Umm...

20🫧 She/Her🫶🏾 Striving to be a consistent fanfic Writer, but the procrastination catches me every time.

[umm992]

Current Remmick x Black reader fanfic I'm working on. Lmk how y'all feel about it.

(I'm progressively adding more parts to this post ,plz be patient with me🫶🏾)

Title:Blood over Boston

Summary:As a devout maid haunted by the loss of your mother's presence, you find yourself drawn to the very creature you were taught to fear-a vampire whose charm blurs the line between damnation and desire. His promise of eternal freedom tempts your fragile faith, and as you surrender to him, you begin to uncover the forbidden truths untold

by your absent mother.

(Setting is 1911 Massachusetts, when Remmick first arrives to America from the Boston shore.)

⚠️Strong Implications of SA/Gore/Violence⚠️

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Ch.1: Under the red gaze

You smacked your teeth, followed by a hiss of pain as you looked at your index finger — blood forming a small pool on the tip from pricking the hole with the needle you tailored with. Sighing in irritation, you licked the blood away and continued your work, being in the middle of sewing some holes in your mistress’s child clothes.

Or rather, your mother’s employer — a middle-aged white woman and her husband who had taken in your mother and you when you were fairly young. In return, your mother worked as a maid, but now this position had passed to you.

They’d lied, telling you that she was helping a family member of theirs who was too old to care for themselves. But ten years ago, this would’ve been considered being sold. You knew this, and yet still stayed compliant with their orders.

But your compliance didn’t quell the anger you had for the family you worked for.

You hoped to God every day that the mistress and her husband would get into an accident or mysteriously die in their sleep.

“Oh, Y/N, what are ya up to? I need tendin’ to.”

You were shaken from your grief-driven thoughts by your mistress. Mrs. Smith stood at the front of your bedroom door as you stepped out, posture low, head down.

“I need help packing.” She sighed in aggravation while gesturing for you to follow — you did.

“Ma’am, I already had everything packed up for you,” you stated in a calm tone, nearly sounding as if you spoke to yourself.

“Why, yes, but I’m missing a dress...” You had both made it to her room, which wasn’t too far down the hall from yours.

“I know, ma’am — you had a tear in it and asked me to sew it back up for you... but I started working on the young mistress’s first.”

She turned to you before you could step to enter her room. You glared up; she placed a finger to her bottom lip in thought.

“I did ask you of that. Oh well, get back to it.” You nodded to this quickly, turning and pacing back to your station.

Time shifted throughout your day of work, being far busier than usual since the Smiths were to be leaving for a trip to Washington. You were told it was work-related for Mr. Smith, though you hadn’t cared much for the reason — you were just glad they’d be gone for a decent time.

Maybe you could figure out in that time a way to escape the house of a prison... you could find your mother.

Helping Mrs. Smith’s daughter, Charlotte, carry the last of her luggage out to the carriage, the slick black horses huffed as if irritated by something. You handed the coachman the last couple of suitcases for him to place on the roof. Moments later, you were waving goodbye to the family as they took their leave into the sunset.

You felt the breeze of winter nearing as you looked down the road of row houses lining the street, the streets slowly clearing the lower the sun went. Autumn always gave you comfort, for the colors of dying leaves falling from trees made life so much more colorful than you’d forget it was.

Then, remembering you’d completely forgotten to collect the family’s mail, you went to the mounted mailbox beside the door, opening the top and taking a small pile of envelopes out. On top lay the daily paper. You grabbed all of it with one hand swiftly, then headed inside, locking the door behind you. The quiet surrounded you, reminding you of how exhausted you were. With just a bit of energy left, you sorted the mail, finished the laundry, and took a seat in your room.

In your mother’s old wooden rocking chair, you flipped the paper open and skimmed through the daily news. There weren’t many things to read about ,the weather — an advertisement for automobiles and a bit of recent crime. You flipped the page back to the crime section, sitting up to focus. A recent ship reaching the Boston docks had found an entire crew dead — murdered.

The victims seemed violently torn, limbs missing and significant blood loss. You gasped aloud at this. Your mother was working at a house real close to the docks, and though you weren’t much farther from it either, it still gave you a queasy feeling. You read a bit more — it seemed someone had seen a man fleeing from the ship, but there was nothing more.

You decided to fold the paper back up and place it in the corridor, not wanting to spook yourself further. A couple of hours passed, and the sun had gone, the house lights now replacing it. You roamed throughout the house, checking things off your mental list while checking all the doors and windows to make sure they were locked.

Finally approaching the front door, you checked both windows on either side, noticing the eerily empty streets. You swiped the curtains shut, doing the same to the other. Locking in the chain to the top locks of the front door, you made your way toward the stairs before hearing three clear, loud knocks.

It stopped you in your tracks, goosebumps running up your arms. You shuddered as you turned — there had been no one when you peered through the windows moments ago. Before even considering approaching the door again, you quickly went to the closet under the stairs that held Mr.

Smith’s hunting equipment and grabbed the shotgun. You had no idea how to use it, but you’d learn today. You grabbed two large, heavy pellets and fondled the gun shakily as three more knocks followed — then a voice, thick with Irish:

“I’m in need of help! I’ve been robbed — please, if there’s anyone?” A pleading tone in the male voice outside.

You were frozen in place once again; it took a couple of minutes for you to grow the courage to step toward the door again. But you found yourself moving, still not able to figure out how to put the pellets in the barrel. You scoffed in frustration, shoving the bullets into your apron pocket.

Quickly unlocking the door while holding your breath, with a clenched jaw, the hinges creaked as you peeped out — not opening fully or revealing your weapon. To your surprise, for a man who claimed to be the victim of a robbery, there stood at the entry a stunning young, pale man. He wore a thick wool button-up and grey trousers with suspenders that hung at the sides of his pants. His clothes had streaks of dirt along them — someone definitely had roughed him up.

“Ah, ma’am, I am truly sorry for ruinin’ your night. I was just makin’ my way home, and two youngins came at me with a gun — took most my belongings. Please, uh, ma’am, do ya have a phone, or could I catch m’ breath?”

You sucked the inside of your lip nervously, clutching the door handle while clearing your throat. “I-I’m not allowed to let people in. You see, the family I work for left just hours ago. But you could wait outside or rest down in the basement.”

He had this expression — calculating his next words carefully — but he was too smooth with his reaction time for it not to make you wary. “Why, I just need a moment. The basement is more than fine — you’re too kind.”

He smiled, and with this grin, his eyes glimmered a reflection of red like a wild cat in the night.

“Just—just gimme a second, sir.”

You clutched the shotgun, dragging it along the carpeted floor through the corridor, approaching a wooden dresser and leaning the weapon against it while pulling out a drawer filled with most of the house keys. You shoveled through the keys and knick-knacks until finding an old rusty brown one. It was fairly tiny—you were surprised you found it so fast. Glaring back at the door, listening for the man outside, you took a deep breath. You snatched up a thick pen that sat atop the dresser, shoving it into your pocket.

You heard the tapping of his boots at the stairway—slow taps. Your chest tightened again as you held your breath, approaching the entry. You made a small gap in the door, slipping out so the stranger wouldn’t be able to peer inside. He eyed you, expression relaxed, with his hands settled in the pockets of his trousers. His gaze dropped to the key in your palms, which you held with both hands. Your body tensed so he couldn’t see your slight shakiness, but it seemed that regardless, he looked straight through you.

He followed you down the entry stairs, and behind them to another set that led deeper into the ground—a black darkness beneath the entry stairs that not even the street lamps could reach. You struggled with the key for a moment before thinking up something to say to ease the tension.

“What’s ya name, mister? I’m Y/N.” Glaring at him while opening the door, you noticed how his focus lingered on the back of your neck and shoulders, though they were covered by your collared black dress and apron.

“Remmick.”

“Rammick?” you asked, repeating what you heard, though his accent was thick. He chuckled. You went on, twisting a lamp switch near the door. Its light dimly lit the room, unable to reach the dark corners.

“Remm-ick,” he phrased in an almost American accent. You turned to him now, repeating, “Remmick—” while stepping back from his sudden closeness. He seemed to have been reaching for you before, but he moved unnaturally fast—you couldn’t help but second-guess yourself.

“That’s it, lass, you’ve got it,” he said with a nod of approval, congratulating you for your correct pronunciation. You gulped dryly.

“Who did ya wanna call?” His gaze finally unlocked from you, and he looked around the floor, noticing a wooden crate behind him ,doing a light squat and sitting on the box ,his voice strained. "Uh, I guess who’d you call in this circumstance...."

Staring silently, you decided not to entertain this comedic coyness.

"The police...." He nodded at your response, leaning his forearms along his knees. "Hmph, you're right. It’s just the law ain’t too keen to foreigners like me. I’d just arrived here by ship a couple days ago. I don’t have much family around here, and I don’t trust no cops."

The more he spoke, the more fixated you became on his mouth. It seemed as if his teeth formed sharply with each word.

"You trust the cops, Y/N?"

You slowly walked toward the door, keeping your eyes on him ,nodding in response. Drool trikling down his chin, and you were more than sure you were in danger. You dug in your pocket, close enough to the door now to reach the handle, and as you glanced to see where the handle was, you looked back to see Remmick now standing nearly over you.

Swiftly lunging the ink pen toward his throat, but he grabbed your wrist. The impact of his skin causing you to hiss in pain from the almost ice burn feeling it caused. He wiped away the excessive drool ,that now dripped down his chin.

Tears immediately swelled as fear caused every emotion in your body to elope.

Beginning to sob, he looked down on you almost weary to your fear. "Shhhhh..." With his free hand, he grazed his thumb over your tears ,his nails even shifting to their true length along your skin ,it felt as if your own tears were turning to ice from his touch. You now could see clearly this red glare — a vampiric sight.

"The devil," you shuddered at him as he pressed you along the door behind.

Shaking his head, brows furrowed. "I only want you to feel the freedom that I’ve experienced for oh so long. I’ve been alone for far too long..."

With his free hand, he dug into the collar of your dress and tore the wool effortlessly down your shoulder to your bicep. You gasped at this. "Why me?" you cried out, still straining your pen against his grasp.

"I’d been watching you since my arrival. I saw your longing looks out into the streets. You’ve been waiting for change... for me." His nose grazed along your bare shoulder ,seeming hesitant about putting his pink lips along your flesh breath cold, his eyes still fixed on you. You noticed you still had on your wooden rosary your mother had gifted you. And with your free hand you clutched the handle of the door behind, his nose reached a wooden orb, and he hissed the tip of hid noses skin immediately began smoking, revealing raw flesh.

Stumbling back a bit, you quickly opened the door, hardly able to breathe as your lungs burned. Crawling quickly up the stairs, you made it to the front door before feeling Remmick grab you by the back of your neck with a deep snarl, his claws digging into your skin and freezing you in place.

Swiftly ripping the necklace from your neck, you turned ,his nails taking chunks of skin. You shoved the necklace into his face, causing him to release you again. Stumbling over yourself, you made it inside, kicking the door closed behind you. Quickly, you locked every lock along the door and slid a chair under the handle so it wouldn’t twist.

Grabbing the shotgun from leaning along the wooden dresser, you sat on the floor leaning yourself against the furniture behind, still hyperventilating. Staring at the door, wide-eyed, flinching as he knocked—three times, just as before.

"You ought not be afraid. I only want to share this salvation, Y/N. I’ll return tomorrow, and I’ll have you."

You shook your head silently at his words, then listened to the sound of his steps fading down the stairway and along the block. You sat hugging your knees with the gun beside you, sobbing from the pained tension built in your chest from pure adrenaline. It took a good while for the high to waver, followed by what felt like a carriage had fallen on you — your muscles sore, the skin of your scraped knees revealing flesh, and the wound along the back of your neck dripping down your back. Eventually, you’d fallen into a deep darkness of sleep, only to hear your mother’s voice:

“Keep this crucifix around you at all times. Evil lurks, even within.”

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Ch. 2: Ma's book

Waking with a gasped word — “Mama!...” — you looked around, trying to recall everything.

Dread clouded your thoughts, your wounds throbbing as you groaned while standing. You saw the sun of the morning through the curtains, recalling your mother’s words.

Quickly, weakly stepping toward the door, you opened it. Seeing people out in the streets and walking along the trails, you took a deep breath. You saw the rosary on the second step and quickly grabbed it from the porch before anyone could notice your tarnished appearance.

Your mother would always tell you tales of her childhood in the South, and the demons that lurked. How her own mother — your grandmother — was killed by a vampire when she was of adolescents. You couldn’t help the paranoia causing nausea at the thought; you wished you had believed her before...

Dissociation mixed with your day as you tended to your wounds and dressed in your maid attire. Doing your morning tasks like grabbing the milk delivered weekly from the porch, and cleaning your workstation for the day. You contemplated going down to the basement to look through your mother’s things — she had to have something to help in this. You couldn’t waste this day of sunlight. But he could still be there, waiting. What if he knew you and your mother’s belongings were stored down in the basement?

Stepping toward the front door, you wrapped the broken rosary around your knuckles, holding a white-knuckled fist before walking out into the breezed weather. It had gotten far cloudier than it was hours ago. You stepped down the stairs, keeping your head low from passersby, and descended the basement steps. You noticed the wooden door was only holding on by one hinge — Remmick had pushed it aside with such force it broke. You held your fist tighter, your nails stabbing through the palm of your hand.

Moving the broken door aside, the sun reached the inside of the basement from the opened door, revealing there was no intruder. You sighed in relief, quickly shuffling toward one of your mother’s wooden crates where she kept most of her books. While rummaging through it, you had to take some books out for a clearer view, and at the bottom, with cobwebs and dust covering it, you picked it up. It was large with no title on the front, but a strange cover of black leather. You swiftly swiped away the dirt and such, coughing all the while.

You opened the book to the first page — it was a Catholic book, most words written in Spanish. You hadn’t known your mother knew Spanish; she’d never told you. Shaking your head, confused, you flipped through the book, noticing illustrations of demonic figures.

Before long, one — the spitting image of Remmick — caught your eye. You looked to the title of the handwritten literature: “Vampiro...” You whispered it aloud to yourself.

You had to figure out what the passage said, no matter what. You weren’t allowed to leave the house while the Smiths were away, but this was life or death. Deciding to visit the market, you knew you’d find what you needed there.

After a bit, you put everything back and propped the basement door up the best you could. Quickly walking down the street a couple of blocks, you reached the local market — a place where all colors of people could be content in, well, most people. You made your way to the poultry line-up of stands in the market, spotting the fisherman you and your mother often shopped from. Mr. Abril sat back with a paper in his hands, a huge cigar in the corner of his mouth. He glanced up at you after you stopped in front of the stand.

A bright smile grew at your presence, his smile lines wrinkling and revealing his age. He was a paler Hispanic man, which was surprising since he spent most of his time in the sun. He wore a brown wool vest over a white button-up and brown trousers to match. Sitting up while folding the paper back unevenly, he noticed the uneasy expression stuck on your face — his smile faded a bit.

"Y/N, what brings you here this evenin'?"

You licked your irritably dry lips before gesturing to the book in your grasp. His attention lowered to it, squinting. "I need you to tell me what this says — translate."

You opened up to the section on vampires, and his eyes skimmed through a bit of the passage before his face darkened in dismay. "Where’d you get this?"

"It’s my ma’s."

He raised a brow, gesturing for you to hand the book over. You placed it in his hand, open. He blew smoke from the unoccupied corner of his mouth while sitting back in his chair. A couple of minutes passed before he looked around the square, making sure no one paid any mind to you both. Getting up, he turned toward the entrance of the tent behind him. "Come around — we’ll talk inside."

Quickly, you followed, walking around the table of filleted fish and raw pork, following him inside the tent. The floor was piled with fish in open crates with ice beneath them, melted ice causing mud along the entire area of the ground.

Mr. Abril turned to you. "What ya need this translated for?..."

"You wouldn’t believe me." You shook your head, looking down at your feet.

"Where’s your ma?" He asked, his tone softening. You looked up at him again, feeling ashamed to say.

"The Smiths have sold her off — a house close to the shore of Boston."

He blew more smoke away from your face, now taking the cigar out with his fingers and looking back to the book.

"Your ma knows Spanish?" You shrugged, wondering the same.

"She ain’t never spoke none around me. I just found this this mornin’."

He flipped through the book a bit, sighing deeply. "This is a journal by a Catholic executor — or at least this page you want me to read."

You nodded, showing you were taking in his words. He flipped back to the page.

"‘Vampiro’ means vampire — the meanin’ is a corpse of the once-human that gains unnatural abilities to man n' feeds on the blood of mortals. Like canine or sharp teeth, glowin’ silver, gold, or red eyes, and immortality, never agin’. Ways to weaken a vampire are garlic of any kind, silver, and holy water. And to kill — a wooden stake to the heart. They have an allergy to the sun as well. Dependin’ on the age of the vampire is what determines the victim’s rate of survival ,if a victim is bitten they are controlled ,almost like they all share the same mind. Avoidin’ the undead overall is never allowin’ ’em inside your space, or steppin’ out of your space when they are near…."

He paused, eyeing you. You couldn’t take your eyes off the rosary wrapped around your hand.

"Y/N?"

"Is there anything else?" you asked hurriedly, now looking at him. He scratched the back of his neck, scanning the page once more. "Just that the drawin’ was sketched by a victim that was hospitalized by the church — her name, Lucía Rubio."

Closing the book, you both were silent, noticing a rifle laying in the mud in the corner of the tent. Mr. Smith had a rifle that looked almost the same stored in the closet. Mr. Abril followed your gaze to the weapon, clearing his throat while tossing the nub of his cigar to the ground and pressing it into the mud with his boot.

"Y/N, what's goin' on, seriously?"

You shook your head, convincing yourself that he'd think you insane. "You were readin' the paper earlier? You seen the crime section, the one with the recent ship crew?"

He stared at you, nodding silently. "I think that man was at my door last night, he came pleadin' for help, and I thought—"

You covered your mouth, becoming overwhelmed. Mr. Abril placed a hand along your shoulder in comfort, still listening. "I was alone since the Smiths took their leave. He seemed to really need help, so I offered for him to sit down in the basement, and I'd call someone for 'em."

You inhaled with each word; recalling the night before made your body react as if you were still there. "Down in the basement he had those red eyes and— and sharp teeth, the strength of a god, and was tellin' me— tellin' me he offered freedom. Salvation.... The crucifix burned him." You gestured to the rosary; Mr. Abril took it from your palm, analyzing it.

"My ma—she had to have put somethin' on it, maybe garlic or holy water."

The man before you looked confused and concerned; he steadied your shoulder to ground you from your frantic mood.

"This is folklore.... None of this ain't— Y/N, maybe this grief of your ma bein' gone is gettin' to ya—"

Cutting him off, you shook your head, realizing he did not fully believe you. You took the rosary back.

"Look." You showed your opposite wrist pulling your sleeve, frostbite covering it like a tight bracelet leaving a mark. He stared at your wrist, then at you. You backed away from his grasp and undid the collar of your dress, then your apron, turning to show him the thick nail marks that took chunks of skin, blood seeping through the bandage you wrapped around your neck.

He gasped at the sight. "We need to tell the police—"

"No! No, they'll put me in an asylum."

Backing closer to the exit of the tent, Mr. Abril stepped forward. "Y/N, if you're spooked then stay at my place. We got room for ya for a night or so."

"I can't. He'll come.... I can't have nobody's blood on my hands."

Quickly you stepped out of the tent, leaving the book. With urgency you made your way to the herb and vegetable section of the market. You'd grabbed all of your savings from the house prior to coming to the market, and found a stand with a good amount of garlic. You handed your pouch of money to the young hickery skinned man sharpening a knife. He nodded politely, took the pouch, and opened it, moving the coins inside with two fingers.

"What can I get for ya, ma'am?"

"All the garlic, please." You buttoned up your collared dress, fixing your apron, feeling guilt for running off on Mr. Abril, especially since he had just helped you.

As the man packed the garlic into a brown paper bag, you noticed a revolver in the waist of his trousers. "You got a permit for that?" you asked, acting as if you wanted to start conversation.

"Nah." He laughed, glaring at you with a smile. "Someone just tried to rob me last week over some potatoes." He scoffed, rolling his eyes at the thought.

"I ain't dyin' over this business...."

You cleared your throat, licking your lips.

"Yeah, that's horrible. I've been wantin' to know how to use one myself. You see, my people have just left for a trip and I've been more than paranoid, especially with that story from the docks in the paper."

He nodded, opening another bag for your purchase. "Yeah, I get it. The story's crazy. And they haven't found the rascal either."

"There's that same gun in the family I work for at home, but I think I just need some help on how to use it. If you wouldn't mind..."

He glanced around to see if anyone was nearby to hear this conversation. "I think I could do that for ya. You did pay a loan, some." You smiled at this; he pulled the gun out from the band of his pants.

