to deepen the angle, his body pressing closer to yours. You could feel the heat of him, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the tension in his jaw as the kiss grew heavier.
His mouth moved against yours with purpose, lips parting, tongue slipping in to taste youâslow, confident, and unrelenting. It wasnât rushed. He took his time, savoring it, like he wanted to memorize the way you melted into him.
You responded instinctively, your fingers gripping his shirt, pulling him even closer. Every nerve in your body lit up under his touch. You could feel the smirk against your mouth when he realized just how badly you wanted him.
And thenâjust before it went too farâhe pulled back, only an inch.
His lips were swollen, his breathing uneven, but his eyes⊠they burned.
âYeah,â he murmured, his voice rough. âI knew youâd taste that good.â
summary: Driven by kindness, you walk to a secluded house every day, leaving freshly baked pies for the mysterious man who never shows himself. But when your neighbor, Mrs. Hatcher, is violently killed one night, everything changes. As fear spreads through the town, the man you've been silently serving steps into your lifeâand the true, terrifying nature of his obsession begins to unravel.
warnings: non-con, dub-con, explicit content, dirty talk, mentions of blood and murder, forest sex, prey and predator dynamics
pairing: dark!remmick x fem!reader
words: 6k
based off this request
The air was thick with that early morning quiet â not cold, but not warm yet either. Just still. Hushed. Like the world hadnât quite decided to wake up. The pie in your hands was still warm, warmed in a red gingham towel that gave a slight aroma of sugar and cinnamon. You carried it like you always did, how you carried it to his house every morning. Steady, careful, both hands under the dish so the heat didnât slip through and burn your fingers.
You took the long way, even though you didnât have to. Past the lot where the hydrangeas used to grow, Past the old gas station that hadnât sold gas in years. The street was empty, save for a squirrel darting across the sidewalk and a newspaper half soaked in dew.
You liked mornings like this. Quiet ones. Nobody needing anything from you yet.Â
His house sat at the far end of the block, past where the road cracked deeper and the shade settled in early. You could barely see the roofline through the trees most days. No cars in the drive. No signs of the sun shining into his house in the mornings, windows and curtains closed. Just that porch with the crooked step and the step and the front door that never opened.Â
You didnât know who he was. No one really did.Â
Youâd never seen him up close. Never heard his voice. Just a name once, muttered by a neighbor who looked like she regretted saying it the second it left her mouth.
But none of that mattered. Never mattered to you.Â
You climbed the creaking and worn steps like usual, pie in hand, the porch groaning under your weight. You paused at the door. Knocked once⊠twice then three times and that was it. Never more.Â
SIlence only met you. Not even a sign of a curtain drawing back. Though you waited just for a few seconds more. Long enough to maybe give him a chance to open the door and accept the pie you usually baked. Â
There were signs he took the dishes you left on the little table posted by the chair on his porch. And you needed him to open the door sooner or later in the future because you sure were running out your plates and dishes.Â
So you crouched down slightly, set the pie down on the small round table. You adjusted the towel, smoothed it down with your fingers. And then left like you always did. Same way you came. With your back turned you never saw the figure that stood by the windowâ shifting the curtain ever so slightly to watch you leave.
It was a good twenty five minutes by the time you reached your gates, your rhoughts still back at that old house. Youâd never gotten anything in return except for an empty door. But it didnât stop you. Some things couldnât be helped, and kindness was one of them. It was just who you were.
You didnât know why you were this wayâ always looking out for others, always taking the time to lend a hand, even if it meant nothing in return. Maybe it was because your mama had always taught you that small acts of kindness could make all the difference in a world that could be a little too harsh and unyielding sometimes. Or maybe it was just your heart, too damn big for its own good.
Youâd seen people look at you strangely when you held the door open for them or when you offered a smile to the grumpy old guy who owned a small grocery store cross the street who barely even returned the smile. But you didnât mind. Youâd always been this way, and youâd always keep doing itâ whether it was helping your neighbor Mrs Hatcher with her groceries or just leaving one too many baked goods for a man who never even bothered to show his face.Â
As you reached the steps of your porch, you noticed Mrs Hatcher was sitting outside again, her rocking chair creaking steadily. The morning sun barely touched her, casting her face in a sharp light that made her look even more critical than usual. You almost didnât want to stop, but you were too polite, so you gave her a quick wave as you neared the gate.Â
She didn't wave back. Not like how she would regularly do so. Instead, she looked you up and down, her eyes narrowing slightly, and for a moment, the silence between you both felt a little too thick. âBeen out walking again, huh?â she said, her voice carrying the same sharpness it always did, but now there was something else in itâ a little more judgement, a little less warmth than usual.
