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After hours and hours of me fighting my stupid adhd to get this finished, it's finally here!
I just wanted to thank you guys for 139 followers and I'm really sorry for not posting very often, but as the new year comes I'll try to post more silly sketches and finished pieces to this blog as my thank you for all of your support! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡
Such a wondrous and painful thing to be loved
Masterlist
Remmick x female!reader
Warnings; somnophilia, non-con touching, non-con oral sex, messy kissing, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, bodily fluids, blood exchange, SELF HARM, SUICIDE, murder, vampire transformation, mentally unstable character, bad parent-child relationships, awful family dynamics, stalking, obsession. Summary: Remmick survives that night in Mississippi and wonders around the world for decades. Until he sees you, a quiet girl from a dysfunctional family. A/N: very little proofreading, sorry if there are mistakes. Don’t forget the check the warnings pls.
Word count: 11.8 k
“Get the damn suitcase girl.” Your mother’s loathsome voice echoed in the open field as your father was walking back and forth between the old car and the house. You picked up the suitcase from your mother’s hand and looked up to the house your parents bought just few days ago. Your dad was swearing under his breath about the amount of things your mother packed, and your mother was screaming in the house about how everything was broken.
You took a deep breath as you watched your father enter the house to scream back at her. When you were left alone outside, you looked around the field. You were middle of nowhere with closest neighbours an hour away with car. No cars drove past. No electricity. It was quite literally pure silence. Nothing at all. The thought sent shivers down your spine as the cool wind surrounded you. The weather was chilling out here, grey clouds covering the sun light that barely reached the surface.
Your hair covered your vision for a moment with the wind and you felt like seeing a silhouette in the horizon, near that one big tree that was slowly dying yards away from your new home. When you were seeing clearly again, there was no one. You blinked once or twice before your feet moved to enter the house.
“Cannot believe you dragged us with you into this shithole.” Your mother spoke aloud, almost like a scream as she was trying to move the old, creaking rocking chair into the corner of the living room. You moved quickly to help her which she responded only with a grunt.
“Ya can go back to your own shithole if you want, bitch.” Your father said from the kitchen that was right next to the living room. You saw him standing next to the window and smoke his cheap cigarettes. Your mother said something under her breath which you did not pay attention to.
That was your normal at this point. Since you knew yourself, your father and mother hated one another. Yet none of them had dared to part their union as they knew no one could put up with their shit as each other did. You did not know if there was a time they loved one another. Maybe it was before you came into this world. You were not asking questions about their relationship or your family dynamics anymore. The questions were not fixing them, only giving you headaches.
You all sat down and ate dinner together. A dinner that was full of your silence and their bickering. After dinner everyone found a place for themselves in the old house and ended the night.
You had chosen the bedroom on the second floor, end of the corridor. It was a small room with a double sized bed, a small wardrobe and a very tiny desk that looked like it was about to collapse. You walked to the window that was at the foot of the bed and saw the backyard. Like before, it was just nothingness for kilometres. The sun was setting, and the chilling weather was getting proper cold.
You changed into your nightgown and got into bed as moonlight already filled the room. You knew you were going to struggle to sleep in your new bed, new room. The place gave you the creeps but you had no other choice. You were already missing your life in the city and would go back if you could. If your whole family wasn’t searched by the money collectors your father was in debt to. You knew about his gambling and alcohol addiction. And you knew how it always got him and rest of you in trouble. Your family was always in debt to somebody. A friend, a neighbour, the bank, the boss… but it was a different matter when they were trying to get either their money or your life. So the only choice left was collecting everything you owned and move into a countryside house that your parents bought in the time of life and death.
You had no friends to tell about your departure, no boyfriend to give you a goodbye hug. No one cared if you just disappeared or died. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. And your breathing slowed down with the exhaustion of the day.
—
A hand was on your thigh. The touch was cold as ice and soft as feather. It went up and down on your skin, caressing so gently that you felt your breathing get stuck in your throat. Then you felt nails, sharp nails like claws dig into your skin, deep enough to draw blood. You hissed with the pain before a hand covered your mouth. You opened your eyes immediately, only to be greeted by a pair of red eyes looking down at you.
Your heart was beating so fast that you wanted to cry with the pain in your chest. The hand on your thigh moved up, until it reached your stomach then your breasts. Cold, cruel fingers pinched your perked nipple, twisted it until your body trembled in pain again. The red eyes were so close to your face that you could not see the owners of them.
That was a demon on top of you, you were sure. A demon from hell, came to ruin you. Tears spilled from your eyes and dropped to his hand that was covering the half of your face. You heard him hiss when your tears touched his skin. Then you felt him press himself down, letting his body go on top of yours. You were sure you were going to die tonight, in seconds maybe. He was going to kill you or your heart was going to fail.
“Do you think you know what it means to be loved?” He leaned in closer, until there was only inches left between your eyes and his own. His whisper came in like a dagger, cutting, butchering trough your senses. You felt your skin tingle and burn. Your tears were burning your eyes and his touch on your skin was making you shake like you were freezing.
This was something unholy. This was something from hell. This was something that made you feel unclean.
“It is such a precious thing to be loved.” He spoke like a snake hissing. His words and his eyes were making you want to cry. Was this a punishment because you never knew how to love? Was God this unfair when he was the one who cursed you with this life?
His hand traveled to your throat and his finger wrapped around your delicate neck. The pressure made your breath get stuck in your lungs, unable to escape. It was then, the hand that covered your mouth lifted. You could not speak, you could not breath. Your lips were parted, your tongue slightly sticking out with the hope of getting any oxygen. Instead you felt something foreign on your tongue. Something that felt like sin.
His tongue was on yours. He was not kissing you, no. It was just his tongue entering your mouth and taking the last breath in your system away. Unlike his hands, his tongue was warm. So warm that it made your loins burn. His body between your legs, pressing himself hard against you and his warm tongue in your mouth made your underwear get wet in seconds. His tongue played with yours, his spit dripping into your mouth and making you open your lips more.
Your tongue traced over his lips and his teeth. You winced in pain when his sharp teeth poked the flesh of your mouth. Then you realised what you were doing. This was not a man on top of you, it was the devil. You heard him laugh when your body trembled under him in terror.
“What a beautiful girl waiting to be loved.” He whispered and you opened your eyes, drenched in sweat and moonlight filling your room, making you almost blind.
You sat ip on your bed in rush, hands finding your throat as your breathing echoed in your new room. Your whole body was burning and your legs were shaking. Your fingers found your underwear, and met with the wetness of your arousal, bringing the rosy tint of shame onto your cheeks.
You looked at your window, it was still dark outside early in the morning. Was it all a dream? No, a nightmare. A nightmare that felt too real. A nightmare that messed with your body. You threw the covers away and got up. Your gaze immediately found the blood stains on your white nightgown. You stopped breathing as you lifted the skirt up. There they were. Wounds that were freshly cut on your legs, blood smeared around them. Your heart started to beat faster, your fight or flight instincts kicking in. How could this be happening?
You jumped in the spot when your mother’s voice echoed in the house, reaching up to the second floor and you. She was calling your name. What time it was? Barely 5 in the morning and she was wide awake which was unusual.
“Come down, help me with this shit.” She spat out as you heard a loud knock at the front door. You quickly changed into your daily clothes and tossed the bloody nightgown into the corner of the room.
As you were going downstairs, you heard your mother and father talking, rather arguing about something again. They were at the entrance, the door wide open, wind blowing into the house and making the long white curtains of the living room float. They did not pay attention to you as you stood next to stairs and listened to their conversation about the kitchen sink not working. Then someone appeared behind your father, a man holding a box. Your father moved to side with the noise behind him and you saw him have the biggest smile you have ever seen in your entire life. Your cold, piece of shit of a father was smiling. Genuinely smiling at this man at the door.
“Come on in son.” Your father said and you looked at the man carefully for the first time. He had dark blonde hair, blue eyes that pierced trough your soul and a smirk that made the hairs on your neck stand up. He did not look at your father, or your mother. For those few seconds his gaze found you and never left you. You wanted to run up to your room and hide under your blankets. You wanted to get behind your mother and beg your father to shut the door to this man’s face.
He stepped into the house and left the box next to the door. Then your father turned to you and your mother, his hand on the man’s shoulder, patting softly. He was so gentle with him that it felt strange. It was like you were seeing another side of your father. It was like this was not your father at all.
“This is Remmick.” Your father uttered the words and your chest got tight. “He lives in the town. He helped me carry some things and gave me a lift.”
“My mama always said that I should help my neighbours, sir.” He said, and hearing his voice made you want to vomit.
“What a good son she had raised.” Your mother said, cheerfully, her earlier grumpiness long gone. Remmick smiled shyly at your mother's words and he kept his smile on his face until he looked at you again.
“My daughter.” Your father introduced you to Remmick. He gave you a small nod, his smile still stretching his lips and his eyes shining with something you could not name. He did not look genuinely happy nor kind. He looked like he had something sinister in his eyes. The way he gazed at you made your stomach twist.
“Hello.” You said, your voice cold compared to your parents who were watching the interaction between you two.
“Hi.” He said, his voice low and deep, coming from his throat. You felt chills run down your spine. “Nice to meet ya.” He extended his hand out.
You looked at his hand, your throat going dry. Then your palm found his own, his fingers hugging your hand and holding tight. Your lips parted with need to suck a breath in. The coldness of his hands made your body shake and the make the pit in your belly grow. It felt like he opened a black hole somewhere in you, and it was swallowing everything.
“Come, have breakfast with us, son.” Your father said as he kept patting Remmick’s shoulder. For a moment you saw Remmick frown in annoyance, as if your father disrupted something. Then his mask came back on, a smile widening on his lips. You looked at his lips for a second. They were pale and looked dry. You felt your mouth water.
“I cannot sir, I gotta head back. Thank you. Welcome to town.” He said as he escaped from your father’s hands and stepped outside. The sun was slowly rising and bringing the new day. Three of you stood at the entrance, your father and mother looking at him with a smile as he walked to his truck. You could only watch as suspicion and fear creeped into your heart. You heard your mother and father walk back into house as his truck’s engine started to work.
Before he drove away, he looked back at the door. When his deep blue eyes found your figure, standing, looking at him with curious eyes, he smiled again. A smile that was vastly different from the ones he gave to your parents. You felt breeze hit your skin as he looked up and down at you, like some wild animal examining his prey and trying to decide if you were worth the hunt. You shut the door as your breathing quickened. The sounds of his wheels filled your ear.
After breakfast you picked up your book and notebook, made your way outside. You could not stay in the house, with your parents who seemed to go back to their usual selves after Remmick left. For the whole breakfast, he was the only thought that occupied your mind. You could not erase the image of him looking at you, deep into your eyes and holding your hand in his own cold ones.
It was strange, very strange. For some reason meeting him right after waking up from that horrible nightmare made you feel sick. Your mother made some comments about you not helping her settling down in the new house but you did not say anything back as you left. You looked around the empty countryside. The sun was at the top, burning mercilessly and making it difficult to breath. It was a nice day compared the yesterday. You held your bag in your shoulder tighter and started to walk on the sidewalk. Your attention got caught by the big, old tree that was few acres away again.
You sat down by the tree and leaned against the trunk. It was nice under the shade. You grabbed your book and continued from the chapter you left. The sweet autumn wind cooled the heat of your body and the sounds of birds filled your ears. This was peaceful, you thought. Far away from the arguments and screams of your parents, far away from the questions that busied your mind, far away from the dangers of the world. It was just you and the silence.