Before long the sun began to set after a long day out. You hadn’t been out in the world this long since shopping with your mother long ago. Once you made it home you went straight to the kitchen.

You spent hours crushing garlic into mush in your mother's mortar. When finished, you smeared mashed garlic along the entryway and back door, then all the windows of the house, outside and in.

Once all was completed you grabbed Mr.

Smith's revolver, dipping your rosary in garlic mush and holy oil — some you had left over from church. You locked every entryway of the house except one of the front windows. You were ready.

Deeper in the night, the streets seemed to only get darker. Black shadows cloaking the majority of the road, the street lamps weren't on tonight. After a long while, you found yourself reading through the highlighted sections of your mother's Bible, humming a gospel to yourself that she would sing to you in your younger years.

Suddenly, you heard boot steps toward your door. You looked in the direction of the sound, clicking the gun back. Coming down your block, surprisingly, was Mr. Abril.

He carried a gas lamp with him; he noticed you sitting in the open window.

"Y/N, what are you doing? I was coming by to check on ya, but it looks like you're just as anxious as when I talked to ya earlier."

You sat up as he stepped up the stairs, looking behind him and down both ends of the road.

"You shouldn't be out right now, Mr. Abril, and you live too far to be walking all the way down here. Where's your horse?" you asked while going to unlock and open the door.

"Well, I stayed down at the market pretty late and thought I ought to come check on ya."

You gazed at him—something fairly off-putting about his appearance that wasn’t there earlier. His posture, tone, paler skin than usual, and the fact that his own home was an hour away from yours.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't let you stay here. I told you, I can't have nobody's blood on my hands."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You really takin' that mythical bullshit seriously? I mean really, Y/N, ya know I live far. Let me just settle here for the night."

"I—I'm sorry." Going to close the door, he stopped it with his hand and gasped in pain, his flesh burning from the garlic. A shocked breath escaped you as well; you slammed the door and locked it quickly.

You stumbled over the carpet, falling on your butt. You groaned in pain, clutching your revolver.

"No...."

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⚠️Implications of SA⚠️

Ch.3: Until the sun

It couldn’t be—Mr. Abril, a vampire? You quickly got to your feet, looking out the window and finding the fisherman gone. Heat built in your face as you realized it was your fault—you’d damned Mr. Abril.

It was a quiet night once again; a carriage passed throughout the silence ,moments turning to hours.

"Remmick, damned coward" you whispered to yourself in impatience. You looked to find where your Bible was, then looked back out the window to see, standing below, the blood stained, pale man you had just cursed.

He gawked with those red orbs, shadows along his face making them nearly glow.

You aimed your weapon at his head immediately. He smiled gleamingly, with those blood-stained fangs.

"Oh my, why—you couldn’t get little old me outta that pretty little head of yours. You put garlic wherever you could..."

He stretched his words, placing his bloody hands behind his back and pacing toward the stairs, then turned back to the end of your view from the window.

"But ya know, you gotta invite me in first. So what’s the garlic for? You thinkin’ about it—the deliverance from your prison of servitude?"

You shook your head to yourself, shaking at the sight of him. You promised yourself to not engage ,studying his every move to the twist of his heels each time he reached the end of his pace.

"Mr.Abril, he was quite a meal. I didn't taunted him so ,I bit before he could leave the market. If that makes ya feel better."

From the dark the fisherman came ,he nodded along with Remmick ,eyes reflecting silver ,"It hardly hurt ,Y/N. I promise." His once heartwarming elderly smile now distorted with the sharpness of his teeth.

"Im so sorry Mr.Abril." your voice shuddered within your apology.

And Remmicks smile faded almost instantly to your response to the fisherman yet not him ,"Darlin don't be sheepish ,Mr.Remmick here will make it all better." Your heart wrenched to these words squeezing the tears from your eyes.

"You oughta be grateful, he spared my family for you."

"I did." Remmick confirmed with a hand on Mr.Abril's shoulder. They stood together hauntingly ,your sadness shifted to anger as you silently stared at both of them.

"You spared no one....." you whispered this to yourself though it was in response to Remmick.

"If I spared no one why I might as well go visit the Missus, right Mr.A?" Remmick beaming with delight as the fisherman nodded with a hum of approval.

"I'll shoot ya both dead ,leave his people alone. Your only business here is with me..."

The Irish man cackled at this ,biting his lip ,before suddenly his feet lifted from the ground, levitating up to the window you sat. Though you wanted to move away, you had to remind yourself that he could not come inside, you put both hands on your gun ,clutching. The sight terrifying you to the core ,a man moving the opposite of gravity effortlessly.

"I'd like to see ya try lass. And if you fail ,I'll kill his family, and that other man that showed you how to use that piece of yours.... Then take a visit to your old ma."

You pressed along the trigger dangerously tight, "You touch my mama, I won't rest till I kill you."

He sighed at your threats as if flattered, drool coming about almost at the tension of being just a wall away from him. "My oh my Missy, you know how to work me up."

He clasped his hands together looking back to Mr.Abril, before looking to you. He inspected your stiffened expression, "Y/N..."

You waited ,not wanting to play into these games ,"Don’t you want to see your mother again?"

You frowned at this, biting your tongue. He couldn't know where your mother was, for you hadn't told Mr. Abril earlier. He cocked his head at your silence before leaning closer, placing his hands along the garlic-covered ledge. His flesh sizzled, yet his reaction was merely a sigh of discomfort; Mr.Abril also seeming to groan in discipline. You couldn’t help sitting back from the window. The smell of his burning flesh was unbearable.

"Shoot, darlin'..."

You bit your lip hard—you'd never imagined you would be in a position of killing anyone or anything. But this person was no human, so why couldn’t you do it? Perhaps because on the outside he looked like a man with two arms and two legs.

"Just leave me be. I'm content with my life. Why must God burden me with the presence of a demon like you?"

Remmick seemed to finally get enough of his self-inflicted pain, releasing the ledge and eventually lowering himself.

"Well, I suppose Abril and I will go right ahead and drain his family. And I could try finding your mother — it wouldn't take long. I already got a scent and taste of your blood from yesterday."

Sitting up again back, you forced bravery forth. "My ma ain't me. She's dealt with one of you before, and she ain't dying from one of ya now."

He squinted at this, shaking his hand as if having cramp in his wrist. "That’s it. My maker had these memories of your ma—far younger version than Mr. Abril's. Can't you see fate brought us together, darlin'? If you'd like, I could share these memories of my founder with you."

His tone was kind and soft. You gaped, thinking—he had memories of your mother? His maker... he could have the answers to what truly happened to your grandmother.

Or you could keep him out, possibly distract him till the sun was up. But you knew Remmick was far smarter. For now, you only wanted him to forget his consideration of killing Mr. Abril's family.

"This ain't fate. It seems more like revenge. Your maker the reason you choose to fuck with me?"

Remmick brushed his thumb along his bottom lip, looking down at himself as if not noticing the blood before. "You give me the sense of nostalgia, somethin' I haven't felt in this sector of my life. I'd call it fate, because I see this trap—no matter how hard you work, you'll forever be stuck as a reverent servant. As the family you work for thrives to fulfill their own goals..."

He paused, pacing again, still looking down at the pavements.

"But I wonder... what about your goals or dreams, Y/N? As this, we could achieve whatever it is—all in the night. For eternity, you n' me. Just allow me in..."

His voice taunted your mind through those tempting words. The family had no care for where your heart lay. He was right—they only cared to know the dinner for the night or if their clothes were neatly folded.

You had been stuck for so long without your mother’s words of motivation in this pit of dark exhaustion. And only in these last couple of nights had you felt alive—looking into the red gaze of Remmick.

You shook yourself from these thoughts, clutching the rosary wrapped around your hand.

"The Lord is my light n'd my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord—"

Remmick cut you off, both he and Mr. Abril finishing your prayer:

"The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?..." He didn’t seem to be mocking you, but instead joining you in prayer. He now had his hands intertwined together on his knees in front of the window.

"I believed in the Father as well, undoubtedly faithful. I still am, and I believe in this eternal unity—we can build a utopia."

Mr. Abril nodded along to these words, placing a hand on Remmick’s shoulder.

You cringed at this—all of it was wrong, and you felt it in your gut. Unnerving, yet you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t help the idea. You should’ve never engaged in this provocation, for you feared the darkness within; your mother once warned you of was beginning to slowly reveal itself.

You stayed silent, and surprisingly Remmick did as well for a while; he hummed to himself, a low song as he paced, seeming eager.

"That man—Mr. Smith..." Mr. Abril started. Both you and Remmick looked to him. But as your attention stuck to the fisherman, you hadn’t noticed Remmick’s own gaze monitoring your reactions.

"Your mother told me... she felt something change in you after that night, the night she left to stay the night at your cousin's."

Quickly covering your ears, you shook your head at this. You knew exactly what he spoke of and never knew your mother ever even considered confiding in Mr. Abril aside from purchasing the freshest fish.

Shaking your head at him, you couldn't believe this.

"What'd he do, darlin'? Mrs. Smith and Charlotte were gone, weren’t they? Did he call you in his room, degrading your work, your looks?" Remmick kept a serious expression, his eyes looking into yours as if he could see your soul.

"And after, tell ya to join him in prayer, and when on your knees next to him, leaning along the bed, you smelt the ale—"

You clasped your hands together, shuddering in prayer as that night played through your mind.

"In the name of the Father's light, return to the pit from whence you rose. The ground rejects your shadow, the cross forbids your touch."

"Is that what y'all invoked together, before he started rippin away your garments—?"

"Damn you, damn you!" you cried out to Remmick, almost begging him to leave you be. Remmick silenced.

"When he comes back I could destroy him for you, all of 'em. But you have to let me in—to free you from your pain, from this confinement..."

You kept your shaky hands together, fingers intertwined. Had this been a test from God? You hadn’t been saying your prayers as consistently since your mother's absence—since her voice had started to fade in your mind. She was the only one keeping you in one piece for so long. You couldn’t think up any more prayers. Only thing you could look to was Mr. Smith’s gun on the floor—you had to gather yourself. Taking deep inhales, then exhaling, you leaned forth, picking up the gun.

Fixing your posture and wiping the moisture from your cheeks and chin, you looked to Remmick, whose gaze never broke from your open window.

"And if you claim this to be freedom..." you gestured to Mr. Abril, who stood by.

"A man that can't return to his wife and baby, because you want me. I'm about as free as I'll ever be here... in this house."

"He's free to go—"

You cut Remmick off in anger, "Is he? How dare you use him! You're no better than Mr.Smith, or any of these disgustin' white men."

Silence painted over your ears; the ticking of a clock was all that kept on. Remmick finally looked away, glaring at Mr. Abril, who had a saddened expression. Remmicks hand shook as he snapped, sighing.

"I can see your soul—the light withering without anyone to share this loneliness with. Mr. Abril longed to be free from age, expectation, labor. And when I gifted him this immortality, he felt my sorrows—my own loneliness. We only stand together now because he wants to free you as much as I do."

Once again, a tender volume filled his voice, twined with passion. It made your heart ache. You shook your head, forcing yourself to stay strong.

Just seconds later, a carriage came down the dirt road, and both alluring creatures vanished with no trace. Looking to the clock, you hadn’t realized the night had passed so late into the morning—the sun was to come up in an hour. Relief washed over you only for an instant before drowsiness took over. You closed the window.

Not having enough energy to go upstairs to your bedroom, you dragged your feet to the parlor’s couch, laid yourself along it, and closed your eyes. The darkness of your long blink shifted to you staring down at Remmick once again. His gaze was longing as you held a pointed wooden stake to his chest. His breath was heavy beneath you. He lay there in surrender, his hand resting along the carpeted parlor floor, lips parted with each breath—and right before he spoke, you woke.

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Ch.4: Mercy

The loud vibrations of metallic gongs, ceaselessly going, woke you slowly. The phone was ringing…

As you sat up along the parlor’s stiff couch, groaning softly from the pain in your neck, the phone kept on, and the sound hurt even more as your body became more awake—aware. The memory of the night before clouded over you; you had killed Mr. Abril. And yet, you still found enough comfort within yourself to give yourself time to sleep, clutching the rosary still wrapped around your hand against your chest. You felt the heated pain of tears forming, flushing your face—maybe Remmick didn’t just notice your loneliness, but also your selfishness.

You felt too dehydrated to cry. The phone still rang, a pained echo in your head—a headache. Finally up on your feet, you drowsily rushed to the phone, sitting on the stool in front of it. Picking up the receiver, you cleared your throat, answering,

“Good mornin’, this is the Smiths’ residence.”

There was a static crack of someone inhaling before their words. “Hello, you’ve got a call coming in from a Washington residence. I’ll connect you to the line.” The receiver clicked, and the phone was quiet for a couple of seconds. As you wiped the crust from your eyes, you heard the clicking of the line connecting to the receiver.

“Hello? Y/N?”

Mrs. Smith’s familiar voice came through. You took a deep breath to hide the tired strain.

“Mistress, I wasn’t expectin’ a call from you so early in your trip.”

“Well, I was worried—caught tell of a criminal gettin’ into town from the harbour. I just wanted to check on ya.”

You closed your eyes, softly exhaling. “I’m fine, Mistress.” You hoped this would settle the call.

“N’d you’ve been keepin’ with your chores?” she asked, almost interrogating, though you and your employers lacked much in common.

“Of course, ma’am…”

“Then you ought get back to it. We’ll be back a couple days earlier, since our concerns with you and our home’s safety. Follow our rules—no goin’ out, and nobody comin’ in.”

You swallowed dryly. “Of course, ma’am…”

“Bye, then.” She finished with a subtle tenderness—a bit of concern.

The phone clicked, ending the line.

You groaned in relief, feeling as if you had been holding your muscles stiff the entire call. Your mind and body ached as you stared at the rotary dial, contemplating.

After about fifteen minutes of sitting in a fog, you finally picked the phone back up and slid the dial to the number in mind. It rang, then came the familiar voice of the woman from earlier, working the phone lines. Then it rang once more—far longer—so long that you dreaded your decision to reach out to your mother.

None of this needed to be her concern. You knew of vampires, yet still allowed Remmick closer than he ever should have been. Your mother had done her best to protect you most of your life—the reason she took this job under the Smiths.

A click, followed by a soft, “Hello?…”

Your mother’s voice made tears swell as you covered your mouth to stifle a deep sob.

“Y/N—?”

You crashed the receiver back into its place and wept.

Not long after, you recalled leftovers in the fridge that needed throwing out, and that you had to tend to the basement’s broken door before the Smiths returned. And so you busied yourself persistently, not stopping to eat or take a breather. You worked until sweat built and the burn in your muscles became unbearable.

Lost in this fog of thought, time slipped until it was night again. The day felt like reverie—you felt between life and death, just existing.

Deciding tonight there was no need to wait for Remmick, you noted how dirty you were, how you had made yourself the final chore of the day. And so, after a hot bath, you sat on your stool, only covered with a towel, combing out the knots in your hair from the ends up to the roots. It was silent, late into the night. You gazed at your tired reflection in the corroded mirror.

Then, from the small window, you heard taps—as if someone were throwing small pellets at the wall. After a couple more, you stood and went toward the window, sliding up its small casing. Looking out, you saw who you expected. Remmick sat cross-legged along the rubble, looking more cleaned up than usual.

He stood when he saw you peering down at him, you now being upstairs in the house. His reflective gaze lingered on you in an intense stare. You decided you had no words for his presence and eventually walked away from the window, returning to your task.

After a moment, you heard a small creak from the bathroom window. With a soft, startled breath, you turned quickly to see Remmick’s head—he was turned away, standing along the ledge separating the floors of the house.

You couldn’t help your gaze. You wanted so badly to ignore his presence, but were completely unable to. He was unbearably alluring.

“Why are you turned?” you asked sternly.

“Manners, I’d call ’em.” There was teasing sarcasm in his tone.

“Tsk… where’s Mr. Abril?”

“Somewhere he chose to be.” Remmick didn’t seem in his coquettish mood—more impatient.

You turned back to the mirror, picking your comb back up. You both sat in silence, Remmick humming a song to himself—a tune you had heard from him before. It sounded foreign, Irish.

“How’d you become this way?” you asked, almost urgently.

“Eternally free?” he replied, a grin audible in his voice. It irritated you.

“Damned…?” He chuckled at that. You looked to him and caught him stealing glances of you.

“If you’d let me in, you could know everything about me. Secrets. Desires—if your intent is true.”

His head turned fully now as you stared at him.

“My intent is true, but you are a liar. How am I to trust your talk of eternal unity? N’d your freedom is only in the night. I know you were once a man—human.”

Remmick sighed, turning back to the empty, dark street.

“And a man I was… weak, foolish, and born into poverty—much like you.”

You scoffed in offense at his claim. “If I were much of anything like you, I’d be damned myself by now.” You kept your verbiage cold.

“What makes you think I was human once, Y/N?” He was genuine in this questioning. It surprised you, since he entirely ignored your remark. Looking back to him, he was now fully turned, facing the window. He turned back, spitting cleanly to the gravel below.

“You turned Mr. Abril.”

“That the only reason?”

You paused, eyeing him. He was poking. Yet you couldn’t understand why this was important.

“Just a feelin’, I guess…”

“It’s a guess?” he stretched on.

“No—it’s fact.”

Remmick crossed his arms, now stuck in a serious expression. “N’d how is that?”

“You just confessed it.” You started to raise your voice in impatience, turning in your stool.

“So an assumption.”

“No, I know it.”

“How?”

You sighed, irritated with this meaningless bickering. “My Ma.… maybe my nightmares.” you stated, being more specific. Remmick seemed to perk up at this.

“Dreams?” he asked.

You stared at him, suspicious. “I’ve shared enough. I think you owe me your tale.”

He smirked, smacking his teeth together. “I lived in the deep roots of Ireland, where the land provided all we needed—workin’ my family’s farm most my life… with my wife.”

“Wife?” you interrupted. Remmick nodded.

“And where’s she now?” You could hear him lightly tapping his nails along the brick outside.

“I thought you wanted to know how I became what I am…”

He was teasing, stalking your every reaction.

“Go on, then,” you almost whispered while getting up from the stool, hugging the towel wrapped around you to your chest.

You dragged the stool just a little closer to the small window. Remmick’s eyes wandered from your feet to your thighs, having a better view of you now. He swiftly turned his head, spitting—you could see now he was attempting to hide the uncontrollable amount of drool that kept building.

He wasn’t shy about his gawking.

“My wife’s family weren’t fairly fond of me. I was a selfish man with little to nothing—but for her, I’d do anything. I thought she was my faith. We danced together every mornin’, singin’ old jigs before and during work.”

“’Til one day—a day of worship. I left the chapel. I wasn’t with my wife that day, since she’d fallen ill the day prior. I walked through the streets, barely crowded, when there was a rumble from the earth. A rumble of a thousand men comin’ toward my town.”

“Now, I lived quite far off from town and rarely visited, but when I did, I got updates on tidings—how the English had executed the king, and how we would be invaded soon. But we didn’t know when… and we underestimated the enemy.”

You shifted in your seat. “So Ireland was in the middle of war?”

Remmick paused, looking away in thought for a moment. “Suppose ,we didn’t know it until the ambush. It was more a massacre. I hid in a close shop. Chaos flooded the streets—men picked up anything to fight, men that weren’t even soldiers. I found a basement in the shop and stayed there for the rest of the day. I remember I could hear screaming and gore; it never stopped, even when I was caught. Oh, how I prayed…”

He turned his head again, spitting—this time wiping some leftover saliva away with his sleeve. Looking back to you, he saw you had never broken your gaze from him. Drowning in his story, Remmick decided to continue.

“Soldiers filled the shop with heavy feet. They searched throughout the area for a while, until finding the basement door. And I was discovered. They spoke what we speak now, but in an older tongue, and at that time I did not understand this English. They screamed at me, dragged me out of the structure, pulling me toward my end. A big man with a thick, blood-stained blade—there were so many dead people. It smelled of death and copper.”

Remmick shifted his position, standing on the ledge, seeming uncomfortable, his shoulder now facing the window. “Finally, a man with broken Irish explained, ‘You have been conquered by the great Cromwell, saved from pagan drivel.’ I stared at him. Rain poured that day, and I wept on the mud in fear for my life. ‘Spare my life, and I will serve Cromwell in this freedom,’ was my plea to him…”

You cleared your throat, "N'd how did you really say it ,in Irish?" You asked innocently, Remmick sliped a small smile to your curiosity.

"Sábháil mo shaol, agus freastalóidh mé ar Cromwell sa tsaoirse seo."

You could capture these words in the story ,and hear Remmick’s dread for mercy in your thoughts. This moment was nostalgic, as if you were there with him ,looking down to your lap in attempt to not get completely swept away in his story ,you tugged at the ends of the towel wrapped around you becoming self conscious in a trice.