You nodded. âJust dropped something off.â
Her eyes flickered toward the street, and she took a slow drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling up into the air like it had a mind of its own. âAnd whatâs that, exactly? Your âgood deedâ for the day?â You shifted on your feet, a little uncomfortable, but you didnât want to seem rude. âJust took the guy that lives in that old house near the woods a pie. I baked it in the morning.â
Mrs Hatcher raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair as if shw was trying to make some sense of you. âThat house,â she started slowly, like she was comprehending her own words in her head before letting them out, âIt ainât one for pies, sugar. And it ainât one for kindness neither. You might want to stop before youâre the only one left out there handing things to a ghost.âÂ
You felt a small flutter in your chest, but you didnât show it. Sure youâve heard the whispers about that houseâ from the strange way it sat, half hidden behind thick trees, the rumours that no one had ever seen the man who supposedly lived there. People called him strange, distant, dangerous even, but it didnât faze you. You didnât need to know him to know that everyone deserved a little kindness.Â
âIâm sure heâll like it,â you said simply, smiling. âHeâs always been taking them in.âÂ
Mrs Hatcherâs lips pressed together in a thin line. âIs that so huh?â She leaned forward, the creaking of her chair louder now, her tone dripping with a subtle challenge. âWell, maybe he donât mind. But Iâm telling you sugar, one day youâll find out kindness donât always come back around the way you think it will.â
You didnât know why, but there was something in the way she said it that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Something that didn't sit right. But you ignored it, like you always did with her not bothering to listen to any of the bullshit any more, you just gave a simple smile and nodded. âIâm sure Iâll be fine,â you said, offering a half smile before stepping toward your front door.Â
The last thing you heard before you entered was Mrs Hatcherâs voice, barely above a murmur, like she was talking to herself. âJust be careful, girl. Thereâs kindness⊠and then thereâs being a fool for it, and thatâs you right now.â
You didnât let it bother you. It was just Mrs Hatcher, always watching, always waiting for something to go wrong. But somehow, her words hung in the air, and for the first time in a while, you wondered if there might be more to her warning then you realized.
Everyone was shocked to hear the news, but nobody could say they were surprised.Â
It wasnât the kind of thing that was completely unexpected in a place like this. The kind of place where people get to be known by their routines, their quirks and their habits. So when the sheriff made his rounds, grim faced and speaking low, people leaned in a little closer, nodding pretending they didnât already know.
Mrs Hatcher had been found in her chairâ rocking still, like she was just taking one of her usual evening naps. But this time, her chair wasnât creaking from the wear of decades. It was still in a way it never had been before. Her neck, torn open, blood spread thick across the porch, pooling like dark wine against the old wood.Â
It was late, the street bathed in that heavy hush. The silence clung to the scene, to the dark windows and the front door that creaked ever so slightly due to the wind.Â
But it wasnât just the manner of her death that had the town rattled. It was the fact that it had happened right there. Just a few houses down from where you could practically hear the crickets and see the stars in their endless stretch above. Mrs Hatcher had never been the type to keep quiet. She knew too much, talked too loud, watched too longâ and all her sharp words, there was always a thin, hidden thread of fear running underneath them.Â
The sheriff said it was too early to say much. But you didnât need to be a damn detective to know that whatever had happened to Mrs Hatcher, it had come from the deep shadows beyond the streetlightâs reach. And that, as always, made you nervous.Â
You stood at the edge of the gathering, the murmurs of the townsfolk was a distant hum as your eyes were just fixed on Mrs Hatcher's porch. The air was thick with the scent of iron and something elseâ something you couldnât quite place.
As you begin to take a cautious step closer, a sudden chill ran down your spine. You turned slightly, sensing a presence behind you.Â
Remmick stood there, half shrouded in shadow, his eyes reflecting the dim light with an unsettling gleam. His expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth when he saw your reaction to him somehow startling you.