“Hi.” You jumped with the voice of the stranger that came from somewhere close. When you turned around quickly, it was a young man in a jumpsuit and large hat, looking at you under his long eyelashes and smiling awkwardly.
“What the hell?” Your voice came out shocked and scared when you stood up and took a step away from him. His expression changed immediately and a look of concern filled the lines of his face.
“Sorry for scaring you.” He said as he took his hat off and pressed it against his chest in the kindest way possible. “I live down the town. I’m the preacher’s son.”
His accent was strong and from the clothes he was wearing, you could see that he was from this area. You took a deep breath before you introduced yourself.
“I’m Jimmy. Nice to meet you.” He said and looked at you shyly.
“You scared the hell out of me Jimmy.” You said as you sat back down. He giggled at your words before he took his place next to you.
“Sorry. I just got excited when I saw a new face around here. Not many people come to countryside these days.” He pointed at the open field as he spoke. You could see your house from the point you were at. And it felt liberating to be away from it.
“Is that so Preacher’s son?” You said with a small smile on your face. Jimmy laughed with your words before he looked at you. His eyes were emerald green and his eyelashes were dark as night. His nose was straight just like his defined jawline. You could see the freckles and little sunburn over his cheeks. God, you thought to yourself, he was very much beautiful.
“Are y’all planning on staying long?” He asked. You shook your head to confirm.
“It looks like it.” You answered as you looked back at the house. The thought of staying at this place with your parents for long time sounded dreadful.
“You should be careful around this place.” You frowned with his words. Then the pit in your stomach seemed to come back when you looked at him again and saw his shy, playful expression had faded away.
“What is that mean?” He seemed to not to know how to answer your question. Yet he knew he had to answer it now since he changed the mood of the conversation.
“How to say… there are things in this town, I mean that’s what people around says. I personally never saw something but we always lived by some rules.” He took a deep breath and pulled out a cigarette from his jumpsuit’s pocket before he started to speak again. “Don’t let anyone in that comes to your door after sunset. Don’t even open the door. Don’t talk to them.”
The seriousness of his voice sent shivers down your spine. He took a deep breath from his cigarette. You opened your mouth to speak yet no words came out of your mouth. What was that mean? Who could knock on your door after sunset when there was no one living around? Or why shouldn’t you let them in? Were people that dangerous in this area? You felt cool breeze shake the branches of the tree above you.
“It’s getting late. You should head back.” Jimmy said as he tossed the finished cigarettes to the ground. He got up and offered his hand for you to hold. His calloused hands felt warm against your skin. He grabbed your book and bag before he smiled and looked at your house.
“I can walk you home.” He said as you were fixing your dress. You shook your head to decline his polite gesture.
“Thank you. I wouldn’t want to bother you. Thanks for the company.” You said before you started to walk away. You could feel his eyes on your back as you got away from the tree. Before you were not too far away, he called out your name.
“Remember the things I said. Maybe it’s just superstitions but it wouldn’t hurt to follow them.” He said as he put his large straw hat back onto his dark brunette, wavy hair. The sun was setting and the orange lights were washing all over you. For a moment you saw his green eyes shine under the sun light and realised he could be one of the most beautiful humans you ever saw.
“I will.” You said with a small smile and walked away from him and the tree.
The days were coming to an end quickly with the upcoming winter and you hated it. It was getting dark very early and it was not getting any brighter until it was late in the morning. There was nothing to do other than reading, writing and sleeping. The days were warm enough yet the night was freezing cold.
After dinner with your parents who seemed to be very calm after you got back, you found yourself in your room, in your bed again. The blood covered nightgown was still in the corner, tossed around on the dirty floor. You could not bring yourself to pick it up and see the small blood stains again. For some reason not seeing them made them feel unreal and did not remind you of the nightmare. You got under the covers, bringing your book with you. it was easier to fall asleep when you were not thinking of other things.
As you were embraced by the comfortable arms of sleep, you felt like floating. There was a noise that sounded like wind in your ears. Every breath that you took in, you felt like rising up and up. The weight of your body was not there. The weight of your thoughts weren’t there. Everything was light as feather. There was a warmth all over your body. There was warmth between your legs. The tingling sensation under your belly made you squeeze your thighs in need for some sort of friction. You could feel yourself getting wet and your clit throbbing in need.
Then came the warmth of something unfamiliar. The wet, warm thing went between your folds and made you shriek like an animal in heat. You threw your head back when the unfamiliar tongue licked up and down between your folds. The lips that wrapped around your clit in the most delicious way brought you into the high levels of pleasure. He sticked his tongue into your clenching, awaiting hole, his skilful muscle moving in and out as if it was made for it. A loud moan escaped your mouth when his nose was nudging against your clit. The pleasure was too much that you tried to close your legs and get away to breath properly.
Yet his strong hands grabbed your hips harshly and he pressed his head deeper into your cunt. He was just breathing in your scent and getting drunk with your taste. You were about to pass out with his tongue deep in you. Then suddenly the tip of his tongue hit that one spot that made you scream until your vision went completely black and you stoped breathing. Your body was shaking uncontrollably as you tried to catch your breath and open your eyes.
It felt like you were in another dimension. It was so dark in your room that you could not even see your own hands.
“Look at me.” He said, his voice low and deep in the darkness of night. Your gaze met with pair of red eyes and the bliss of your extraordinary orgasm left you in seconds. You wanted to scream for help and get away from him. Yet your body was not moving nor a sound was coming out of your mouth.
“When you were young you wished that someone loved you. All those nights you cried yourself to sleep as a little child and expected someone to come to your room.” He said as he leaned closer to you, his cheek pressed against yours and his lips right next to your ear.
“Expected someone to ease your pain and soothe your heart. Yet no one came.” He whispered, his voice is cold. You could hear the smirk in his tone. He was smiling as he spoke your pain out. You wanted to throw up and cry until you could not move anymore.
“No one loved you. But I do.” He said as the weight of his body suffocated you. There was a musky smell that came from his body. It was dominating and off putting. He smelled like death and it was filling all your senses. Only thing you could feel on your exposed skin was him. Only thing you could smell was him. Only thing you could hear was his cruel words and only thing you could taste was him when his lips found yours. His mouth tasted like you and every life he had consumed to this day. You kissed him back with a hunger that scared you. His warm tongue entered your mouth just like it entered your hole moments ago.
His sharp teeth cut your lips and tongue yet you did not care. All you wanted was kissing him until he consumed you too. There was an urge in you that wanted to be eaten by him. You imagined him feasting on your flesh, his teeth crashing into your bones and your beautiful, thick blood flowing down his chin as he ate. The image made you moan into his mouth.
“I’ll come for you, little dove.” He said and you gasped as you rose in your bed from your sleep. Your hands came up your chest immediately to ease your fast breathing and heart beats. It was broad daylight outside. The sunlight was creeping into your room and warming your skin. You just looked at the white covers of your bed as the moments from your dream filled your mind. Your breath got stuck in your throat when you remembered his red eyes looking at you from between your legs. Your body trembled when you remembered him looking down at you as you crawled underneath him, your mouth covered in your own blood.
These dreams were getting so realistic that you could feel the effects of them all day. Your gaze met with the tossed nightgown in the corner. You wondered if you were getting possessed by some kind of demon or you were just going insane in the countryside. The second option seemed more reasonable.
You walked downstairs to be only greeted by your mom smoking in the kitchen, sitting by herself with the most sorrowful expression you have ever seen.
“Where’s dad?” You asked as you made yourself a bowl of cereal for breakfast. You heard her scoff as you sat down in front of her. Her under eyes were purple and hallow, her cheeks sucked in and her face pale like she was sick.
“God knows where that bastard is.” She said, her voice stern and angry. She finished her cigarette and lit another one right after. You looked at her with a confused expression as you ate your cereal.
“Did he not come back this morning?” Your mother nodded as she looked out of the window. Why this was a big deal this time? He would always leave and not come back for some days, drink himself to death on the streets and get into some sort of trouble.
“I’m sure he will be back by afternoon.” You said to reassure your mother. But she did not look like she was convinced. She just kept looking out of the window as her cigarette burned.
And in fact your father did not come back. At first you did not pay much attention to it. It was actually nice without him in the house. There was silence and no arguments which was something you craved for. But your mother grew restless every passing hour. She wanted to call everyone possibly could know where he was yet the phone wasn’t working. You were not surprised that there was no signal out here. Even though your mother was losing her mind over this for some reason, you did not mind, truly.
Until sun was setting and the countryside got swallowed by dark again, days after your father’s disappearance. Those few days you could truly sleep with no nightmares unlike your mother who did not even eat something healthy. That evening your mother took a sleeping pill and locked herself into her room. You were down in the living room, reading your book. You could not get yourself to sleep, your mind now occupied by your father and his strange absence that took too long this time.
It was quiet in the house. Yet it did not make you feel comfortable or peaceful as it usually did. There was not a single sound even outside of the house. No birds singing, no foxes screaming, not even crickets. It was just pure darkness covering your house. You could not look out of the window as you just kept reading your book. Your head down and facing away from the entrance.
Someone knocked on the door.
The sudden noise made you jump on the couch, your book falling into your lap. Your head turned to the closed door immediately. After the knock there was a silence as if both sides were trying to hear something from behind. You slowly got up and walked to the door. Your hand was reaching for the handle before the person at the other side knocked again. This time it was louder and harsher. You saw the door wiggle in its frame with the amount of force. You gasped and took a step away with shaky knees. A familiar voice from the other side called out your name.
“It’s me, dad.” Your father said with a cracked voice that sent shivers down your spine.
“Dad?” You asked as you got close to the door again. You heard his raggedy breaths.
“Yeah, yeah. Come on, open the door and let me in.” He said, the words coming out of his mouth rushed and breathless. He sounded like he was in pain and the thought made your heart ache. Your hand went to the handle again, and your fingers grabbed the cold metal tight.
“Do not open the door!” You heard Jimmy shout from outside suddenly. Your hand on the handle froze as you heard screams and grunts on the other side. Your father was swearing, Jimmy was swearing back. You rushed to the window that was facing the front porch. Your father was on top of Jimmy, his face close to his neck. Jimmy was holding your dad away from himself by trying to push him trough his shoulders. You saw them rolling over the porch, fighting like animals. You could not speak or move.
Jimmy threw your father away from himself and rushed back to his small van. Your father distracted by the fall, his gaze found you watching them trough the window. He run towards you, his hands pressing against the glass, alongside his face right in front of yours. You felt like your world shatter, when you were greeted by a pair of red eyes looking back at you. Red just like the ones that gave you sleepless nights and brought endless amount of shame to you. Your breath got stuck in your throat as your father looked like some starving feral animal with drool flowing down his chin, his teeth sharp abnormally, and his eyes mirroring a demon.
“You used to listen to me when you were my little girl.” He said, his voice now sounding foreign to your ears. You shook your head as tears started to fall down your cheeks.
“Be my good little girl again and let your father in before this fucker-“ his words got cut with a sound of gunshot. You felt like your heart stopped beating. Your father’s eyes were locked with yours before more gunshots were heard. Last one was straight to his head, shattering his brain and making it explode right in front of your face. Blood and brain pieces hit the glass that separated you and your father. His lifeless body sunk into the ground. You could not look away as his blood was forming a pool beneath him.