"The big man with the sword raised it high, at a angle. N'd was ready to take my head off ,but was stopped by his comrades. Before I knew they'd knock me unconscious, and I was locked away with a bulk of other's that were just like me. Brown haired Irish men n'd women ,for months we were forced to free labor and slowly one by one they released us."

"Then I was picked to release ,I had this feelin ,this was my last day. And was held in front of Cromwell the conqueror himself ,by this time I'd picked up a bit of old English. I was brought to judgement for being Irish I suppose ,there was a translator with broken Irish that told the conqueror everything I uttered ,the lies I told. How I never was a true believer of paganism ,and I thought it was more than a honor to serve in his Protestant empire." Remmick scoffed to himself, rubbing right beneath his lip with his thumb.

"He was fairly pleased with my woeful pleads ,so I was no longer a free workin slave ,I was aid. Paid a small salary to be a spy to my own people, catching any groups practicing in paganism...."

You couldn’t help shifting uncomfortably on the stool; the first feeling you had for this confession was judgment. Remmick paused, noticing your discomfort. You cleared your throat.

“N’d you went through with it?…”

Expecting offense from Remmick, you were taken aback when his expression never changed, his reflective eyes almost hypnotic.

“Would you have?”

“I…”

A dry gulp reminded you of your dehydration.

“I don’t know.”

Remmick, still serious, shook his head at your response as if he knew the right answer. But you stuck with your uncertainty, though there was pity in the pit of your gut.

“I served Cromwell for five n’ a half years, before being rewarded retirement to work for a Protestant church.”

You stopped him again. “Your wife? Did you ever see her again?”

Remmick turned his head again, spitting.

“I did. During my early years servin’ as a spy, she was caught in a group practicin' in pagan offerings. N’d I…” His voice cracked, though his expression never changed.

“Watched her, along with the others she was with, be beheaded.”

You covered your mouth. The gore flashed through your mind as if you were there. Your head ached, heat building beneath your cheeks as your eyes burned, threatening to swell with tears.

“Hush, darlin’. Just the past condensed into a simple tale.” He seemed sincere in not wanting you to cry, and for a moment you craved an embrace—you hadn’t cared from who.

“I know—I know, but you didn’t deserve that. She didn’t.”

Leaning closely against the sill, Remmick had a pleading strain in his voice. “You don’t deserve this cage, yet you’re still here, suffering. N’d, Y/N, fate is what lured me to you when I arrived. I don’t just want your blood, nor your body—I crave your empathy, your thoughts, your freedom.”

You had to look away; his words were so convincing, all you had to offer was entry—it’d hurt just a moment. Staring at the wooden floor, you unconsciously rubbed your collarbone, attempting to fathom the pain of your life being taken by him.

“Finish your story.” With a stern tone, you wiped your eyes and looked back to Remmick. And strangely, he seemed satisfied with this reaction from you.

“In the church is where I met him. He was a strange pastor, only doing his preaching with all of the church’s windows covered. He claimed of havin’ a horrid allergy to the sun.”

Noticing your towel loosening a bit from being tucked against your chest, you clutched it closer to you. “He was a vampire?” you asked.

“He was a beast from hell that gave me a gift I never knew I needed. He was a disgustin’ man, full of hatred—nonsensical ignorance. N’d after I was turned, I was linked to him for a century. I wanted so much to step out into the sun, bein’ in his shackles. I didn’t always think this a gift.”

The passion that filled Remmick’s story was unnerving, since he hadn’t been this enthusiastic about his own wife.

“’Til finally he left me in Spain, on a ship to America. And not long after, I felt the shackles release from his death—ha, how I celebrated. Almost gifted everyone in Spain with my bliss.” He reminisced, showing nearly all his fangs with a bright smile.

You squinted at him, not showing amusement. You weren’t satisfied with the end of his story. “N’d you’re lonely now… just like him?”

“Before noticing you, all that drove me was hunger. But lookin’ from the outside in, I’m very lonely.”

You scoffed at his cockiness. Getting up, you took a step toward the window. “Never return here, mister. Nothin’s here for ya.”

Remmick looked up at you, almost challenging. “As you wish, darlin’, but when you can’t take this no more, speak my name into the night, and I’ll be right away.”

You had no words. You hadn’t expected this simple agreement. You almost wished he pressed on more, but instead he jumped down, still staring at you. And when you got closer to the window to see where he landed, he was already gone—as fast as the sun started to touch the now-blue horizon.

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Ch.5: Before the night

Just as he promised, he had never returned—physically. He haunted your dreams as if you had let him sink his fangs into your throat. Each day blended just as before, but now, this absence of him and your mother left you desolate within your own mind. Chores no longer distracted you from these dreams—visions. Each one different, cryptic.

One of him in old, dampened garments—he was different, younger, a fragment of human—raising a sword toward your head.

Before impact, you woke, clutching your throat. And the next, him biting into you in a setting of black—the pain was agonizing, but it wasn’t enough to wake you. Each vision seemed more lewd than the last, and they didn’t feel like your mind making up imagery, but instead flashes of your end.

These thoughts of him, the feeling of the wounds, were a constant reminder that there was an alternative to escape your mind—breathing in smoke.

You stood out on the porch as you watched an all-too-familiar carriage approach. The coachman yelled harsh commands to the huffing horses below as they slowed with heavy scoffs. He climbed down from the top and opened the carriage door to reveal Mrs. Smith.

Stepping down carefully, she lifted her black skirt just enough to show her boot. Once safely grounded, she turned back to help Charlotte, settling her along the concrete.

Charlotte’s eyes lit up when she noticed you approaching. She smiled in sheer happiness.

“Y/N, I missed you. In the hotel, I had no one to play dolls with.”

You returned a smile—for a moment, your clouded mind cleared. She gestured for your hand, and you took it.

“Well, good thing you’re back—we can go play right now.”

Mrs. Smith approached, posture high, hands settled behind her back.

“No playin’ right now, Charlotte. Me n’ your daddy got some things to talk to Y/N about.”

Without even looking at you, she tucked some golden strands behind Charlotte’s ear. Before you could think twice to ask what she meant, she spoke again.

“Y/N, go on to the study—we got the luggage.”

She was unyielding in the command, swiftly taking Charlotte’s hand from yours. An uncertain doom clouded you. Were you in trouble? Had they found out about Remmick? But how?

Your mind raced with uncertainty as you stood by the open door of Mr. Smith’s study. You hadn’t been in his office since the day Charlotte and Mrs. Smith went out shopping—when he requested a session of prayer, when he took things from you that you never knew were there to take.

Footsteps halted your thoughts. Tilting your head low, Mr. Smith stepped in, his wife following behind him, closing the door soundlessly.

His steps slowed the closer he got to his desk chair, the wood groaning with age as he sat.

“Y/N, we called you in here to discuss why we got a call from my brother’s house askin’ if we meant to call. Honesty would be the best decision.”

With a soft exhale, you confessed,

“After y'all called to check on me, I had an urge to call my ma. Without you all here to busy me, I felt… I was lonely. I’m sorry for usin’ the phone without permission.”

Glaring up at Mrs. Smith, who had stopped in front of you, she seemed to smile a bit—as if she couldn’t hold her excitement. Mr. Smith, finding his wife’s grin contagious, smiled as well. You were unnervingly confused.

“We’ve noticed in the last couple months, since your mother’s leave, you’ve been in low spirits. So we thought you deserved a visit from your ma,” he clarified.

Your confusion turned into an overwhelming sense of horror. You clenched your jaw.

“She’ll be over with family tomorrow evenin’ for supper,” Mrs. Smith added, still beaming.

They both surprisingly noticed your shift in mood. You cleared your throat so your voice would not shake.

“But I—I told you I was just a little lonely with you all gone. I’m more than fine now.”

“You haven’t seen your mother for far too long, n’d we’ve been too ignorant to notice. This is us makin’ it up to you.”

She stepped forward, her promises seeming more than sincere. You were lost for words.

“Don’t you miss her?” she asked.

You scoffed a laugh, trying to hide your intense fear.

“Of course… I’m more than grateful.”

This lie was so hard for you to speak. Mrs. Smith clasped her hands, settling the discussion.

“Well then, that’s done. Go on to startin’ dinner, Y/N.”

With that, you tried to keep yourself from dashing out of the study. Deep breaths caused a pressure in your chest. With each step, you couldn’t shake the image of your mother torn apart—bleeding. Remmick would take her. She couldn’t come here. You couldn’t allow this. You wouldn’t allow this.

A daze—time warped as you cooked, as you ate, as you prayed. You laid along your thin comforter, staring at the wooden ceiling above, imagining yourself walking out into the dark and saying that inane name. But you couldn’t. You wanted to see your mother at least one more time before your sacrifice.

So you slept—calmly. No visions nor dreams, just black.

Waking the next day and getting out of bed was no struggle for you, your spirits high.

For now.

This new day felt to go by slower than ever before. Making sure to prepare a weapon for tonight. You checked the time, even when promising yourself not to—until noon, when finally there was a knock at the front door you heard from upstairs in your room.

You got up and scattered to get downstairs, but once reaching the parlor, Mr. Smith had already answered the door. Voices filled the quiet house with warmth as you stood by patiently, knowing your mother was to be the last one in.

And there she was—holding a brown casing close to her. She never lowered her posture as you did, but still kept her eyes low. Until seeing you.

She greeted Mr.Smith with a nod of respect and a simple "Evenin'."

You wanted to cry with joy but held it in, though a small, relieved smile crept across your face.

“Sweetness… you’ve gotten so thin. You been eatin’?”

She stopped in front of you, and you went in for her embrace. Her warmth surrounded you like a blanket. Her scent—mixed with a faint rot of wood from the carriage —filled your senses as you rubbed the moisture from your eyes against her apron.

“I try… when I have the time.”

Your mother pushed you away slightly to get a better look at you, both her hands holding your face gently. You could see the concern stirring in her eyes.

“N’d what’s busyin’ you to the point of not eatin’?”

This question was a warning of future scolding—you could see it coming, though you didn’t mind. Still taken aback by her presence, Mr. Smith cleared his throat.

“Why don’t y’all get settled upstairs? We’ll ring if anything’s needed.”

Your mother looked to him quickly, nodding in agreement.

“Of course, sir.”

Grabbing hold of your arm. With a light grasp, you both walked up the stairway. Nostalgia washed over you—walking alongside her like this when you were still in training to be a proper maid. Your grin never left.

Once upstairs, in your once-shared room, your mother noticed how messy your quarters had become. The bed undone, the window open, clothes along the floor. Then she saw a thick wooden stick shaped into sharpness.

Before she could step toward it, you moved into her view.

“Ma, I’m sorry ’bout the mess. I’m… I’m sorry I ended the call so quickly. I was just—I’m just…”

Your breath hitched as you became overwhelmed. She quickly dropped her things, rushing to you and sitting you down along the bed.

“Breathe, girl, you’re worryin’ me. Tell me what it is…”

With one arm over your shoulder, she kept you close. You leaned against her—finally grounded. You could hear the birds outside, crowds of passersby, the cloud over you beginning to clear.

You sat up, staring at her with seriousness.

“Mama… a vampire came to me the night the Smiths took their leave. Remmick. I spoke to him, though I know what you always said, and I—I got Mr. Abril killed. I’m so sorry, ma. I’m sorry I took your warnings for granted.”

Your mother stared, an expression of shock crossing her face so deeply it almost drained her of color.

“No… Y/N, you let him in?”

“No—I offered the basement, but he almost— Ma, he wants me, and I don’t know why. But I know he watches. And I know he’ll take you to have me.”

She seemed confused, looking to the floor, her eyes shifting rapidly in thought. She covered her mouth, and you realized she was trying to hold back tears—you had only seen your mother cry once, when you were too little to even comprehend it.

Guilt shadowed you. You should’ve waited to burden her with all of this.

You got up from the bed, kneeling in front of her silently.

“This is my fault—”

“No, ma. No, it’s not.”

She sobbed softly, aggressively wiping the moisture from her face.

“It is, baby. Listen… after my ma was taken from me, I held onto so much anger. I let revenge control me. I was taken in by a group of natives that had a mission to put an end to the evils that be. And they taught me to kill. I did things… so many awful things to people—for information, for money—”

She sniffled, attempting to steady her words. You stayed close, attentive.

“N’d I killed the bastard—the damn thing that took her. I remember each hack it took to his neck to take his head. I remember waitin’ for the sunrise to see his body burn… but I felt nothing. Y/N, I was so lost without my ma. So I left the group, and for years I roamed states—robbin’, gamblin’, sleepin’ with whomever. Until, for some reason, God thought I deserved to have you.”

She shook her head, clasping her hands while looking upward.

“N’d I knew… I knew I had to give you a life better than I had. So I took this job. But I should’ve been mindful of my karma… I’m sorry, baby.”

You shook your head, leaning closer as you embraced your mother.

You clung to her tightly as she continued to cry, and though this darkness of your mother’s past had been revealed, you couldn’t help but only want to stay in this moment with her—for it was the last.

“You always reminded me of your grandma…”

You leaned away for a moment, staring at her as she went on.

“I don’t know if you remember, but you told me you had this dream—you stood with me out on dead grass, and we watched the sun turn a man to ash. I didn’t understand how—how did you dream that if you were never there?”

She shook her head, sniffing.

“N’d my ma had those dreams. She would tell me all the time that if anything ever happened to her, I had to promise not to hold onto anger n’d grief. I didn’t listen… now God’s takin’ you.”

Her weeping started again, and you quickly stood, pulling her gently against your chest.

Truly adrift for words, you didn’t know how to make this better—and you surely didn’t want to make it worse.

Deciding it would be better to wait to tell her that today was the last she would ever see you, long moments of silence passed between you.

Until the bell rang, startling you both, and you looked toward where the sound came from.

Then, looking back to your mother, you helped her stand as she cleaned her face and calmed herself. She glanced toward your open window, noticing the evening turning to night.

“It’s about time for Mr. Smith’s brother to take his medicine. I’ll be right back.” Her gaze stayed lowered as you silently watched her exit. Realizing you couldn't bring yourself to tell her ,you thought to write it down.

You walked toward the open window, noticing thick, dark clouds looming along the horizon, wondering—had he watched your mother’s confession? Does he see you now?

Shaking the thoughts, you questioned why it even mattered.

By the time your mother returned, it was time for the both of you to start preparing supper. And this chore wasn’t as burdensome as it had felt before. Suddenly, the craft of making dinner held a kind of joy—you felt like a child again, baking muffins for the first time. Somehow, you and your mother weren’t so depressed when working together, and your cheeks grew sore from all the smiling. Bittersweet.

You set up the table in the kitchen for you both to enjoy your work after serving the Smiths. A loud crack of thunder caused you to drop a plate. Luckily, the white glass landed without breaking, its bottom rolling along the wooden floor for a moment before finally settling.

“Don’t tell me your big self still scared of a storm?”

Your mother teased while picking up the dish.

“I’m not—it was just really loud,” you clarified, almost embarrassed, taking the plate from her and moving toward the sink.

“It was loud. I heard Mr. Smith sayin’ to his brother earlier the storm would get worse throughout the night. We’ll probably have to leave right after eatin’.”

You paused for a moment, disappointed.

“Oh…” Opening a cabinet, you grabbed a clean plate. “It’d be for the best. Don’t want y’all stuck.”

Your mother didn’t respond. When you turned, she was already seated, lost in thought. You stayed quiet, setting the plate over the placemat before returning to the counter to plate the sides.

“Y/N?”

Scooping mashed potatoes, you glanced at her. “Yes, ma?”

“You’re not thinkin’ of killin’ that vampire?”

You paused again.

“I saw the stake. Baby, the best thing is for you to stay in. You don’t know how connivin’ they can be. They’re stronger than you, n’d if you don’t have help, you’re not takin’ him down alone.”

She rubbed her temples, shaking her head.

“Promise me you won’t do nothin’ crazy. The beast will move on to prey on another ,I can handle myself. Don't worry bout' me.”

Finally finishing plating dinner, you sat in front of her, biting your tongue until it bled.

“I—”

“Hurry up with supper—we gotta start packin’ up!” Mr. Smith’s brother’s rough voice cut in.

You looked back to your mother, who seemed to lose focus of the discussion—thankfully.

Before you knew it ,you hadn’t realized how hungry you had been scarfing down your food. Once you both were finished dining you hadn’t even had time to clean up before your mother was called again to start gathering their things ,and moments passed into you hugging your mother in the parlor. "I love you ma ,n'd I'm sorry."

Swiftly tucking a folded sheet of paper into her apron pocket ,she looked at you squinting.

"Come on now." They rush her along ,she looked back then at you ,"I love you too."

Was all she muster shakily, weary. You waved as the door closed behind her ,taking a deep breath as this strange feeling of content cloaked you.

Going on ,cleaning, putting Charlotte to bed and then yourself. All there was now was to wait ,until deep into the night when you knew everyone was sound asleep. Gathering your small satchel with only the weight of the sharpened wood inside ,pulling your shoes over your hills ,and grabbing a shawl.

You crept down the aged stairs ,and through the kitchen, to the back door where the laundry line hung just above the door. You looked back to the dark kitchen making sure no one followed behind. The hinges made a light squeak as you squeezed through a small crack you made through the door. Immediately, the humid air hit you causing you to clutch onto the shawl you grabbed to cover yourself, only being in your thin nightgown. Stepping down the stairway, slowly your eyes shifting through the dark clusters of trees ahead ,the rain had now settled to a light dribble. You exhaled heavily, his name on the tip of your tongue.

"Remmick...." you announced being cautious of your volume. You waited a long moment counting each minute, before gathering courage to repeat. "Remmi-"

"Y/N! The hell are you doin out here ,you know what time it is?" Mr.Smiths voice made you jump as you turned around ,bracing yourself. You shifted your satchel along your hip so it was not noticeable. "Sir ,I was- I forgot to gather the laundry from dryin..."

He eyed you ,clearly you were quite far from the laundry lines for that to be true. "Come on to my study..."

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Ch.6: A Calling

A snap of twigs made you swing your head back toward the dark horizon.

“But, sir, I—”

“Now, Y/N!”

You caught your breath, immediately turning in obedience. It felt like the longest walk you had ever taken, heading to the study. You hoped for a lecture, but deep down, you felt it would be something worse—worse than Remmick.

The heavy door closed behind Mr. Smith as you stopped in front of his desk. You heard him press in the button to switch on the lights.

“This how you repay us after lettin’ ya see your ma? What has gotten into you?” His tone was taunting instead of threatening. The rain thumped against the windows of the office, starting up heavy again.

“I’m sorry, sir… I’m just tired, is all.”

He scoffed at this, and suddenly you felt so small. You hated being alone with him. The way his presence loomed ,knowing you were to weak to cease him.

“Who is it you were callin’ to, girl?”

You caught your breath as you felt his hand clutch your shoulder from behind.

“No one, sir.”

You felt nothing with these small fibs.

“So you weren’t callin’ out to some man? Out practically naked—you know there’s plenty of crazed men out there, waitin’ for somethin’ like you.”

He unclipped your shawl, and it slipped down your shoulders. You gritted your teeth at his closeness. You wanted so much to use the stake in your small bag on him, but your courage had disassembled.

Lightning flashed—catching your eye was a familiar silhouette standing in the window, waiting.

You gasped at the sight. Mr. Smith looked up from you to see what caused the startle, only to become more agitated when finding nothing.

“You think I’m an idiot, girl?”

He pushed one of your shoulders forcibly, making you turn. You kept your gaze lowered, shaking your head.

“No, sir… I’m sorry.”

“Undress.”

Finally looking up, taken aback.

“What about the mistress or Charlotte—”

You gasped as he clutched your jaw with one hand, forcing you back against the desk behind, the old wood rattling from impact. You choked on each inhale, staring at him wide-eyed.

“They’re asleep, you unheedful servant. A simple ask—and you question. No more talkin’.”

His breath revealing one-to-many glasses of whiskey, his spit with each word making you flinch.

Tears formed in your eyes, but you were too stubborn to show your fear.

He turned you again, forcing you over the desk. You took deep breaths, your heart pounding, glaring toward the same window—

He was still there.

Keeping your eyes on his reflective gaze, you whispered repeatedly to yourself,

“I allow you in… please come in.”

Almost like a prayer.

As the man behind you struck you forcibly. You squeezed your eyes shut a moment, looking back to the window to see Remmick gone ,you hoped he heard your quiet voice.

Finally, the pain was over, and he let you stand, turning you to face him again.

“Now ,take this off.”

But past him stood the one you called for.

Fury burning in his gaze.

You covered your mouth, your lower back hitting the desk as you backed up. Mr. Smith turned at your reaction—and caught his last breath.

In a single motion, Remmick struck him with an open hand, with such force that you heard the wet tear of muscle and bone—his jaw ripping away and falling to the floor. Blood stained you and Remmick.

Gurgling filled the silence as he clawed at his throat, stumbling backward ,and falling with a heavy thud.