âAinât youââ you began to say, but he beat you to it, laughing low in his throat as he took a slow, deliberate step forward. âLord, you spook easy,â he said, voice thick just soft enough to make you lean in without meaning to. âDidnât mean to startle you, sugar. Though I sâpose I got a knack for it.â
You didnât answer right awayâ couldnât, really. It wasnât just that heâd come out of nowhere. It was that this was the first time you were actually seeing him. Up close. And he wasnât what you expected. He was just a normal man. Tall, wth skin pale like it hadnât met sunlight in years. But it wasnât his looks that held you. It was something else you couldn't quite take hold on.Â
âYouâreâŠâ The words trailed from your lips, thin and uncertain,
âRemmick,â he offered, with the faintest tilt of his head, the smile still ghosting at the corners of his mouth. âThough it sounds like folks âround here prefer other names for me.â
He glanced across the street, toward the sea of curious people that had gathered in front of Mrs Hatcherâs house. The porch light burned too bright now, casting hard shadows over shaken faces and murmured prayers. Someone was crying, but no one had dared to step past the old womanâs front gate. No one even noticed him. Not with the chaos. Not with the way the fear made them all look anywhere but the dark.
âHell of a night,â he muttered, almost to himself, voice curing like smoke in the stillness.Â
Then he looked back at you. âYou been bringing those baked goods, didnât you, specially the one today?âÂ
You blinked. âWhat?â
âThe one in the red towel. Sugar and cinnamon.â His gaze lingered. âTasted real good.âÂ
Unease tightened in your chest, and something more but you werenât sure if it was fear or something colder.
He chuckled againâlow, almost fond. âMeant to bring the dish back. Got a mind like a cracked jar, though. Things slip out easy.â
You swallowed, unsure if you meant to nod.
âIf youâre not too spooked to walk back with me,â he said, voice light like he was asking you to fetch a paper off the porch, âI could hand it off now.â
He held your gaze a second longer, then added with a crooked smile, âSeems like nobodyâs watchinâ but you anyhow.â
You cleared your thrat, trying to keep your voice steady. âThatâs alright, I can just come by in the morninâ and pick it up.âÂ
You didnât even get another sentence out before he titled his head, slow and deliberate, and stepped in just a tad closer. âNah,â he said, low and smooth, like he was talking to some skittish animal. âBest do it now.â There was something in the way he said itânot harsh, but final. As if he was the one deciding for you instead.Â
You tried to laugh it off, light and easy. âItâs no trouble really. I don't mindââÂ
âBut I do,â he cut in, still smiling. âAinât polite, lettinâ a lady like you walk all the way just to fetch her own plate back. âSides, I got somethinâ for you.â That made you pause. âA gift,â he added, like he was sweetening the offer, though the word came off strange in his mouth, like heâd never had much reason to use it. âFor all those baked goods. Seemed only right.âÂ
You hesitated, eyes flicking toward the crowd again that was still buzzing around Mrs Hatcherâs porch, not a single one of them looking in your direction. His voice dropped slightly, though the smile stayed. âAInât nobody gonna notice youâre gone, sugar. Not tonight.â
And it was true. They wouldnât. The streetlamps were dim, the shadows stretched long, and everyoneâs attention was wrapped up on what had happened. You could simply leave easy right now, and nobody would even call your name.Â
You swallowed, throat dry.
He turned then, back toward the narrow path leading toward the woods. âCâmon,â he said over his shoulder, his husky and slow with a soft roughness to it. âItâs just a short walk. You already know the way.âÂ
Yeah a short walk⊠a twenty five minute short walk with a guy you baked for but he never did have the face to open the door, and suddenly heâs asking you to follow him home after the events that took place tonight. But you didnât give it a thought any longer, telling yourself you were just now paranoid. So you just followed behind him.
The road felt longer this time. Each step kicked up dust that didnât seem to settle, and the cicadas had gone quiet, like even they didnât want to listen in. You kept a few paces behind him, watching the sway of his shoulders, the way he didnât look back onceânot even to make sure you were still there.
You told yourself it was fine. He was just being polite. Returning a dish, offering a gift. Thatâs all it was.
But the dark felt thicker out here. Heavier. Like it was pressing in, one slow breath at a time.
It was a good ten minutes before either of you spoke.
Just shoes on the forest floor. The occasional creak of a distant fence outside of the trees shifting in the wind. You were starting to think maybe he wasnât much for small talkâmaybe heâd changed his mind about that âgiftâ entirelyâwhen his voice finally cut through the dark.