Jimmy walked to him, the shotgun on his left hand, and a piece of sharp wood in his right. He didn’t look at you as he kneeled by your father’s body and stabbed him trough his heart with the wood. Your father’s body trembled, shaking as Jimmy sinked the wood deeper into his chest. When he was satisfied with his work, he looked at you for the first time since you heard him. There were drops of sweat flowing down his temples, his eyes looking tired and his face covered in blood. You didn’t know if it was his own blood or your father’s. He stood up and looked at you from the exact spot your father did moments ago.
Your tears were making your vision blurry. Your jaw was shaking and you did not know how long your legs could keep you standing. This was all a nightmare for sure. A very realistic one that you would always have since you came to this place. Jimmy gave you a look, as if he was pitying you.
“Do not open the door to anyone until sunrise.” He said before he walked to his van. You silently watched him walk away from your dead father’s body and you. Your chest was aching and your tears were keep flowing down your face without your control.
You couldn’t look at your father for last time before you started to walk upstairs. Your steps were silent, like a ghost as you walked passed your mother’s room and entered your own. Window was open. The chilling wind of the night was filling your room. The bed sheets were cold and your pillow was too hard to sleep on. It felt like laying on spikes. Your body was hurting, your soul was hurting. Yet there was no thought on your mind. Your piece of shit of a father was dead.
You woke to an eery silence of the house. You rose from your bed, catching a glimpse of your swollen eyes and purple under eyes in the mirror before you left your room. The long corridor of the second floor was empty, as it always was. You walked to your mother’s room and knocked on her door. Yet she didn’t answer. She was probably still asleep or didn't want to be disturbed, you thought to yourself. Then made your way to downstairs.
It was just like how you left last night. Your book was on the couch, next to your mother’s favourite blanket and your father’s favourite mug that you used to drink tea last night. You walked to the kitchen to open the window. The weather was cloudy and rainy. You wished to see a glimpse of sunlight yet walked away disappointed. You checked the fridge to make some breakfast for you and your mother yet the fridge was empty.
You sighed with annoyance before you walked upstairs again, to alert your mother of lack of food in the house and ask to go to shopping to town. You knocked on her door. There was no response. The pit in your stomach was there again. It was eating away your insides with worry and fear. You slowly opened the door and stepped into her room. She wasn’t here. Her bed was tidy, as if she never slept on it last night. The windows were shut, the air was suffocating with the lack of oxygen. You saw her glass of water, untouched on the nightstand next to her bed.
Your steps were slow and steady as you walked to the small bathroom in her room. The door was shut yet you could hear a sound of water dripping. You frowned in confusion as you reached for the handle. The first thing you saw was blood. The blood mixed into water that was flowing down the bathtub reached at your feet in seconds. Then the smell. The metallic, heavy smell of blood hit your nose. The sight of it came last. Your mother, your own mother was laying in the overflowing bathtub, in her own blood, her eyes wide open just like her mouth, facing the ceiling and looking into nothingness. You saw her slit wrists on either side of her, blood still dripping down in a thick form. You wanted to throw up yet nothing came out from your mouth. No words, no scrams, no cry. You silently looked and looked at her.
There was a strange silence in the house. Silence was something you had always craved. Yet in this moment you wished nothing more than the chaos that was always present in your household since you knew yourself. You wished to hear your parent’s argument again. Wished to carry your drunk father to his bed with your mother’s help. You wished to separate your mother and the neighbours fight. You wished to scream back at them when they decided to mess with you after getting bored of messing with one another. You craved for what you always knew. Was it possible to ask for the pain you knew because the comfort was a too much of a stranger?
You walked back to your room, your body was about to collapse. You sat on your bed. Maybe minutes, maybe for hours. You just sat there. Your eyes were on the nightgown that was tossed in the corner. You sat there until sun was setting, until darkness of the evil came rushing back to the countryside. You sat there until someone knocked on your door. The sound from downstairs echoed in your house. Your heart beats fastened again, your lips going dry.
“It’s me Jimmy. I came to take you to town. I spoke with my father. We’re concerned for ya.” He said as you walked downstairs silently. You stood right in front of the door, your heart at your throat, your palms sweating and drops of sweat flowing down your back.
“You said never open the door to anyone after sunset.” You spoke for the first time since yesterday, your throat hurting as the words left your mouth. You heard him grunt and swear under his breath. You looked around your living room to see if there was something you could use to defend yourself.
“Not me, I won’t hurt you. Would you not like me to take you somewhere safe? He might come any moment.” He said with clear worry and fear in his voice. You wondered what he was so scared of after he killed your father right in front of your eyes. What if it was also him who killed your mother? Why would he want to destroy your family, your life like this?
‘How to say… there are things in this town.’
His words echoed in your head. Maybe the things were him from the very start? You felt like throwing up when he knocked the door loudly. He was trying to open it. The tears formed in your eyes when you felt the hairs on your neck stand up.
“Open the damn door and let me help you. You will die out here.” He screamed as he tried to break the door by kicking it. Your feet carried you to the kitchen, to the backyard door that you kept shut since you moved here. You tried to open it yet it was locked. Jimmy threw another kick to the door and the lock broke down immediately, letting him in. You turned around and saw him standing at the entrance, his shotgun in his hand, looking at you who was struggling to open the back door. As he was about to step into the house, you screamed in terror and forced the door more. But he didn't come in. You dint hear any footsteps approaching you or his voice calling your name.
You slowly looked back at the front door over your shoulder. He wasn't there. There was in fact no one looking at you or stepping into the house. It was just darkness and cool wind blowing in. You walked to the door after grabbing a knife from the kitchen. You would kill him if you had to, if he didn't shoot you first. The porch was empty. His van was parked in front of your house, engine on yet no one at the driver seat. The small light at your porch was flashing fast but weakly.
You walked away from the porch, made your way to the right side of your house that was facing the main road to the town. You kept your back on the wall and moved silently, checking your back and corners every second to see if he was coming back or hiding somewhere. Was he trying to lure you outside so it would be easier to kill you? You shook with fear and cold weather. You weren’t feeling pain or hunger anymore. You wondered if you were going to survive this night and see the run rise one more time.
There were no cars passing. Was it possible to walk to town all that way and find someone to help you? Your eyes found someone in the darkness. There was someone standing next to the tree that you sat by just a day ago. He was shorter than Jimmy and had broader shoulders. Yet it could be just you trying to convince yourself. You wanted to walk to him and beg him to help you to get away from that psycho.
“There you are.” You heard Jimmy’s voice right next to you as you were still looking at the strange figure. You screamed in terror and started to run away before he could catch you. The man next to the tree turned to look at you with the shouts and screams. It was this Remmick guy. You felt relief settle into you as you run towards him. He smiled when he saw you, his eyes not even looking at what was behind you. He opened his arms as you got close. You were crying your lungs out when you found yourself in his arms.
“No! Get away from him!” Jimmy raged when he saw Remmick holding you against him. Remmick’s grip was tight and cold. His body against yours cooled you down, your breathing going back to normal and your heart beats getting slow. You felt Remmick move your body slightly.
“No, no, no preacher’s boy. We wouldn’t want to have you hurt this precious girl.” He said as his hands went up and down on your back. You took a deep breath of calmness when your face found a comfortable place in the crook of his neck. Just like you remembered, he smelled strange yet this time this smell brought you the feeling of safety and security. You didn’t question why you remembered how he smelled like. He giggled when you snuggled against him more. You were going to survive.
“You made me work hard for you, little dove.” He said, his voice calm yet playful. The peace lasted short when you heard the last words he said. You wanted to pull away yet he didn't let you. You were not thinking of Jimmy anymore. Only thing you could think of was Remmick. As if he was conquering your mind, your senses and making you unable to think of anything else.
“It is such a precious, magnificent thing to be loved.” He whispered to your ear. His warm, flaming lips moving down to your neck. You felt him leave a small, soft kiss on the skin of your neck. His kiss, his touch didn't feel unfamiliar. Your body knew his touch, your body knew his words.
“W-what?” You managed to bubble a word out of your mouth. He laughed at your state, his chest falling and rising against you.
“The preacher’s son Jimmy wanted to be your hero. But I cannot let him, unfortunately.” He said, his mouth right on your pulse. You felt your heart sink when you felt his sharp teeth on your skin. These were the teeth you had already felt on you for nights. They were not dreams. It was him.
“I met a preacher’s son long time ago. They’re always, how to say… interesting. Maybe he is still out there somewhere.” He said, his voice curious, still playful, scratching your brain. His arms got tighter around you, until you could’t breath anymore. You held his arms, tried to break away from him yet you couldn't do anything against his inhuman strength. You wished that Jimmy would shoot both of you in this moment.
Your vision went black when you felt sharp, stinging, burning pain on your neck. It was so unbearable that you couldn't even scream when his teeth sinked deep into you. You could feel blood flowing out of you, filling his mouth and rest spilling down his chin. The coldness of his fangs burned the fresh wound on your neck. The air that was hitting the wetness of your blood made you dizzy. He sucked on your neck like he was starving as his hands roamed all over your body.
That wasn't a demon or it wasn't you getting possessed by some kind of entity. It wasn't your brain making up things either. It was Remmick from the very beginning. You realised it was him Jimmy was warning you about. It was his voice that was making your heart skip a beat in the dead of the night. It was his hands touching your body and making you tremble under him.
“You taste better than any mortal I have ever tasted, little dove.” His voice echoed in your mind. You didn’t know if he was actually talking or you were going insane at this point. Your legs gave up but his arms held you up in the air. You were floating in his arms as he started to kiss the wound on your neck. The pain was too much that your heart beats slowed down alongside your breathing. Your ears were ringing, your mouth going dry.
“I’ll love you forever.” He whispered as your consciousness slipped out of your body. Everything went black. No sound, no light. It was pure nothingness. Your senses were dull and you couldn’t feel your body. Everything was too light around you. There were no feelings. You were not scared anymore. Nor you were calm.
When you opened your eyes again, the darkness of the night seemed brighter than any other time. Your eyes scanned the field, seeing small animals hidden amongst haystacks. Your ears filled with the sounds of small crickets, birds breathing on the tree branches, people laughing in the distance, your mother’s blood dripping down in the bathtub. You felt the dryness of your throat first. It hurt so much that you wanted to scream out. Remmick rocked you gently in his arms. He was saying something yet you could not focus on his words.
The delicious smell of him hit your nose so suddenly, with the wind carrying his scent to you. You pushed and manage to get Remmick away from you. There he was. The preacher’s son. The poor boy Jimmy who only wanted to help you and risked his life for you. He was standing not so far away from you, frozen and shaking in fear. You wondered if your eyes were shining with the soul of devil within you. Remmick was in you from now on, from the moment he sinked his teeth into. From the first moment he laid his eyes on you. From the first moment he tasted your skin.
You took a step towards Jimmy only for him to raise the shotgun to you. You did not care if you were going to die. The urge to feed yourself was so strong, almost blinding. You took another step, and he pulled the trigger. The bullet hit your shoulder. It felt like a bee sting that was spreading over your flesh. Then the bullet slowly fell off the wound, dropping to ground. You heard Jimmy gasp, start to whisper prayers under his breath as you walked to him. Your hands found his shoulders, forced him to get closer.
“Jimmy…” You almost pleaded as your teeth cut trough his skin. He screamed and tried to push you away in terror, yet everything was happening too fast. Before you could even stop yourself from harming him, his tasty blood touched your tongue. And you felt a wave of energy travel trough your body. Life was breathed back into you with his sweet liquid of life. You felt it burn trough your throat and mix into your system in seconds. Every drop of his blood was burning your insides in the most pleasurable way possible. You drank it like madwoman. It was dripping from your mouth, escaping from the corner of your mouth. You tried to catch it as if your life was depended on it, licking everything possible. You were so hungry, the feeling in your stomach hurting you, making your headache and your fangs sizzle with soreness.
“That’s enough little dove. You drained the poor boy.” Remmick said as he laughed. He wrapped his one arm around your waist and picked you up easily. The lifeless body of Jimmy dropped to ground as he slipped away from your grasp. You saw him fall, his face pale, his lips colourless, his once cheerful, shy eyes looking dead more than ever. You jaw dropped, tears filled your eyes as Remmick carried you away as if you were piece of feather. You tried to push him away, get away from his touch but he looked unbothered by your attempts.
“We can go back to your house and spend the day there until sunset. What do you say little dove?” He asked, his face close to yours, his eyes twitching with mischief. He disgusted you beyond imagination with the smirk on his face.
“Get away from me!” You said, your voice coming out like an animal growl. His eyebrows raised in curiosity when you tried to scratch his face. He put you down suddenly when two of you were on the porch, holding your arms tight enough to break your now very strong bones. Every sensation was still too new. You could still smell Jimmy’s blood, still hear the noises coming from afar, still feel Remmick’s bite burn and ache.
“I have waited for you for so long.” Remmick whispered with a gentle voice you didn't expect to hear from him. His fingers found your face, caressing your cheek that was wet because of your tears. His fingertips that once felt ice cold now felt like they were belong on your skin.
“Wondered around for centuries to find someone like myself only to find no one. Until you.” He said as his eyes never left your face. He was looking deep into your eyes, seeing your deprived soul behind them. You wanted to get away yet your body was frozen as if he put some spell on you. What was this nightmare? Had God abandoned you in this countryside? Had he left you into the arms of this devil?
“I am no devil.” Remmick said, mirroring your words. “I only have love to give you, little dove.”
“You have taken my humanity from me.” You said, your voice shaking with sorrow and rage. The soft look on his face disappeared in seconds. His hand on your face grabbed your cheek tight, bringing your face closer to his own.
“What a humanity that was?! That humanity killed my people, destroyed cities, burned children, enslaved men. There’s nothing glories about that humanity that you grieve.” His words were full of poison as he spat them out. His eyes were scanning your face, looking at every detail possible. Under his gaze, you felt your skin burn. The bite he left on your neck sizzled again, making you hiss.
“I will show you great things. Things you could never imagine in your human life.” He said as his body was pressed right against yours. You felt your skin tingle against him, making you shift uncomfortably under his touch.
He brought his face closer, until there was few inches between your lips. His fingertips were pressing into your flesh, leaving possible marks on you. The thought of carrying the marks he left on you made you thighs clench. As if he was reading your mind, he held you tighter, his nails cutting trough your skin like it did nights ago.
“Let me show you my most precious thing. My love…” He said as his lips gently touched the corner of your mouth. His short moustache tickled your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine. You wanted his lips on you but he wasn't kissing you. His mouth was slightly open as his lips went right and left at the corner of your mouth. His warm breath was licking your face, making you forget everything that you had on your mind just seconds ago.
His lips captured your bottom lip first. He gently kissed your mouth as if you were a piece of glass. Then his tongue slowly made its way into your mouth. With this new body, the taste of his tongue was exquisite now. He tasted like wave of destruction, the plague, the angel of death, your sweet blood that he drank minutes ago. He tasted like the end and foreverness. You kissed him back like an animal, hungry, wild and in need for killing. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, pressing your body against him so hard that you thought your bones were crushing into one another.
He first got rid of his own clothes. His pale, smooth skin was shining under the cold moonlight. You felt your mouth water as his hands ripped your clothes away. The stretch of the ripping clothes on your skin made the wetness between your legs grow bigger. Before you knew what was happening, his hand was in your hair, gently tugging the strands to expose your neck. He leaned closer and breathed your scent in. Then his wet lips left a shaky, small kiss that made you moan out loud in frustration. His touch was so gentle that it made you feel like you were walking on a thin sword. You wanted to get cut by that sword more than anything in this moment.
“I watched you, listened to you, touched you. I waited to make you mine so patiently.” He whispered as if he was talking to himself. His hand on your hair pulled harsher this time, making you fall onto your knees. He followed you down soon after, laying you onto the ground. You didn't care about the hard, uncomfortable surface of the porch. Only thing you cared was him between your legs, looking down at you like you were a part of his whole being.
“I won't be gentle.“ he said, as he left a kiss to your temple and caressed your hair. You did nothing but nodding as he waited for your reaction. His eyes didn't leave your face as he grabbed his dick and aligned himself with your awaiting, clenching wet entrance. The first stretch took your breath away. Everything was too foreign to your body. His tip went in and stretched your walls that sent a wave of shock trough your whole body. He kept looking at you and you could not take your eyes off of him. It was like your were one with him in this moment. Your very existence was full of him. Your insides were full of him.
His dick made a room for itself as he mercilessly stretched you out. When he was all the way in, his tip close to your cervix, a cry came out of your throat. Your chest was hurting and your eyes were burning. You felt sick. Pleasure of the pain was making your vision cloudy. You could not think anything other then him being inside you, against you, on top of you. He rolled his hips once and you couldn't control the noises that came out of you. It sounded like an animal crying out in pain, a shriek of sorrow, a moan that was full of pleasure and sin.
“Let it go.” He whispered and captured your lips once more. You moaned into his mouth as he started to roll his hips again and again. His skin was slapping against your skin, the sounds that came from both of you echoed in the field. There in the darkness, two wild monsters, seeds of the devil were making love.
His pubic bone was pressed against your clit, going up and down and providing the friction you were craving. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and bit you again on the same spot. This time the pain of his teeth made you shake in ecstasy. You were scratching his back, drawing blood and sinking your nails deep enough to make him hiss. You could feel your blood once again fill his mouth. You felt your tongue go dry, your fangs get sore in need of biting something. You could feel your thirst get worse as his hips slapped against yours, your walls clenching around him tight and wet.
“Go on, bite me.” He whispered between his bites. Your eyes widened with his words and the pit in your stomach made you tremble.
Without even thinking you took a long lick of the skin of his neck and bit him. He hissed and you felt him twitch inside you, going deeper in you as if it was possible. His ancient blood touched your tongue and you felt euphoric. It was much different than Jimmy’s blood. Remmick’s blood was full of wisdom and evilness. It was bitter and addicting. You felt it get into your veins, mix into you in seconds and fill you up with darkness.
“Harder!” You moaned as you licked the bite on his neck like a lunatic. His thrusts became harsher, leaving your skin burning and bruised. He was digging into you, making you squeal and cry his name out.
“Fucking hell woman!” He grunted as he held your thighs and pushed them against your bare breasts. He pressed his body against yours, trapping you between him and ground. With the new position, you could feel him deeper in you. Your walls were clenching and getting wetter and wetter with every thrust. Your mixed liquids were flowing down his balls to the ground, pooling under your hips.
His name was like a prayer on your lips. In this moment he was all you knew, with your new body and mind, with your new nature. He was your creator, as he eliminated the first one that trapped you into a miserable life. You hugged his shoulders and kissed him again. The kiss was mixing with your tears that were flowing down your cheeks. He moaned when he tastes the salty liquid. He was liking everything better when it pained you. How sick and twisted someone could be?
“You tasted way better than your father.” He whispered, making sure you heard it clearly. Your hips that were thrusting up and meeting him halfway stopped. Your tears dried on your cheeks and your arms fell to your sides from his back. He buried his face into your neck as his thrusts started to get sloppy and carelessly deep. Your face was blankly looking at the black sky that was full of stars. He was going in and out, his hands holding your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh and his lips sucking on the sweet spot on your collarbone.
He was terrorising you from the moment you had came to this place. He was haunting your dreams, making you doubt what was real and what was not. He had taken your father first, turning him into a monster like himself, like you. Then he had taken your mother, on an early cold morning. He wasn’t satisfied with any of this until he had taken your humanity, your innocence and mercy from you. He had made you kill an innocent person who only wanted to help you. And now he was never going to let you go. You felt your chest tighten with the thought of spending one more day with him.
His moans got louder, eventually turning into screams of pleasure. With one last hard roll of his hips, he spent himself in you, painting your clenching walls white with his dead seed. You wanted to throw up as he was still caressing your skin and kissing your neck. He was smiling against you, his dick still inside you, keeping you full. Your eyes turned to the side and you saw horizon line lighten slightly by the rising sun. Your breathing stop. It was going to be bright soon.
“I want to be on top.” You said as you ran your fingers trough his dirty blonde locks. His dick started to harden inside you with your words. Then he immersed flipped you over, laying himself on the ground that was warmed by your body. He was already hard when you aligned his tip at your entrance. The stretch was better than first time, going easier with the slick of your folds. You went down until he was all the way inside you. The new feeling took the breath out of your lungs. Your loins were fitting together like pieces of puzzle. He looked at you under his eyelashes, a sweet smile on his face as his hands grabbed your breasts. You started to roll your hips without letting your body adjust to him first.
“I love you.” He whispered breathlessly, the smile on his face never fading away and his eyes dropping in the bliss of your body. You held onto his chest as your movements got faster. Your whole body was burning with the knowledge of sun slowly rising in the horizon. He was lost in you, unaware of the new day coming.
With the force of your knees you started to bounce up and down, taking Remmick’s breath away. His legs were shaking just like your knees that were about to give up. Your body was tired but your mind was wide awake. You were not going to spend the rest of your life with him. You were not going to let him go either. He had to pay for what he did to you and even if it meant to die with him, you were willing to do so.
“I love you.” He said again. His eyes were closed, hands on your legs, his chest rising slowly with the deep breaths he was taking in.
“Come here.” You said when the friction on your clit made you tremble on top of him. You were going to come. He opened his eyes and rose up to hold you on his lap. Your arms were wrapped around one another, body tangled and hips meeting in order to get satisfaction out of one another. He pressed his forehead against yours, your breaths mixing and making your eyes tear.
“I love you… I love you…” he kept repeating as your legs started to shake and your eyes rolled back into your skull. You saw flashing lights and stars in your vision as your clenching walls made him grunt like an animal. The knot in your belly exploded and pleasure burst into your veins. You cried out, tears flowing down your cheeks and he licked every each one.
“I love you.” He said as you kept rolling your hips. You could not say that you loved him back. Though of uttering those words disgusted you. You guided his mouth back to the wound on your neck which he gladly accepted once again tonight. You sinked your own teeth onto his shoulder. Your bodies exchanged blood and pleasure at the same time. With that he was sent over the edge and his orgasm hit him for the last time.
Two of you slowly laid back, you on top of him, him still deep inside you. You could feel his seed leaking out of you. The feeling made your legs shake and your clit throb. You feasted on him from the last time. You were going to die with his taste on your tongue and his seed in you. No matter how hard you tried to get your self away from him, you were his.
The sun lights came first. Then the warmth. It was sweet sensation first. As you drank from one another, it warmed your skin. You didn’t look up to sunlight but the feeling was bringing you peace maybe for the last time in your life. The thought made you want to cry. Remmick slowly raised his head up from your neck but you didn’t let him.
“Please drink more.” You said as you pushed his back to your skin. Your loins were burning. You smelled burning flesh. Then felt the pain on your skin. Remmick’s skin was starting to turn red, looking raw and painful. You were feeling his pain on top of your own. Tears kept running down your cheeks as he kept drinking your blood. He was consuming you as if he was drunk on your essence. He was keep repeating the same few words even when the sun was getting higher in the sky;
‘I love you.’
The sun was brighter today. It was warmer, more blinding. The sun was rising for you today. Today, sun was rising to clean the world from evil. And you had accepted without fighting against. You pressed your head against Remmick’s shoulder and started to hum a song that was from a distant memory. A song that was sang by a mother, to her baby. A lullaby it was. This wasn't your memory, no. Your family was full of too much hate and contempt towards one another. You had never truly loved your parents and even though they had little love for you in their heart, they had never liked you as a person. All of your memories were full of arguments and screams.
The lullaby was from Jimmy’s memories. The same one that his mother sang to him nights before she had died. The same lullaby he sang by himself to remember her. And it was the same one that he had imagined to sing to his kids one day.
Sun lights were coming directly now. You could feel them getting under your skin and make their way into you in order to destroy your existence. Remmick shifted beneath you, as if his consciousness was coming back. He tried to push you away yet you didn't let him. With your last strength you held him tight and close to you.
“What are you-“
“You said you loved me more than anyone ever did. I want you to die with your love.” You said as you looked into his eyes. There it was again, his mischief smile that made your blood boil with rage.
He tried to get away from you but you were not letting him go. Sunlights were frying his skin now. The smoke that came from your bodied filled the air with the smell of burning flesh. The flames were coming from your insides. It was burning from your belly to your throat to your bones. You wondered if every death was this painful.
The flames got bigger and higher. Only thing you could see were orange-red flames and his eyes that never left your face. He was looking at you as if he was trying to understand if he was actually dying. Being on this earth for centuries, seeing empires rise and fall, being the most powerful being on the planet and take thousands of lives wasn’t something someone could leave behind easily.
“After everything I did for you?” He said, but you could not tell if he was actually talking or you were hearing things as you died.
“I never wanted any of this. ” You said, tears flowing down your cheeks and your heart aching.
“Why?” His voice is now full of sadness and his eyebrows raised up in hope. The possibility of you never loving him was now crossing his mind for the first time. You didn’t love Remmick. Yet the problem was, you couldn’t hate him either. You knew you were supposed to. And the guilt of not hating him was eating you away.
“Only someone who knows how to love could hate.” Remmick’s grip on you disappeared when the words left your mouth. “Anything other than hate and love is nothing at all.” He shook his head as if your words getting carved into his head. He pulled away from you, facing the creeping sunlights from the horizon line. You looked at him, and gasped with his beauty. His body was like a statue against the shimmering lights. You wondered what was the last time he properly seen the sun.
He looked at the horizon line, didn’t speak for some time until you touched his cheek. His side profile was perfect with his red eyes shining and reflecting the upcoming light. His mouth was covered in your blood and his body was covered in bites and scratches all over. The corner of your mouth curled up with proudness of your work. You were truly going insane.
“I don’t remember the last time someone loved me.” He whispered. Yet the weights of his words were so loud that it was heard in the whole field.
“I searched for something that could make me feel close to what I had before I was this.” He said as his hands pointed at himself.
“But I have been on this earth too long. Nothing, no one of my time survived yet I am here.” He said as he finally turned to you. You realised in that moment how similar you were. Since you spent your life trying to fit into a world that never tried to make you feel included. Your parents were dead, you had no home to go back. Your hands were covered in the blood of an innocent.
“Maybe we weren’t meant t survive this long.” You said. He smiled and nodded.
You did not know if he said something after that. It felt burning, then cold. Then nothing at all. Your existence turned into a bunch of ash and wind took it away.
As the sun rose in the sky, there were ashes on the ground of the porch. There were torn clothes, and blood. Not so far away from the house, there was a dead man, laying on the haystacks, a shotgun by his side.
A naked man who was covered in burns disappeared into the house, seen by the cars passing by. Yet they only found the bodies of the woman out of the family that moved into the house and the preacher’s poor son. There were no traces of the father and the daughter. Not a single trace of any body else other than them.
A/N: hope you liked it. Feel free to share your thoughts on it.
hymn for the hollow — dean winchester
Chapter 01: Mother’s Country
Supernatural | young!Dean Winchester x weird girl!Reader
WARNINGS: mania, religion, alluded insanity, alluded substance abuse, neglect of children.
a/n: sooo— i decided to make this full fanfic from the dabble/oneshot i wrote, enjoy! :)
you can read the oneshot here
You were born on a Sunday morning in a town that has since fallen off most maps. Your mother liked to say the church bells tolled for you the moment she brought you into the world, that even the Lord paused to listen when you took your first breath. But the truth is there hadn’t been a bell in that chapel for years; only the sound of the wind clanging the loose tin of the steeple, moaning like something unwell.
Your earliest memories are of dust. Dust on the curtains, dust on the family Bible, dust on your mother’s hands as she pressed them together in prayer. She told you it was holy— the residue of all things gone before. “Ashes to ashes.” She’d whisper when she cleaned the mantle, and you’d think she sounded almost proud of the decay.
She was not a cruel woman, but she was a lonely one, and loneliness can turn devotion into doctrine. She called everything a sign. The streak of red rust on the well pump, the crack down the center of the kitchen window, the way thunder rolled right after she said your name. You grew up believing God was a restless thing, pacing through your house, rearranging the world each time your mother prayed too hard.
There were photographs of your father in a shoebox under her bed. You found them once— handsome man, oil-dark hair, a smile that looked like it could get away with anything. You asked her about him, but she just said, “He was called somewhere else.” That answer fit right into the gospel of your house, where everything— men, mercy, even time— could be called away at a moment’s notice.
In summer, the air smelled of motor oil and lilac. You’d wander to the edge of the cornfields and watch the stalks move like a congregation bowing in prayer. The horizon was always too far to touch, and you grew up half in love with it—the idea that something was waiting beyond that thin blue line if only you walked long enough.
Bobby came around when your mother’s car refused to start one winter. He wasn’t truly your anchor yet— just a man with a reputation for fixing things that were too stubborn to die. He arrived smelling of gasoline and black coffee, boots muddy, voice rough with sleep. You hid behind the couch, peering through the fringe of the afghan as he coaxed the engine back to life. Your mother offered him coffee and thanks; he took both awkwardly, like gratitude didn’t fit him right.
After that, Bobby checked in more often. He brought canned goods sometimes, spare parts, stories you weren’t supposed to overhear. He didn’t belong to the same kind of faith as your mother; his god was practical— one of engines and weather and the way a person could survive if they just kept their hands busy. When he asked about your father, your mother told him, “The Lord will provide.” Bobby just sighed and looked at you, the quiet kind of look that said he already knew you’d have to provide for yourself someday.
You remember one night especially— the air thick with the smell of rain. Your mother had fallen asleep in her chair, rosary slipping from her fingers, murmuring Hail Marys even in dreams. You went outside barefoot, toes sinking into mud, and looked up at the sky that seemed to breathe above you. There was a light on the horizon— maybe lightning, maybe the county fair two towns over— and for the first time you felt the strange pull of wanting to be elsewhere. You didn’t have a name for it yet, but it lived in your chest like a second heartbeat.
At school, people called you church-girl. You were quiet, always writing in the margins of your notebooks— lyrics, prayers, secrets that felt too heavy to keep. You didn’t talk much, but when you did, your voice carried that small-town softness that made people lean closer, just to hear what sorrow sounded like when it was trying to be polite.
You started visiting Bobby’s salvage yard on weekends, claiming your mother needed something fixed. He never questioned it. The yard was a kingdom of wreckage: rows of twisted chrome, gutted engines, shards of glass that caught the sunlight like baptismal water. You’d walk between the carcasses of cars and imagine each one held a ghost— a story of someone who thought they were just passing through. Bobby let you help, passing him wrenches you didn’t yet know the names of. He talked to you the way people talk to grown-ups: short, honest, without all that sugar your mother used to sweeten her words.
Sometimes, in the hum of metal and oil, you’d think about your father. You pictured him out there somewhere past the horizon, driving one of those cars that now lay broken in the dirt. You told yourself he might come back for you when the corn was high again, but deep down you knew that even if he did, you wouldn’t be the same girl waiting on the porch.
One evening, Bobby drove you home after dark. The truck’s headlights cut a path through the fields, fireflies scattering like sparks. He asked if your mother ever talked about leaving. You said no, and he nodded like that confirmed something he’d always suspected. “Some people get stuck,” he said. “Sometimes it’s love that sticks ‘em, sometimes fear.” You asked which one it was for her. He didn’t answer.
When you reached the house, your mother was standing on the porch, wrapped in her shawl, eyes bright like she’d seen an angel. “The Lord sent you back!” She said, voice trembling with a mix of faith and mania. Bobby glanced at you before tipping his cap and driving off. That night, she made you kneel beside her bed and thank God for the people he placed in your life, even the temporary ones. You whispered amen because it was easier than arguing that most people weren’t placed— they just drifted close enough for a while.
You learned to measure time not in years but in seasons: the spring your mother’s hands started shaking, the summer Bobby found you crying behind the shed, the autumn when you stopped asking about your father. Winter always came hardest. The house grew colder, and prayers turned into bargains whispered to the empty air.
You were twelve when you realized you’d inherited your mother’s habit of seeing signs. A crow on the fence meant change, a cracked mirror meant warning. You didn’t truly believe in it, but faith has a way of lodging itself in your bones, even after reason tells it to go.
And on a Sunday like the one you were born, you stood again in that same yard—dust, sun, silence—and understood that being hollow wasn’t a curse. It was a space waiting to be filled.
You were thirteen the summer the house began to smell different.
Not bad, not exactly — more like something overripe, a sweetness that didn’t belong to anything living. Your mother said it was the lilacs rotting in their vase, but you noticed the same scent on her breath when she kissed your forehead goodnight.
Her prayers got longer then. She’d sit in the kitchen until the windows turned silver with dawn, whispering to a God who never seemed to answer back. Sometimes you’d wake to find the Bible open on the table, pages wrinkled and damp, her handwriting scrawled in the margins like she was trying to rewrite the ending.
Bobby stopped by less. You guessed he could feel the way the house had changed — the quiet stretched too thin, the light too pale. He’d still drop off supplies: soup cans, engine oil, a pack of gum for you. “You’re gettin’ tall.” He’d say, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You started taking long walks down the gravel road behind the house. It was easier to breathe out there, where the fields rolled on forever and no one expected you to pray. Sometimes, when the wind moved right, you could almost hear a song drifting from nowhere— low, wordless, half-memory. You didn’t know if it was the radio from some distant porch or just the land humming to itself.
Your mother began sleeping late. You learned to make breakfast, to keep the house in order. You cleaned around her, humming the hymns she used to sing so the silence wouldn’t swallow everything. When she did wake, she’d smile too wide, cheeks flushed like she’d been running. “God’s good to us…” she’d say, voice trembling at the edges. You wanted to believe her.
It was around then that you started seeing signs again.
The first was a dead robin on the windowsill— neck bent, wings spread like it was caught mid-flight. You buried it in the garden, whispered a prayer you didn’t remember learning. The second was the storm that tore half the roof from the barn. Your mother said it was punishment; you decided it was warning. The third came on a quiet morning when you saw your reflection in the sink water and didn’t recognize it— your eyes older, sharper, something watching back.
At thirteen, you began to understand that love and fear could look the same from a distance. You loved your mother fiercely, but some nights when she laughed too loud at nothing, you locked your door. She never tried to open it, but you imagined her standing there, nails scraping against the wood, whispering through the grain. Maybe you were paranoid, but the new small marks on your door didn’t do much to reassure you.
Once, you found her in the yard, arms lifted to the sky, rain soaking her dress. “He’s speaking!” She said, eyes unfocused, face tilted toward the clouds. You didn’t know what to say, so you stood beside her, rain running down your neck, both of you waiting for thunder to mean something.
The next morning she didn’t remember. You did.
It became the way of things: she would drift, you would anchor. She’d sing, you’d listen. You tried to fill the spaces she left behind, but it was like trying to catch smoke— the more you grasped, the less there was to hold.
By autumn, the fields turned brittle and gold. You gathered jars from the cellar, washed them clean, lined them on the windowsill like little stained-glass prayers. She told you they looked like heaven in sunlight, then spent the rest of the day in bed. Bobby came by again that week. He asked if everything was all right. You said yes, because that’s what daughters are taught to say.
He looked at you for a long time, his eyes soft and tired. “You call if you need anything.” He spoke, and you nodded, though the words stuck in your throat.
You didn’t call. Instead, you started keeping a notebook— filled it with dreams and strange omens: the way the new church bell swayed without wind, the cross shadowing your bed each dawn, the whisper you thought you heard beneath your mother’s singing. You wrote that down too, just in case God was reading over your shoulder.
The year turned. Snow came heavy and white, burying everything. You and your mother stayed mostly indoors. She took to sitting by the window, cup in hand, staring out at the world like it had wronged her personally. Sometimes she’d laugh at nothing, the sound small and wild. You’d pretend not to hear.
On Christmas morning, you found the shoebox of photographs laid out across the table— your father’s face staring up like a question you’d stopped asking. Your mother traced his image with her finger and said, “He could’ve been a good man, if he’d stayed.” Then she looked at you, eyes glassy and full. “You’ve got his restlessness.” She murmured, and for a moment you thought it was a blessing.
But that night, lying awake, listening to her tear those pictures to shreds, you understood it was a warning.
Spring came late, and when it did, the thaw brought everything to the surface— the smell of earth, the hum of insects, the ache of something new. You spent long hours at the edge of the property, watching the road that led out of town. The horizon still shimmered like a promise, but you’d learned not to trust promises.
Your birthday came and as you blew the candles out, you already were carrying more ghosts than years. Yet somewhere in the back of your mind, you still believed the world might turn soft for you. That maybe the signs were not curses, but directions— a map drawn in feathers and rust and dreams.
By fourteen the house had gone very quiet. You learned the silence like another language: how to tell the difference between peace and the kind that comes after a storm. Your mother had begun to come and go, her visits home shorter, her absences longer. Bobby was the one who made sure the lights still came on and the pantry wasn’t empty. He’d leave groceries on the counter and mutter, “Eat somethin’ that didn’t come from a can, kid.” Before heading back to the yard.
He never called himself your guardian, but that’s what he was. He signed the papers when school asked, taught you to change the oil in his truck, and made a kind of ritual out of Saturday breakfast— burnt toast, strong coffee, and a silence that felt almost kind. In those months you began to think of him as a fixed point, like the North Star over the flat fields: gruff, steady, impossible to lose no matter how far you wandered inside yourself.
The house, meanwhile, sagged inward. Your mother’s Bible stayed open to the same page for weeks, dust gathering along the gilt edges. The air always smelled faintly of lemon polish and something older underneath. When she was home, she spoke in half-verses and apologies. When she left, she always promised, “Just a little while this time.”
Bobby didn’t speak badly of her. He just sighed when her name came up, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck like he was smoothing out years of guilt. It was one of those long dusks at the salvage yard when he finally told you the truth.
“She weren’t the only one your daddy left,” he said, eyes fixed on the hood of the truck he was working on. “He was my friend first. We hunted together, fixed cars, drank too much coffee. I figured he’d settle down right— then one day he just… didn’t come back.”
You didn’t ask questions. The story sounded finished, like a door already closed. But something shifted in you all the same. For the first time, you saw Bobby not just as the man who rescued what was broken, but as another person left behind in the wreckage. It made a strange kind of sense that he’d try to keep you running; fixing you was the only apology your father ever sent.
That winter you found a book at a yard sale— its cover cracked, title half-faded: The Beetle Cabinet and Other Stories. It smelled of cellar damp and pressed violets. Inside were tales of children who turned into moths, girls who waited so long for love that they became ghosts. You read them by flashlight under the covers until the words started echoing in your dreams.
Maybe that’s what led you to the insects. You caught them carefully— crickets, lace-winged moths, the occasional grasshopper heavy as a coin— and pressed them between the pages of old telephone books. Bobby noticed, but didn’t stop you. He even found you a wooden box once, saying, “Figured you could keep your treasures in this.” You lined it with cotton, learned to pin the specimens the way library books showed, labeling each in careful script: June moth, found near the fence; dragonfly, after the storm.
It became a kind of prayer, a way of holding on to what would otherwise crumble. The house might change, your mother might fade in and out like static, but the tiny wings stayed perfect under glass.
When spring came, she returned again—smiling too brightly, her hair cut short and uneven. She brought you a second-hand dress and talked about redemption, about how God gives back what the world steals. For a few weeks, it almost felt like the air cleared. She cooked, sang old hymns while hanging laundry, even drove you into town for ice cream. You wanted to believe in the new version of her, fragile and glowing.
Then one night, something broke again. You heard her singing downstairs long after midnight, a hymn stretched thin into a cry and shattered glass. So you locked yourself in your room and called the only person you knew. When Bobby arrived the sun was already peaking through the horizon, the house was quiet except for the ticking of the kitchen clock. He didn’t ask questions, just packed a small bag for her and waited on the porch until the car from the county came. You stood by the window, watching her wave once— an uncertain motion, like she wasn’t sure which of you she was saying goodbye to.
After she was gone, the world settled into a hush that was almost merciful. Bobby came by every day that first week, making sure you ate, driving you to school, fixing the fence that had leaned all winter. He talked a little more now— stories of your father that weren’t flattering but weren’t cruel either. “He had a wild streak,” Bobby said once. “Thought he could outrun whatever haunted him. Guess none of us really can.”
You listened, filing each detail away like another pinned specimen. A friend, a truck, a laugh too loud. A man who left. You wanted to hate him, but mostly you were curious what it felt like to be loved by someone who couldn’t stay.
By fifteen, you’d grown tall and spare, a collection of quiet habits. The teachers said you were bright but distracted; Bobby said you just had too much world in your head. You spent your evenings in his salvage yard, reading from your horror anthology while the sun dropped behind the stacked cars. The stories felt familiar— the way beauty rotted into something tender and strange, the way people tried to hold on and turned monstrous in the process. You thought maybe the writers understood what it meant to be both living and leftover.
One evening, Bobby caught you studying a broken rear-view mirror, tilting it to catch the sunset. “What d’you see in there?” he asked. “Something that was almost whole.” You whispered, and he nodded, like he didn’t need it explained.
Summer came early that year. The fields buzzed with cicadas, their song loud enough to drown the past. You spent your days cataloguing your small museum of wings and legs, your nights watching storms roll across the horizon. Six months since your mother had left, and the hollow inside you had become something familiar— a home of your own, echoing but steady. You thought maybe this was what survival sounded like: wind through broken glass, the hum of engines far away, your own breath keeping time.
Bobby started talking about a favor he owed to an old friend, some boys who might pass through needing a place to rest once in a while. You didn’t ask who— they were just names in the distance then. But sometimes, when you caught your reflection in a jar lid or a windowpane, you wondered if the world was already rearranging itself, setting its pieces in place.
Because every night before sleep, you still heard that faint song on the wind—the one you’d first noticed years ago out by the cornfields. It sounded closer now, threaded with something human, a low voice carrying over the miles. You couldn’t make out the words, only the feeling: something coming, something kind and dangerous and real.
And though you didn’t know it yet, the road that would carry it toward you had already begun to hum.
a/n:thank you all for reading! please leave any advice or suggestions/corrections— i fear i wrote this when i was half asleep yesterday evening. again i want to thank @sacr1ficialang3l for inspiring me to write this (i’m going to stop tagging you dw o7 teehee)
yours forever,
fawn
| 'God loves you, but not enough to save you' the void x reader
minors dni
cw: pwp, dark!!! idk if it needs a dead dove or not but consider this your warning, reader has afab anatomy, religious imagery/guilt, blasphemy, mentions of blood, light masochism/sadism, depression, mental illness, suicidal ideation, degradation, dacryphilia, verbal humiliation, finger sucking/fucking, rough sex,
summary: depressed, lonely, and hopeless, you pray to God for a companion, a savior. The Void answers. He will take your pain away.
a/n: wrote this in a depressive episode where i watched a lot of nosferatu, and listened to a lot of ethel cain. enjoy :P it's very obvious that horror is my true passion
Cross posted to ao3: here
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“Come to me.”
You kneel beside your bed. Worn carpet scratches at bare knees.
“Come to me.”
Your elbows dip into the mattress as you clasp your hands together, a rosary tangled through cold fingers.
“The guardian angel.”
It hurts your neck, the way you crane your chin up towards heaven. The moon hangs in the sky, bright and taunting, and so far away, yet its light blinds you. You stare back at it—longingly, defiantly— through the white curtain draped over the window.
You will be answered.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
“A spirit of comfort.”
Every night you get on your knees before God and beg. You beg for your savior. You beg for a purpose, for something, anything to light a path for you to follow.
You feel lost,
alone.
You feel desperate.
There’s nothing for you anymore.
“Come to me.”
You feel someone watching you.
Your eyes snap open. The small hairs on your body stand pin straight. Goosebumps raise across your arms, your shoulders, your legs. It’s like the ghost of a cold, wet tongue, licking up your spine.
A cloud moves across the sky then, obscuring the moon—your only confidant—from you. You’re left in still, motionless darkness. Nothing stirs. Even your curtain halts its gentle swaying with the midnight breeze. You sit in it for a moment. Everything is quiet. No rustling of the trees outside, no scuffling of the critters you knew lived in your attic. Time seems to stop. Not even your clock ticks.
The moment passes, slowly, viscerally, like a birth, and once it’s passed, the darkness begins throbbing. Like a heart, it pulsates around you, pumping more and more darkness into the space. You can’t bear to look over your shoulder, but you feel it there.
A presence. His presence.
He’s finally come to answer your prayers and yet all you can feel is your racing heart, a fear far stronger, and more intense than even your agony, as it bubbles up inside of you. You meet that fear with guilt. It melts into you like fat. You shouldn’t fear, you know that much.
“The Lord is my shepherd;” You hush, frantic under your breath.
“I shall not want…”
Psalm 23. You continue your rushed whispering of it, but the dread doesn’t go away.
“…I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”
You pause, and it is in that brief moment of silence you hear it.
The darkness is breathing.
Deep, shallow breaths in, and long shaky breaths out. It’s strained, like a wounded animal. Chugging. You are reminded briefly of a moment from your childhood, when your father hit that deer on the backroads. Even now you can still see the way it twitched in pain. Its death was a brutal one with sprayed chunks of meat, and cracked bones but you found comfort in knowing it was in heaven now. Painless. Free. Just as you longed to be.
It’s obvious to you now that you aren’t as alone as you thought you were. You know, technically you’re never alone. God’s always with you. But this confirmation, the steady exhale fanning against your bare neck, this was what you’d been praying for.
You bite your tongue, rationalizing as the moonlight reappears. It’s pale and innocent. God’s light, you think. For the first time in so long you feel something other than the unbearable weight of your own loneliness. You feel hope, and it’s scary, but God’s wisdom can be startling. Change is never easy, but the courage of the Lord is your courage, so you muster up every drop of it within you to turn around.
You scan over the space before landing on it. If you hadn’t been looking, you were sure you’d have missed it. Amongst the shadows of your room, crooked as they cast across your wall, and dripping over picture frames and through corners, stood the shape of a man. Its body is lean, nothing but inky darkness in the center of your room, save for the gleam of two pinhole eyes. The gasp that leaves you is involuntary, but you apologize almost immediately. A quick and stuttered “forgive me.”
With your rosary pressed to your heart you turn to face it fully, rising on wobbly legs to sit at the edge of your bed. It squeaks beneath your weight, and the sound feels thunderous in the quiet of the night. The air is syrupy as it cocks its head at you, beady eyes scrutinizing. The silhouette of loose, shaggy hair falls to one side.
That’s when it comes to you. The word: Angel. God’s messenger. You know in that moment, that he stands before you to deliver the Lord’s sacred word. You’ve found favor with God.
Don’t be afraid. It—he?—orders. You don’t see a mouth move, you just hear the voice, deep and groping as it reaches out in an echo. It caresses the shell of your ear. It scrapes the inside of your skull.
The breeze blowing through your window gently jostles the dark impression of a cape flowing down his back.
“You’re an angel?” You ask. Your voice sounds small, insignificant in comparison to his. He closes the distance between the two of you. His walk is smooth, otherworldly. He moves with the fluidity of water, but he ripples like an oil slick. He looms over you now, so close he almost brushes your knee, and you let yourself wonder what that would feel like. The phantom black touch of an angel.
You crane your neck to look at him. It feels rude to sit in the presence of an angel, but he hasn’t requested that you stand so you remain where you are.
If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.
James 4:15
This isn’t the first time you’ve spoken to me, is it? His voice is playful, bordering on mocking. He already knows. He’s the one who answered your call, after all. His words feel like sweat. They trickle down your neck, and bead at your forehead. Your hands are clammy as he waits for your reply.
You nod.
Nuh-uh. You see the impression of him shaking his head, his shoulders move up and down with the low rumble of laughter. Use your words. I know you can, with all that begging and whining you’ve been doing.
You’ve upset him. You’re wasting his precious time. But the way he speaks, stern and slinking…your body acts against your better judgement, your thighs pressing together as you find there’s a sinful heat growing between them. You silently admonish yourself, tightening your grip on the rosary until you can feel the crucifix press indents into your palm. More pain.
“I pray every night.” You say shakily, and truthfully.
Now he’s the one nodding. He hums in contemplation, and you swear it makes the darkness shudder around you. His form is incorporeal. It seeps in and out of its shape in front of you, like blood in water. The room smells smokey, like blown out birthday candles, despite the night being clear and lucid. It’s becoming suffocating as slender fingers reach out and grab your chin. They’re pitch black and ice cold as they hold you in place. They don’t feel particularly remarkable, they just burn, the way an ice cube does if you hold it for too long. You hold your breath.
He moves your chin slowly, lazily—like he’s bored already—from left, to right, getting a good look at either side of your face. Why do you pray, huh?
A question with far too many answers. As a kid you would race to your room after school and cry for a pair of the cool new sneakers the popular girls wore. You’d pray for longer hair, passing grades, a sunny day, world peace. Once you were in your teens, you’d pray for the attention of one of the cute football boys, then when you finally got it, you’d pray that he’d actually break up with his girlfriend. You often prayed for forgiveness; forgiveness for not being nicer, for being ungrateful, for being selfish, for defiling yourself beneath your bed sheets at night.
Nowadays, your loneliness leads your prayers. Your emptiness. There’s a hollow, gaping hole where your heart used to be, and when you’re not feeling the twisting claws of pain, of sadness gutting you, or the seething fire of anger you can’t control, you feel nothing. You pray to be free of this pain, free of the resentment, the hatred that you have for those who don’t feel an ounce of what you do. You pray to be filled, filled with the wisdom of God, with purpose, with love, and light. You want to float like a cloud in heaven.
You’re sick of being alone?
The angel’s voice, slick and viscid, shakes you from your thoughts. Did you say all of that out loud? Are you so crazy now that you don’t even know when you’re actually speaking? Your mind is a cage—no—a stone, cold, prison cell, and you want out before you doom yourself further to hell.
You nod again in response. His grip on your chin is bruising, impatient, it rattles your brain until you remember to say, “yes.”
His hand falls from you, disappearing into the black mass of his body. You can feel that throbbing of the darkness again, like a stinging headache it pounds just between your eyes. It presses down against your chest. Then, so delicately that you fear you might be imagining it—in the sick and devastating way that you do—it pulses between your legs. Your face warms, and you feel caught, delirious, as it stares down at you with those needle pointed eyes. They’re sharp, unsettling, but you can’t look away.
I can make you feel good. He says, much less like an offer than a simple statement of fact. Your eyes widen, big and teary. He can cure you, unshackle you from your affliction, your heartache. You almost cry in relief at just that, but instead you fall to your knees before him, grabbing and clawing at the darkness of him desperately as you plead, plead, plead for your salvation.
Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed; save me, and I shall be saved: for thou art my praise.
Jeremiah 17:14.
“Please.” You beg yet again. “I’ll do anything. Please.”
Ah, you would, wouldn’t you.
Tears fall freely down your face now. Months, years of pent up frustration—agony—pours out all at once. You wish your tears could be useful somehow, not just an indulgent display of your own despair. You’d fill dry rivers with them if you could. You’d quench the thirsty. Put out wildfires.
It appraises you for a moment, your pathetic sniffling bouncing off the walls of the quiet bedroom. He’s teasing you. You know God works in mysterious ways, but you’d never have thought him to be cruel, teasing…If you’re made to wait any longer for another word you may very well die right there, feral and desperate at the foot of one of his soldiers.
You can’t bring yourself to imagine what you must look like. You were never a pretty crier. You press your forehead into the shadowy stretch just above where his knee should be. It’s firm, like the leg of a real person, with stronger muscles than what you’ve known anyone to have. Your tears disappear into his body, floating away into nothingness like puffs of smoke. The sulfuric smell of him fills your head, and for a second you imagine yourself suffocating to death in a housefire.
It shifts out of your reach, and you slump, bowing at the altar of him, your hands falling flat against the old carpet with a sad thump. You feel him move, and then a gentle caress meets the underside of your chin. It sends a chill through your body. For the second time tonight, goosebumps spread across your skin. You let the cold hand guide your head up. Through teary eyes you swear you see a white grin spread across its empty face.
I want your shame.
It’s a statement. He’s not asking permission, but you nod anyways. Exhausted. You can feel the atmosphere twist and churn around you, like a stomach digesting. You can barely hear him. His voice is a low gargle in your head. All you can hear is the pounding sound of your heart pumping blood throughout your body. Like you’re aware of every pint of it, burning through your veins, and hot in your face. His fingertips crawl up your chin. They’re slow and deliberate as they push against your lips.
Let me in.
There’s no hesitation. You obey, and his fingers taste like ash against your tongue. You’ve never felt like this before. You feel like a toaster, cracking and sizzling in a bathtub. That lighting sensation shoots down your spine. Raw, divine, pleasure. You can’t help but moan. It’s muffled, and embarrassing, but he was right. It feels good.
A groan echoes around you, staggered, and spinning around your head like a gong. It’s not your own, and it makes you lightheaded. He pumps his fingers lazily in and out of your mouth. They reach as far back as they can go, making your eyes water but you don’t care. Your thighs wobble, and knees chafe against the carpet as he keeps going. You’re a havoc of whimpers as your eyes flutter shut.
No. Look at me.
Its voice shakes you.
Open your eyes or I’ll stop.
You pry your eyes open. You hadn’t realized you were crying. You want more. You’d cry for more, and then you’d cry when you got it. Selfishness be damned. You’ll cry when you want. And you aren’t the only one that’s weeping. Your cunt aches and sobs beneath those tiny pajama shorts you’re wearing. It soaks through your panties, and you can feel the thin cotton. Wet. Stuck to you.
When he speaks it’s humorously, satisfied.
You like this, don’t you? You like having your mouth fingerfucked.
It’s not really a question. It’s an observation. You do like it. You like it so much that you’re mewling beneath him, eyes glossy and rolling to the back of your head. You groan. It’s broken, practically a sob. When have you been so shameless? When did the rosary slip from your hand? You feel the beads crush beneath your knee as you squirm, squeezing your legs together chasing the friction your clenching pussy wants so, so, badly. As you cry, spit gathers at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin and mixing with the salty tears that run hot down your face.
So messy.
He hums, then brings his other hand to the back of your head, where he gently strokes your hair. He touches you the way one would a scared animal. Tentatively, soothingly, reassuringly. You hadn’t realized how much you needed this. Physical touch. Although, it’s unclear how physical he is. The image of him ebbs and flows, like watercolor, all the while he’s leaning in and whispering to you, words that have you breathless, and sticky with sweat.
So filthy for me. Your greed is disgusting, you know? And all you want is more.
You choke on his fingers, trying to speak. Yes. You want to scream. He gags you, pushing his fingers further. Yes, please, more. It’s all you want.
He yanks his fingers from your mouth. It’s a grand, wet, gesture. Drool strings and stretches between your lips and his knuckles. You gasp, filling your lungs with newfound oxygen. Breathing him in, it feels like huffing incense. You can feel him in your chest and burning in your nostrils. He cradles your cheek. His touch is like a feather’s, as you pant for air.
“Yes.” You finally manage, pawing at his leg, dizzy off him. “I want more please.” Your voice is breathless as he slots his leg between your thighs. He presses his shin firmly against you. You whine, high pitched and needy, not thinking as you grind down onto him. His body’s shocking, flush to yours, cool and minty even through your clothes, and lingering in your mouth like toothpaste. Your center drags over him, your body knowing exactly what it wants even when your brain is too stupid to tell it.
Soft knuckles pet your face, brushing through your tear tipped lashes. He’s so tender with you it has you drooling and rutting against his leg faster, frantic for the feeling of him. You don’t expect him to fist his other hand into your hair and snap your head back to look at him. A sob catches in your throat. The sharp pain sends a jolt of arousal straight to your cunt, and you can feel yourself, drenched against him.
His coos are lust fogged, and slurred, taunting.
Awe…so, so, sad.
He shakes his head in mock sympathy.
So alone. This is all you needed, right? To be a gross, messy, slut, humping me through those stupid fucking panties like a whore?
You tighten your grasp on him, hips stuttering, and back arching with the way his body feels beneath you. Your fingers dig in, clutching onto the reality of him. He’s solid, tangible, for all intents and purposes real, and yet he’s nothing but a phantom, pitch black and colorless. You wish you could see him; the look on his face when those piercing eyes point down at you, the color of his hair as it cascades down either side of his face, the way the slippery mess of you would glitter on his leg in the moonlight. You want to see all of him. You want to know that this isn’t some figment of your perverted imagination. A twisted dream conjured up by your own fucked up subconscious.
“I-I prayed…ngh, I prayed for you.” You’re hiccupping through your words. “Every night,” A gasp. “I w-waited…fuck.” You’re on the verge of tears again as he tugs your head back further, your scalp stinging. “I waited for God to answer.” It’s a shattered moan of a confession, and it’s met with a laugh. The sound is creamy and sinister.
God?
There’s a bite in his tone. Like the word is acid on his tongue. You can’t bring yourself to talk anymore. Every last ounce of your attention is on chasing the pressure that’s building torturously at your center.
God’s not here. He sounds angry.
It should startle you, worry you, even frighten you. But you’re too crazed to care. In fact, the revelation spurs you on even more. You’re like a wild animal, hips moving recklessly. So close. You’re almost there. You feel maniacal, grinning up at him, staring into those eyes--empty, unfeeling. The moan that escapes you is comically pornographic. It barely clicks with you that he’s speaking again.
Stop. He says.
This isn’t an angel. It’s hilarious how disappointing the fact is to you. Of course he’s no angel. Of course, God hasn’t come to save you. You. You? Why would God save someone as vile as you? The worse you feel about it, the less you question what the thing is, and the funnier it all becomes.
I said, stop.
He’s ordering you around again, but you don’t care. You’re far too occupied with the task of getting yourself off, and the laugh that’s barreling from you.
Now, the works of the flesh are manifest.
You’re cackling now, possessed by your own lust and shame. You don’t know where one ends and the other begins but you’re starting to think that it doesn’t matter. Why must you separate them?
He yanks you up by your hair. Get up.
You can barely stand. Your legs wobble, threatening to buckle beneath you, and your head spins from being hauled to your feet so fast. You’re still laughing—or crying— again, it’s all the same to you, when he places a hand on either side of your face, holding you still. You don’t fight it, you just stand there, in his hold, shoulders rocking with every tragic sob you make.
Shhh… He's being suspiciously gentle with you again. His thumb stokes your temple and wipes away the tears staining your cheeks. You’re unsure how long you’ve been standing there by the time your breathing settles and the tears being to slow, your crying finally subsiding.
There’s no one else coming for you. It’s just me. I’m your God now.
It’s unclear to you whether he means it as a comfort, but either way, in the moment it feels like it. You don’t know what he is but it’s far too late to care. You can’t even see his mouth as it leans down and connects with your own. He kisses you powerfully, taking his time, as if he’s savoring it. Darkness swirls around you. You can feel the tendrils slip past your lips. You both moan as his tongue licks into your mouth. It’s all consuming, intimate, the way the void engulfs you, arms of darkness wrapping around your body and crushing you to him. You feel whole. Like he’s holding together the broken pieces of you.
Heavy are your eyelids as you kiss him. They fall shut, and you’re sighing against his lips. He tastes like metal, the way your mouth does after the dentist, when you’re left spitting crimson into your sink for a few days. His hands roam your body as he devours you. He’s kissing you like he’s starving, like he’s drinking every last drop of your sadness until there’s none left, like he lives off it.
With two hands on your hips, he pushes you into your bed, pulling away only to watch the surprise on your face when you fall back onto the mattress. You stare up at him, the air knocked out of you. In the dim glow of moonlight that’s leaking in through the window, you wonder what he would look like if he were real—no—human.
What would his hair color be? Not red, surely. Definitely not blonde, that’d be ridiculous. He’d have brown hair, the perfect brown that looks almost black but would glint warm catching in the light as he falls on top of you. You’re caged in by his arms as his mouth meets yours again. He brings the rest of his body onto the bed, and you spread yourself wide, making room for him to kneel between your legs.
His eyes would be blue. Not piercing and cold, but soft. A powder blue. The color of a clear day, or a childhood bedroom. You lift your hands to his face, your eyes screwed shut as you imagine the boy—cotton soft and tender beneath your touch—that he feels like he could be. His lips wouldn’t be hard and chilling, but plush and warm. You wouldn’t hiss at the flavor of him, bitter and biting. No. He’d taste like something sweet. Like vanilla icing, or the sweet cream of a milkshake he’d just taken a sip of.
His hand snakes down your front, dipping through the valley of your chest and trailing further towards the hem of your shorts. You shudder as his fingertips dance there, teasing. His lips pull away to brush your pulse, just beneath your jaw, where he then leaves delicate kisses. They’re slow, compassionate. If you knew what love was, you might even say they’re loving. But you don’t, so you push that thought aside as he finally gets his hand into the cramped space of your shorts.
He’s licking hot stripes up the base of your throat as he applies a sharp strip of pressure to your center. The groan that leaves him is satisfactory and rumbles there onto your skin. You gasp, your hips jolting up to meet the shallow circles he’s making over the damp fabric of your underwear.
Does anyone else know how soaked you get? Or does this pussy only cry for me?
Your teeth clamp down onto your own hand, leaving half-moon indents in your wake.
His fingertips perimeter the pretty seam of your panties, and your hands scramble for purchase on his back once he pushes them aside and starts rolling over your clit. He’s in no rush. He draws pathetic whimpers from you like he has all the time in the world.
You squirm. If he had any flesh, you’d be cutting deep with the way you cling to him, your nails buried into his shoulders. You’d draw blood as he rubs bliss into your needy cunt. The dark tresses of his hair tickle your collarbone as he peers down between your legs and yanks your underwear off the rest of the way, leaving you bare under his sinister gaze.
It feels too good to worry about what he must see when he lifts his head to look at you. Your mouth’s agape, panting for more.
You want my fingers again?
You nod, whining at the mere mention of them, your eyes red-rimmed and glassy.
Where? He asks, and it’s so frustrating that he won’t just give them to you, that he wants to make you work for them. Haven’t you been through enough? Don’t you deserve at least this? You huff, annoyed, pulling him closer. You want him impossibly close. You want him inside you. You tell him as much but that gets you nowhere.
Pray to me.
“What?” You’re snappy, impatient. It seems to amuse him with the way his laugh puffs hot air across your cheek. Your hips jolt but he holds them down firmly with his free hand, tsking your temper.
Pray for it like you did before. Pray to me, and I’ll give it to you.
You grumble and throw your head back into your pillow—a minor tantrum—before resigning.
“Please—” you pant. “I—I need your fingers in…ah—in me. Please.”
It’s as if the pads of his fingers move slower in response. The sound you make is humiliating, devastated. You want to kick and scream and demand he gives you what you want. You want to fight to get your way, you want to go to war for it—the way boys do.
Nuh, uh. He tightens his grip on your hips in emphasis. What you prayed to me for. Why I’m here.
It takes a second for you to understand what he wants from you. Then you remember. Your shame. That’s what he wants, and like some kind of masochist it makes your head spin. If he wants your despair, he can have it.
“My loneliness.” You sigh. “Take it—ah, take it from me.” He’s already picking up his pace, running tight circles around your nerves and applying more pressure as you continue. “I feel so alone.” You confess, strained. “So…sad. Please—oh—please save me.” You can feel the wet mess you’ve already made as he spreads it over the lips of your pussy. You’re lightheaded. Your heart’s a racehorse, and it tightens as you beg—no—pray to him. “I’m suffering.” You sob, choked up, with those delicious tears that he loves slipping past the corners of your eyes. “Please—please free me from it.”
There’s no warning before he’s shoving two fingers into you. A startled cry rocks you, broken and guttural as his fingers plunge further, to the knuckle. Your pussy’s eating him up, clenching tight and possessive around him. You’re so wet it’s no trouble for him at all as he sets the pace, fucking you brutal and deep.
So good for me. Ask me nicely like that, and I’ll give you anything you want.
The wet sounds your pussy makes are obscene, a cacophony of sticky noises as he pumps in and out of you, your hips jerking as the pleasure fogs your brain. You accompany those sounds with your broken moans. Sentences are impossible as the English language is suddenly lost on you. All you can manage are the stuttered please’s and slurred thank you’s that spill from your lips. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. With every thrust, until your clit is throbbing for more friction, and you’re dripping onto the mattress below.
Hear how sloppy you are? The way you’re gushing on my fingers while I stretch out this tight fucking cunt?
You have the audacity to blush at his words despite the decorum you’ve noticeably lost all sense of as you buck helplessly into his hand. He fucks you fast, and his fingers defy humanity, reaching so deep inside you, you fear you’ll never be satisfied by anyone else ever again. Your hands circle around his wrist. His skin is like cool metal beneath your hands, which are flushed hot and clammy. You hold him inside you, rutting against his palm where it hits your clit perfectly, winding the coil in your abdomen tighter, and tighter, and tighter.
You’re so needy for release it’s starting to hurt, and God, he’s ramming you. Your body jostles with each punishing snap of his wrist. The stretch begins to burn and ache. You chase that stimulation. The dull pain sends shocks of arousal through you like waves. The air’s so thick in your room, it’s like he’s holding a pillow over your face.
“Harder.” You gasp. You want more. The pain you begged him to take away, it needed to be replaced with something else. A different pain. Something delicious. He honors his word with a moan, giving you exactly what you want. There’s no second-guessing. No hesitation. He fucks you ruthlessly, lacking all of the warmth and concern that humans have. He does that until you cum, shaking, your limbs spasming, and throat raw. You scream like you’ve been stabbed. You slump like you're bleeding out.
He removes his fingers, and it’s like pulling out an arrow, making you wince. You lay there, your heart pounding, and body melting into the mattress, satisfaction buzzing through you from your head to your toes. Your thighs still tremble, and you can feel the wetness between them, warm and spent.
Sunlight creeps over the horizon miles away beyond your bedroom window. At some point you feel the presence of him dissipate with the daylight. It's only then, as that light trickles in through your curtain does the exhaustion hit you. Your eyelids are heavy with it, but it’s not suffocating. It’s not choking you, drowning you, or holding you under. You curl in on yourself, pulling a blanket against your sweat slicked body, and pressing it into your chest. You feel airy, floating, weightless, as light as heaven.
You’re too tired to question the reality of what’d happened, who had touched you. And you don’t really care, because the darkness is gone. You can see every corner of your room in luminous clarity. He’d stolen what plagued you. Every breath feels like your first. You let this new air—cleaned, renewed—fill your lungs. The impending morning smells dewy and fresh as it wafts into your room, the misty beginnings of rain pour.
Finally, you let your eyes fall shut. You’re met with darkness again. Except this time, it’s different. Familiar. Pure bliss. You sigh, content, succumbing to it.
As the sweet song of sleep gently sweeps you away, you swear you can feel it there: a hot and heavy breath just below your ear, and a slow kiss goodnight.
a/n: hope you sick freaks can enjoy the morbid erotic shit my mind comes up with... byebye
stop fucking laughing at me
Armin Cain .. heavily influenced by @arminsnautilus' fic and a tiktok i saw
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
eren otw soon
please read this fic
the nettles & waco texas of TWD.
if you couldn’t tell already daryl & jesus are my favs of TWD. (long live desus) 
i could write a whole essay on them & put my degree that i just graduated in to use
[MADE BY ME! NO AI USED! PLEASE DO NOT REPOST]
“what will play in my head once i see taissa murdering shauna in s4–“ “what will play in my head seeing taissa dying in s4–“ hey! so i didn’t ask! keep that to yourself and let me be delusional cause they’re all happy in my head!