Your mouth still covered, but at this point, you were clutching your nails into your cheeks, your breathing controlled and shaky as you watched crimson spread across the brown carpet ,his body convulsing. Your other hand held you up along the desk behind you, now leaning against it.

Your delayed response broke into a deep sob.

Remmick quickly hushed you, lowering his posture to meet you—attempting to make you feel leveled.

“Shhh,” he cooed softly.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the corpse—until Remmick grasped your face with both hands, forcing you to look at him. Shuddering softly, his cold nature almost bringing you out of shock.

“There you are,” he whispered.

Pressed firmly against the desk behind you, you could feel it leave a mark along your back. He smelled of blood—Mr. Smith’s blood. His face carried the stain of his crime, yet you felt calm with him finally there before you.

Your mind raced, but your body felt almost in a trance to him.

“You called to me?” he asked, waiting with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

He couldn’t help himself—it was all too riveting for him to fully grasp. He had you. He could bite into you now and taste the sweetness of his triumph.

His gaze drifted, taking you in—so thinly covered. Sweat dampening your skin ,causing the light to reflect flawlessly. Leaning closely taking in your natural aroma mixed with rain ,he bit down on his tongue, practically impaling it with his fangs.

Looking away with deep breaths, he licked his lips, trying to settle his hunger, with the blood that stained his mouth.

“Let me take you away from this.”

Your lips parted as you tried to think of anything to say, but a mere nod was all you could muster.

Squatting, he gestured for you to lift your legs along one of his arms, picking you up without struggle in a cradle. You tensed against him, his clothes damp from standing out in the storm. You hadn’t even realized he was soaked—his hair still dripping. Along with his wet clothes, his cold skin caused you discomfort in the embrace.

Remmick walked you toward one of the windows, opening it. You looked back at the body on the floor before you were outside, rain cloaking the both of you.

You lowered your head, your body finally giving into exhaustion, resting it along the vampire’s chest as he paced through the trees. He was quiet—scarily quiet—as if focused on something. His grip on you consistently tightened and loosened with each step.

You wanted to ask so many questions, but you were so tired you wished not to feel the despair anymore. Deep down, you hoped Remmick would drain you now, when you weren’t in your right mind—you thought he would back in the study. The way he gazed at you, just like in the basement…

This drowsiness eventually cloaked you, the feeling overcoming the frigid dew on your skin and clothes. You wondered where he was taking you—it felt like a long, silent walk into the night. Your blinks slowed. Rest my eyes just a minute, you thought.

But that blink shifted into you jolting awake.

You sat up, lying on your belly along a grey-shaded mattress with no covering. You groaned at the soreness along one of your arms, noting bruising starting to form. Quickly rubbing along your collarbone for any marks, you couldn’t help your heart starting to pound. There was a silence to this obscure setting—a silence that had you almost hearing your heart thumping with adrenaline.

You looked toward an open window—the small room still held the night.

This setting was clearly abandoned, the house seeming to be an old log structure. You noticed your bag beside you, no longer strapped to your waist. Quickly digging inside and grabbing the stake.

Your breath grew heavier as you realized Remmick was nowhere in sight.

Quietly getting down from the bed, now without your shoes, the old wooden floor creaked no matter how light a step you took. Moving toward the window, you looked out. As you expected, this old house was only one floor. Looking back to the closed door of the room that led further into the house, you tensed, clenching your jaw while clutching your gown and slowly putting your leg through the window. Though you tried to steady your breathing, your body was instinctively in flight.

Finally fully through the window, your bare feet plunging the damp grass and mud. You paced quickly, looking over your shoulder every few seconds, clutching the stake with both hands as your thoughts rushed. Until your mind couldn’t keep up with your legs, and you aimlessly ran through the forest.

Then you heard something through the still silence and your running—a rushed hiss of air, as if someone flew fast through the sky. There was no rain nor wind, but looking back again you saw him in your peripheral. You gasped to yourself, immediately regretting looking back.

You heard him land as you tried your best to pick up your pace, your calves burning. You heaved while forcing your gaze forward.

“This is how you repay your savior!”

Remmick’s tone showed irritation, and he sounded almost right behind you.

Suddenly you tripped over a thick branch protruding from the earth.

You crashed to the ground, landing hard on your knees and elbows. You whimpered while trying to catch your breath all at once ,falling onto mud giving you sensory overload. Quickly turning yourself around, you looked up at him.

“Where will you go, Y/N? Back to that cage? Where we left him? They’ll hang ya for it.”

You huffed, crawling backward through the mud, realizing Remmick was farther away than you had imagined. You couldn’t speak—could hardly think.

“Why do you still fight me, darlin’? I want nothin’ but the best for ya.”

He lowered his voice, attempting to soothe you. You forced your mouth shut to control your breaths through your nose, while stumbling as you stood again.

You eyed the ground for the stake, but it was too close to Remmick for you to make an attempt to retrieve it. “Why are you dallyin' about? Why ain’t I dead?” you asked innocently, a hoarse voice. Both you and Remmick’s pace slowed; he followed your exact steps, moving forward when you went back. “Do you want that? Death?”

You shook your head.

“The thing you claim is freedom—why haven’t you damned me? You like this? Chasin’ after me.” You scoffed, too afraid to look back. It felt like you were in the basement again, and the door was closed behind you.

Remmick, as you could see now, was still stained with the gore he caused but had attempted to wipe most of the carnage from his face ,half of his once off-white button-up unbuttoned revealing some of his bare chest. Yet he had a good amount of drool at the corner of his mouth.

“Why did you call out to me?” He was clearly avoiding your taunts; the tables were fully turned. You were in no position to question him now, and that terrified you.

All you could do was shake your head, your mind blank from sheer adrenaline. You looked down at the mud.

“Y/N!” His voice rose, and your gaze shot back to him. He was more than eager.

“I—I needed to make sure my ma would be safe, okay.”

“So you offer yourself for her life?”

“No—no. You want to justify killin’ me. You murdered Mr. Smith without thought. I didn’t ask for that.”

Remmick’s serious expression faltered for a moment, but he never took his eyes off you, the both of you still pacing—his slowing, yet not stopping.

“And yet you still allowed me in. Ya know my nature, lass. You think I’d leave him unscathed when handling you like that?” There was a slight bitterness in his tone. You gulped dryly.

“I was scared. I’m constantly livin’ in it—when prayin’, dreamin’, even now.” Your voice shook along with your trembling body. Suddenly, a loud crack of thunder caught you off guard, and you misstepped.

“Easy now…” Remmick scoffed, teasing at you for almost tripping. You hated how much he was enjoying this.

“Why haven’t you turned me, coward?” The last bit of courage you had left pushed forward suddenly.

“Because I want you to choose.”

Your back pressed against a thick, damp tree trunk as you caught your breath, staring at the ravenous devil before you. But surprisingly, he stopped when you did. It felt as if your legs were frozen in shock. Your teeth chattered in fear.

“This ain’t much of a choice…”

Remmick wiped his mouth, exhaling deeply while eyeing you. He could see your pulse along the side your neck, knowing exactly where he would bite. The thought of tasting your blood again made him cackle deeply. He pressed his boots deeper into the mud as he tried to calm himself, huffing. He noticed your petrified confusion.

“Course it is.”

“I need you to tell me if you want freedom or death. There’s no out, Y/N. My nature is takin’ the best of me. My patience is gone.”

Remmick breathless, sounding as if he were begging rather than commanding. You tried to slowly slide your back along the tree to gain footing to run again, but he began taking slow steps toward you. You stared, unable to think as he was now merely standing over you, panting. Déjà vu felt as if it stunted your shakiness—you had been here already, in your sleep. This was inevitable. It had always been your fate since you were born. The irony of it all made heat build in your cheeks, though you didn’t want to cry.

He leaned his hands against the trunk in an attempt to collect himself, his lips parted as he stared hungrily. Your jaw trembled as you began to speak.

“If I let you free me… will my ma live without worry?”

A tear trailed down your face, and Remmick nodded, now unable to form a response.

With a shaky hand, you grabbed the string at the top of your nightgown, loosening the knot. You shuddered as you pushed the sleeve down your shoulder, moving your head—surrendering your life.

Remmick hesitantly leaned forward, gazing at your damp skin, practically visualizing your veins rushing with blood.

“Christ…”

Remmick whispered against your skin before suddenly piercing your flesh with his fangs. You cried out in pain, grasping onto him almost in an attempt to push him off. You heard the tree crunch under Remmick’s grip as he fed, euphoria flooding his mind while you held onto him. He grumbled into your neck in an attempt to catch his breath.

It didn’t take long before you started to feel dizzy, your body becoming overwhelmingly weak. Remmick noticed your slackness, and before pushing himself away he heaved, his eyes rapidly shifting among your dying gaze. He seemed as if wanting to say something, but you could see clearly he was in such a bliss that his glossy red gaze glowed.

Inhaling, he leaned into the opposite side of your neck and bit again.

But this time it felt even worse.

You sobbed quietly but heavily against him, and he held you close so you wouldn’t fall away from him.

And suddenly, there was this relief from your body’s jitters—your mind clearing as you stared up at the black, cloudy sky. Your vision faded in and out, your strength completely gone, until finally you were no longer alive, yet not dead. Unconscious, yet aware of it all.

In this fading moment, you found yourself sitting in the Smiths’ kitchen with your mother. You were a child again, plucking the stems off spinach leaves while swinging your legs along a wooden dining chair you were too little for. It was quiet—your mother humming a gospel as she cleaned out the sink. A warmth filled you, cloaked in innocence, because in this death you were who you had always been—who you could never grow out of. A child. Overwhelmingly, you felt it. Was this it? The freedom Remmick coerced you toward?

No.

Her humming began to mingle with Remmick’s singing, though it sounded as if he were underwater.

You turned, and your surroundings shifted in an instant.

You stood at a distance in a dark void, watching Remmick—along with a number of vampires—circling him and cheering him on. You could feel him in that moment: the sheer bliss he felt as he danced and sang. The feeling of belonging.

All he seemed to desire was community.

And it seemed, in the end, he would get just that.

[umm992]

Gurl... So started re-watching Twilight for shits & giggles with my bf. But we got to New Moon today n'd girl👀 ,I remember why I was team Jacob.

Anyway still struggling with finishing my Remmick fanfic ,but thinking of make a one shot about jacob x Black reader. Something more fun ,like maybe a enemy to lovers type of thing but in a 'slice of life' way. Idk y'all lmk ur thoughts ✌🏾

[snailsfall]

[umm992]

Okay y'all writers block is eating me alive✌🏾

Also struggling on writing a intimate moment on my Remmick x Black reader fanfic.

My outlook on Remmick as a character is he is a very desperate being and will do any & everything to get what he wants. From that I'm trying to figure out how he would be with the reader intimately, I feel like he's a very needy person but also would just adapt to whatever he thinks you want or would like ;but the longer intimacy goes on ,the more he sort of starts to lean into his own wants...

Idk ,y'all lmk if you have anything or if i should go another direction.🫶🏾

[remmickssugar]

he is literally begging

[umm992]

Part 6 of my Remmick x Black reader fanfic.

⚠️Strong Implications of SA/Gore/Violence⚠️

Ch.6: A Calling

A snap of twigs made you swing your head back toward the dark horizon.

“But, sir, I—”

“Now, Y/N!”

You caught your breath, immediately turning in obedience. It felt like the longest walk you had ever taken, heading to the study. You hoped for a lecture, but deep down, you felt it would be something worse—worse than Remmick.

The heavy door closed behind Mr. Smith as you stopped in front of his desk. You heard him press in the button to switch on the lights.

“This how you repay us after lettin’ ya see your ma? What has gotten into you?” His tone was taunting instead of threatening. The rain thumped against the windows of the office, starting up heavy again.

“I’m sorry, sir… I’m just tired, is all.”

He scoffed at this, and suddenly you felt so small. You hated being alone with him. The way his presence loomed ,knowing you were to weak to cease him.

“Who is it you were callin’ to, girl?”

You caught your breath as you felt his hand clutch your shoulder from behind.

“No one, sir.”

You felt nothing with these small fibs.

“So you weren’t callin’ out to some man? Out practically naked—you know there’s plenty of crazed men out there, waitin’ for somethin’ like you.”

He unclipped your shawl, and it slipped down your shoulders. You gritted your teeth at his closeness. You wanted so much to use the stake in your small bag on him, but your courage had disassembled.

Lightning flashed—catching your eye was a familiar silhouette standing in the window, waiting.

You gasped at the sight. Mr. Smith looked up from you to see what caused the startle, only to become more agitated when finding nothing.

“You think I’m an idiot, girl?”

He pushed one of your shoulders forcibly, making you turn. You kept your gaze lowered, shaking your head.

“No, sir… I’m sorry.”

“Undress.”

Finally looking up, taken aback.

“What about the mistress or Charlotte—”

You gasped as he clutched your jaw with one hand, forcing you back against the desk behind, the old wood rattling from impact. You choked on each inhale, staring at him wide-eyed.

“They’re asleep, you unheedful servant. A simple ask—and you question. No more talkin’.”

His breath revealing one-to-many glasses of whiskey, his spit with each word making you flinch.

Tears formed in your eyes, but you were too stubborn to show your fear.

He turned you again, forcing you over the desk. You took deep breaths, your heart pounding, glaring toward the same window—

He was still there.

Keeping your eyes on his reflective gaze, you whispered repeatedly to yourself,

“I allow you in… please come in.”

Almost like a prayer.

As the man behind you struck you forcibly. You squeezed your eyes shut a moment, looking back to the window to see Remmick gone ,you hoped he heard your quiet voice.

Finally, the pain was over, and he let you stand, turning you to face him again.

“Now ,take this off.”

But past him stood the one you called for.

Fury burning in his gaze.

You covered your mouth, your lower back hitting the desk as you backed up. Mr. Smith turned at your reaction—and caught his last breath.

In a single motion, Remmick struck him with an open hand, with such force that you heard the wet tear of muscle and bone—his jaw ripping away and falling to the floor. Blood stained you and Remmick.

Gurgling filled the silence as he clawed at his throat, stumbling backward ,and falling with a heavy thud.

Your mouth still covered, but at this point, you were clutching your nails into your cheeks, your breathing controlled and shaky as you watched crimson spread across the brown carpet ,his body convulsing. Your other hand held you up along the desk behind you, now leaning against it.

Your delayed response broke into a deep sob.

Remmick quickly hushed you, lowering his posture to meet you—attempting to make you feel leveled.

“Shhh,” he cooed softly.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the corpse—until Remmick grasped your face with both hands, forcing you to look at him. Shuddering softly, his cold nature almost bringing you out of shock.

“There you are,” he whispered.

Pressed firmly against the desk behind you, you could feel it leave a mark along your back. He smelled of blood—Mr. Smith’s blood. His face carried the stain of his crime, yet you felt calm with him finally there before you.

Your mind raced, but your body felt almost in a trance to him.

“You called to me?” he asked, waiting with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

He couldn’t help himself—it was all too riveting for him to fully grasp. He had you. He could bite into you now and taste the sweetness of his triumph.

His gaze drifted, taking you in—so thinly covered. Sweat dampening your skin ,causing the light to reflect flawlessly. Leaning closely taking in your natural aroma mixed with rain ,he bit down on his tongue, practically impaling it with his fangs.

Looking away with deep breaths, he licked his lips, trying to settle his hunger, with the blood that stained his mouth.

“Let me take you away from this.”

Your lips parted as you tried to think of anything to say, but a mere nod was all you could muster.

Squatting, he gestured for you to lift your legs along one of his arms, picking you up without struggle in a cradle. You tensed against him, his clothes damp from standing out in the storm. You hadn’t even realized he was soaked—his hair still dripping. Along with his wet clothes, his cold skin caused you discomfort in the embrace.

Remmick walked you toward one of the windows, opening it. You looked back at the body on the floor before you were outside, rain cloaking the both of you.

You lowered your head, your body finally giving into exhaustion, resting it along the vampire’s chest as he paced through the trees. He was quiet—scarily quiet—as if focused on something. His grip on you consistently tightened and loosened with each step.

You wanted to ask so many questions, but you were so tired you wished not to feel the despair anymore. Deep down, you hoped Remmick would drain you now, when you weren’t in your right mind—you thought he would back in the study. The way he gazed at you, just like in the basement…

This drowsiness eventually cloaked you, the feeling overcoming the frigid dew on your skin and clothes. You wondered where he was taking you—it felt like a long, silent walk into the night. Your blinks slowed. Rest my eyes just a minute, you thought.

But that blink shifted into you jolting awake.

You sat up, lying on your belly along a grey-shaded mattress with no covering. You groaned at the soreness along one of your arms, noting bruising starting to form. Quickly rubbing along your collarbone for any marks, you couldn’t help your heart starting to pound. There was a silence to this obscure setting—a silence that had you almost hearing your heart thumping with adrenaline.

You looked toward an open window—the small room still held the night.

This setting was clearly abandoned, the house seeming to be an old log structure. You noticed your bag beside you, no longer strapped to your waist. Quickly digging inside and grabbing the stake.

Your breath grew heavier as you realized Remmick was nowhere in sight.

Quietly getting down from the bed, now without your shoes, the old wooden floor creaked no matter how light a step you took. Moving toward the window, you looked out. As you expected, this old house was only one floor. Looking back to the closed door of the room that led further into the house, you tensed, clenching your jaw while clutching your gown and slowly putting your leg through the window. Though you tried to steady your breathing, your body was instinctively in flight.

Finally fully through the window, your bare feet plunging the damp grass and mud. You paced quickly, looking over your shoulder every few seconds, clutching the stake with both hands as your thoughts rushed. Until your mind couldn’t keep up with your legs, and you aimlessly ran through the forest.

Then you heard something through the still silence and your running—a rushed hiss of air, as if someone flew fast through the sky. There was no rain nor wind, but looking back again you saw him in your peripheral. You gasped to yourself, immediately regretting looking back.

You heard him land as you tried your best to pick up your pace, your calves burning. You heaved while forcing your gaze forward.

“This is how you repay your savior!”

Remmick’s tone showed irritation, and he sounded almost right behind you.

Suddenly you tripped over a thick branch protruding from the earth.

You crashed to the ground, landing hard on your knees and elbows. You whimpered while trying to catch your breath all at once ,falling onto mud giving you sensory overload. Quickly turning yourself around, you looked up at him.

“Where will you go, Y/N? Back to that cage? Where we left him? They’ll hang ya for it.”

You huffed, crawling backward through the mud, realizing Remmick was farther away than you had imagined. You couldn’t speak—could hardly think.

“Why do you still fight me, darlin’? I want nothin’ but the best for ya.”

He lowered his voice, attempting to soothe you. You forced your mouth shut to control your breaths through your nose, while stumbling as you stood again.

You eyed the ground for the stake, but it was too close to Remmick for you to make an attempt to retrieve it. “Why are you dallyin' about? Why ain’t I dead?” you asked innocently, a hoarse voice. Both you and Remmick’s pace slowed; he followed your exact steps, moving forward when you went back. “Do you want that? Death?”

You shook your head.

“The thing you claim is freedom—why haven’t you damned me? You like this? Chasin’ after me.” You scoffed, too afraid to look back. It felt like you were in the basement again, and the door was closed behind you.

Remmick, as you could see now, was still stained with the gore he caused but had attempted to wipe most of the carnage from his face ,half of his once off-white button-up unbuttoned revealing some of his bare chest. Yet he had a good amount of drool at the corner of his mouth.

“Why did you call out to me?” He was clearly avoiding your taunts; the tables were fully turned. You were in no position to question him now, and that terrified you.

All you could do was shake your head, your mind blank from sheer adrenaline. You looked down at the mud.

“Y/N!” His voice rose, and your gaze shot back to him. He was more than eager.

“I—I needed to make sure my ma would be safe, okay.”

“So you offer yourself for her life?”

“No—no. You want to justify killin’ me. You murdered Mr. Smith without thought. I didn’t ask for that.”

Remmick’s serious expression faltered for a moment, but he never took his eyes off you, the both of you still pacing—his slowing, yet not stopping.

“And yet you still allowed me in. Ya know my nature, lass. You think I’d leave him unscathed when handling you like that?” There was a slight bitterness in his tone. You gulped dryly.

“I was scared. I’m constantly livin’ in it—when prayin’, dreamin’, even now.” Your voice shook along with your trembling body. Suddenly, a loud crack of thunder caught you off guard, and you misstepped.

“Easy now…” Remmick scoffed, teasing at you for almost tripping. You hated how much he was enjoying this.

“Why haven’t you turned me, coward?” The last bit of courage you had left pushed forward suddenly.

“Because I want you to choose.”

Your back pressed against a thick, damp tree trunk as you caught your breath, staring at the ravenous devil before you. But surprisingly, he stopped when you did. It felt as if your legs were frozen in shock. Your teeth chattered in fear.