âYou always that generous with folks who donât bother sayinâ thank you?â
You blinked. âFigured you were just shy.â
That made him huff a laugh. âIs that what theyâre callinâ it these days.â
You could see the back of his head tilt slightly, like he was chewing on whatever thought came next. Then he added, âTruth be told, I didnât expect you to keep bringinâ those goods. Thought youâd give up after the second one went untouched.â
âThey werenât untouched,â you said quietly.
Another beat of silence.
âNo,â he said at last. âNo, they werenât.â
And that was all he said.
Just enough to make your skin prickle.
You kept walking, telling yourself you were just tired. Just tired and rattled from everything with Mrs. Hatcher. But still, something in his voice made you wonder if the pies were all heâd been taking.
The road narrowed as you walked, the trees leaning in closer like they were listening, their bare branches creaking softly in the wind as though whispering to one another. Crickets had gone quiet somewhere along the way. You didnât notice when. Just that the silence had started to hum, low and constant, like something was holding its breath.
âYou always walk this way alone?â he asked, voice low like he was afraid to break something in the dark, or maybe like he hoped he would.
You glanced at him. âMost mornings.â
âBrave,â he muttered, though it didnât sound like praise. âFolks âround here talk too much and see too little. That kind of silenceâs dangerous when no oneâs listeninâ right.â
âYou listen?â
âSometimes,â he said. Then, with a half-smile that didnât quite meet his eyes, âDonât mean I always like what I hear.â You didnât answer that. Just kept your eyes ahead, the trees curling over the path like ribs, and the moonlight catching in strange, pale flashes on the gravel. It wasnât the first time youâd taken this road, but it felt unfamiliar now, like the dirt had been stirred different, like something unseen had stepped ahead of you first and left the path colder behind it.
âWhy now?â you asked suddenly, the question clawing out before you could think better of it. âAll this time, you never said a word. Never showed your face. Then tonight, afterââ you didnât finish the sentence. You didnât need to. The name didnât need to be said again out loud.
He took his time responding, just like he took his time walking. âReckon I just figured the timing was right.â
âThat because of Mrs. Hatcher?â
That smile again. Crooked. Sharp at the edges. âDidnât say that.â
You stopped walking for a beat, not because you meant to, but because something in your chest pulled tight. âBut you didnât say it wasnât.â
He looked back at you slowly, eyes gleaming in the dark like wet stones, and for a second, his face was half-lit by the moon, carved in angles and shadows that didnât look entirely human. âYou ask a lot of questions for someone still walkinâ beside me.â
That stopped you more than anything. Not the words, but the way he said themâcalm, like he was commenting on the weather. Like he already knew youâd keep walking anyway.
And you did.
Maybe it was foolishness. Maybe it was that same part of you that kept leaving pies at the door of a man youâd never seen, even when the dishes never came back. That stupid softness your mama used to call your âGod-given curse.â Either way, your feet moved before your mouth could argue.
Ten more minutes, you told yourself. Just ten more minutes. And then youâd turn around.
But deep down, you already knew you wouldnât.
The woods felt suffocating, each step you took making the air grow thicker, heavier, as though something in the darkness was pressing against you. It wasnât just the trees, it wasnât just the silence. It was him.
Remmick walked ahead of you, so calm, so assuredâlike this was all part of some twisted game, and you were the only one who didnât know the rules. His back was turned, but you couldnât shake the feeling that he was aware of you, every movement of yours, every step you took.
Finally, you couldnât do it anymore. The weight of his presence, the heavy silence, the way he didnât even seem to care that you were still walking behind himâit all piled up. You had to say something.
âI think Iâm just gonna head home,â you said, your voice shaky, betraying the panic you were trying to keep under control. âYou can just give me the dishes and gifts another time.â Your words felt like a desperate attempt to break the tension, but they fell into the woods like a pebble into a deep, dark wellâno echo, no response.
For a moment, there was nothing but the low rustling of the trees, the soft whisper of the night wind. Then, without turning to face you, his voice cut through the airâlow, dark, chilling.
âDaft.â
It wasnât a word. It was a sentence. A judgment.
You froze. His voice, though soft, felt like it was wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make it hard to breathe. Your heart skipped a beat, your skin prickling. You couldnât tell whether it was fear, the cold, or something else entirely making your body shudder.
Your mouth went dry, but you tried to force out somethingâanything to break this moment, this growing nightmare. âIâI'm just not feeling well. I think I should go.â
You took a step back, but he wasnât having it. He didnât even turn to face you.