“This ain’t much of a choice…”

Remmick wiped his mouth, exhaling deeply while eyeing you. He could see your pulse along the side your neck, knowing exactly where he would bite. The thought of tasting your blood again made him cackle deeply. He pressed his boots deeper into the mud as he tried to calm himself, huffing. He noticed your petrified confusion.

“Course it is.”

“I need you to tell me if you want freedom or death. There’s no out, Y/N. My nature is takin’ the best of me. My patience is gone.”

Remmick breathless, sounding as if he were begging rather than commanding. You tried to slowly slide your back along the tree to gain footing to run again, but he began taking slow steps toward you. You stared, unable to think as he was now merely standing over you, panting. Déjà vu felt as if it stunted your shakiness—you had been here already, in your sleep. This was inevitable. It had always been your fate since you were born. The irony of it all made heat build in your cheeks, though you didn’t want to cry.

He leaned his hands against the trunk in an attempt to collect himself, his lips parted as he stared hungrily. Your jaw trembled as you began to speak.

“If I let you free me… will my ma live without worry?”

A tear trailed down your face, and Remmick nodded, now unable to form a response.

With a shaky hand, you grabbed the string at the top of your nightgown, loosening the knot. You shuddered as you pushed the sleeve down your shoulder, moving your head—surrendering your life.

Remmick hesitantly leaned forward, gazing at your damp skin, practically visualizing your veins rushing with blood.

“Christ…”

Remmick whispered against your skin before suddenly piercing your flesh with his fangs. You cried out in pain, grasping onto him almost in an attempt to push him off. You heard the tree crunch under Remmick’s grip as he fed, euphoria flooding his mind while you held onto him. He grumbled into your neck in an attempt to catch his breath.

It didn’t take long before you started to feel dizzy, your body becoming overwhelmingly weak. Remmick noticed your slackness, and before pushing himself away he heaved, his eyes rapidly shifting among your dying gaze. He seemed as if wanting to say something, but you could see clearly he was in such a bliss that his glossy red gaze glowed.

Inhaling, he leaned into the opposite side of your neck and bit again.

But this time it felt even worse.

You sobbed quietly but heavily against him, and he held you close so you wouldn’t fall away from him.

And suddenly, there was this relief from your body’s jitters—your mind clearing as you stared up at the black, cloudy sky. Your vision faded in and out, your strength completely gone, until finally you were no longer alive, yet not dead. Unconscious, yet aware of it all.

In this fading moment, you found yourself sitting in the Smiths’ kitchen with your mother. You were a child again, plucking the stems off spinach leaves while swinging your legs along a wooden dining chair you were too little for. It was quiet—your mother humming a gospel as she cleaned out the sink. A warmth filled you, cloaked in innocence, because in this death you were who you had always been—who you could never grow out of. A child. Overwhelmingly, you felt it. Was this it? The freedom Remmick coerced you toward?

No.

Her humming began to mingle with Remmick’s singing, though it sounded as if he were underwater.

You turned, and your surroundings shifted in an instant.

You stood at a distance in a dark void, watching Remmick—along with a number of vampires—circling him and cheering him on. You could feel him in that moment: the sheer bliss he felt as he danced and sang. The feeling of belonging.

All he seemed to desire was community.

And it seemed, in the end, he would get just that.

[umm992]

Part 5 of my Remmick x Black reader fanfic.

Ch.5: Before the night

Just as he promised, he had never returned—physically. He haunted your dreams as if you had let him sink his fangs into your throat. Each day blended just as before, but now, this absence of him and your mother left you desolate within your own mind. Chores no longer distracted you from these dreams—visions. Each one different, cryptic.

One of him in old, dampened garments—he was different, younger, a fragment of human—raising a sword toward your head.

Before impact, you woke, clutching your throat. And the next, him biting into you in a setting of black—the pain was agonizing, but it wasn’t enough to wake you. Each vision seemed more lewd than the last, and they didn’t feel like your mind making up imagery, but instead flashes of your end.

These thoughts of him, the feeling of the wounds, were a constant reminder that there was an alternative to escape your mind—breathing in smoke.

You stood out on the porch as you watched an all-too-familiar carriage approach. The coachman yelled harsh commands to the huffing horses below as they slowed with heavy scoffs. He climbed down from the top and opened the carriage door to reveal Mrs. Smith.

Stepping down carefully, she lifted her black skirt just enough to show her boot. Once safely grounded, she turned back to help Charlotte, settling her along the concrete.

Charlotte’s eyes lit up when she noticed you approaching. She smiled in sheer happiness.

“Y/N, I missed you. In the hotel, I had no one to play dolls with.”

You returned a smile—for a moment, your clouded mind cleared. She gestured for your hand, and you took it.

“Well, good thing you’re back—we can go play right now.”

Mrs. Smith approached, posture high, hands settled behind her back.

“No playin’ right now, Charlotte. Me n’ your daddy got some things to talk to Y/N about.”

Without even looking at you, she tucked some golden strands behind Charlotte’s ear. Before you could think twice to ask what she meant, she spoke again.

“Y/N, go on to the study—we got the luggage.”

She was unyielding in the command, swiftly taking Charlotte’s hand from yours. An uncertain doom clouded you. Were you in trouble? Had they found out about Remmick? But how?

Your mind raced with uncertainty as you stood by the open door of Mr. Smith’s study. You hadn’t been in his office since the day Charlotte and Mrs. Smith went out shopping—when he requested a session of prayer, when he took things from you that you never knew were there to take.

Footsteps halted your thoughts. Tilting your head low, Mr. Smith stepped in, his wife following behind him, closing the door soundlessly.

His steps slowed the closer he got to his desk chair, the wood groaning with age as he sat.

“Y/N, we called you in here to discuss why we got a call from my brother’s house askin’ if we meant to call. Honesty would be the best decision.”

With a soft exhale, you confessed,

“After y'all called to check on me, I had an urge to call my ma. Without you all here to busy me, I felt… I was lonely. I’m sorry for usin’ the phone without permission.”

Glaring up at Mrs. Smith, who had stopped in front of you, she seemed to smile a bit—as if she couldn’t hold her excitement. Mr. Smith, finding his wife’s grin contagious, smiled as well. You were unnervingly confused.

“We’ve noticed in the last couple months, since your mother’s leave, you’ve been in low spirits. So we thought you deserved a visit from your ma,” he clarified.

Your confusion turned into an overwhelming sense of horror. You clenched your jaw.

“She’ll be over with family tomorrow evenin’ for supper,” Mrs. Smith added, still beaming.

They both surprisingly noticed your shift in mood. You cleared your throat so your voice would not shake.

“But I—I told you I was just a little lonely with you all gone. I’m more than fine now.”

“You haven’t seen your mother for far too long, n’d we’ve been too ignorant to notice. This is us makin’ it up to you.”

She stepped forward, her promises seeming more than sincere. You were lost for words.

“Don’t you miss her?” she asked.

You scoffed a laugh, trying to hide your intense fear.

“Of course… I’m more than grateful.”

This lie was so hard for you to speak. Mrs. Smith clasped her hands, settling the discussion.

“Well then, that’s done. Go on to startin’ dinner, Y/N.”

With that, you tried to keep yourself from dashing out of the study. Deep breaths caused a pressure in your chest. With each step, you couldn’t shake the image of your mother torn apart—bleeding. Remmick would take her. She couldn’t come here. You couldn’t allow this. You wouldn’t allow this.

A daze—time warped as you cooked, as you ate, as you prayed. You laid along your thin comforter, staring at the wooden ceiling above, imagining yourself walking out into the dark and saying that inane name. But you couldn’t. You wanted to see your mother at least one more time before your sacrifice.

So you slept—calmly. No visions nor dreams, just black.

Waking the next day and getting out of bed was no struggle for you, your spirits high.

For now.

This new day felt to go by slower than ever before. Making sure to prepare a weapon for tonight. You checked the time, even when promising yourself not to—until noon, when finally there was a knock at the front door you heard from upstairs in your room.

You got up and scattered to get downstairs, but once reaching the parlor, Mr. Smith had already answered the door. Voices filled the quiet house with warmth as you stood by patiently, knowing your mother was to be the last one in.

And there she was—holding a brown casing close to her. She never lowered her posture as you did, but still kept her eyes low. Until seeing you.

She greeted Mr.Smith with a nod of respect and a simple "Evenin'."

You wanted to cry with joy but held it in, though a small, relieved smile crept across your face.

“Sweetness… you’ve gotten so thin. You been eatin’?”

She stopped in front of you, and you went in for her embrace. Her warmth surrounded you like a blanket. Her scent—mixed with a faint rot of wood from the carriage —filled your senses as you rubbed the moisture from your eyes against her apron.

“I try… when I have the time.”

Your mother pushed you away slightly to get a better look at you, both her hands holding your face gently. You could see the concern stirring in her eyes.

“N’d what’s busyin’ you to the point of not eatin’?”

This question was a warning of future scolding—you could see it coming, though you didn’t mind. Still taken aback by her presence, Mr. Smith cleared his throat.

“Why don’t y’all get settled upstairs? We’ll ring if anything’s needed.”

Your mother looked to him quickly, nodding in agreement.

“Of course, sir.”

Grabbing hold of your arm. With a light grasp, you both walked up the stairway. Nostalgia washed over you—walking alongside her like this when you were still in training to be a proper maid. Your grin never left.

Once upstairs, in your once-shared room, your mother noticed how messy your quarters had become. The bed undone, the window open, clothes along the floor. Then she saw a thick wooden stick shaped into sharpness.

Before she could step toward it, you moved into her view.

“Ma, I’m sorry ’bout the mess. I’m… I’m sorry I ended the call so quickly. I was just—I’m just…”

Your breath hitched as you became overwhelmed. She quickly dropped her things, rushing to you and sitting you down along the bed.

“Breathe, girl, you’re worryin’ me. Tell me what it is…”

With one arm over your shoulder, she kept you close. You leaned against her—finally grounded. You could hear the birds outside, crowds of passersby, the cloud over you beginning to clear.

You sat up, staring at her with seriousness.

“Mama… a vampire came to me the night the Smiths took their leave. Remmick. I spoke to him, though I know what you always said, and I—I got Mr. Abril killed. I’m so sorry, ma. I’m sorry I took your warnings for granted.”

Your mother stared, an expression of shock crossing her face so deeply it almost drained her of color.

“No… Y/N, you let him in?”

“No—I offered the basement, but he almost— Ma, he wants me, and I don’t know why. But I know he watches. And I know he’ll take you to have me.”

She seemed confused, looking to the floor, her eyes shifting rapidly in thought. She covered her mouth, and you realized she was trying to hold back tears—you had only seen your mother cry once, when you were too little to even comprehend it.

Guilt shadowed you. You should’ve waited to burden her with all of this.

You got up from the bed, kneeling in front of her silently.

“This is my fault—”

“No, ma. No, it’s not.”

She sobbed softly, aggressively wiping the moisture from her face.

“It is, baby. Listen… after my ma was taken from me, I held onto so much anger. I let revenge control me. I was taken in by a group of natives that had a mission to put an end to the evils that be. And they taught me to kill. I did things… so many awful things to people—for information, for money—”

She sniffled, attempting to steady her words. You stayed close, attentive.

“N’d I killed the bastard—the damn thing that took her. I remember each hack it took to his neck to take his head. I remember waitin’ for the sunrise to see his body burn… but I felt nothing. Y/N, I was so lost without my ma. So I left the group, and for years I roamed states—robbin’, gamblin’, sleepin’ with whomever. Until, for some reason, God thought I deserved to have you.”

She shook her head, clasping her hands while looking upward.

“N’d I knew… I knew I had to give you a life better than I had. So I took this job. But I should’ve been mindful of my karma… I’m sorry, baby.”

You shook your head, leaning closer as you embraced your mother.

You clung to her tightly as she continued to cry, and though this darkness of your mother’s past had been revealed, you couldn’t help but only want to stay in this moment with her—for it was the last.

“You always reminded me of your grandma…”

You leaned away for a moment, staring at her as she went on.

“I don’t know if you remember, but you told me you had this dream—you stood with me out on dead grass, and we watched the sun turn a man to ash. I didn’t understand how—how did you dream that if you were never there?”

She shook her head, sniffing.

“N’d my ma had those dreams. She would tell me all the time that if anything ever happened to her, I had to promise not to hold onto anger n’d grief. I didn’t listen… now God’s takin’ you.”

Her weeping started again, and you quickly stood, pulling her gently against your chest.

Truly adrift for words, you didn’t know how to make this better—and you surely didn’t want to make it worse.

Deciding it would be better to wait to tell her that today was the last she would ever see you, long moments of silence passed between you.

Until the bell rang, startling you both, and you looked toward where the sound came from.

Then, looking back to your mother, you helped her stand as she cleaned her face and calmed herself. She glanced toward your open window, noticing the evening turning to night.

“It’s about time for Mr. Smith’s brother to take his medicine. I’ll be right back.” Her gaze stayed lowered as you silently watched her exit. Realizing you couldn't bring yourself to tell her ,you thought to write it down.

You walked toward the open window, noticing thick, dark clouds looming along the horizon, wondering—had he watched your mother’s confession? Does he see you now?

Shaking the thoughts, you questioned why it even mattered.

By the time your mother returned, it was time for the both of you to start preparing supper. And this chore wasn’t as burdensome as it had felt before. Suddenly, the craft of making dinner held a kind of joy—you felt like a child again, baking muffins for the first time. Somehow, you and your mother weren’t so depressed when working together, and your cheeks grew sore from all the smiling. Bittersweet.

You set up the table in the kitchen for you both to enjoy your work after serving the Smiths. A loud crack of thunder caused you to drop a plate. Luckily, the white glass landed without breaking, its bottom rolling along the wooden floor for a moment before finally settling.

“Don’t tell me your big self still scared of a storm?”

Your mother teased while picking up the dish.

“I’m not—it was just really loud,” you clarified, almost embarrassed, taking the plate from her and moving toward the sink.

“It was loud. I heard Mr. Smith sayin’ to his brother earlier the storm would get worse throughout the night. We’ll probably have to leave right after eatin’.”

You paused for a moment, disappointed.

“Oh…” Opening a cabinet, you grabbed a clean plate. “It’d be for the best. Don’t want y’all stuck.”

Your mother didn’t respond. When you turned, she was already seated, lost in thought. You stayed quiet, setting the plate over the placemat before returning to the counter to plate the sides.

“Y/N?”

Scooping mashed potatoes, you glanced at her. “Yes, ma?”

“You’re not thinkin’ of killin’ that vampire?”

You paused again.

“I saw the stake. Baby, the best thing is for you to stay in. You don’t know how connivin’ they can be. They’re stronger than you, n’d if you don’t have help, you’re not takin’ him down alone.”

She rubbed her temples, shaking her head.

“Promise me you won’t do nothin’ crazy. The beast will move on to prey on another ,I can handle myself. Don't worry bout' me.”

Finally finishing plating dinner, you sat in front of her, biting your tongue until it bled.

“I—”

“Hurry up with supper—we gotta start packin’ up!” Mr. Smith’s brother’s rough voice cut in.

You looked back to your mother, who seemed to lose focus of the discussion—thankfully.

Before you knew it ,you hadn’t realized how hungry you had been scarfing down your food. Once you both were finished dining you hadn’t even had time to clean up before your mother was called again to start gathering their things ,and moments passed into you hugging your mother in the parlor. "I love you ma ,n'd I'm sorry."

Swiftly tucking a folded sheet of paper into her apron pocket ,she looked at you squinting.

"Come on now." They rush her along ,she looked back then at you ,"I love you too."

Was all she muster shakily, weary. You waved as the door closed behind her ,taking a deep breath as this strange feeling of content cloaked you.

Going on ,cleaning, putting Charlotte to bed and then yourself. All there was now was to wait ,until deep into the night when you knew everyone was sound asleep. Gathering your small satchel with only the weight of the sharpened wood inside ,pulling your shoes over your hills ,and grabbing a shawl.

You crept down the aged stairs ,and through the kitchen, to the back door where the laundry line hung just above the door. You looked back to the dark kitchen making sure no one followed behind. The hinges made a light squeak as you squeezed through a small crack you made through the door. Immediately, the humid air hit you causing you to clutch onto the shawl you grabbed to cover yourself, only being in your thin nightgown. Stepping down the stairway, slowly your eyes shifting through the dark clusters of trees ahead ,the rain had now settled to a light dribble. You exhaled heavily, his name on the tip of your tongue.

"Remmick...." you announced being cautious of your volume. You waited a long moment counting each minute, before gathering courage to repeat. "Remmi-"

"Y/N! The hell are you doin out here ,you know what time it is?" Mr.Smiths voice made you jump as you turned around ,bracing yourself. You shifted your satchel along your hip so it was not noticeable. "Sir ,I was- I forgot to gather the laundry from dryin..."

He eyed you ,clearly you were quite far from the laundry lines for that to be true. "Come on to my study..."

[umm992]

Part 4 of my Remmick x Black reader fanfic.

Ch.4: Mercy

The loud vibrations of metallic gongs, ceaselessly going, woke you slowly. The phone was ringing…

As you sat up along the parlor’s stiff couch, groaning softly from the pain in your neck, the phone kept on, and the sound hurt even more as your body became more awake—aware. The memory of the night before clouded over you; you had killed Mr. Abril. And yet, you still found enough comfort within yourself to give yourself time to sleep, clutching the rosary still wrapped around your hand against your chest. You felt the heated pain of tears forming, flushing your face—maybe Remmick didn’t just notice your loneliness, but also your selfishness.

You felt too dehydrated to cry. The phone still rang, a pained echo in your head—a headache. Finally up on your feet, you drowsily rushed to the phone, sitting on the stool in front of it. Picking up the receiver, you cleared your throat, answering,

“Good mornin’, this is the Smiths’ residence.”

There was a static crack of someone inhaling before their words. “Hello, you’ve got a call coming in from a Washington residence. I’ll connect you to the line.” The receiver clicked, and the phone was quiet for a couple of seconds. As you wiped the crust from your eyes, you heard the clicking of the line connecting to the receiver.

“Hello? Y/N?”

Mrs. Smith’s familiar voice came through. You took a deep breath to hide the tired strain.

“Mistress, I wasn’t expectin’ a call from you so early in your trip.”

“Well, I was worried—caught tell of a criminal gettin’ into town from the harbour. I just wanted to check on ya.”

You closed your eyes, softly exhaling. “I’m fine, Mistress.” You hoped this would settle the call.

“N’d you’ve been keepin’ with your chores?” she asked, almost interrogating, though you and your employers lacked much in common.

“Of course, ma’am…”

“Then you ought get back to it. We’ll be back a couple days earlier, since our concerns with you and our home’s safety. Follow our rules—no goin’ out, and nobody comin’ in.”

You swallowed dryly. “Of course, ma’am…”

“Bye, then.” She finished with a subtle tenderness—a bit of concern.

The phone clicked, ending the line.

You groaned in relief, feeling as if you had been holding your muscles stiff the entire call. Your mind and body ached as you stared at the rotary dial, contemplating.

After about fifteen minutes of sitting in a fog, you finally picked the phone back up and slid the dial to the number in mind. It rang, then came the familiar voice of the woman from earlier, working the phone lines. Then it rang once more—far longer—so long that you dreaded your decision to reach out to your mother.

None of this needed to be her concern. You knew of vampires, yet still allowed Remmick closer than he ever should have been. Your mother had done her best to protect you most of your life—the reason she took this job under the Smiths.

A click, followed by a soft, “Hello?…”

Your mother’s voice made tears swell as you covered your mouth to stifle a deep sob.

“Y/N—?”

You crashed the receiver back into its place and wept.

Not long after, you recalled leftovers in the fridge that needed throwing out, and that you had to tend to the basement’s broken door before the Smiths returned. And so you busied yourself persistently, not stopping to eat or take a breather. You worked until sweat built and the burn in your muscles became unbearable.

Lost in this fog of thought, time slipped until it was night again. The day felt like reverie—you felt between life and death, just existing.

Deciding tonight there was no need to wait for Remmick, you noted how dirty you were, how you had made yourself the final chore of the day. And so, after a hot bath, you sat on your stool, only covered with a towel, combing out the knots in your hair from the ends up to the roots. It was silent, late into the night. You gazed at your tired reflection in the corroded mirror.

Then, from the small window, you heard taps—as if someone were throwing small pellets at the wall. After a couple more, you stood and went toward the window, sliding up its small casing. Looking out, you saw who you expected. Remmick sat cross-legged along the rubble, looking more cleaned up than usual.

He stood when he saw you peering down at him, you now being upstairs in the house. His reflective gaze lingered on you in an intense stare. You decided you had no words for his presence and eventually walked away from the window, returning to your task.

After a moment, you heard a small creak from the bathroom window. With a soft, startled breath, you turned quickly to see Remmick’s head—he was turned away, standing along the ledge separating the floors of the house.

You couldn’t help your gaze. You wanted so badly to ignore his presence, but were completely unable to. He was unbearably alluring.

“Why are you turned?” you asked sternly.

“Manners, I’d call ’em.” There was teasing sarcasm in his tone.

“Tsk… where’s Mr. Abril?”

“Somewhere he chose to be.” Remmick didn’t seem in his coquettish mood—more impatient.

You turned back to the mirror, picking your comb back up. You both sat in silence, Remmick humming a song to himself—a tune you had heard from him before. It sounded foreign, Irish.

“How’d you become this way?” you asked, almost urgently.

“Eternally free?” he replied, a grin audible in his voice. It irritated you.

“Damned…?” He chuckled at that. You looked to him and caught him stealing glances of you.

“If you’d let me in, you could know everything about me. Secrets. Desires—if your intent is true.”

His head turned fully now as you stared at him.

“My intent is true, but you are a liar. How am I to trust your talk of eternal unity? N’d your freedom is only in the night. I know you were once a man—human.”

Remmick sighed, turning back to the empty, dark street.

“And a man I was… weak, foolish, and born into poverty—much like you.”

You scoffed in offense at his claim. “If I were much of anything like you, I’d be damned myself by now.” You kept your verbiage cold.

“What makes you think I was human once, Y/N?” He was genuine in this questioning. It surprised you, since he entirely ignored your remark. Looking back to him, he was now fully turned, facing the window. He turned back, spitting cleanly to the gravel below.

“You turned Mr. Abril.”

“That the only reason?”

You paused, eyeing him. He was poking. Yet you couldn’t understand why this was important.

“Just a feelin’, I guess…”

“It’s a guess?” he stretched on.

“No—it’s fact.”

Remmick crossed his arms, now stuck in a serious expression. “N’d how is that?”

“You just confessed it.” You started to raise your voice in impatience, turning in your stool.

“So an assumption.”

“No, I know it.”

“How?”

You sighed, irritated with this meaningless bickering. “My Ma.… maybe my nightmares.” you stated, being more specific. Remmick seemed to perk up at this.

“Dreams?” he asked.

You stared at him, suspicious. “I’ve shared enough. I think you owe me your tale.”

He smirked, smacking his teeth together. “I lived in the deep roots of Ireland, where the land provided all we needed—workin’ my family’s farm most my life… with my wife.”

“Wife?” you interrupted. Remmick nodded.

“And where’s she now?” You could hear him lightly tapping his nails along the brick outside.

“I thought you wanted to know how I became what I am…”

He was teasing, stalking your every reaction.

“Go on, then,” you almost whispered while getting up from the stool, hugging the towel wrapped around you to your chest.

You dragged the stool just a little closer to the small window. Remmick’s eyes wandered from your feet to your thighs, having a better view of you now. He swiftly turned his head, spitting—you could see now he was attempting to hide the uncontrollable amount of drool that kept building.

He wasn’t shy about his gawking.

“My wife’s family weren’t fairly fond of me. I was a selfish man with little to nothing—but for her, I’d do anything. I thought she was my faith. We danced together every mornin’, singin’ old jigs before and during work.”

“’Til one day—a day of worship. I left the chapel. I wasn’t with my wife that day, since she’d fallen ill the day prior. I walked through the streets, barely crowded, when there was a rumble from the earth. A rumble of a thousand men comin’ toward my town.”

“Now, I lived quite far off from town and rarely visited, but when I did, I got updates on tidings—how the English had executed the king, and how we would be invaded soon. But we didn’t know when… and we underestimated the enemy.”

You shifted in your seat. “So Ireland was in the middle of war?”

Remmick paused, looking away in thought for a moment. “Suppose ,we didn’t know it until the ambush. It was more a massacre. I hid in a close shop. Chaos flooded the streets—men picked up anything to fight, men that weren’t even soldiers. I found a basement in the shop and stayed there for the rest of the day. I remember I could hear screaming and gore; it never stopped, even when I was caught. Oh, how I prayed…”

He turned his head again, spitting—this time wiping some leftover saliva away with his sleeve. Looking back to you, he saw you had never broken your gaze from him. Drowning in his story, Remmick decided to continue.

“Soldiers filled the shop with heavy feet. They searched throughout the area for a while, until finding the basement door. And I was discovered. They spoke what we speak now, but in an older tongue, and at that time I did not understand this English. They screamed at me, dragged me out of the structure, pulling me toward my end. A big man with a thick, blood-stained blade—there were so many dead people. It smelled of death and copper.”

Remmick shifted his position, standing on the ledge, seeming uncomfortable, his shoulder now facing the window. “Finally, a man with broken Irish explained, ‘You have been conquered by the great Cromwell, saved from pagan drivel.’ I stared at him. Rain poured that day, and I wept on the mud in fear for my life. ‘Spare my life, and I will serve Cromwell in this freedom,’ was my plea to him…”

You cleared your throat, "N'd how did you really say it ,in Irish?" You asked innocently, Remmick sliped a small smile to your curiosity.

"Sábháil mo shaol, agus freastalóidh mé ar Cromwell sa tsaoirse seo."

You could capture these words in the story ,and hear Remmick’s dread for mercy in your thoughts. This moment was nostalgic, as if you were there with him ,looking down to your lap in attempt to not get completely swept away in his story ,you tugged at the ends of the towel wrapped around you becoming self conscious in a trice.

"The big man with the sword raised it high, at a angle. N'd was ready to take my head off ,but was stopped by his comrades. Before I knew they'd knock me unconscious, and I was locked away with a bulk of other's that were just like me. Brown haired Irish men n'd women ,for months we were forced to free labor and slowly one by one they released us."

"Then I was picked to release ,I had this feelin ,this was my last day. And was held in front of Cromwell the conqueror himself ,by this time I'd picked up a bit of old English. I was brought to judgement for being Irish I suppose ,there was a translator with broken Irish that told the conqueror everything I uttered ,the lies I told. How I never was a true believer of paganism ,and I thought it was more than a honor to serve in his Protestant empire." Remmick scoffed to himself, rubbing right beneath his lip with his thumb.

"He was fairly pleased with my woeful pleads ,so I was no longer a free workin slave ,I was aid. Paid a small salary to be a spy to my own people, catching any groups practicing in paganism...."

You couldn’t help shifting uncomfortably on the stool; the first feeling you had for this confession was judgment. Remmick paused, noticing your discomfort. You cleared your throat.

“N’d you went through with it?…”

Expecting offense from Remmick, you were taken aback when his expression never changed, his reflective eyes almost hypnotic.

“Would you have?”

“I…”

A dry gulp reminded you of your dehydration.

“I don’t know.”

Remmick, still serious, shook his head at your response as if he knew the right answer. But you stuck with your uncertainty, though there was pity in the pit of your gut.

“I served Cromwell for five n’ a half years, before being rewarded retirement to work for a Protestant church.”

You stopped him again. “Your wife? Did you ever see her again?”

Remmick turned his head again, spitting.

“I did. During my early years servin’ as a spy, she was caught in a group practicin' in pagan offerings. N’d I…” His voice cracked, though his expression never changed.

“Watched her, along with the others she was with, be beheaded.”

You covered your mouth. The gore flashed through your mind as if you were there. Your head ached, heat building beneath your cheeks as your eyes burned, threatening to swell with tears.

“Hush, darlin’. Just the past condensed into a simple tale.” He seemed sincere in not wanting you to cry, and for a moment you craved an embrace—you hadn’t cared from who.

“I know—I know, but you didn’t deserve that. She didn’t.”

Leaning closely against the sill, Remmick had a pleading strain in his voice. “You don’t deserve this cage, yet you’re still here, suffering. N’d, Y/N, fate is what lured me to you when I arrived. I don’t just want your blood, nor your body—I crave your empathy, your thoughts, your freedom.”

You had to look away; his words were so convincing, all you had to offer was entry—it’d hurt just a moment. Staring at the wooden floor, you unconsciously rubbed your collarbone, attempting to fathom the pain of your life being taken by him.

“Finish your story.” With a stern tone, you wiped your eyes and looked back to Remmick. And strangely, he seemed satisfied with this reaction from you.

“In the church is where I met him. He was a strange pastor, only doing his preaching with all of the church’s windows covered. He claimed of havin’ a horrid allergy to the sun.”

Noticing your towel loosening a bit from being tucked against your chest, you clutched it closer to you. “He was a vampire?” you asked.

“He was a beast from hell that gave me a gift I never knew I needed. He was a disgustin’ man, full of hatred—nonsensical ignorance. N’d after I was turned, I was linked to him for a century. I wanted so much to step out into the sun, bein’ in his shackles. I didn’t always think this a gift.”

The passion that filled Remmick’s story was unnerving, since he hadn’t been this enthusiastic about his own wife.

“’Til finally he left me in Spain, on a ship to America. And not long after, I felt the shackles release from his death—ha, how I celebrated. Almost gifted everyone in Spain with my bliss.” He reminisced, showing nearly all his fangs with a bright smile.

You squinted at him, not showing amusement. You weren’t satisfied with the end of his story. “N’d you’re lonely now… just like him?”

“Before noticing you, all that drove me was hunger. But lookin’ from the outside in, I’m very lonely.”

You scoffed at his cockiness. Getting up, you took a step toward the window. “Never return here, mister. Nothin’s here for ya.”

Remmick looked up at you, almost challenging. “As you wish, darlin’, but when you can’t take this no more, speak my name into the night, and I’ll be right away.”

You had no words. You hadn’t expected this simple agreement. You almost wished he pressed on more, but instead he jumped down, still staring at you. And when you got closer to the window to see where he landed, he was already gone—as fast as the sun started to touch the now-blue horizon.

[mcpayne]

THE FANGS????

[umm992]

This is a chapter of a Jayvik fanfic I started when arcane season two was out. Idk if im finishing it but here's a teaser of the 6 part fic on ao3🫶🏾

⚠️a little explicit⚠️

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Ch.5: Just a peck

Viktor was confused by the news. Why would Mel call for him to take Jayce home?

“What exactly was the message?” Viktor asked, grabbing his belongings hastily while walking out of the lab and locking the door behind him.

“It was just that she needed assistance with getting Councilor Talis home. That was all,” she stated sincerely.

Viktor hummed under his breath, lost in thought for a moment as they took the elevator. “Okay, thank you for letting me know. Have a good night.”

After a relatively short journey to Mel’s residence, Viktor was appalled at the sight of her property. Its largeness and unique architecture were almost unexpected. When he knocked, he was greeted by someone Viktor assumed was Mel’s assistant, the one who always collected her paperwork in the council room.

“Hello, I’m here to get Jayce?” Viktor asked nervously, feeling as if he were somewhere he did not belong.

She eyed him cautiously at first before finally letting him in. Escorting him through a long hallway filled with paintings—most signed with Mel’s signature—he noticed some were portraits of people who resembled her, possibly family members. Finally, they reached what seemed to be a lounging area, where Mel and Jayce sat on scarlet couch.

Jayce appeared to be in the middle of throwing up into a small trash can, while Mel stood over him, rubbing his back and handing him towels to wipe his mouth.

“What happened?” Viktor asked, approaching. Jayce perked up slightly at the sound of his voice ,glancing up at him over his bodies retching.

Mel sighed, getting up from the couch. Her hair was undone from its usual style, left out and coiled. She wore a silky black robe tied closed, along with house slippers. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her expression irritated.

“We attended a business cocktail party, and Jayce got a bit carried away. Which I don’t understand, considering he can’t hold his liquor,” she grumbled, not caring if Jayce heard.

Viktor approached Jayce, who huffed softly while wiping his mouth. He looked up at Viktor, his eyes weary and cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry…” he muttered, looking down at himself in shame.

“I’ve tried sobering him up, but he kept talking about how he hadn’t checked on you all day. I thought if he saw you, he’d comply.”

Mel studied them, though neither seemed to notice. She had gotten exactly what she was looking for.

Jayce stood up suddenly and walked away to a nearby door, which Viktor assumed was a restroom. Viktor sighed, staying silent for a moment before sitting on the couch.

Mel stared.

“You know Jayce cannot exist on his own without you?”

Viktor looked up at her, surprised by the accusation. Her gaze was strong, an intense stare Viktor didn’t dare hold for long.

“I see how you look at each other, always lost. I believe you are the other piece of Jayce…”

She strolled closer, sitting next to Viktor where Jayce once did. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she seemed to mean no harm.

“I’m not resentful of you—well, not anymore. I knew what me and Jayce were since the first night. It’s just…” She chuckled to herself, slouching back on the couch with a sigh, placing both hands in her lap.

“Jayce is inspired by you and what you do. You’re the most important thing in his life.”

“He’s just been stressed about me because of my illness,” Viktor tried to explain, unable to fully process the conversation.

“Viktor, I don’t need an apology. I need at least one of you to see what this is. It’s sad that two of the smartest individuals can’t perceive what’s right in front of them.”

Viktor gulped, keeping his gaze forward. His thoughts swirled like a tornado. Of course, he already knew this, but it wasn’t important—at least now specifically it wasn’t. As he looked at Mel rolling her ring around her finger, he realized that if even she could see through both of them without being around them for wven a few hours, how did others perceive them?

Hearing the light squeak of a door opening, Viktor looked hurriedly, hoping to see Jayce. It was as if his mind completely cleared. Mel stood, helping Viktor up as well. Jayce had started taking off the vest over his button-up.

“Jayce, please stop undressing. We have guests here,” Mel said, sounding almost like a lecturing mother.

Jayce pouted in response. “I feel like I have a fever, or it’s just hot in here,” he whined.

Mel grabbed his hand, guiding him over to Viktor, who stood watching.

“It’s okay. I can hold his vest,” Viktor insisted.

Mel shrugged, seeming completely over the situation. “I think Jayce should go home for tonight. I’ll get you both a ride,” she said, looking to Jayce now.

Jayce’s eyes shifted between her and Viktor. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t be.”

Her immediate reply clearly didn’t make Jayce feel any better. He leaned in, wanting her embrace, puckering his lips slightly. She stared up at him, admiring his face even though he looked a mess.

Viktor felt awkward watching, deciding to turn away but not entirely. Mel moved her face so that Jayce kissed her cheek, which seemed to content him. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” she reassured sweetly.

After a while, Mel helped them into her vehicle, instructing her personal driver to take them to Jayce’s establishment. Once there, Jayce started feeling nauseous again getting out. He struggled to concentrate on walking without stopping to gag every couple of steps.

Viktor found himself helping Jayce into his house, Jayce’s arm over his shoulders and Viktor pressing along his lower back, just as Jayce always did for him when they walked together.

Once inside, Viktor immediately helped Jayce up the stairs to his bedroom. Kicking the door open lightly, he turned on the lights and helped Jayce to the bed, setting him down. By this point, they were both sweating and exhausted, as Jayce had practically put all his weight on Viktor the entire time ,his knee pulsing each step he took by himself.

Jayce laid back on the bed, exhaling deeply. He began to undo his black button-up, nearly ripping it apart. Viktor forced himself to look elsewhere, now making it his mission to get Jayce some water.

He headed downstairs, finding himself almost lost in the home ,it'd been so long since he was there. After finding the kitchen he searched through a few cabinets, when finally finding glasses on a high shelf. Grabbing a glass, and filling it with faucet water. He headed to back to the stairs which was a slight struggle for him to get back on the second floor. He managed ,finally getting to Jayce's bedroom ,the door being open still. He noticed Jayce was no longer on the bed, though his clothes were.

Hearing the sound of running water, Viktor realized the bathroom door was wide open and the shower was on ,his dress shoes along with his socks set dead infront and the line separately tiled floors from wood. He decided to stay by the door.

“Jayce, I have water for you. Tell me when you’re out of the shower. I’ll go to the guest room!” Viktor yelled over the cascading of the water.

"No, no, come in. I'm not naked," Jayce insisted, almost sounding desperate. Viktor hesitated, holding onto the frame for leverage. He couldn't help squeezing it as if attempting to stop himself before going in.

Jayce turned the water off, shuddering heavily, his body drenched. His biceps tightened and then relaxed as he took a second to collect himself, putting both hands on the wall in front of him. Viktor felt the cold humidity of the air, realizing Jayce had probably taken a cold shower since he kept complaining about how hot he was. Aside from that, as Viktor tread further into the area, he realized-though he hadn't seen it before because of the lightly fogged glass of the shower door-that Jayce was practically naked, only wearing his white undergarments, which were practically sheer now due to being soaked. Viktor turned, gasping to himself, guilt coming over him immediately. "You are nude!" he retaliated without thought.

Jayce huffed, opening the glass door after hearing Viktor's startled voice.

"I'm not. I still have on my trunks,"

Jayce stated innocently, grabbing a hair towel from a rack that hung near the shower. He dried his hair, stepping out still soaking wet, water dripping on the floor from his body and feet, causing small puddles.

"Stop," Viktor almost begged, being so flustered by the situation that he covered his face. "Jayce, I need you to drink some of this water and get a bigger towel to cover yourself," he instructed through the secondhand embarrassment, handing Jayce the glass.

As he took it, his fingertips brushed along Viktor's knuckles and upper fingers. This... this was intentional. And an electric shock ran through Viktor's body, making his hairs rise as butterflies began fluttering in his stomach. "This is inappropriate," Viktor said, putting his guard back up and eyeing Jayce with intensity, expecting him to back down immediately. Yet the expression that remained was a dazed gaze of anticipation.

"And unprofessional..." Jayce added, drinking the glass of water in his hand. It was nearly gone in a couple of large gulps, though he drank so fast that small trails of water ran down his chin. He breathed heavily, wiping water from his chin with his forearm. His chills almost completely gone, while he continued ruffling his hair with the towel.

Viktor kept his eyes no lower than Jayce's collarbone. This was dangerous for him. It was unethical and despicable. "Are you having nausea?" Viktor asked, keeping his tone low and serious.

Jayce shook his head, speaking. "Not really. I think the cold shower helped. I feel a little sobered." He placed the glass down lightly on the marble counter.

"Great. I'll sleep in the guest room tonight and check on you in another hour." Viktor's bluntness made Jayce realize something was wrong. He stopped messing with his hair, letting the towel fall to the floor as Viktor had already turned to exit. But Viktor was caught by the lightest grip on his hand from Jayce.

"Am I causing you discomfort? I want you to stay,"

Jayce pressed further, desperation in his voice. Viktor hadn't noticed this place before ,the silence, how it was really only them. With each movement of skin, or tapping of water, and breaths, he felt highly sensitive now. This wasn't anything new; he always felt his body become a lot more delicate when with Jayce. Hiding this was so hard for him in the moment. Viktor didn't know what to say -not wanting to pull away from Jayce yet not wanting to stay. This vulnerability caused his muscles to feel like liquid.

Turning, staring, longing into Jayce.

The silence coated them, as Jayce grazed the palm of his hand along Viktor's. Feeling his damp developing, rough hand brush the back of Viktor's palm, the largeness of them always surprised Viktor. He watched Jayce's fingers move intensely around his wrist, as Viktor unknowingly moved his hand with Jayce's.

Their palms and fingers eventually lined up. And Jayce stopped, both of them stuck in a trance of each other.

I need you; was all Viktor could think-all he could fathom. Jayce leaned close, staring down at his partner, passion filling him. Leaning into his shoulder and taking in his aroma, Jayce eyed Viktor's neck, then his ear, his cheek. He had never been so close to see the small spots from scars along Viktor's pale complexion-the mole on his upper cheek, right under his eye. Pressing, almost brushing his lips over the mole, Viktor seemingly snapped out of it. He sighed at the contact, stunned, before stepping backward. Jayce backed away as well, confused.

"Intoxicated-"

It was all Viktor could muster for a moment, panting from the adrenaline that started, his heart pounding at a slow rate.

"You are intoxicated. You don't know what you're doing." Through this struggled sentence, Viktor's grip on Jayce's hand grew tight. Jayce noticed how his words did not match his actions. "Most of that is out of my system," Jayce stated, his eyes dancing between both of Viktor's.

"Most?"

Jayce took a moment, not wanting to seem forceful. "I-I heard Mel earlier, speaking to you about us," he admitted, shifting his hand along Viktor's as they both felt heat begin within the contact. "We had an argument about that as well, before going to the party..." His eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to collect his thoughts while explaining himself. "I am reckless for intoxicating myself for relief. I just never know how to give Mel the closure she deserves. I wanted to so badly, to want her as much as I yearn for you, Viktor. I need this attention, from both of you. The praise she gives-it's selfish of me to keep her time just for a good time." Viktor was shocked at Jayce, noting how he had never expressed himself emotionally to him before. This emptiness started in his gaze and tone -almost numb, but not quite. It made Viktor see him differently: human and not as perfect. "I cherish all the time I put into you," Jayce said softly. "I long for your gaze and closeness. I don't need anything from you to feel... entire." Jayce grabbed Viktor's other hand with an even lighter touch, giving Viktor the opportunity to pull away, but Viktor pushed his hand along Jayce's, intertwining their fingers. "I think we should have this conversation when you're in the right mind," Viktor said sincerely, without hesitation, and Jayce nodded, agreeing silently.