âDaft,â he repeated, sharper now. âYou think Iâd let you walk away after you followed me here?â Your breath hitched. Your feet felt glued to the ground, like the air was too thick to move through. You wanted to run, to scream, but your body betrayed you, stuck in place as if you were trapped in quicksand.
You looked at him nowâhis back still turnedâbut something about his posture had shifted. It wasnât just his body language, though. It was in the air. It was in the space between you. Something darker had taken root, something unrecognizable.
He finally turned, slowly, deliberately, and the smile he gave you wasnât the same one from earlier. There was nothing warm in it. It was sharp, cold, like a blade dragging across skin.
You swallowed hard, your throat tight. His eyes locked onto yours, but they were different nowâflickers of red deepening in the corners, glowing faintly in the dim light. He didnât look human but at the same time he did.
He took a step closer, and you backed up, your heart pounding faster. But your feet wouldnât move. You wanted to run, but your body was paralyzed. The closer he came, the harder it was to breathe. âYou donât just walk away from me, sugar,â he said, his voice smooth like silk, but each word felt like a weight. âYou donât follow me into the woods and think you can just... leave.â
There it was againâhis smile, wider now, crueler. It made your stomach twist, nausea rising up your throat.
âYou really donât get it, do you?â he asked, his voice almost too calm. âYou think youâre safe, walking through the woods like this? Like Iâm some normal guy you can just forget about?â He took another step toward you, and you felt yourself sway back, but your feet stayed planted.
His eyes were glowing now, too bright in the dark, his pupils slit like a predatorâs. This wasnât right. This couldnât be happening.
âYou wanna know what it felt like?â he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing. The way he looked at you thenâlike he was studying something precious, something fragileâmade a shiver crawl down your spine. âWhat it felt like to kill Mrs. Hatcher?â
You blinked, eyes wide. Your mouth opened, but no words came. You couldnât breathe, couldnât think.
âHer blood was so warm,â he whispered, as if speaking to himself, the words heavy with something sinister. âThe moment my teeth sank into her throat, she stopped fighting. She knew. She knew she couldnât outrun it, couldnât escape me. But she didnât stop trying, not at first. She kicked. She scratched. She screamedâbut there was no sound. No sound at all once I got my hand over her mouth.â
You could barely hold your ground now, your legs trembling. Every word he said made you want to run, but your body was frozen, immobilized by something you couldnât explain.
âShe tried so hard to get away,â Remmick continued, his voice softer now, like he was savoring the memory. âBut the harder she fought, the better it felt. I could feel her pulseâfast, frantic, desperate. It was like the world had slowed down, and all I could hear was the sound of her blood rushing, beating in her veins, until it wasnât.â
Your body was shaking now, your hands clenched into fists by your sides. You couldnât escape his gaze, couldnât escape the pull of his voice.
âShe went limp, finally. And I could taste itâthe victory, the power. The moment her body stopped fighting? That was the moment I knew. I knew it was perfect.â
You felt sick, but you couldnât look away. His eyesâthose damn eyesâhad you trapped, every word sinking deeper into your chest, twisting, turning.
âYou shouldâve stayed away,â he murmured, taking another step closer, and your body lurched, the terror of it all finally making your feet move. But not fast enough. âBut now itâs too late darlinâ cause I intend to keep you for myself now.â
That was when you began running.
Branches whipped your arms and tore at your clothes, but you didnât feel it. You were moving on instinctâraw, clumsy, frantic. The darkness swallowed the path, and still you ran, lungs burning, eyes stinging. You didnât even know where you were going. Just away.
Behind you, his footsteps didnât rush. He wasnât chasing. He was following. Like a predator who already knew exactly where youâd end up. âKeep running,â he called, voice almost playful. Almost. âItâll only make me want to fuck you harder.â You didnât scream. You couldnât. Your throat was tight with terror, your body buzzing with the kind of panic that drowns thought.
Then your foot caughtâroot, rock, somethingâand the forest flipped sideways. You hit the ground hard, your palms shredding on gravel and bark. The pain jolted up your arms and knocked the air from your lungs. You scrambled to your feet, but your ankle screamed the second you put weight on it. There wasnât timeâhe was too close.
So you crawled. Half-dragging yourself through the underbrush, eyes wild, hands trembling, and ducked behind the thick trunk of a gnarled pine. You pressed yourself against the bark, heart slamming against your ribs so loud you were sure he could hear it. The forest had gone still.
Dead still.
You clamped a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing, every breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps through your nose.
He yelled out your nameâhowâd he even know your name? There was a guttural edge to his voiceâlow, primalâthat tore something loose in you. You cried silently, not daring to make noise, not out of fear, but because your body didnât know what else to do.
He found you before you could move again â an arm slipping around your waist from behind. You barely had time to gasp before he pulled you back, gently but firmly, like you'd simply wandered too far.Â
Then, without warning, your head was guided down, not slammed, but pressed hard enough into the earth that the shock still jarred you. Dizziness bloomed behind your eyes. By the time you blinked through it, Remmick was already on top of you, his body blanketing yours with a frightening calm. His chest pressed against your back, steady, too steady. One hand slid up, slow and deliberate, until it curled around your throat â not choking, just holding. Controlling.
A broken sound escaped you as tears streamed down your face, hot and helpless. Your fingers clawed instinctively at his hand, the one wrapped so carefullyâso cruelly around your throat. There was no strength in your resistance, only fear and the desperate hope that he might hesitate.Â
He takes his hand from your neck, and you barely register when it slips beneath your long nightgown. One hand forcefully parts your thighsârough and possessiveâwhile the other holds your wrists captive above your head. "You donât even know," he murmurs, his voice almost gentle, as he continues "You're fortunate that I want you all to myself."
You try to push against his hold, but he only tightens his grip, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His words echo in your mind as fear and confusion swirl within you. You feel trapped, vulnerable beneath him as he looms over you with a hunger in his eyes that chills you to the core.Â
You can see the intensity of his gaze fixed upon you, a mixture of desire and possession that makes your heart race with both terror and a strange, forbidden thrill. And as his lips brush against your ear, whispering promises of pleasure and pain, you can't help but wonder what fate has brought you to this moment, where his will dominates your own and the line between fear and longing blurs into something dangerous and intoxicating.
You donât even notice heâs moved your undergarments aside, not warning you.You suddenly wince as he inserts two fingers at once, not bothering to be gentle. His breath is hot on your neck, his voice a low growl. "You're mine now. Every part of you belongs to me." You can feel his heartbeat, steady and calm, unlike your own which is pounding wildly against your ribs. His fingers move inside you, exploring, claiming, and you gasp, your body betraying you with a shiver of pleasure.
He shifts slightly, his lips trailing down from your ear to your collarbone, leaving a path of fire in their wake. "You can fight it all you want," he whispers, his voice like velvet darkness, "but your body knows who it belongs to." His thumb finds your most sensitive spot, circling slowly, deliberately, drawing out a moan from deep within you despite the fear that still lingers in your eyes.
You buck against him, a futile attempt to deny the sensations coursing through you.
He laughs softly against your skin, a sound that resonates with triumph. His teeth graze your shoulder, a gentle bite that should be a warning, but your mind is a swirl of confusion and desire. The nightgown tangles around your waist as he shifts again, releasing your wrists to push the fabric higher.
Oddly enough, when your fight waned, that was when thingsâŠchanged. "There she is," he says, his hands warm on your bare hips. You know you should run, scream, do anything to break free from the spell his touch weaves around you, but your muscles betray you, your body succumbing in various ways as pleasure envelops you completely.
"You were made for this," he breathes, his eyes dark with certainty. He pins you down again, and this time you donât struggle, the fight leaving your limbs as your own desires betray you. You can sense the mounting bliss intensifying within you, building pressure in your lower core as you teeter on the edge, about to climax on his fingers.
He watches your face closely, like a man studying a piece of art, ready for the moment when it overtakes you. "There you go darlinâ," he murmurs, urging you on, and the sound of his voice is the final push. You cry out as waves of release crash through you and every nerve in your body sings with surrender.
He holds you through it, his fingers slowing to a languid pace until your breathing evens and your heart calms, pulling back slightly to look at you, satisfaction etched across his face. He removes his fingers slowly and careful, you donât even have a second to even catch a break before you can hear the rustling of his belt and pants and you know what's coming. He parts your legs wider, opening you to him again, and presses against your entrance.
âGonna claim ya real good now darlinâ, youâre doing such a good job.â The sensation of him entering you is intenseâstretching, burning, and pulling you apart with the thick, weighty movement of his shaft. He fills you completely, every inch commanding submission, and you arch under him, the feeling overwhelming and all-consuming.
 His hands grip your hips, steadying you, pulling you closer as he begins to move. He thrusts slow and deep, each motion a deliberate staking of his claim, and your body responds in ways you can't control, meeting his rhythm, rising to meet him as he buries himself inside you over and over.
Your mind reels with the impossibility of it, the way desire silences resistance, and your body betrays every instinct to flee, surrendering instead to the brutal, relentless pleasure he forces upon you. You gasp his name, a broken plea caught between a cry and a moan, and he only pushes harder, his breath hot and wild against your throat.
"That's it," he groans, his voice rough with need, "take it all."
As he bent down to kiss you, you without thinking returned the gesture. His thumb grazed your damp skin, and a soft hum in his throat soon transformed into a groan. You didn't desire it, nor did your mind, yet it seemed as though your body was operating independently, driven by hormones.
His hand snaked through your hair, pulling gently as his lips pressed against yours with a fierce hunger. The kiss deepened, full of demand and promise, his teeth and tongue teasing you until you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. The force of it allâthe thrusting, the kissing, the claimingâpulled you further into a daze where pleasure eclipsed pain, and you were lost, floating on the brink of something infinite.
Your body arched helplessly, wave after wave of sensation leaving you breathless, raw, and vulnerable. He quickened his pace, his movements more urgent, pushing you both toward an inevitable release. The air was thick with the sound of skin on skin, punctuated by his ragged breaths and your own soft, involuntary cries. It was too much, too fast, and yet nothing else mattered in those moments but the wild, terrible ecstasy of being taken, utterly and completely.Â
You closed your eyes, too overcome with the overstimulation, he curved his hips deeper into you. âOpen your eyes darlinâ.â He says getting your attention again. You obeyed, though some quiet part of you understood how dangerous it wasâhow locking eyes with the one unraveling you piece by piece would only carve the memory deeper.
"Donât look away," he breathed, his nose brushing yours with each slow, deliberate motionâlike he needed you to witness what he was doing. You did, though your vision blurred with the weight of it all. Maybe it was instinct, maybe something deeperâbut you obeyed. Looking into his eyes was like staring down a storm: wild, old, and wholly untamable.
âKeep your eyes on me,â he murmured again, breath hitching against your cheek, his drawl low and possessive. âAinât no one ever gonna see you like this but me, you understand?â
The air felt thick, like the woods themselves were leaning in to watch. His nose brushed yours with every movement, his brow pressed to your temple. You werenât sure when the tears started again, but they didâquiet, unrelenting.
âYouâre mine now,â he breathed, voice coated in something reverent and frightening all at once. âAinât just sayinâ that eitherâI felt it in my bones the second I saw you. Like God carved you out just for me.â
As he continued to whisper shameful, dirty words to you, saying things like youâd never leave him, and as he still relentelly thrusted into you, his mouth found your neckâthen came the sharp, sinking pain of his bite. It wasnât just teeth. It was a claim. A seal. Something final.
And in the haze of it all, in the breathless dark, you stopped fighting the truth. Somewhere between fear and surrender⊠you accepted it.
warnings: just a steamy kissing sess, allusions to smut (?)
Remmickâs touch was unhurried, deliberate. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your bare skin, each pass igniting a spark that burned hotter than it shouldâve. He watched you the whole time, his dark eyes sharp, studying every reaction like he was piecing a puzzle only he understood.
âRelax,â he muttered, though his grip on your waist was firm, grounding. He tilted his head, lips brushing the corner of your mouth in what couldâve been a kiss, but it wasnât. Not yet. He wanted you to ask for it, to give him the satisfaction of hearing your voice crack under the weight of his attention.
When he finally leaned in, his mouth moved against yours with a kind of precision that left no room for doubtâ he knew exactly what he was doing. His lips, soft and controlled, contrasted sharply with the rough drag of his hands, tugging you closer until there was no space left between you.
âYouâre shaking,â he murmured against your lips, his voice edged with a smirk. His teeth caught your bottom lip in a quick, teasing bite, just enough to leave you breathless. âNervous?â
You shook your head, but he just chuckled, a sound so low and knowing it made your pulse quicken. âLiar,â he said softly, and then his mouth was on yours again, stealing every word you mightâve used to protest.
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