His eyes reluctantly moved between Viktor's lips and his view. He gulped lightly, almost in nervousness. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, almost coy. Viktor's face grew from warm to hot. He made a tight-lipped expression, growing more uncomfortable with each moment. This situation, filled with so much tension, was still incredibly awkward. He paused ,noting how much saliva began to build in his mouth.

"Just a peck,"

Viktor whispered. Jayce's breath already grazed Viktor's lips. Viktor stared, his eyelids lowering to follow Jayce's lips. Jayce, now having his eyes fully closed, pressed his lightly against Viktor's. He shuddered heavily. A peck? I need to taste him. Viktor's thoughts wavered as he pushed on his jaw, moving along Jayce's mouth.

Jayce's eyes widened briefly, surprised, before completely melting into him with a soft moan. Viktor released both hands, going to grab the back of Jayce's neck. Pressing their bodies together, Jayce's hands fumbled along Viktor's upper waist and back. This adrenaline excited them both. Jayce pressed his tongue lightly, not to force, and Viktor immediately allowed it, their lips moving wildly in sync. Their heads shifted between each kiss, both desperate for air.

Viktor moved his hands up the back of Jayce's neck to his damp hair, then shoulders. He hadn't realized it, but Jayce had him up against the wall now, leaning over him as he started untucking Viktor's shirt from his trousers. Viktor realized perhaps Jayce was getting a bit carried away and pushed him away. Both were panting, a string of saliva spreading between the gap they had made. Jayce's pupils dilated as his eyes opened to look at his partner. The butterflies in his stomach started moving elsewhere, somewhere lower.

"Just a peck," Viktor breathed out, reminding Jayce.

"You're the one that made it more than that," Jayce immediately defended himself, leaning into Viktor's neck while loosening his tie, then slipping it off. He planted light kisses, and with each peck, Viktor's body tensed, shudders escaping. Jayce slowly but surely began to unclothe Viktor, and after a moment, Viktor broke once again out of the trance. At first, he pushed Jayce so he was no longer leaned over him, before grabbing both his forearms and moving Jayce to the counter they once stood in front of. Viktor, now having Jayce with his lower back against a surface, startled him. Jayce stared at his partner with impatience. He scoffed, realizing how fast Viktor had turned the tables, a light smile stuck on his face. "Only a kiss, Jayce." "Mhm," Jayce murmured, completely ignoring Viktor's words, grabbing the back of his neck and pressing their lips together once again. Viktor did not move or struggle.

They wanted this-this long-overdue contact, the feeling that surged through their bodies in such a way that they felt like one, just from deep kisses. Jayce started undoing Viktor's belt with his free hand, the other pressing him closer. Jayce was infatuated with Viktor's taste. His tongue tasted nothing like he imagined. His lips were so soft, his body so fragile, feeling like glass in the palm of his hands. They stood hip to hip, Viktor putting his weight on his arms as his hands lay flat against the counter. Their crotches pressed together from Jayce's pulling, and Viktor felt Jayce's still-wet undergarments begin to soak through his trousers. Neither had realized they had both been grinding against one another, bodies desperate.

"Shit," Jayce shuddered heavily into Viktor's neck, now sucking and biting. So needy, Viktor thought, watching Jayce's hopelessness. It almost turned him on further. Viktor let out soft breaths, not wanting Jayce to hear how much he was enjoying this. He didn't want this; he had only wanted to take care of Jayce tonight, as Hayce alwats did for him. How had this escalated so far? Going on, Jayce was about to press his lips again, but Viktor did not lean in.

Haunting, Jayce thought, looking into Viktor's tired eyes. "Please..." Jayce begged. He was so adorable like this. Viktor couldn't help the smile that automatically came to mind.

"When you are not tipsy, we can continue this. But I fear you'll regret some things tomorrow morning. You have enough to worry about, Jayce. I won't allow you to be reckless." Jayce, instead of having the pouting expression Viktor expected, showed frustration on his face. He stood up straight along the counter he leaned against as Viktor backed away. Jayce, releasing the grip he had on him, and they both panted. Jayce felt as if his mind was completely blank, while Viktor looked down at himself, the front of his uniform wet from Jayce.

"Here, let me get you something to wear." Jayce went on, walking out of the bathroom ahead of Viktor into his closet.

Viktor decided to wait in the bathroom. Seeing himself in the mirror and shaming himself for everything, he felt like an idiot. There was nothing either of them was getting out of that whole affair. It was so unfair to Mel as well, who Jayce was just with prior. He fixed his hair and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt.

Noticing the bruising from bites on the right side of his neck, he sighed at the memory of how it felt.

Jayce took a while before he returned with a pair of nightwear neatly folded in his hands. He himself was in a nude woolen set of loose pants and a plain shirt. He set the clothes on the counter silently.

"Viktor, I don't want this to destroy our dynamic. I didn't mean to make anything awkward by any of this..." he paused, sighing deeply. Jayce felt the same as his partner, the guilt creeping over him. "Uh, these might be a little too big for you. I'll close the door so you can have privacy."

"Jayce?" Viktor finally spoke, breaking the tension. "I think we should act like none of it happened." Viktor sensed humiliation in his own words, almost immature. Jayce noticed this was out of Viktor’s character as well, but he nodded silently, compliant with the subtle arrangement set.

Soon after, the door clicked closed, and Viktor quickly changed, not wanting to be in the room any longer than he already had been. Stepping out of the bathroom and cutting out the light, he noticed Jayce sitting on his bed, seemingly looking through some documents from a folder set beside him. Jayce immediately broke from his focus after hearing the door shut, looking to Viktor in his slightly overly large clothes.

Viktor walked with a limp, pain showing in his face with each step as he made it across the room.

"Are you okay?" Jayce asked, dropping everything and getting up. He approached Viktor, going to give him leverage to not put so much pressure on his bad leg.

"It's fine." Viktor's tone shook with frustration, being overwhelmed.

"It's because you had to basically carry me up here, isn't it? I'm so sorry," Jayce immediately apologized.

"I'm fine."

The nimble man urged on, attempting to move away from Jayce.

"Viktor, Viktor, please don't push me away now." Viktor stopped fighting. He was exhausted and only wanted to relax his body for a moment. So he allowed Jayce to help him toward his bed, going and examining his leg to check if his brace needed adjusting.

"Do you think you could sleep in here tonight? My bed is big enough for us to not be near."

Viktor grew unsure, not wanting Jayce to think he was doing anything wrong. They were just caught up in the moment. Nothing explicit would happen again, they agreed so. Viktor, in the process of convincing himself, shifted uncomfortably from the position he sat.

"Eh, I suppose that's fine," he agreed finally, and Jayce nodded, quickly going to turn off the lights and heading to the opposite side of the bed, cautious of causing Viktor discomfort if he lingered for too long.

They both flattened their bodies along the polyester comforter after moving the cover. Their breathing slowly settled, their gazes stuck on the smooth, apricot-painted roof above. The temperature was cool, and the tension gone. Viktor had not covered himself, not feeling cold enough to want to. His eyes closed after a short while. And usually, for him, it was hard to get himself relaxed enough to sleep right after lying down. But with Jayce's presence beside him, his discomfort and pains lingered to the back of his mind.

Jayce heard a small snore come from the man beside him. He opened his eyes, turning his head slowly so that his shuffling wouldn't wake Viktor. Looking at his partner's rested face, beautiful, he thought. Perfect.

Eventually, after realizing Viktor was sound asleep, Jayce turned on his side facing Viktor and stared at him until his consciousness drifted into the dark.

The night felt like a long blink to Jayce when he woke, a migraine filling all of his senses. And nausea. He gasped, quickly shuffling to his bathroom, spitting nothing but stomach acid mixed with water into his already open toilet. A while after his retching, nothing much would come up, since his body had already disposed of most of it the night prior. He sighed in pain through heavy breaths, his abdomen feeling bruised from within as if he had worked out. Sitting back on his bathroom floor after flushing, he noticed his work uniform laid out along the glass wall and door of the shower behind him.

Then noticing a white tie along with them, and the pants and shirt were notably far smaller than any of his clothes.

Shock drove through him as he stumbled to his feet, memories of the night before flashing to mind. Getting out of the bathroom to see what he thought was a drunken dream: Viktor lying still on his bed, turned slightly to his side facing him.

Jayce, slowly getting on his knees and leaning himself along the bed, stared in awe. How peaceful Viktor's expression stayed, his snore light and breaths unhurried. Jayce gulped down a nasty taste that was left in his mouth, thinking about how parched he felt. Seeing the glass he left on his dresser that Viktor got for him, Viktor moved suddenly. Adjusting his neck to stretch out a bit more, and Jayce's face grew hot with blood seeing the markings he caused.

He bit his lip at the thought. No. This isn't right. That wasn't right. God, my head.

He looked up suddenly, an immediate reminder to check the time coming to him. He sprang to his feet, seeing he was over two hours late to a meeting with the council. "Ah, I'm screwed," he mumbled to himself, his hangover not helping his thoughts.

Viktor will be fine here, he assumed while going into his closet to get dressed. I'll leave him a note and let him rest. He deserves it.

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Missing my shayla's💔

[beif0ngs]

The Knight and the Zoomer—they retire from battle, and they settle down in a small village. With each passing day, their love grows stronger.

[umm992]

This is pt.3 of my Remmick x Black reader fanfic.

Title: Blood over Boston

(⚠️Implications of SA!

PS. Remmick is not the assaulter⚠️)

Ch.3: Until the Sun

It couldn’t be—Mr. Abril, a vampire? You quickly got to your feet, looking out the window and finding the fisherman gone. Heat built in your face as you realized it was your fault—you’d damned Mr. Abril.

It was a quiet night once again; a carriage passed throughout the silence ,moments turning to hours.

"Remmick, damned coward" you whispered to yourself in impatience. You looked to find where your Bible was, then looked back out the window to see, standing below, the blood stained, pale man you had just cursed.

He gawked with those red orbs, shadows along his face making them nearly glow.

You aimed your weapon at his head immediately. He smiled gleamingly, with those blood-stained fangs.

"Oh my, why—you couldn’t get little old me outta that pretty little head of yours. You put garlic wherever you could..."

He stretched his words, placing his bloody hands behind his back and pacing toward the stairs, then turned back to the end of your view from the window.

"But ya know, you gotta invite me in first. So what’s the garlic for? You thinkin’ about it—the deliverance from your prison of servitude?"

You shook your head to yourself, shaking at the sight of him. You promised yourself to not engage ,studying his every move to the twist of his heels each time he reached the end of his pace.

"Mr.Abril, he was quite a meal. I didn't taunted him so ,I bit before he could leave the market. If that makes ya feel better."

From the dark the fisherman came ,he nodded along with Remmick ,eyes reflecting silver ,"It hardly hurt ,Y/N. I promise." His once heartwarming elderly smile now distorted with the sharpness of his teeth.

"Im so sorry Mr.Abril." your voice shuddered within your apology.

And Remmicks smile faded almost instantly to your response to the fisherman yet not him ,"Darlin don't be sheepish ,Mr.Remmick here will make it all better." Your heart wrenched to these words squeezing the tears from your eyes.

"You oughta be grateful, he spared my family for you."

"I did." Remmick confirmed with a hand on Mr.Abril's shoulder. They stood together hauntingly ,your sadness shifted to anger as you silently stared at both of them.

"You spared no one....." you whispered this to yourself though it was in response to Remmick.

"If I spared no one why I might as well go visit the Missus, right Mr.A?" Remmick beaming with delight as the fisherman nodded with a hum of approval.

"I'll shoot ya both dead ,leave his people alone. Your only business here is with me..."

The Irish man cackled at this ,biting his lip ,before suddenly his feet lifted from the ground, levitating up to the window you sat. Though you wanted to move away, you had to remind yourself that he could not come inside, you put both hands on your gun ,clutching. The sight terrifying you to the core ,a man moving the opposite of gravity effortlessly.

"I'd like to see ya try lass. And if you fail ,I'll kill his family, and that other man that showed you how to use that piece of yours.... Then take a visit to your old ma."

You pressed along the trigger dangerously tight, "You touch my mama, I won't rest till I kill you."

He sighed at your threats as if flattered, drool coming about almost at the tension of being just a wall away from him. "My oh my Missy, you know how to work me up."

He clasped his hands together looking back to Mr.Abril, before looking to you. He inspected your stiffened expression, "Y/N..."

You waited ,not wanting to play into these games ,"Don’t you want to see your mother again?"

You frowned at this, biting your tongue. He couldn't know where your mother was, for you hadn't told Mr. Abril earlier. He cocked his head at your silence before leaning closer, placing his hands along the garlic-covered ledge. His flesh sizzled, yet his reaction was merely a sigh of discomfort; Mr.Abril also seeming to groan in discipline. You couldn’t help sitting back from the window. The smell of his burning flesh was unbearable.

"Shoot, darlin'..."

You bit your lip hard—you'd never imagined you would be in a position of killing anyone or anything. But this person was no human, so why couldn’t you do it? Perhaps because on the outside he looked like a man with two arms and two legs.

"Just leave me be. I'm content with my life. Why must God burden me with the presence of a demon like you?"

Remmick seemed to finally get enough of his self-inflicted pain, releasing the ledge and eventually lowering himself.

"Well, I suppose Abril and I will go right ahead and drain his family. And I could try finding your mother — it wouldn't take long. I already got a scent and taste of your blood from yesterday."

Sitting up again back, you forced bravery forth. "My ma ain't me. She's dealt with one of you before, and she ain't dying from one of ya now."

He squinted at this, shaking his hand as if having cramp in his wrist. "That’s it. My maker had these memories of your ma—far younger version than Mr. Abril's. Can't you see fate brought us together, darlin'? If you'd like, I could share these memories of my founder with you."

His tone was kind and soft. You gaped, thinking—he had memories of your mother? His maker... he could have the answers to what truly happened to your grandmother.

Or you could keep him out, possibly distract him till the sun was up. But you knew Remmick was far smarter. For now, you only wanted him to forget his consideration of killing Mr. Abril's family.

"This ain't fate. It seems more like revenge. Your maker the reason you choose to fuck with me?"

Remmick brushed his thumb along his bottom lip, looking down at himself as if not noticing the blood before. "You give me the sense of nostalgia, somethin' I haven't felt in this sector of my life. I'd call it fate, because I see this trap—no matter how hard you work, you'll forever be stuck as a reverent servant. As the family you work for thrives to fulfill their own goals..."

He paused, pacing again, still looking down at the pavements.

"But I wonder... what about your goals or dreams, Y/N? As this, we could achieve whatever it is—all in the night. For eternity, you n' me. Just allow me in..."

His voice taunted your mind through those tempting words. The family had no care for where your heart lay. He was right—they only cared to know the dinner for the night or if their clothes were neatly folded.

You had been stuck for so long without your mother’s words of motivation in this pit of dark exhaustion. And only in these last couple of nights had you felt alive—looking into the red gaze of Remmick.

You shook yourself from these thoughts, clutching the rosary wrapped around your hand.

"The Lord is my light n'd my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord—"

Remmick cut you off, both he and Mr. Abril finishing your prayer:

"The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?..." He didn’t seem to be mocking you, but instead joining you in prayer. He now had his hands intertwined together on his knees in front of the window.

"I believed in the Father as well, undoubtedly faithful. I still am, and I believe in this eternal unity—we can build a utopia."

Mr. Abril nodded along to these words, placing a hand on Remmick’s shoulder.

You cringed at this—all of it was wrong, and you felt it in your gut. Unnerving, yet you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t help the idea. You should’ve never engaged in this provocation, for you feared the darkness within; your mother once warned you of was beginning to slowly reveal itself.

You stayed silent, and surprisingly Remmick did as well for a while; he hummed to himself, a low song as he paced, seeming eager.

"That man—Mr. Smith..." Mr. Abril started. Both you and Remmick looked to him. But as your attention stuck to the fisherman, you hadn’t noticed Remmick’s own gaze monitoring your reactions.

"Your mother told me... she felt something change in you after that night, the night she left to stay the night at your cousin's."

Quickly covering your ears, you shook your head at this. You knew exactly what he spoke of and never knew your mother ever even considered confiding in Mr. Abril aside from purchasing the freshest fish.

Shaking your head at him, you couldn't believe this.

"What'd he do, darlin'? Mrs. Smith and Charlotte were gone, weren’t they? Did he call you in his room, degrading your work, your looks?" Remmick kept a serious expression, his eyes looking into yours as if he could see your soul.

"And after, tell ya to join him in prayer, and when on your knees next to him, leaning along the bed, you smelt the ale—"

You clasped your hands together, shuddering in prayer as that night played through your mind.

"In the name of the Father's light, return to the pit from whence you rose. The ground rejects your shadow, the cross forbids your touch."

"Is that what y'all invoked together, before he started rippin away your garments—?"

"Damn you, damn you!" you cried out to Remmick, almost begging him to leave you be. Remmick silenced.

"When he comes back I could destroy him for you, all of 'em. But you have to let me in—to free you from your pain, from this confinement..."

You kept your shaky hands together, fingers intertwined. Had this been a test from God? You hadn’t been saying your prayers as consistently since your mother's absence—since her voice had started to fade in your mind. She was the only one keeping you in one piece for so long. You couldn’t think up any more prayers. Only thing you could look to was Mr. Smith’s gun on the floor—you had to gather yourself. Taking deep inhales, then exhaling, you leaned forth, picking up the gun.

Fixing your posture and wiping the moisture from your cheeks and chin, you looked to Remmick, whose gaze never broke from your open window.

"And if you claim this to be freedom..." you gestured to Mr. Abril, who stood by.

"A man that can't return to his wife and baby, because you want me. I'm about as free as I'll ever be here... in this house."

"He's free to go—"

You cut Remmick off in anger, "Is he? How dare you use him! You're no better than Mr.Smith, or any of these disgustin' white men."

Silence painted over your ears; the ticking of a clock was all that kept on. Remmick finally looked away, glaring at Mr. Abril, who had a saddened expression. Remmicks hand shook as he snapped, sighing.

"I can see your soul—the light withering without anyone to share this loneliness with. Mr. Abril longed to be free from age, expectation, labor. And when I gifted him this immortality, he felt my sorrows—my own loneliness. We only stand together now because he wants to free you as much as I do."

Once again, a tender volume filled his voice, twined with passion. It made your heart ache. You shook your head, forcing yourself to stay strong.

Just seconds later, a carriage came down the dirt road, and both alluring creatures vanished with no trace. Looking to the clock, you hadn’t realized the night had passed so late into the morning—the sun was to come up in an hour. Relief washed over you only for an instant before drowsiness took over. You closed the window.

Not having enough energy to go upstairs to your bedroom, you dragged your feet to the parlor’s couch, laid yourself along it, and closed your eyes. The darkness of your long blink shifted to you staring down at Remmick once again. His gaze was longing as you held a pointed wooden stake to his chest. His breath was heavy beneath you. He lay there in surrender, his hand resting along the carpeted parlor floor, lips parted with each breath—and right before he spoke, you woke.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Remmick outside ur window like:

(He just wants a little nibble)

[umm992]

This is pt.2 of my Remmick x Black reader fanfic.

Title:Blood over Boston

Ch.2: Ma's book

Waking with a gasped word — “Mama!...” — you looked around, trying to recall everything.

Dread clouded your thoughts, your wounds throbbing as you groaned while standing. You saw the sun of the morning through the curtains, recalling your mother’s words.

Quickly, weakly stepping toward the door, you opened it. Seeing people out in the streets and walking along the trails, you took a deep breath. You saw the rosary on the second step and quickly grabbed it from the porch before anyone could notice your tarnished appearance.

Your mother would always tell you tales of her childhood in the South, and the demons that lurked. How her own mother — your grandmother — was killed by a vampire when she was of adolescents. You couldn’t help the paranoia causing nausea at the thought; you wished you had believed her before...

Dissociation mixed with your day as you tended to your wounds and dressed in your maid attire. Doing your morning tasks like grabbing the milk delivered weekly from the porch, and cleaning your workstation for the day. You contemplated going down to the basement to look through your mother’s things — she had to have something to help in this. You couldn’t waste this day of sunlight. But he could still be there, waiting. What if he knew you and your mother’s belongings were stored down in the basement?

Stepping toward the front door, you wrapped the broken rosary around your knuckles, holding a white-knuckled fist before walking out into the breezed weather. It had gotten far cloudier than it was hours ago. You stepped down the stairs, keeping your head low from passersby, and descended the basement steps. You noticed the wooden door was only holding on by one hinge — Remmick had pushed it aside with such force it broke. You held your fist tighter, your nails stabbing through the palm of your hand.

Moving the broken door aside, the sun reached the inside of the basement from the opened door, revealing there was no intruder. You sighed in relief, quickly shuffling toward one of your mother’s wooden crates where she kept most of her books. While rummaging through it, you had to take some books out for a clearer view, and at the bottom, with cobwebs and dust covering it, you picked it up. It was large with no title on the front, but a strange cover of black leather. You swiftly swiped away the dirt and such, coughing all the while.

You opened the book to the first page — it was a Catholic book, most words written in Spanish. You hadn’t known your mother knew Spanish; she’d never told you. Shaking your head, confused, you flipped through the book, noticing illustrations of demonic figures.

Before long, one — the spitting image of Remmick — caught your eye. You looked to the title of the handwritten literature: “Vampiro...” You whispered it aloud to yourself.

You had to figure out what the passage said, no matter what. You weren’t allowed to leave the house while the Smiths were away, but this was life or death. Deciding to visit the market, you knew you’d find what you needed there.

After a bit, you put everything back and propped the basement door up the best you could. Quickly walking down the street a couple of blocks, you reached the local market — a place where all colors of people could be content in, well, most people. You made your way to the poultry line-up of stands in the market, spotting the fisherman you and your mother often shopped from. Mr. Abril sat back with a paper in his hands, a huge cigar in the corner of his mouth. He glanced up at you after you stopped in front of the stand.

A bright smile grew at your presence, his smile lines wrinkling and revealing his age. He was a paler Hispanic man, which was surprising since he spent most of his time in the sun. He wore a brown wool vest over a white button-up and brown trousers to match. Sitting up while folding the paper back unevenly, he noticed the uneasy expression stuck on your face — his smile faded a bit.

"Y/N, what brings you here this evenin'?"

You licked your irritably dry lips before gesturing to the book in your grasp. His attention lowered to it, squinting. "I need you to tell me what this says — translate."

You opened up to the section on vampires, and his eyes skimmed through a bit of the passage before his face darkened in dismay. "Where’d you get this?"

"It’s my ma’s."

He raised a brow, gesturing for you to hand the book over. You placed it in his hand, open. He blew smoke from the unoccupied corner of his mouth while sitting back in his chair. A couple of minutes passed before he looked around the square, making sure no one paid any mind to you both. Getting up, he turned toward the entrance of the tent behind him. "Come around — we’ll talk inside."

Quickly, you followed, walking around the table of filleted fish and raw pork, following him inside the tent. The floor was piled with fish in open crates with ice beneath them, melted ice causing mud along the entire area of the ground.

Mr. Abril turned to you. "What ya need this translated for?..."

"You wouldn’t believe me." You shook your head, looking down at your feet.

"Where’s your ma?" He asked, his tone softening. You looked up at him again, feeling ashamed to say.

"The Smiths have sold her off — a house close to the shore of Boston."

He blew more smoke away from your face, now taking the cigar out with his fingers and looking back to the book.

"Your ma knows Spanish?" You shrugged, wondering the same.

"She ain’t never spoke none around me. I just found this this mornin’."

He flipped through the book a bit, sighing deeply. "This is a journal by a Catholic executor — or at least this page you want me to read."

You nodded, showing you were taking in his words. He flipped back to the page.

"‘Vampiro’ means vampire — the meanin’ is a corpse of the once-human that gains unnatural abilities to man n' feeds on the blood of mortals. Like canine or sharp teeth, glowin’ silver, gold, or red eyes, and immortality, never agin’. Ways to weaken a vampire are garlic of any kind, silver, and holy water. And to kill — a wooden stake to the heart. They have an allergy to the sun as well. Dependin’ on the age of the vampire is what determines the victim’s rate of survival ,if a victim is bitten they are controlled ,almost like they all share the same mind. Avoidin’ the undead overall is never allowin’ ’em inside your space, or steppin’ out of your space when they are near…."

He paused, eyeing you. You couldn’t take your eyes off the rosary wrapped around your hand.

"Y/N?"

"Is there anything else?" you asked hurriedly, now looking at him. He scratched the back of his neck, scanning the page once more. "Just that the drawin’ was sketched by a victim that was hospitalized by the church — her name, Lucía Rubio."

Closing the book, you both were silent, noticing a rifle laying in the mud in the corner of the tent. Mr. Smith had a rifle that looked almost the same stored in the closet. Mr. Abril followed your gaze to the weapon, clearing his throat while tossing the nub of his cigar to the ground and pressing it into the mud with his boot.

"Y/N, what's goin' on, seriously?"

You shook your head, convincing yourself that he'd think you insane. "You were readin' the paper earlier? You seen the crime section, the one with the recent ship crew?"

He stared at you, nodding silently. "I think that man was at my door last night, he came pleadin' for help, and I thought—"

You covered your mouth, becoming overwhelmed. Mr. Abril placed a hand along your shoulder in comfort, still listening. "I was alone since the Smiths took their leave. He seemed to really need help, so I offered for him to sit down in the basement, and I'd call someone for 'em."

You inhaled with each word; recalling the night before made your body react as if you were still there. "Down in the basement he had those red eyes and— and sharp teeth, the strength of a god, and was tellin' me— tellin' me he offered freedom. Salvation.... The crucifix burned him." You gestured to the rosary; Mr. Abril took it from your palm, analyzing it.

"My ma—she had to have put somethin' on it, maybe garlic or holy water."

The man before you looked confused and concerned; he steadied your shoulder to ground you from your frantic mood.

"This is folklore.... None of this ain't— Y/N, maybe this grief of your ma bein' gone is gettin' to ya—"

Cutting him off, you shook your head, realizing he did not fully believe you. You took the rosary back.

"Look." You showed your opposite wrist pulling your sleeve, frostbite covering it like a tight bracelet leaving a mark. He stared at your wrist, then at you. You backed away from his grasp and undid the collar of your dress, then your apron, turning to show him the thick nail marks that took chunks of skin, blood seeping through the bandage you wrapped around your neck.

He gasped at the sight. "We need to tell the police—"

"No! No, they'll put me in an asylum."

Backing closer to the exit of the tent, Mr. Abril stepped forward. "Y/N, if you're spooked then stay at my place. We got room for ya for a night or so."

"I can't. He'll come.... I can't have nobody's blood on my hands."

Quickly you stepped out of the tent, leaving the book. With urgency you made your way to the herb and vegetable section of the market. You'd grabbed all of your savings from the house prior to coming to the market, and found a stand with a good amount of garlic. You handed your pouch of money to the young hickery skinned man sharpening a knife. He nodded politely, took the pouch, and opened it, moving the coins inside with two fingers.

"What can I get for ya, ma'am?"

"All the garlic, please." You buttoned up your collared dress, fixing your apron, feeling guilt for running off on Mr. Abril, especially since he had just helped you.

As the man packed the garlic into a brown paper bag, you noticed a revolver in the waist of his trousers. "You got a permit for that?" you asked, acting as if you wanted to start conversation.

"Nah." He laughed, glaring at you with a smile. "Someone just tried to rob me last week over some potatoes." He scoffed, rolling his eyes at the thought.

"I ain't dyin' over this business...."

You cleared your throat, licking your lips.

"Yeah, that's horrible. I've been wantin' to know how to use one myself. You see, my people have just left for a trip and I've been more than paranoid, especially with that story from the docks in the paper."

He nodded, opening another bag for your purchase. "Yeah, I get it. The story's crazy. And they haven't found the rascal either."

"There's that same gun in the family I work for at home, but I think I just need some help on how to use it. If you wouldn't mind..."

He glanced around to see if anyone was nearby to hear this conversation. "I think I could do that for ya. You did pay a loan, some." You smiled at this; he pulled the gun out from the band of his pants.

Before long the sun began to set after a long day out. You hadn’t been out in the world this long since shopping with your mother long ago. Once you made it home you went straight to the kitchen.

You spent hours crushing garlic into mush in your mother's mortar. When finished, you smeared mashed garlic along the entryway and back door, then all the windows of the house, outside and in.

Once all was completed you grabbed Mr.

Smith's revolver, dipping your rosary in garlic mush and holy oil — some you had left over from church. You locked every entryway of the house except one of the front windows. You were ready.

Deeper in the night, the streets seemed to only get darker. Black shadows cloaking the majority of the road, the street lamps weren't on tonight. After a long while, you found yourself reading through the highlighted sections of your mother's Bible, humming a gospel to yourself that she would sing to you in your younger years.

Suddenly, you heard boot steps toward your door. You looked in the direction of the sound, clicking the gun back. Coming down your block, surprisingly, was Mr. Abril.

He carried a gas lamp with him; he noticed you sitting in the open window.

"Y/N, what are you doing? I was coming by to check on ya, but it looks like you're just as anxious as when I talked to ya earlier."

You sat up as he stepped up the stairs, looking behind him and down both ends of the road.

"You shouldn't be out right now, Mr. Abril, and you live too far to be walking all the way down here. Where's your horse?" you asked while going to unlock and open the door.

"Well, I stayed down at the market pretty late and thought I ought to come check on ya."

You gazed at him—something fairly off-putting about his appearance that wasn’t there earlier. His posture, tone, paler skin than usual, and the fact that his own home was an hour away from yours.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't let you stay here. I told you, I can't have nobody's blood on my hands."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You really takin' that mythical bullshit seriously? I mean really, Y/N, ya know I live far. Let me just settle here for the night."

"I—I'm sorry." Going to close the door, he stopped it with his hand and gasped in pain, his flesh burning from the garlic. A shocked breath escaped you as well; you slammed the door and locked it quickly.

You stumbled over the carpet, falling on your butt. You groaned in pain, clutching your revolver.

"No...."

And a tasty picture of yours truly for ur troubles 🫶🏾

[umm992]

Current Remmick x Black reader fanfic I'm working on. Lmk how y'all feel about it.

Title:Blood over Boston

Summary:As a devout maid haunted by the loss of your mother's presence, you find yourself drawn to the very creature you were taught to fear-a vampire whose charm blurs the line between damnation and desire. His promise of eternal freedom tempts your fragile faith, and as you surrender to him, you begin to uncover the forbidden truths untold by your absent mother.

(Setting is 1911 Massachusetts, when Remmick first arrives to America from the Boston shore.)

Ch.1: Under the red gaze

You smacked your teeth, followed by a hiss of pain as you looked at your index finger — blood forming a small pool on the tip from pricking the hole with the needle you tailored with. Sighing in irritation, you licked the blood away and continued your work, being in the middle of sewing some holes in your mistress’s child clothes.

Or rather, your mother’s employer — a middle-aged white woman and her husband who had taken in your mother and you when you were fairly young. In return, your mother worked as a maid, but now this position had passed to you.

They’d lied, telling you that she was helping a family member of theirs who was too old to care for themselves. But ten years ago, this would’ve been considered being sold. You knew this, and yet still stayed compliant with their orders.

But your compliance didn’t quell the anger you had for the family you worked for.

You hoped to God every day that the mistress and her husband would get into an accident or mysteriously die in their sleep.

“Oh, Y/N, what are ya up to? I need tendin’ to.”

You were shaken from your grief-driven thoughts by your mistress. Mrs. Smith stood at the front of your bedroom door as you stepped out, posture low, head down.

“I need help packing.” She sighed in aggravation while gesturing for you to follow — you did.

“Ma’am, I already had everything packed up for you,” you stated in a calm tone, nearly sounding as if you spoke to yourself.

“Why, yes, but I’m missing a dress...” You had both made it to her room, which wasn’t too far down the hall from yours.

“I know, ma’am — you had a tear in it and asked me to sew it back up for you... but I started working on the young mistress’s first.”

She turned to you before you could step to enter her room. You glared up; she placed a finger to her bottom lip in thought.

“I did ask you of that. Oh well, get back to it.” You nodded to this quickly, turning and pacing back to your station.

Time shifted throughout your day of work, being far busier than usual since the Smiths were to be leaving for a trip to Washington. You were told it was work-related for Mr. Smith, though you hadn’t cared much for the reason — you were just glad they’d be gone for a decent time.

Maybe you could figure out in that time a way to escape the house of a prison... you could find your mother.

Helping Mrs. Smith’s daughter, Charlotte, carry the last of her luggage out to the carriage, the slick black horses huffed as if irritated by something. You handed the coachman the last couple of suitcases for him to place on the roof. Moments later, you were waving goodbye to the family as they took their leave into the sunset.

You felt the breeze of winter nearing as you looked down the road of row houses lining the street, the streets slowly clearing the lower the sun went. Autumn always gave you comfort, for the colors of dying leaves falling from trees made life so much more colorful than you’d forget it was.

Then, remembering you’d completely forgotten to collect the family’s mail, you went to the mounted mailbox beside the door, opening the top and taking a small pile of envelopes out. On top lay the daily paper. You grabbed all of it with one hand swiftly, then headed inside, locking the door behind you. The quiet surrounded you, reminding you of how exhausted you were. With just a bit of energy left, you sorted the mail, finished the laundry, and took a seat in your room.

In your mother’s old wooden rocking chair, you flipped the paper open and skimmed through the daily news. There weren’t many things to read about ,the weather — an advertisement for automobiles and a bit of recent crime. You flipped the page back to the crime section, sitting up to focus. A recent ship reaching the Boston docks had found an entire crew dead — murdered.

The victims seemed violently torn, limbs missing and significant blood loss. You gasped aloud at this. Your mother was working at a house real close to the docks, and though you weren’t much farther from it either, it still gave you a queasy feeling. You read a bit more — it seemed someone had seen a man fleeing from the ship, but there was nothing more.

You decided to fold the paper back up and place it in the corridor, not wanting to spook yourself further. A couple of hours passed, and the sun had gone, the house lights now replacing it. You roamed throughout the house, checking things off your mental list while checking all the doors and windows to make sure they were locked.

Finally approaching the front door, you checked both windows on either side, noticing the eerily empty streets. You swiped the curtains shut, doing the same to the other. Locking in the chain to the top locks of the front door, you made your way toward the stairs before hearing three clear, loud knocks.

It stopped you in your tracks, goosebumps running up your arms. You shuddered as you turned — there had been no one when you peered through the windows moments ago. Before even considering approaching the door again, you quickly went to the closet under the stairs that held Mr.

Smith’s hunting equipment and grabbed the shotgun. You had no idea how to use it, but you’d learn today. You grabbed two large, heavy pellets and fondled the gun shakily as three more knocks followed — then a voice, thick with Irish:

“I’m in need of help! I’ve been robbed — please, if there’s anyone?” A pleading tone in the male voice outside.

You were frozen in place once again; it took a couple of minutes for you to grow the courage to step toward the door again. But you found yourself moving, still not able to figure out how to put the pellets in the barrel. You scoffed in frustration, shoving the bullets into your apron pocket.

Quickly unlocking the door while holding your breath, with a clenched jaw, the hinges creaked as you peeped out — not opening fully or revealing your weapon. To your surprise, for a man who claimed to be the victim of a robbery, there stood at the entry a stunning young, pale man. He wore a thick wool button-up and grey trousers with suspenders that hung at the sides of his pants. His clothes had streaks of dirt along them — someone definitely had roughed him up.

“Ah, ma’am, I am truly sorry for ruinin’ your night. I was just makin’ my way home, and two youngins came at me with a gun — took most my belongings. Please, uh, ma’am, do ya have a phone, or could I catch m’ breath?”

You sucked the inside of your lip nervously, clutching the door handle while clearing your throat. “I-I’m not allowed to let people in. You see, the family I work for left just hours ago. But you could wait outside or rest down in the basement.”

He had this expression — calculating his next words carefully — but he was too smooth with his reaction time for it not to make you wary. “Why, I just need a moment. The basement is more than fine — you’re too kind.”

He smiled, and with this grin, his eyes glimmered a reflection of red like a wild cat in the night.

“Just—just gimme a second, sir.”

You clutched the shotgun, dragging it along the carpeted floor through the corridor, approaching a wooden dresser and leaning the weapon against it while pulling out a drawer filled with most of the house keys. You shoveled through the keys and knick-knacks until finding an old rusty brown one. It was fairly tiny—you were surprised you found it so fast. Glaring back at the door, listening for the man outside, you took a deep breath. You snatched up a thick pen that sat atop the dresser, shoving it into your pocket.

You heard the tapping of his boots at the stairway—slow taps. Your chest tightened again as you held your breath, approaching the entry. You made a small gap in the door, slipping out so the stranger wouldn’t be able to peer inside. He eyed you, expression relaxed, with his hands settled in the pockets of his trousers. His gaze dropped to the key in your palms, which you held with both hands. Your body tensed so he couldn’t see your slight shakiness, but it seemed that regardless, he looked straight through you.

He followed you down the entry stairs, and behind them to another set that led deeper into the ground—a black darkness beneath the entry stairs that not even the street lamps could reach. You struggled with the key for a moment before thinking up something to say to ease the tension.

“What’s ya name, mister? I’m Y/N.” Glaring at him while opening the door, you noticed how his focus lingered on the back of your neck and shoulders, though they were covered by your collared black dress and apron.

“Remmick.”

“Rammick?” you asked, repeating what you heard, though his accent was thick. He chuckled. You went on, twisting a lamp switch near the door. Its light dimly lit the room, unable to reach the dark corners.

“Remm-ick,” he phrased in an almost American accent. You turned to him now, repeating, “Remmick—” while stepping back from his sudden closeness. He seemed to have been reaching for you before, but he moved unnaturally fast—you couldn’t help but second-guess yourself.

“That’s it, lass, you’ve got it,” he said with a nod of approval, congratulating you for your correct pronunciation. You gulped dryly.

“Who did ya wanna call?” His gaze finally unlocked from you, and he looked around the floor, noticing a wooden crate behind him ,doing a light squat and sitting on the box ,his voice strained. "Uh, I guess who’d you call in this circumstance...."

Staring silently, you decided not to entertain this comedic coyness.

"The police...." He nodded at your response, leaning his forearms along his knees. "Hmph, you're right. It’s just the law ain’t too keen to foreigners like me. I’d just arrived here by ship a couple days ago. I don’t have much family around here, and I don’t trust no cops."

The more he spoke, the more fixated you became on his mouth. It seemed as if his teeth formed sharply with each word.

"You trust the cops, Y/N?"

You slowly walked toward the door, keeping your eyes on him ,nodding in response. Drool trikling down his chin, and you were more than sure you were in danger. You dug in your pocket, close enough to the door now to reach the handle, and as you glanced to see where the handle was, you looked back to see Remmick now standing nearly over you.

Swiftly lunging the ink pen toward his throat, but he grabbed your wrist. The impact of his skin causing you to hiss in pain from the almost ice burn feeling it caused. He wiped away the excessive drool ,that now dripped down his chin.

Tears immediately swelled as fear caused every emotion in your body to elope.

Beginning to sob, he looked down on you almost weary to your fear. "Shhhhh..." With his free hand, he grazed his thumb over your tears ,his nails even shifting to their true length along your skin ,it felt as if your own tears were turning to ice from his touch. You now could see clearly this red glare — a vampiric sight.

"The devil," you shuddered at him as he pressed you along the door behind.

Shaking his head, brows furrowed. "I only want you to feel the freedom that I’ve experienced for oh so long. I’ve been alone for far too long..."

With his free hand, he dug into the collar of your dress and tore the wool effortlessly down your shoulder to your bicep. You gasped at this. "Why me?" you cried out, still straining your pen against his grasp.

"I’d been watching you since my arrival. I saw your longing looks out into the streets. You’ve been waiting for change... for me." His nose grazed along your bare shoulder ,seeming hesitant about putting his pink lips along your flesh breath cold, his eyes still fixed on you. You noticed you still had on your wooden rosary your mother had gifted you. And with your free hand you clutched the handle of the door behind, his nose reached a wooden orb, and he hissed the tip of hid noses skin immediately began smoking, revealing raw flesh.

Stumbling back a bit, you quickly opened the door, hardly able to breathe as your lungs burned. Crawling quickly up the stairs, you made it to the front door before feeling Remmick grab you by the back of your neck with a deep snarl, his claws digging into your skin and freezing you in place.

Swiftly ripping the necklace from your neck, you turned ,his nails taking chunks of skin. You shoved the necklace into his face, causing him to release you again. Stumbling over yourself, you made it inside, kicking the door closed behind you. Quickly, you locked every lock along the door and slid a chair under the handle so it wouldn’t twist.

Grabbing the shotgun from leaning along the wooden dresser, you sat on the floor leaning yourself against the furniture behind, still hyperventilating. Staring at the door, wide-eyed, flinching as he knocked—three times, just as before.

"You ought not be afraid. I only want to share this salvation, Y/N. I’ll return tomorrow, and I’ll have you."

You shook your head silently at his words, then listened to the sound of his steps fading down the stairway and along the block. You sat hugging your knees with the gun beside you, sobbing from the pained tension built in your chest from pure adrenaline. It took a good while for the high to waver, followed by what felt like a carriage had fallen on you — your muscles sore, the skin of your scraped knees revealing flesh, and the wound along the back of your neck dripping down your back. Eventually, you’d fallen into a deep darkness of sleep, only to hear your mother’s voice:

“Keep this crucifix around you at all times. Evil lurks, even within.”

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Remmick looking at you in the basement like: