Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The moon was hung high in the sky as the cicadas sang their melodies in trills. The Mississippi heat had subsided just a tad in the midnight hours, a perfect time for you to check the traps around your secluded cabin in the woods. You lived a simple life despite being a vampire, fed on animals, avoided sunlight in your dim home all while reading a good book. If it weren’t for your affliction, you’d go into the nearest town to grab a new novel tomorrow. Instead you’d have to hope there was someone passing by the nearest road at sundown tomorrow who could go into town for you the next day. You’d have to pay, of course. People around here don’t do things out of the kindness of their hearts. Another aspect of this little deal would be for them to be honest, to actually return with a book instead of running off with your cash. Cash that was running low, real low. 

You were secluded, better for the people of the town, safer. You knew you would not be able to control your thirst for blood should you be around others, your instincts too strong and will too weak, withholding was never your greatest strength. There was no comparing the ecstasy you got while feeding on others, but you left that life behind years ago. A long time ago. A lifetime ago. 

As you trudged through the overgrown grass and ever-wet mud of the property, your mind wandered as it often did. You kept yourself entertained with your imagination, there wasn’t much else to do around here except daydream, tend to your garden, play your guitar and sing, clean the house over and over, maybe paint, and read. You thought of the protagonist of the book you were reading, a strapping, headstrong woman who, quite frankly, was very progressive of the time. Women, white women, only got the right to vote about ten years ago, but you were already long into your vampirism then and had never given the government much thought. You supposed your undead life had more pressing matters than voting, though you wished you could do more for the folk around here. But, given the limitations of your unlife, there really was nothing to be done. The least you could do was stay here, your once warm and open heart still had a grasp on your mentality now, a rare thing for a vampire; a conscious. 

Back when you were alive, The United States was still very new, in your parent’s time it was called the United Colonies. Seeing as though you were born in 1778, you grew up in unsure times and an unstable country. Your father fought in the war, losing his leg in the process but he came home in the end. Victorious. 

You still remember the night you were bit like it was last evening, you were only twenty three. Your father had begun his mumblings, memories of the war invaded his sleep and disturbed his peace. Instead of easing wounds, the time that passed only made his memories more vivid, as if the shock of the whole ordeal was dwindling over the years. He needed herbs, calming tea just to sleep, to put his troubled mind at ease. Your family lived in Lewes, Delaware; had for many years as your Dutch ancestors moved here for the whaling business, nasty business in your opinion. But now you were true blooded Americans, that Dutch accent was slowly phased into British as the population grew and then mellowed out to the cool eastern American you spoke with now. You neither spoke the language of the Dutch people, nor identified with them. Their blood used to run through your veins, now the coldness of the corpse you were was all you had. 

On the night you had been to the doctor across town, leaving with your herbs for your father, you were approached by a man. No, approached wasn’t the correct word. He chased you down without a warning, emerging from the shadows of the early January nightfall without giving you a chance to even run. Soon you were pinned under his weight on the cold cobbled streets, hot skin pressed between his body and the freezing smooth stone. You remember he was just as cold as the slippery road, wearing an overcoat and light tunic. His eyes gleamed an eerie red as he regarded you for merely a second before bringing his mouth to your neck and bleeding you dry. You remember resisting, crying out for a savior, a distraction, anything to push the heavy man from your frame. But it was too late, he severed your artery, you bled out as the screams died on your tongue; your face carved into a picture of terror as he lapped up your lifesource. 

But then you woke up, a new hunger stirred in your stomach. You sat up in a pool of blood, your winter coat sticky with it, neck numb from the wound. You had memories, so many memories that were not your own swimming in your mind. Your fingers, now freezing as they brushed against your neck, trembled. You looked around, there was nobody around. This disappointed you for some reason, the reason. You were starved, a bloodlust you felt in your chest, your very being was taking over any rational thought. You could barely think your own thoughts, the hunger was so loud; it flooded your ears with crashing waves of want and deprivation. 

You stood, shedding your coat as temperature no longer seemed to bother you. You could feel the frigid breeze, yet the icy snowflakes that hit your skin didn’t melt; it was no longer of consequence. In your shared memory you saw your attacker, saw him feed, saw him hunt and stalk. You felt a yearning, your instincts were screaming at you to do the same, to eat. You scrambled to the nearest town home, pounding at the door until a candle was lit from within. You were inclined to lie like the memories, make some sob story to get the stranger to let you in; you already knew you needed an invitation, knew what you were. Having been turned by someone so ancient had you understanding what your life would be like now. You had no time to mourn, you felt… joy. You were so goddamn joyful at your new eternity. The door swung open, a man with a shotgun greeted you with the barrel pointed at your chest. 

“Sir, please! They’re after me!” You frantically looked around, fingers gracing over your very noticeable wound. 

“Jesus, you’re bleeding.” The man gasped, gun lowering as he looked around with you. There was nobody else, your attacker was long gone, a fog had begun to settle amongst the street. The atmosphere was unnerving, you hoped it played to your advantage. 

“Get inside, let’s patch you up.” 

His name was Tom Harris, you left quickly after you fed on him but your… lifelines were intertwined. You now knew him personally, knew everything about him. But there was something that made you feel sick, a knowingness of your deeds and a guilt that followed. You decided that night you had to leave town, but your hunger was bound to return on the trail. You ended up in Mississippi about thirty years ago, hunkered down in this cabin about ten. Your parents had hosted search parties for you, but you evaded them. 

You left over one hundred years ago, ever since your awakening you fed on people less and less, it took years , a long time of self-discipline and so much meditation but your hunger was under control at this point in time. You were damn proud of yourself for your feat, you hadn’t fed in so long that the memories you once shared with others were waning, slipping from your subconscious. You felt like yourself again, living out here by yourself was a big factor in your lifestyle. But you were lonely, and it didn’t help that your hunger was never satisfied. Feeding on animals kept you alive, but it was never as fulfilling as a human meal, never as savory, never as sweet.

So, as you stomped in the mud to check your traps, you couldn’t help but feel… bored. Years of living out a solitary lifestyle was the right thing to do, yet they never tell you how uneventful eternity could be. Unless you were being hunted by vampire hunters, somehow touring the world while avoiding the sun (been there, done that), or living in a vampire hoard your life had the potential of being bland. And bland it was. 

You approached your first trap, hands steady as you reached for the cage. A rabbit, exhausted from struggling, sat panting in the confinement. You tipped it upwards, reaching into the trap to grab the animal by the scruff as it gave one more kick in an attempt to regain its freedom. Your grip was iron, however, and soon you brought it up to your mouth.

“Sorry, fella.” You regarded the quick-breathing thing one more time before biting down on its neck, the squeal that emanated from the creature was nothing short of heart-aching but death claimed it quickly as you stood and bled it dry, ready to toss the corpse aside and repeat the process a few more times. Blood pooled down your chest and onto your simple slip dress, but the thing was bloodstained already and no amount of washing would lift the crimson. You did have one dress, however, one dress you kept pristine and tidy. You didn’t know why, you had no one to lie to or impress, yet something inside you guided you to keep it clean. Who were you not to listen to a rare harmless instinct?

After your “hunting,” you headed back for your home, kicking off your mud-caked boots at your front door before slipping inside. Your sock-clad feet carried you to your kitchen where you lit your stove and put on some water to boil. Taking a nice long bath sounded nothing short of lovely but, as you lived in a rural area, there was no plumbing. It didn’t bother you, you were used to doing it the old fashioned way; though, a part of you did wish you could’ve been born in this century, maybe in a bustling city as you enjoyed the technological advancements of the time. Alas, you’d have to enjoy them from afar. You grabbed a washcloth and dipped it into the warm water, cleaning up your chest, hands, and mouth.

As the water simmered on the stovetop, you stepped outside to grab your guitar; you had left it out there last night and hadn’t been able to retrieve it until now. The sun would be up soon, you’d have to enter your meditative state for a few hours just to pass the time. You had gotten really good at meditation, putting yourself in a trance-like state to make the afterlife easier. You grab the neck of your dark wood guitar, it was nothing fancy and the strings were a little worn but you were still able to make decent music with it, besides, there was nobody around to hear it.

The second your fingers brush the smooth wood and textured strings of your instrument, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight. Something was behind you. You turned to gaze into the treeline and were met with the flash of red. Anyone would think it was an animal, a deer maybe, but you knew. You had company. The undead kind. You could smell the affliction on the individual from here, you suspected they did the same. You plant a hand on your hip, you did not share memories with this vampire; even with your fleeting connections, you could tell. 

“Well? Come on out then.” You called out, getting a chuckle in response. But, he showed himself. A man stepped into the clearing, banjo strapped around his back, hanging precariously around his frame. He wore a wifebeater, suspenders tugged at his shoulders, slacks sat comfortably around his waist. He gave you an easy smile. You set the guitar down to fully regard him. 

“Been hearing ‘bout a hermit in the woods, didn’t expect a fellow child of the night.” He called out, approaching casually, hands in pockets. 

“Thought I’d be an easy target, did you?” You crossed your arms, sharing in this easy smile. You weren’t threatened; what was the worst he could do? Drain your nonexistent blood? Kill you again? No, there was a certain kinsmanship with vampires, a connection. Plus, you could protect yourself. But, he ignored your question, instead motioning to your guitar. 

“You play?” He asked, finally arriving at your porch. 

“I dabble.” You replied, tossing a glance to the instrument before motioning to the banjo he was carrying, “You?” 

“Course I do.” He paused before looking up at you, only separated from you by a couple of rickety wooden steps. “Didn’t catch yer name.”

“Considering I didn’t give it to you, that would be expected.” You cocked your head, peering down at the man before you. Something was off about his demeanor, his accent. You couldn’t place what exactly, but you noticed. He chuckled to himself, inspecting his shoes before resuming eye contact. 

Before he can say anything, you told him. He nodded, as if storing the information. 

“Remmick,” He replied, placing a hand on his chest and bowing his head slighting, humorously. 

“Well, Remmick , what brings you to my humble abode? If there is any other reason besides looking for a meal.” You questioned, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear and regarding him curiously. 

“Moon’s getting low,” he observed the sky, pointing upwards with a finger before bringing his hands back in front of him, clasped together. “It’ll be morning soon.” 

“Need a place to stay, is it?” You hadn’t had company in… a long time. You peer down at your attire, your slip dress still stained with red but you had cleaned your mouth and neck. Remmick appears to have done the same, not a speck of crimson on him. 

“If you’d be so inclined.” He requested, “Be out of yer hair come evenin’.” 

You only considered it for a moment, there was something about him that was… charming. It worried you but at the same time, it broke down a wall inside you. Maybe it was the fact that vampires have an un natural alluringness to them or maybe it was the fact that you were so incredibly bored and lonely but you came up with a decision in no time.  

You sighed, pushing open your door and beckoning him with a wave of your hand. “Come on in.” 

“Mighty kind of you.” He climbed your stairs, following as you slipped inside. Luckily, you kept a clean space. Clutter and dust annoyed you, dishes were cleaned as soon as you placed them in the basin, clothes were washed the second your hamper was full, etc. 

“Nice place you got ‘ere.” He commented, pulling his banjo over his head and resting it by the door. You could feel his eyes lingering on you as you pulled the pot off the stove.

“Appreciate it.” Taking a bath was well out of the window now, there was nothing he could do to you but he could sure as hell rob your home. You needed to keep an eye on him; a part of you was excited to have company, someone to talk to that wasn’t a stranger you paid to go into town for you. But, he was unknown nonetheless. 

“How’d you come to acquire it? If you don’t mind me askin’, of course.” He stood out of the way, polite. You pulled out one of two chairs that tucked snugly underneath your tiny dining table and beckoned for him to take a seat. He nodded thanks before lowering himself into the creaking wooden chair. His hands rested easily on the tabletop, fingernails tapping idly. 

“I bought it about ten years ago.” You replied, smiling to yourself as you recall the story. 

“Owner was awfully suspicious of me, only making deals in the night and asking him to invite me inside before it was mine.” You explained, sinking into the chair across from him and folding your hands in your lap. “But I had enough compensation to make him look the other way, made it worth his while.” 

“Didn’t turn ‘im?” He asked, curious and mildly offended.

“...No.” You said, picking at the skin of your thumb. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

He ignored that last part.

“So what, you jus’ feed on animals?” He asked, motioning to the blood on your dress. “I recognize the smell of rabbit’s blood on ya.” 

“I’ve had my hunting human days.” You said, crossing your ankles and settling into your chair. 

“But you, I take it, have a hivemind at this point, don’t you?” You stuck your nose up at the man in a playful manner, he tilted his head to the side as a chuckle escaped him.

“Somethin’ like that.” He allowed, flashing a fang. He didn’t have to hide around you, pretend, and you could have a conversation with someone without a burning hunger. It was nice. You did wonder how active he was, how known. The last thing you needed was vampire hunters at your door. Technically, you were a weaker vampire in your fasting lifestyle, you could hold yourself against other vampires but you weren’t sure how an encounter with a stocked up hunter would go. You also didn’t plan on finding out. 

“Mmmm, I’m sure you’ve racked up quite the body count, Mister.” You said.

“I’ve… influenced others into our cause.” He held his hands up, giving you a crooked, playful grin. You give him a look simply because you yourself didn’t agree with that take, which is why you lived the way you did.

“Aw, what’s that look, darlin’?” He asked, grin persisting. “Don’t approve?” 

“What other vampires do is not my concern. Mind your own, Remmick, and I’ll mind mine.” You stared at him head-on, a slight smile graced your lips. 

“Yes ma’am.” He held his hands up in surrender, chuckling lowly to himself. “Just curious on this lifestyle of yers, never seen much like it among the… community. ” 

“Well you know what they say about curiosity.” You warned, leaning forward as you planted your elbows on the table, holding your face up in your palms. 

“I ‘ear it’s bad for cats.” He quips, “But I am no feline.” 

There was a pause, just a quick breather before you looked away from his prying eyes and over to the shelf in the corner. 

“Wanna play cards?” You asked, gaze landing on the yellowing deck before returning to his. He bowed his head slightly, holding his hands out.

“By all means.”

You retrieved your cards, placing them on the table before sitting back down again. “You know cribbage?” 

He shook his head, you smiled.

“Want me to teach you?” Your eyes flicked past him for a moment, towards the heavy curtains that blocked out the sky. The sun had to have been crawling up now, you could hear the birds chirping. 

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Remmick said, his line of sight following yours momentarily before landing back on your face. 

“Of course,” You pulled your attention back, beginning to shuffle the deck in your hands. 

“If you have any questions, I won’t bite.” You joked, dealing six cards to each of you. 

“Shame.” He took his cards in his hands. You were caught off guard, but you wouldn’t show it. Back when you were alive, men flirted and courted frequently. You hadn’t had that sort of quip in a while despite the fact you looked the exact same as the day you died. 

“Hush and listen, you.” Your smile betrayed you and he mirrored your expression. His eyes were light, as they took you in. The glint of red was gone and replaced by the soft heat of candle and lantern light. He was… annoyingly attractive. 

You cleared your throat, this was proving to be an interesting morning. Well, more interesting than usual, anyways. 

Chapter Text

“Well now you’ve got to be cheating.” Remmick threw his cards down, you had won again. A sly smile spread across your lips, you were in fact not cheating but it felt good to be so skilled. You put your own cards flat against the table and glanced over at the clock. It had been about an hour since you started playing, a lot of the conversation had been about you and your time in Mississippi. You did notice he avoided the subject of himself, though you couldn’t figure out why . 

“Am I cheating or are you just bad at the game, Remmick?” You teased, leaning back in your chair so that the two front legs lifted off the ground. 

“Bad at the game and humble to your greatness.” He looked down at your feet. “Now, didn’t yer mama ever teach ya to sit in a chair properly?” 

“No, she didn’t do much except drink and sleep.” You shrugged, letting the legs fall back to the ground. Out of both your parents, you missed your father the most. Always a daddy’s girl, until the war took his mind and all he’d do was mumble and have night terrors. You had a broken family, momma was drunk long before the war but the absence of her husband only worsened her condition. The worst was when he was away fighting, the booze had eased its grip on her when your father returned. She had to be at least a little sober in order to care for him but at the end of the day, it was you caring for both of them.

“’m sorry to hear that.” He shook his head, looking down. “And yer father?” 

“The war changed him, he was never the same.” You said, looking past Remmick, not being able to share that while staring into someone’s eyes. “But I’ve shared enough about me.” You finally focus on him again. 

“You’ve been nothing but a mystery since you showed up, emerging from the woods.” You confessed your curiosity, wanting to know more about the man before you while also trying to justify your attraction to this stranger. Maybe if you knew more about him, it would be okay to admit to yourself you felt this way. 

“Not much to say, being honest. ‘m from North Carolina, can’t even remember when I was turned.” He lied through his teeth. Fine, you thought, if he wasn’t eager to tell you, then there was clearly something that was hurting him. Or at least, that’s what you wanted to believe. 

“I don’t believe you.” You said, bluntly. He looked a little taken aback before chuckling and looking down, avoiding your red-hot gaze. “But I won’t pry.” 

“‘ppreciate it.” He glanced past you, you knew immediately where he was looking. You felt a change of subject coming on. 

“You paint?” He asked, you follow the gaze to your easel. Looking back at him, you nodded. 

“Any work you’d like to show me? Awfully curious.” His hands rested lazily on his thighs as he sat comfortably in the chair. You don’t know why you noticed his posture, the ease of his pose. But you did, and if you were alive, surely you’d be blushing. 

“Sure, sure.” You stood up from the table, he followed suit and kept a respectable distance as you crossed the little living room. Behind your green floral couch was a couple of paintings you had completed “recently”. You, as your own worst critic, hadn’t hung them up yet. Instead they lived where you could not see them, where you could not judge. 

You pulled one out, it was a painting of your bedroom, moonlight poured in from the window and illuminated the room dimly. It wasn’t the most interesting subject matter but you thought you captured it accurately. 

“They take months to dry, being oil paintings. But this one is.” You handed it over, allowing his calloused hands to drift past yours and take the frame. 

“Well that is just lovely. Is this yer bedroom?” He asked, eyes traveling over the length of the canvas. He seemed really enthralled by it, really interested. It made you smile, just a little. It really was nice to have a person around, show your work to, converse with. 

“Yeah, just a few months back. I’ve since rearranged the room.” You held the other painting in your hands, image facing you as you hid the composition. The painting portrayed a rabbit in a trap on your kitchen table, lit by surrounding candles. You always thought you were able to replicate the terror in the creature’s expression pretty well, but all of a sudden you were too shy to show your work. Imposter syndrome, maybe, self doubt? 

“Now, whatcha got there?” He asked, setting the other painting down and gesturing over to what you held. 

“Oh it’s…” You trailed off before biting the bullet and turning the image around, he immediately goes to grab it with gentle hands, being sure not to touch the actual painting. 

“This is,” He started taking a second to whistle low and slow, “Well, this is just gorgeous, darlin’.”

That took you aback, you weren’t expecting such a genuine complement or that little pet name again. It made you feel… good. It was nice to be praised, to be recognized. 

“You think so?” You urge, looking for the warmth of a compliment again. You couldn’t help yourself, you were like a plant without water, all dried up and withered looking for any hydration. 

“Sure I do. I mean, look at the color gradation. An’ the texture in the overall piece is beautiful. The likeness is stunning, coulda swore this was a photograph, or like I’d seen it with my own eyes.” He gushes; your face feels hot, a sensation you were not convinced you could feel before. 

“Well, I do enjoy painting live subjects. Would really love to do portraits again. Haven’t been able to do many in recent years.” When you were alive, your family home was decorated with your work. Portraits of your mother and father, your family dog, Maggie, and extended family lined every hallway and wall. And of course, your still lifes and landscapes made their appearances too. But, all this to say that portraits were your thing before you died. You were so social in your day, now it was different. It had to be. 

“Well you could,” He trailed off, handing your paintings back to you so you could slide them back into place behind the couch, “You could paint me, if you’d like.” 

You didn’t hesitate to gasp and grab his forearm in disbelief. You would love to paint someone again, you would’ve done self portraits until your hand fell off but alas, no reflection. Him offering this was, in your mind, so generous. 

“Really?” You retract your hand, scolding yourself mentally for letting your excitement get the better of you. You weren’t exactly the pinnacle of manners, standing here in your blood stained slip dress and socks, but it felt too far to grab the man so suddenly. You wanted to pull out all the stops for your guest, if you had wine you would offer it, maybe some cheese and crackers but you had nothing. All you could do was create a welcoming environment and be the best host you could be. Who knew how long it would be before you had another person in your home? 

“Course, darlin’, I’d be honored.” He followed the movement of your hand as it came and went, he smiled. You weren’t sure what that smile meant, what he was thinking. But, you wasted no time guiding him back to the chair he was sitting in before.

“Well in that case, please get comfortable.” You busied yourself with grabbing your lantern and setting it on the table before him, adjusting it until the light source felt right. You were so excited, finally your passion for painting was renewed. You got to paint your favorite subject again, a person. 

“Wastin’ no time, are ya?” He chuckled, watching you as you rushed to get your easel, setting it up and pulling out the other chair so you could be comfortable while painting. 

“Nope.” You said, smiling.

When everything was all set up, you placed your little radio on the table too. You turned it on, letting whatever the station was playing fill the space with ambient noise before walking towards Remmick, hands wringing together. 

“Hmmmm.” You hummed staring down at him, you had to figure out how to pose him. You only really wanted to do his portrait, just a headshot. But you needed to decide what angle you wanted him to take, how the light hit him. You reached down to his chin, carefully tilting his face sideways so that he was looking past you. You tried to ignore the way your skin tingled at the sensation of touching skin that wasn’t yours, but it was so… nice. Everything about today was nice.

“That looks nice.” You decided, retracting your hand and retreating to your easel. “Don’t move.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You wiped your forehead, stretching out your back and examining your work. It had been about thirty minutes, not too long but you had a good underpainting going and were really nailing his features, his soft expression of amusement. The two of you talked idly the whole time, you learned he had not been in Mississippi long but that’s about the only modicum of lore he shared with you.

“Break time.” You decided, lifting your hands in the air and getting a good pop from your spine. He stands, cracking his neck before idly meandering to your mantle. You had trinkets, little souvenirs from your travels across the country. Fond memories attached themselves to the ones you kept, rocks from the lovely sights you’d seen, dried flowers, wooden boxes filled with shells, newspaper clippings; junk, really. But this junk was important to you, and you watched from your seat as he scanned the array. 

“Keepsakes?” He asked, looking but not touching. He turned his head to look at you.

“Yeah,” You started, itching your cheek, “From my travels.” 

“Very cute…” He looked at you funny, cocking his head and chuckling. 

“You have a little something right-” He mimicked where he was referencing, you mirrored his movement and touched your face again. 

“Well now you just added to it, here-” He walked over to you, taking his thumb and giving your cheek one swipe. “Got it.” 

You stared up at him, dumbfounded. The way his tender touch came and went left you wanting more. You felt like a vine rising to catch the rays of sunlight beaming down. The way he looked at you, so kind and compassionate. His lips parted slightly as he gazed down at you, you blinked right back up at him. There was silence. Something clicked in your mind, the chemistry between you now suddenly so much clearer. There was a pull, something you wanted to gamble on. 

In an instant you were up on your feet, you’re not sure who grabbed who first but your lips crashed together, fighting for dominance. You were dizzy, his wandering hands aggressively gliding over your body. Your thin slip dress did nothing to ease the sensation of his hands pulling your hips against his, your own hands going to card through his hair. This was instantaneous, a chemical reaction between the two of you. The kiss only grew hungrier, sloppier, more passionate as it crescendoed. His tongue met yours in a flash, the push and pull coming naturally. Your brain was still processing the turn around as he guided you towards the nearest wall, knocking into a shelf in the process, but you paid it no mind; you were too consumed in the man in front of you to groan about a mess. 

He broke from the kiss, slotting a knee between the two of yours as you were pinned against the wall. A string of saliva still connected you until the fragile web broke, you licked your lips; you could still taste him. Your hands wandered down to his neck, thumb brushing his jawline as the two of you stared at each other, catching your breaths. 

“Beautiful,” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the word barely above a whisper. His hands went to ghost over your thighs, slowly bunching the fabric of your dress until the hem was in between his fingers. Your own hands dragged down his chest, down down to his belt before you carefully pulled it from the buckle. You maintained eye contact all the while, pulling the leather through the loops before it hit the ground. 

“Darlin,’ you’re driving me crazy over here.” He gave you a weak smile, looking very much like he was at his limit with patience. You leaned in again, kissing him nice and slow before pulling away.

“Do something about it.” You replied, undoing the button of his pants and toying with his fly with your finger. 

“Oh, you don’t gotta tell me twice.” In one swift motion he lifted your shift dress up your body, you assisted him by holding your arms up, allowing him to toss it to the side as he admired your body. Now only standing in your simple bra and underwear, you felt exposed. You hadn’t had this kind of contact with another person in a while and you were afraid you were a little rusty. But, he puts all your fears at ease when he rested a hand on your hip and pulled you close, his other hand cradling your face as he brought you in for another kiss.

“Lovely,” He murmured, hands leaving you only to take his own shirt off and shucking it somewhere behind him. “You’re glowing.”

“That’s surprising considering I’m dead.” You teased, fingers interlocking behind his neck as you yourself took a moment to admire his body. He obviously kept a healthy lifestyle. He was strong, an active vampire. 

“Closest thing I’ve seen to the sun in a while. A long while.” He said, you felt your cold face heat up, a phantom feeling of the blood that once flowed through your body rushing to your face. Alas, you were incapable of blushing, but you felt it; and you rather suspected he did too. 

“You this big of a charmer to all the other lady vampires?” You asked, deflecting with humor. You were so giddy right now, he had you completely under his spell right now, like clay in his hands. 

“No ma’am. No I am not.” He implied there was something special about you, and you wanted to believe it. So you did, at least for today. 

“Come ‘ere.” He requested, guiding your face to his as he captured your lips with his, ensnaring your mouth with invigorated fervent movement. The two of you were practically dancing, the way your bodies moved in tandem. He leaned into you, your frame moved accordingly to accommodate for his invasion; you pushed up against him, chest pressed to his as the two of you practically tried to morph together.

Carefully, his hand untied your bra, one swift movement from his deft fingers had your chest bared to him in an instant. He wasted no time in grabbing a handful of you, the coarse skin of his palm contrasting the soft skin of your breast. You let out a little gasp, he took the opportunity to slide his tongue back into your mouth. You felt dizzy, this whole thing was entirely unexpected. A few hours ago he was a stranger emerging from the woods, now he was here with you pinned against a wall. 

“This okay?” He pulled back and murmured against your neck, hand gently, yet firmly, squeezing. Was that okay? Simple answer; yes, it was wonderful. The honest answer was that you hadn’t felt so good in a long long time. You hadn’t had sexual attention in a while, and your own hands could only go so far, do so much. You felt though, deep down, that you weren’t capable of growing bored with this touch, his touch. You had no idea where your paths would be headed after tonight but you knew that you would ride this high for as long as you could. 

“Yes,” You replied, dipping your head to find his lips again. 

After a moment of adjustment, your shaky hands worked at unzipping his fly and helping him shuck off his trousers all while keeping your mouth connected. It was sloppy and messy and nowhere perfect but it lit a fire in your stomach, burning away all nervousness and replacing it with need, with carnal want . So, as you both stood there tangled together, wearing nothing but your under clothes, you felt as though you were in the clouds. This didn’t feel real, it was so unexpected but so, so welcome nonetheless.

You wanted to take this to your bedroom, the last door of the short hallway you were pinned next to. All it took was one encouraging tug and you were broken from his embrace, allowing you both to catch your breaths as you motioned to the hallway. 

“Follow me.” You encouraged, finding his hand as you turned to walk towards the doorway. Your fingers interlocked as you gently brought him to the closed door. With a twist and a push, you revealed your clean, neat room to him. The bed was made, pillows fluffed. Anyone might have called you weird for being so clean while living alone, but you were thankful for it now. 

“Alright now,” He wandered into your room, getting a good look at it before giving his attention back to you. “Get on the bed.”

You just nodded, walking to the edge of the bed before sitting down. You planted your palms on your knees, watching as he meandered over to you, settling just before you. You looked down instinctually, he brought a finger to your chin and guided you to look up again, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Gotta look at me, darlin.’ Wanna see those eyes of yours, such pretty eyes.” He leaned down, planting each hand on either side of you on the mattress. He was right there, inches from your face as he studied you. You leaned in to place a chaste kiss to his lips once more, it was over as soon as it began. He smiled at the gesture. His compliments went straight to your core, you were all worked up and it was evident the way you couldn’t breathe and the way you trembled when you reached for him, one of your hands resting on one of his as it laid flat. 

“Now lay down for me, won’t ya?” He requested, his eyes drifted down to your bare chest, watching the steady rise and fall. He was drooling, a common occurrence for a vampire during feeding or… other exciting activities. He brought the back of his hand to his mouth, wiping it away as he watched you lay back. You let your arms splay out beside you, bent at the elbow. Your hair, a mess of subtle waves surrounded you like a halo, you stared at him from your position and he stared right back.

He whistled low, cocking his head as he took in the sight of you. “You are somethin’ special, you know that?” He crawled on top of you, one knee slotted between yours again as he gently spread you open. He propped himself up on one hand beside your head as the other dragged a finger down your body before arriving at the hem of your underwear. You shivered, your hands moving to his shoulders. 

“Whatever you say.” You laughed, not believing you were anything “special.” You were just a girl, you lived a simple life. Nothing special about it. 

“Hush up,” He dipped below the fabric, finger taking no time to find your clit and rub tight circles around it, “How’s that?” 

Your head tipped back in a silent moan, your eyes fluttered closed as he worked and all you could do was let out a quiet whine. It astonished you how quickly it felt this good, how he was able to find a rhythm that worked on you so fast. Your legs wrapped around him, not pulling him closer but instead steadying your trembling, allowing you to find purchase. 

“G-good.” You managed. 

“Come on, darlin.’ Eyes on me.” He said, you pried your eyes open, watching him watch you, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. It occurred to you that he wanted to watch your expression, every twitch of your face, the way your eyebrows knitted together in an upturned manner. He wanted to see it all, a fact that made that phantom blush come rushing back. 

He slid his thumb over your clit, taking over for his finger which he slipped inside you, then two. You took him easily, the attention to your bundle of nerves enough to have you considerably wet. Your mouth fell open as a moan escaped your lips. You could feel it as he pumped in and out of you, your orgasm was visible. 

“Just like that.” He purred, wearing a proud smile, “So pretty.”

You whimpered at the praise, fingers digging into him as you approached your peak. 

“Remmick…” The knot in your stomach tightened, “I’m close.” 

“Cum for me, baby, I know ya can.” He pumped faster, you could only gasp as you were tipped over the edge, falling into a release that had your legs shaking around him. He pumped you through it, milking every second as you came down, vision becoming clearer and you found him through the fog. All you could offer was a loopy smile, your head lowering back down to the comforter. 

“Hang in there, we’re not done yet.” He leaned down to kiss your lips quickly before reaching down and tugging at his underwear, then yours. Soon, you were both free, and you couldn’t help but stare at him. He was built, a toned body that was above average; you should’ve known he’d be big. 

“You wan’ somethin’?” He asked, stroking himself and rubbing precum over his pink tip. “Ask for it.”

You didn’t think twice, your mouth was open in an instant, putting on the sweetest voice you could muster while being so wracked with want.

“Please, Remmick, I want you to fuck me.” Your hands cupped his face, “Please.” 

“Tha’s a good girl.” He praised you before nudging your folds with his tip. “Ready?” He looked at you earnestly, you just nodded maybe a little too enthusiastically. He spit into his hand, rubbing the length of his cock before aligning again. 

He pushed in, slowly and as gently as possible for his size. It slid in easily, the mixture of his saliva and your sheer wetness allowed him entry, even if it did stretch you wide. You moaned wantonly, feeling lucky to be in the middle of the woods with no neighbors; you could be as loud as you wanted. He just gasped, burying his face in your neck as he started rocking back and forth, slowly at first but soon began to pick up speed.

He leaned back to look at you, you tried your best to remember to keep your eyes on him, no matter how much you wanted to drape an arm over your eyes and just feel . You could tell he got off to eye contact, the intimate expressions that flashed across your face. Your eyebrows slid into a slope, mouth open as you fought for air, to catch your breath. Then he hit a sweet spot inside of you and you let out a whine, high pitched and perfectly lewd. 

“God, what are you doing to me, woman? Singing so sweetly for me.” He pumped harder, standing up fully and grabbing onto your hips as he guided you against his body in tandem with his movement. You were in pure bliss, you almost didn’t notice the way his accent was waning, faltering. You would ask him about it later but right now you needed to feel everything, give into this entirely and let your mind be consumed with nothing but this moment. 

His grunts turned into moans as he repeated your name, singing your praises. “Feel so good,” “Beautiful girl,” “My darlin,’” but one word, one tiny little word had your second orgasm running at you with full speed; “ Perfect.” 

You were a flawed person, anything but perfect but hearing it from his mouth made you want to believe it. “Remmick,” You panted, “Gonna cum,” 

“Cum on my cock,” He said your name, like it was the sweetest thing he could call you, “Go on, baby, I’ve got you.” He moved a hand from your hip to your mouth, gently guiding his ring and middle finger past your lips. You took them, running your tongue along his fingers before he pulled back, moving to your clit and rubbing in circles. 

It was just what you needed, that extra bit of friction that had you tumbling over the edge. You moaned, quiet this time but maybe that was because your head felt like it was underwater. 

“So good for me,” He sounded hoarse, thrusts becoming sloppy. 

You were dazed at the intensity of your orgasm, fucked stupid. You almost didn’t hear his warning, but thank God you did.

“I’m gonna cum.” He said, “Where do you want it?” 

“Inside.” You didn’t hesitate, you didn’t get this chance often so you were going to make the best of it. Plus being dead was one hundred percent effective when it came to birth control; you couldn’t get pregnant. 

He just nodded, mouth slack as he watched where your bodies connected before tipping his head back and cumming inside you, just as requested. He grunted with the relief of it all, wiping the droplets that had accumulated on his brow with the back of his hand. 

After a moment, he pulled out of you, pulling his underwear back up before laying next to you on the bed. For a moment you both just watched the ceiling, the collective sound of quiet panting filling the stagnant space. You were the first to break the silence. 

“That was…” You ran your hands down your face, trying to ignore your twitching legs. You don’t finish your sentence but he chuckled anyway. 

“I get what you mean.” He rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand as he observed you. 

“You’re droolin,’ darlin.’” He teased you, “Was that a good one?” 

You sighed because yes, it was a good one . Best one since you could remember. You peered over at him, watching him watch you.

“Yeah, yeah it was.” 

Chapter Text

You walked out of your room, panties sitting snugly around your hips as you went on the hunt for your bra and dress. He followed you out, he himself looking for his tank top. You were in the middle of laughing at some corny joke he made about how sexy you looked when you spotted your garments, they happened to land very close to each other so you scooped them up and untangled them in your hands. After pulling on your bra and slipping the silky dress over your head, you turned to assess his progress, finding him pulling his suspenders over his shoulders. He was very handsome, even more so when he was off guard, when he didn’t know you were looking at him. But, honestly he could be doing anything and still be good-looking. 

Even though you had just put your clothes on, after your recent activities; feeding, fucking, you really felt like taking a bath. It was your original plan, but after everything that just happened, you felt better about it now. You walked over to your stove, once again putting a flame on before moving the pot of water over it. 

“Care for a bath?” You asked, tossing a glance over your shoulder as he approached you from behind. 

“With you? Or are you insinuating somethin’? ‘Cause I’ll have you know I bathed rather recently.” He planted his hands on your hips, pulling your body against his. 

“I’m not insinuating anything, of course I meant with me.” You scoffed, allowing his movement and leaning into his touch. It had been mere hours since you met and already you were acting like you’ve known each other for a lifetime. You were milking any and all attention you could get from him. It felt lovely to be doted on, treated like you were the most interesting, beautiful woman in the world. 

“Well then I’d love a bath.” He pressed a kiss against your neck, you sighed. Turning in his grasp as his hands ran over you made you realize how euphoric this truly was. You leaned up, pressing your lips into his gently, letting him deepen it as his hands moved to cradle your head. You pulled away before it could get anymore heated, giving him a little smile as his hands fell away from you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He strummed his banjo idly, resting easily at the kitchen table. His ankle was propped over his knee, fingers taking turns pressing strings as he made up a tune. He hummed to himself, lost in thought as you busied yourself with the last of bath preparations. Your bathroom was dark, the only window covered up by a large thick curtain. To combat this, you lit candles, propping them on the bathroom shelf, wash basin, and small table that held your soap next to the bathtub. It made for a dimly lit atmosphere, the soft flickering of flames painting the cabin walls like an orange Aurora Borealis.

You poured the last of the hot water into the tub which was thankfully large enough for two, just barely, if you both puzzle pieced your bodies to fit. You walked out of the bathroom, watching him from the entrance to the hallway. He must’ve felt your eyes on him as he looked up and saw you. He gave you a smile, setting his banjo aside and uncrossing his legs. 

“It’s ready.” You said, gesturing to the hallway; the symbolic gateway to the bathroom, to intimacy. 

“Perfect.” He stood up, following closely behind you as you made your way to the dim room. You stepped inside, closing the door behind you both once he joined you. You could make out his features illuminated by the candlelight; everything was soft in the moving gleam. Being a vampire was a life of sharp sensations; hunger, fear, pain, yearning… it's a sickness. It felt nice to have a moment like this, like the feeling of fresh sheets against naked skin. 

You walked over to him, he watched as you did so; silent. You slowly hooked your fingers underneath his suspenders, pulling them from his shoulders. You pulled the tank top from his trousers, goosebumps breaking out over his skin as your fingers graced the skin of his abdomen as you lifted up and over his head. He reached out then, moving the thin strap of your dress off your bare shoulder, then the other one. You shimmy out of the slip, letting the fabric pool around your feet. He worked at his trousers while you peeled off your socks. Soon enough you were both bare standing there, breath hitched and hearts racing. 

You’d already seen him today once before, but the sight was a welcome one. You couldn’t see yourself getting bored of him, especially when he looked like that. He seemed to be in the same boat as his mouth fell slightly agape while he stared. His eyes flicked down to your chest, your legs, back up to your face. Your instinct was almost to cover up, cross your arms over your breasts and look away. But you don’t, instead you took a deep breath and glanced towards the tub, being the first one of you both to break the staring contest.

Without a word, you made your way over, swinging one leg over the edge and testing the temperature with your foot. It was hot, almost too hot but with no blood circulation in your corpse body, heat was welcome. You nodded to yourself before looking back at Remmick. 

“It’s hot but it feels nice.” You said, swinging your other leg over and lowering yourself into the tub. You moved so your legs were folded against your chest, giving him as much room as you could. He followed you, walking up to the tub before settling into the designated spot you had saved for him; you watched the way his body moved, entranced by his physique. His biceps worked and flexed as he lowered into the water, hands grabbing onto either side of the bathtub. His chest raised and lowered with every breath, the toned line of his stomach tightened as he reacted to the temperature before relaxing completely. He sat back lazily, knees bent and legs parted slightly as they rested against the curved walls. Your eyes just dipped lower, following his abs down below the surface of the water, down to his v line, down-

“My eyes are up here.” He chuckled, you blanched, immediately pulling your gaze towards his face. He wore a cocky smile, you had been caught. 

“Oops.” Was all you had to say on the matter. You leaned back, letting your spine hit the metal tub as he regarded you carefully.

“What?” You asked, suddenly feeling self conscious. What was he thinking? Why was he such a mystery?

“Just lookin’ atcha. Yer very pretty.” He splayed his arms out in either direction, resting against the rim. The fingers on his right hand drummed against the metal, he was thinking about something. 

“Thank you.” You said, because what else could you say? After a moment, your eyes fell away from him even though he was still staring at you, mulling something over. The only sound for a moment was the slosh of your arm rising from the water to reach for your shampoo. You were just about to tip the bottle into your hand when he spoke up. 

“I’m actually from Ireland.” He said, so matter-of-fact it made you pause. Ireland? You knew he was hiding something with his North Carolina story but you hadn’t expected an entirely different country. You set the bottle down, giving him your full attention.

“I talk like this, make up stories about my past ‘cause it’s easier to lie than to talk about it.” He confessed, still wearing that southern twang. You nodded, understanding. Obviously there was some baggage. 

“I’m old, darlin’, very old. Been ‘round a long time and I’ve learned some things.” He said, eyes drifting downwards. 

“How old?” You asked, curious and trying to sound understanding and nonjudgmental. 

“Fifth century, just when the Christians invaded.” He finally looked back at you, maybe trying to gauge your reaction. Your eyes widened slightly, he was by far the oldest vampire you had ever met. But it didn’t matter, you were old enough that the years just blended together, you couldn’t imagine what time felt like to him. 

“What happened?” You asked, prying where you knew you shouldn’t but the urge to know him got the better of you. 

“Everythin’ changed, my community was ripped apart. Our lands were stolen by Christian invaders, my whole way of life was washed away...” He said, voice trailing off as he readjusted the way he was sitting, sinking further into the water.

“I toured Europe for centuries, came to America a handful of times after it was colonized, went back to Ireland before boarding a boat bound for Boston once again.” Now as he spoke, his false accent slipped away, replaced by an Irish cadence mixed with centuries of travel and new history. It must’ve been hard, being displaced for so long. He really had no roots anymore, you were surprised he remembered his human life at all. 

“That was twenty one years ago. Been traveling state by state ever since.” He wrapped up his account of his shortened story, glancing back up to you. All you could do was stare, but then… after a moment, you reached forward, draping your hand over the one of his that rested on the rim. You felt sorry for him, honestly. Never being quite religious yourself, you liked to think you saw things objectively. And objectively , it was sad what happened to all the countries old Christians converted. So much history and tradition lost. You felt similar about the way the United States came to be but you really had no choice in the matter, nor a hand in the bigotry practiced today. You kept to yourself, you had your opinions but nowhere to put them. You had nobody to talk to… until now.

“I’m sorry.” You stated, simply. You gave his hand a squeeze, “How’d you turn?”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t even remember.” He glanced at your hands, turning his palm to interlink your fingers. “It’s a blur.” 

“I get it.” And you really did, there was so much that happened that you don’t remember. Time will do that; and when you have eternity to forget, you tended to do so. 

“What about you?” He asked, cocking his head. “You mentioned it earlier but didn’t delve into details.”

You had no problem talking about how you were turned, it was traumatic but it happened. You felt better knowing you had power over the situation now; the man who bit you wouldn’t rule your mind, control your fear or steal your life, it was your story to tell. 

“I was attacked getting medicine for my father. Back in Lewes, a long time ago. Though, I suppose not long compared to what you’re used to.” You digressed, thinking back to the night of your turning. 

“You said your father was in the war?” He clarified, you liked that he remembered. He listened, really listened to you. 

“Yeah,” You confirmed, nodding. When your father was gone, momma was a miserable drunk. When her words weren’t slurred, she was silent. She worried sick about your father, clutching every letter he sent her close to her chest all while opening another bottle. It was saddening, it left all the house chores to you as a teen and young adult; a lot on your shoulders. Despite your parents’ best effort, you never saw them again after you turned. Last you heard, your mother drank herself to death in your absence and your father, with no one to care for him, withered away until one day taking his own life. That was so long ago, yet you felt the wounds of their passing sting like they were made yesterday. 

He must’ve noticed the way your face turned sour at your pondering as he squeezed your hand this time. 

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, you didn’t mind. 

“My parents, unfortunately they didn’t die of old age.” You stated ominously, “Father killed himself and momma was drunk up until her last breath.” 

You sighed, looking down.

“Or so I’ve heard.” 

“I’m very sorry.” He said, dipping his head in an attempt to regain your gaze. “You deserve a family.” 

“Kind of hard to do when you’re… like us .” You said, thinking about how lonely your life really was. Turning people didn’t appeal to you anymore; while it did satisfy your hunger, it also connected you to others. You liked it when your mind was your own, no invaders or memories you didn’t experience. It took years of honing your mind to chase away your old victims’ thoughts, but you did it. You had no intention of falling back into the routine, being the monster people expected you to be. 

“I’ve been looking for a community for years,” He says, leaning back into a reclined position, back against the tub. “They never last.” 

“So the Christians… they took your home?” You asked, finally looking up at him. 

“My father’s land, our home, everything. All in the name of God .” He said that name with disdain, and you didn’t blame him. 

“And now, as vampires, we are forsaken.” You chimed in, wanting to make it clear that your relationship with religion was not positive. As an undead being, you were considered evil by most people, many religions and almost every culture. The fact that you needed blood to survive didn’t help, it just made people see the fangs and not the person you once were. 

“Exactly.” He commented, an understanding now present between you. No judgment, only an unspoken appreciation for one another. 

“I’m rather fortunate, I think.” You said, kind of changing the subject. “I’m all the way out here, no witnesses, no gossip to what I am. No hunters knocking at my door, the Church, curious kids, nothing.” 

“Have you ever had an encounter with hunters? Close calls?” He asked. 

Of course you had, especially in your early days of feasting and killing. You had so many close calls but, when they were after you, you were at your strongest. You were frequently hunting, a never-ending well of strength and power. If they confronted you today, having only been surviving on animal blood, you had no doubt you’d not stand a chance. Especially now that a vampire’s weaknesses were common knowledge. 

“Yeah, a couple.” You said, “You?”

“Of course. I’ve had to flee from quite a few places, leave what I’ve built behind again and again.” He cringed, a harsh memory no doubt crossing his mind. 

“I’m sorry.” You felt bad for him, you knew what it was like to leave things behind but never to that extreme and never so many times. 

“Water’s getting cold, darlin’. Better hurry.” The nickname stuck through his dialect switch. It sounded different with the Irish twist but the word still rang through your ears the same and struck your core with want again. You nodded, leaning forward to dip your head underwater before resurfacing. You watched as he did the same, taking a second to admire his back. 

You grabbed your shampoo, squirting a dab into your palm before bringing it to your head. With your fingers you scrubbed deeply into your scalp; foam fell from your damp hair onto the water’s surface, swirling around. You handed the bottle to him, he mirrored your motions. Something on his neck flashes with the candlelight, you do a double take and realize he’s wearing a chain. 

“Never saw that before.” You reached out to hold it with your fingers, getting a better look. “Not silver obviously.”

“Stainless steel.” He said, you glance up at him and chuckle. He was accumulating a mountain of foam atop his head, you take your hand to cup a handful off the top. 

“What?” He asked, grin growing to match yours. 

“How much did you use?” You asked, blowing the bubbles off your palm and towards his face. He swats at it, laughing. 

“Too much, I assume?” He joked, you nodded. 

“Maybe just a bit.” You scooped some off the top and planted it on the sides of his head. “Now you look like the men of my time, a very fashionable powdered wig.”

“Is it a good look?” He was fully smiling now, his eyes shone with humor. He had a really cute smile. 

“Wonderful, perfect, all the good adjectives.” You retreat, grabbing your mason jar off the tubside table and dunking it under. You rinsed your hair out before handing him the jar as well. While he made busy with his own hair, you turned to grab the soap and a rag before rubbing the bar on the towel and scrubbing your arm. 

“Get your back?” He offered, setting the jar down. 

“Sure, thank you.” You turned in your seat, handing off the soap and showing your back to him. He gently collected your hair before setting it over your shoulder. It was such a tender gesture, your breath hitched at the movement. Carefully, he started scrubbing your back. You felt the froth, smelled the lavender scent. The space was filled only with the sound of bated breath and water that trickled down Remmick’s arm into the pool below. After about a minute of cleaning, he guided your shoulders to turn back around. 

“Return the favor?” You asked, offering your hand for him to give you the soap. His lips upturned into a genuine expression as he nodded. 

“Don’t need to ask me twice.” He turned around and you took a second to trace the definition of his back with your finger. You could feel yourself begin to drool again, taking a second to wipe the corner of your mouth before taking the rag to his back and scrubbing. 

“Thank you.” He said to the wall, you almost didn’t hear him. “You’ve been very kind.”

“I forgot how much I missed hosting… you’re very welcome.” 

“Offer this service to all your guests, do you?” He turned his head to side-eye you and you take your finger and apply pressure to his side, he jerks in response. 

“No, actually this is a first for me.” You hummed, taking the mason jar and running water down his back, collecting all the suds. 

“Hard to find good company like you.” He said, turning back around. For you it was hard to find company at all, but you did that on purpose. But now, here you were. He was a vampire, just like you. You were individuals, having to learn each other from scratch. It made you feel human, feel alive. Finally, you had good conversation, a person to paint, someone to joke with… sex! You were having sex for the first time in a long time and it was wonderful. It helped that he was good at it, and took your mediocre experiences to a whole new level. You were back on the horse, so to speak. Even if it was just for a day, you had company. You had Remmick.

You leaned in and kissed him, a sweet peck that said everything you didn’t have to. After, you stood up, stepping over the ledge and looking back at him over your shoulder. 

“You’re gonna get pruny.” You laughed, taking in the way his eyes dipped down your back. You picked up two towels, turning around and holding one out for him to take.

“Right.” He gets up, water rushing down his body before finding its way back into the pool. He steps out, walking over to you and taking the towel. He drags it through his hair, dabbing it on his neck to pick up any excess water. You make busy wringing out your waves before wrapping it around your chest just as he wraps his around his waist. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After your bath, you both got dressed. You picked out a simple sailor style dress, pitch black in color as to hide the bloodstains. You took a risk when you sat down to resume your painting of him, any of these paints would easily spoil your dress. You didn’t have many clothes to begin with, you didn’t need them, but you wished you could keep them tidy. Being a vampire meant messy eating, and you had to find work-arounds to keep presentable clothes. Well, mostly presentable. Though, it didn’t matter. You weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

You dabbed the brush against the canvas, lost in thought and concentration. You peered over at him again, he was a very good model. He sat still, didn’t ask a lot of questions or complain. You supposed in living so long, you found ways to entertain your mind. You were making good progress, you had nice texture and accurate lighting in the piece. You followed the soft swoop of his nose down to the line of his lips, creating shadow. The colors you had mixed up were a perfect match to what your eyes saw, it was a skill that took you a long time to learn but at this point you could mix colors in your sleep. 

After a while, you weren’t sure how long, you felt like you arrived at a good place to stop. You added the eye-shines, leaning back to inspect that you hadn’t missed anything before signing your work at the bottom. 

“Okay,” You said, standing up and dusting your hands. “I think we’re done.” 

His head turned to look over at you before he stood, holding his shoulder while making circles with his elbow, stretching it out. “Can I see?” 

“Of course.” You stepped away from the easel, letting him step into view and assess his likeness. You personally thought it looked a lot like him, your proportions were there and shading accurate. But you wanted him to like it.

“Holy… darlin’, this is just fantastic.” He brought his hand up to his face, chin tucked between his pointer and thumb. He took it in, really looked at it. The ghost of a smile shone on his lips before he spoke again.

“Talented, beautiful, kind.” He turned to you, “Do you have any flaws?” 

You knew he was kidding, complimenting you but you knew what you were; a flawed being. It’s why you hid away, why you kept to yourself. You weren’t the devil, that was a common misconception; but you were an evil being. Your soul would not find Heaven, Valhalla, The Happy Hunting Ground, be reincarnated, or find any sort of purchase after you died. Once the lifeline was cut, that was it. Or so you were told. 

“Just a few.” You said sweetly, hands clasped behind your back as you propped a leg out and dug your heel into the ground idly. “Happy you like it, though.” 

“Like it? Baby, I love it. Looks just like me. Maybe slightly more handsome, but I am flattered.” He said, taking your hand from behind your back and bringing it to his lips, he pressed a small kiss into your knuckles; a charming gesture. 

“You’ll have to teach me.” He continued, taking his eyes off the painting and looking at you.

“Teach you what?” You chuckled, not sure what he was getting at.

“To draw and paint, of course.” He was smiling but you could tell he was being genuine. 

“Really?” You said, taking your turn to smile, but your bubble was soon popped as you realized you had run out of sketching paper weeks ago. The only canvases you had left were huge, not suitable for learning. 

“Sorry Remmick, but I don’t have the materials. I’m out of paper, no canvases good for beginners, plus I don’t have the funds to get new supplies right now.” You looked down, feeling bad for not being able to fulfill his request. 

“How do you usually get money?” He asked, taking your chin and lifting it so you were looking at him.

“I sell things. Sometimes paintings, books I’ve read a million times, anything I can come up with.” It wasn’t a very sustainable business, but you had no other choice. 

“Tell you what.” He started, dropping your hand so he could rummage through his pockets. 

“I’ll give you this right here,” He pulled out a few gold coins, all currency you had never seen before. But they were gold alright, real gold. “And you keep it for yourself. I’ll come back soon with what you need, all you gotta do is write me a list.”

You were speechless. You couldn’t take his money, this stuff had to be older than you were. But the prospect of him coming back had your undead heart racing. 

“I couldn’t possibly-” You started, but were soon cut off.

“Of course you can.” He unfolded your fingers, setting the coins in your palm. 

“But how are you going to get supplies if you give me all your money?” You clutched the coins, feeling the weight of real gold against your hand. 

“There’s more where that came from, trust me darlin’.” He gave you a look that told you not to worry, he’d be fine. 

“I’ve got to get going.” He spoke low, as if it pained him to say so. You hadn’t even realized the sun had set, but you could hear the crickets now. 

“The next time you’ll see me I’ll have whatcha need.” He brought his hands to cradle your face, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

“Promise?” You gazed up at him like a deer gazing at headlights.

“I promise.” 

Chapter Text

But that was two and a half weeks ago. No, it wasn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, but you were growing restless. One taste of companionship and all of a sudden it had you pacing your house like a dog waiting to be let outside. Right now it was the middle of the night and soon you would go outside to check your traps like you did every night, feed, retreat, sit on your porch and play guitar or read a book. Like clockwork, your life was repetitive. 

You were in the middle of rearranging your living room. You pushed the small loveseat couch to the opposite wall, placing your easel in the now available corner. You scooched your rug over before pushing the little coffee table over it and positioning it in front of the loveseat. You kept the bookshelf where it was, not wanting to take every book and knickknack off and put it back on; though if this solitude kept up, you supposed you’d have to just to keep your mind occupied. You stood back, planting your hands on your hips as you stared at the new living space. It looked good, made the room more spacious which is what you were going for so you mentally patted yourself on the back. 

You turned around and headed towards your kitchen, picking up a hand towel and dabbing your forehead. Moving heavy antique furniture was not for the weak, plus you hadn’t fed in a day, running on fumes. You were wearing something light, a la garçonne (a drop waist flapper dress) dress you had gotten during the Roaring Twenties. It was dated but so beautiful. It had a sash tied just at your hips, halter neckline, beaded tassels cascading down the skirt and bust along with sparkling beads being sewn directly onto the garment. It was a deep red, you forgot you had it until you cleaned out your small closet, finding a box of vintage items throughout your decades of living. In it, you found this dress, the coat you had on when you were turned, which was still covered in blood, and heeled boots from the late 1800s. You also had those shoes on, the old leather holding up against its age but you had to replace the laces. That was fine, you thought, you were happy to wear a blast from the past; even if it did mix trends from different times, you felt pretty. You helped this look by tying your hair in a simple half-up half-down style with pieces pulled out to frame your face. 

You were just about to set the towel on the counter when you heard something, a creak. You tuned your ears to focus on the sound, wondering if it was the cabin settling, a critter in the roof, or something else entirely. But then a knock rang out from the doorway, three taps. Your heart practically fell through your stomach as you approached the door slowly. Yes, it could be Remmick. But it also could be anyone else, maybe even hunters. Your hand slowly grasped the doorknob, barely beginning to turn it when he spoke.

“Darlin’, it’s me, open the door.” A muddy accent of traveling for a thousand years floated through the wooden plank of a door, your breath suddenly tangled in your throat. In a moment you threw the door open, greeted by the sight of a toothy-grinned vampire. He wore a casual button-up green shirt rolled up to his forearms untucked from his blue jeans, and boots. He was carrying a canvas backpack, his banjo, and in his hand he held a bottle of what appeared to be wine. 

“Remmick,” You breathed out, your lungs finally functioning again, “Come in, come in.” 

You stepped aside, letting him in with the magic words. His hands caught your attention, curious about what he was carrying but also getting lost in the veins and the way his hand flexed around the bottle. You cleared your throat, eyes returning to his face as he passed you.

“Thank you. I come bearing gifts.” He smiled, setting his backpack down on the dining room table and banjo propped in the corner. He lifted his head, attention drifting from his pack to your newly arranged living room. “You’ve made some changes.” 

“Got bored. Let me see what you brought.” You peeked your head over his shoulder to gaze at the pack and unlabeled bottle. 

“Alright, alright. Patience is a virtue, you know.” He opened the pack, you could see a couple of small canvases and a leather bound book. You got excited, giddy where you stood. He kept his promise.

“Canvases,” He pulled them out, setting them down, “Sketchbook,” He set that down as well, “And I didn’t know if you had pencils so I brought a variety. Charcoal and regular graphite.” 

You had to take a deep breath, blinking away tears.

“Wow Remmick, I don’t know what to say.” You had your fingers resting on your lips, eyes wide with wonder as you looked over the haul. It was the kindest anyone had been to you in God knows how long. When people bought you things, it was because you paid them and they did it reluctantly. But this was different, he did this because he wanted to learn from you, because he liked you. A crazy thing to think about. 

“You don’t have to say anything.” He stalked towards you, hands finding your hips as he pulled you against him. He brought one of his hands up to your face, guiding you by your chin to rest at the perfect angle for him to lean down and kiss you. His lips pressed against yours, simple and sweet before your hands floated up to link around his neck. He hummed as you both opened your mouths in tandem, tongues meeting before you closed them again. Rinse and repeat this cycle and soon he had you pinned to the wall, mouths still tangled together.

“What’s in the bottle?” You asked breathlessly before planting small kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheek and nose.

“Hm?” He replied, dipping his head down to nip at and kiss your neck. You wanted to squirm with how great it felt, the gentle touches and attention that he lavished you with.

“The bottle you brought, what’s in it?” You asked again, your hands traveling up his chest and tangling in his dark locks. You used your nails to gently scratch across his scalp, nape, and shoulders, smiling at the way his skin broke out in goosebumps and the small groan he let out. He finally lifted his head to look at you, slightly panting as he glanced at the bottle. 

“You’re gonna love this.” He separated from you, returning to the dining room table and picking up the bottle in question. 

“This is bloodwine.” He explained, “It’s almost entirely alcohol, said to have been made with shriveled grapes possessed by spirits who did cruel deeds during life.” He uncorked the bottle, lifting the neck to his nose and giving it a whiff. 

“Though that’s just a bunch of hocus pocus.” He sets the bottle down, “The important thing is it's such a potent level of alcohol that it’s dangerous for mortals to consume but just enough to get vampires tipsy, maybe even drunk.” 

You pushed off the wall, coming over to stand by him and taking the bottle when it was presented to you. You had heard of bloodwine, never believed it was real though. The thing about being a vampire is that normal alcohol didn’t do anything to your undead bodies. You couldn’t get buzzed, tipsy, or drunk. You held the bottle up to your nose, immediately being hit with the notes vanilla, blackberry, and… rose? Maybe? You couldn’t tell. But one thing was for certain, this was a strong concoction. The alcohol smell made you want to sneeze, instead you just rubbed your nose and set the bottle down.

You had a complicated relationship with alcohol, your mother was so miserably drunk all the time that you were cautious of drinking at all. Then, you died and up until that point you had only drank socially. You had never actually been drunk before but you had more than enough time to make up your mind on the matter. You were not your mother, her addiction would not control you.

“Of course, you don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.” He added, hand on hip. “I was just… excited. To share this with someone.” He gestured to the bottle. It was cute, he wanted to share things with you, things he liked. You wanted to share things with him too; your home, your company, your body . And now you would share a drink with each other. Unbeknownst to him, this was a big milestone for you. You were conquering a fear, overcoming an obstacle that had followed you around all your life and bled into your undead one. 

“Oh, I want to.” You said, turning around to open your cupboard. You retrieved two glasses, setting them on the table. 

“I don’t have wine glasses,” You admitted, leaning against the table top, “So this will have to do.”

“Any glass is a wine glass if there’s wine in it, darlin’.” He smiled, taking the bottle in his hand and pouring the thick red liquid into your cup. He stops at about halfway, tilting the neck up before moving to his own glass. You picked yours up, swirling the wine around and watching how the almost syrupy texture coated the walls. It looked a lot like blood, but you supposed that was all in the name. 

“Cheers.” He lifted his cup towards you, you happily clinked yours against it. 

“Cheers.” You gave it a sip, instantly cringing. It burned a bit, and if you were mortal it would’ve killed you, but the taste was not what you were expecting. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t sweet like the vanilla notes would’ve suggested. It was tart, with hints of vanilla and berry but tart nonetheless. 

But what you really loved was the way it seemed to warm your body up as it traveled down your throat and into your stomach. Your ears were heating up, face too. 

“You’ve got some color.” He mirrored with his own face, pointing vaguely at his cheeks. You brought a hand up to touch where he was pointing. He was right, it was toasty. This sensation was completely alien to you; you only got this rush from feeding on people, which you did a long, long time ago. 

“I can feel it.” You smiled, taking another, larger sip. 

“Pace yourself now.” He chuckled, setting his cup down, “This is strong stuff.” 

You nodded, setting the cup down.

“Right, come here.” He reached over, gently grabbing you by the nape and tugging you towards him. You didn’t have a moment to react, make a sound or say anything when he kissed you but you didn’t hesitate to reciprocate. By now you two had a rhythm worked out, a sweet melody your mouths followed as they moved against each other. You were quick to grab onto his shoulders just as his hands slid down to your waist, squeezing. 

“I like this,” He said, leaning back to look at your dress, then moving his eyes up to look at your hair, “and this.” He lifted a hand to gently twirl one of your framing pieces around his finger.

“You look very pretty.” 

“Even if it’s dated?” You asked, fishing. 

“Darlin’, when you’ve lived as long as you have, I think you surpass trends.” He chuckled, and he was right. There was a certain point where you didn’t care about what was popular of the time. Every trend seemed to muddle together, you couldn’t keep up and you gave up years ago. You had dresses from many times, some present but many past. 

“Well, I like this.” You fiddled with the third button down on his shirt, the first two were already undone. You popped open the third one, then the fourth but his hands came over yours, stilling your movement. 

“Slow down now,” He said, your heart dropped. Had you misread his intentions entirely? “Sit on the couch for me.”

You blinked up at him before doing as you were told. You sat up straight, legs crossed and perched on the edge. What was he planning? You didn’t know but you were anxious to find out. 

“Relax, I have nothing but good intentions.” He followed you, standing before you and peering down at your face. 

“And what are your intentions?” You asked, cocking your head. He brought a finger down to trace your cheek lightly before doing something entirely unexpected and sinking to his knees.

“Remmick, what-?” You started but he abruptly cut you off when he surged forward and kissed you but pulled away just as fast.

“Sit back,” he instructed, you obeyed. The top of your back hit the couch cushion, propping you up so you could still see him. “Lift your hips.” 

Oh. You put it together. He wanted to eat you out, just the realization made you gasp slightly. You smiled though, knowing something he didn’t. See, shaving became popular in the twenties, despite the revolution women were having a heyday with in fashion, and was almost expected now. You, despite living alone, shaved your legs regularly purely for the smoothness and experience of fresh sheets against soft skin. You shaved your armpits because you found it easier to apply your deodorant that way but when it came to your core, you left it alone. It didn’t get in the way of things, and nobody was to see it. Until now. After your first encounter with Remmick and the promise of him coming back, you started shaving, thinking it would be a nice surprise.

You lifted your hips, allowing him to reach up and slide your panties down your thighs, past your knees and shins before he paused, finally glancing at your pussy. 

“Did that for me, did you?” He ran his hand over his mouth, eyes moving from between your legs to your own eyes. He slid your panties off entirely, setting them next to him on the floor.

“Maybe.” You acted coy, avoiding his gaze and tapping your chin with your pointer finger. “Or maybe I did it for my other vampire lover, now he is-” 

Before you could get your teasing out, he stopped you by swinging one of your legs over his shoulder and leaning in, licking a bold stripe through your folds. You almost were embarrassed by the sound you made, a high-pitched moan that took you by surprise. 

“You were saying?” He asked, popping his head up from between your thighs. He continued before you could say anything in response.

“While this is very appreciated,” He took his thumb to start rubbing slow circles around your clit, “It’s not a requirement.” 

“I know, I just-” He hit a particularly sweet spot, making you let out a small sound and closing your eyes before you pulled yourself together and continued, “I just wanted to.” 

“So pretty.” He said, almost to himself. “And thoughtful.” That one was more aimed at you, seeing as he met your eyes while saying it. He stopped his motion around your clit, promptly leaning back down and replacing it with his tongue. He lightly used a flicking motion, it drove you crazy after mere seconds of him doing it. It sent shivers up your spine, but it wasn’t enough to make you cum. But he knew that, he was drawing this out. You hummed, a needy sound that urged him to keep going. You loved the build up to an orgasm, the teetering tightrope act of that feeling.

One of your hands tangled in his hair, following the bobbing motion as he finally put pressure on you, licking a zig-zag pattern along your folds, but most importantly, your clit. Your back arched off the couch, you wanted to grind against his face but he came to use his hand to hold your hips down while the other one wrapped around your thigh, keeping it securely on his shoulder.

“Remmick,” You moaned as he switched to circles again, using the tip of his tongue for precision. He was applying just the right technique, the correct motions that had your core tingling with a warmth that meant one thing; your orgasm was close. Your hand instinctively pushed his head towards your pussy, getting him closer as he started lapping at your clit and folds sloppily.

“I’m gonna cum.” You whined your warning, your eyes closing and brows slipping up your forehead. He stopped momentarily to look up at you, you could see the slick of your arousal mixed with his saliva coating his lips and chin. 

“Cum on my tongue, mo mhuirnín.” He said before resuming his movement. You had no idea what mo mhuirnín meant, but you were too wrapped up in your pleasure to care.

It was the perfect storm, you came with a series of moans, your pussy fluttering around his tongue as he licked you through it, milking every second. He stopped before you could get over stimulated, sitting back on his heels and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You slumped, hands running down your face as he gently removed your leg from his shoulder. He stood before sitting next to you, propping his feet on the coffee table and draping an arm over the cushions above where you were sitting. 

“God.” You said simply, “I don’t even… wow.” You had no idea what to say, a fact that made him laugh to himself. You pushed yourself to sit up, leaning into the cushion and scooching closer to him as he moved his arm to drape around you instead. 

“You taste sweet.” He said, casually. You hid behind your hands. You didn’t know why you felt embarrassed, it was a compliment. He pried your fingers away from your face, moving in to kiss you again. You liked kissing him, you loved that he initiated many of them and you loved that you did it often. You tasted yourself on his lips, the tang of it was prevalent as he moved his lips against yours. Soon, you separated, he had his hand planted below your jaw, his thumb idly swiped against your cheek as he looked at you. 

“What’s it mean?” You asked, suddenly remembering the name he called you, mo mhuirnín. 

“What does what mean?” He asked, voice low and sultry.

"Mo mhuirnín," You repeated, “You said it earlier.” 

“I remember,” He chuckled, “It’s Gaelic, and loosely translates to ‘my darling’ or ‘my sweetheart.’” 

“Oh.” You looked down, smiling to yourself. What a cute thing to say, something he took from home, something dear to his heart. You loved it, it was so tender. 

“Whatcha thinking?” He reached out to run his free hand’s knuckle down your arm. His eyes watched you with an unusual roundness. He wanted reassurance and you realized your response was not indicative to your honest reaction. 

“That it’s the most tender thing anyone has ever said to me.” You looked back up at him, wearing a sweet smile. It was true, as far as you could remember all of your past ‘loves’ were not in it for the long haul, just the sex. That, and your solitary nature, is why you had not seeked out a partner in recent years. You had not planned on Remmick, it just happened. He grinned, retreating from you and getting up. 

“Where are you going?” You asked, distressed. He wasn’t leaving so soon, was he? 

“Relax, I’m just grabbing our drinks.” He walked over to the table, you let the breath out of your lungs. Now that you had time with him, you did not want to let go. He grabbed the cups, setting them down on the coffee table before going back for another trip. He grabbed the sketchbook and the packs of pencils all before settling back in next to you. He handed you the sketchbook before taking another sip of his wine. 

“You said you’d teach me.” He looked at you, expectant. You took another sip of your wine before setting it back down and flipping open the fine leather of the sketchbook cover. 

“That I did.” You grabbed a graphite pencil, twirling it around in your fingers as you stared at the blank page. You had never taught anyone to draw or paint before, and you yourself were self taught. This would be a learning curve for both of you for different reasons but you were glad to do it. It was quality time, something to do with him. 

“Okay, so,” You started, “the basics.” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Like that?” He asked, rounding off the silhouette of the sphere you told him to draw.

“Yep, now think about where the light is coming from, if it’s from here,” You pointed at a corner of the page, “then the highlight would be here.” You pointed to where the light would hit it. “That’s where your highlight will go.” 

“And I shade around it?” He said, gesturing with the pencil.

“Yep, you’re getting it.” You smiled, resuming your teachings, “It’ll be darker at the bottom but build up the graphite in layers instead of pressing down really hard. Use lighter pressure around the highlight to show a nice gradient.” You explained, hoping you were coherent to him. It was a lot to learn, even the basics were challenging. After the sphere, you would teach a pyramid, focusing on how the lighting affects the shape differently from a round shape like a sphere. 

He paused, processing what you said. “I will certainly try.”

You took another sip of your wine, you didn’t have much left and you were feeling the buzz. Your stomach was practically empty and you were a total lightweight from your lack of experience. You felt so warm and floaty, you wanted more. You got up, letting him take your words and put them to paper as you retrieved the wine. You came back, pouring another half glass and setting the bottle on the coffee table when you were done. 

Settling back into the couch, you looked over at what he was doing, eyes peeking over the rim of your cup as you took a drink. He was more or less getting a solid technique down, lightly drawing over the previous layer where the shadows would be just like you told him to. You put the drink down. 

“You’re a fast learner.” You commented, resting your head on his shoulder as you watched him work.  

“I have a good teacher.” He was concentrated, it was very cute. His tongue stuck out between his teeth just a bit, brows furrowed as he was careful to get it right. You traced a finger over his cheek and jawline, blinking up at him slowly. 

“How’s that?” He tilted the page towards you and you pulled your attention away from his face. You gazed at the book, lit by the various lanterns and candles you had scattered across your home. It looked good, better than many beginners you had seen before. He had an understanding of depth and light, held his pencil the correct way and took your advice to heart. 

“Looks great. What do you think?” You asked, grabbing your cup and drinking again. 

“I think it’s harder than I thought it would be.” He chuckled, grabbing his glass and joining you. 

“I’m surprised that in all of your odd one thousand four hundred years you have never picked up drawing.” You said.

“Never had a reason to be interested in it.” He implied that he did have a reason now, and that reason was you. You shrugged, wearing a small, shy smile.

“I’m something of a renaissance woman myself.” You bragged jokingly. You tried to be good at a lot of things, you certainly had the time to hone your skills. You had a lush garden outside, flowers mostly that looked beautiful in moonlight but you couldn’t help but wish you could see them reflecting the sun’s light. A pipedream. You painted, of course, played music, read and analyzed books. You didn’t have too many hobbies but were proud to say that you were good at the ones you did.

“Do you dance?” He asked, it was a random question but you answered anyway.

“Only in ballrooms, I’m probably very rusty.” You admitted, thinking back to your dancing days. Your parents were in no way rich or at the top of the social hierarchy, but you attended a few balls in your courting age. You were thrown into looking for a husband, trying to climb the food chain with a marriage proposal. That, of course, never happened. Instead here you were, undead, sitting next to your undead lover. That’s what you were, right? Lovers? You honest to God had no idea. What were you doing? Where was this going? You took another swig, chasing the questions from your mind. 

“Mmm.” He nodded, you stared. You felt off. 

You didn’t realize how sudden drunkenness could be. One moment you feel buzzed, doing good, could keep going, but the next your gaze is heavy and the room is rocking back and forth. You glanced around, head on fire and eyes wide in an attempt to look normal. You obviously were failing though as he did a double-take at your face before moving the sketch book to the coffee table and setting his glass down. 

“Doing alright over there?” He assessed you, following your movement with his gaze as you scooched closer to him. He wrapped his arm around you again, pulling you close as you snuggled up to him, head resting on his chest. Your hand lay on his stomach, idly playing with a button on his shirt. 

“Never better.” You replied, smiling as he pressed a kiss into your hair. With all the lows of your life, you weren’t sure you’d ever been this high. You were… happy, sated, content, all the nice words. His hand traced shapes around your spine lazily. He propped a boot up on the table, watching the nonexistent fire in the fireplace. 

“How are you?” You asked, throwing the question into the void. You rose and fell with the moment of his chest, the lack of heartbeat was familiar to you, it mirrored your own. 

“I’m good, mo mhuirnín. Very good.” He mumbled that last part into your hair, smoothing his hand down your back. 

“That’s good.” You said, eyes closing. It was involuntary, just something that happened as you fought the alcohol in your system. 

“Are you tired?” His voice floated through your ears, swimming in your mind as you shook your head. 

“No.” You said, “Is the sun up yet?” 

You could feel his head turn to glance at the clock on your wall. “Should be creeping up now.” 

“Mmm.” Is all you could say, sleep overcoming you like the tide overcoming sandy shores. The sound of slow breathing was working on you like a lullaby, you felt safe. 

“You can rest.” He said, voice trailing off. “I’ve gotcha.”

Chapter Text

You woke up with a start, gasping and sitting ramrod straight. You had had a nightmare, a perfect retelling of one of the worst nights of your undead life, one of your encounters with hunters. The closest encounter you had ever experienced. 

It was about thirty one years ago, you were living out of an abandoned farm house in Kansas, not a permanent solution, but a temporary roof to sleep under. It was the middle of nowhere, you thought you’d be safe until one evening, just as the sun began to set, you heard horses outside. You hid immediately as the door was kicked down by a group of five men. You evaded their efforts in the built-in pantry, tucked behind a sack of grain. You were there for thirty minutes, each second was a blur as you tried to keep your breathing quiet and trembling hands still. You heard them search every room, their husky, smoke-laced voices made you nauseous as you covered your mouth, keeping your nervous stomach at bay. But it was no use, they inevitably found you, pulling you out of the pantry by your hair and mumbling something about doing deeds in the name of God. You thrashed and screamed, but they just laughed. They dragged you out from the house and into the twilight, you saw the wooden stakes they carried and you felt a stabbing dread. You were going to die. You weren’t ready, you would never be ready. You glanced around quickly as your body began to feel cold with adrenaline. 

Being a vampire is much like being a predator, a rabid animal, and when cornered, they are compelled to attack. You only remember flashes of what happened next, you remember levitating into the air, sinking your extended claws through the skull of the man that dragged you out. You recall picking up his pistol. You remember watching the farm house being swallowed in fire as one of the hunters dropped their lanterns in shock. Flames roared as the old wood burned, fast as a lit cigarette chucked into dry grass as you threw one of them through the open door. You smiled as his body was consumed by the fire, laughed when he screamed through the pain of being burned alive. 

One of them was too quick, throwing holy water over your shoulder. It burned, you gasped as you spun around, firing two quick shots at his body. He slumped to the ground, the last two took off running before you caught up with them, grabbing one by the shoulder, spinning him around before holding the gun to his nose and blowing his brains out. He dropped his stake, which you picked up. You wanted this last one to feel the fate you tried to force on him, understand the fear you felt on a daily basis. You were going to leave the scene with a new scar, the holy water had seared your flesh permanently, so you were going to do something permanent as well. 

You flew towards him, shoving the stake through his back and out of his ribcage, you grabbed his face from behind, angling his ear to perch against your lips. 

“Do you feel that?” You said, twisting the stake, “The devil has come for you.” 

You saw him fall to his knees before ragdolling as the life left his body. You took a second to hold your hands, massaging your palms as they threatened to shake right off your wrists. With shaky breaths, you closed your eyes, fighting the tears of disbelief. Then you ran to pick up your pack from where you stored it in the adjacent barn and left, never looking at the roaring inferno you left behind. 

But in your dreams, you didn’t win. Their screams were replaced by laughter as they drove the wood through your chest, the fire engulfed you instead of them. Sometimes when you slept, the only thing you could see was your own death, and the violence that ensued. That’s what you saw now, their grinning faces as they held your shaking body towards the rising sun. Every ending, every possible way for things to go wrong, they all visited you in the prison of your mind. You could push it away when you were awake, but in your sleep you were vulnerable, susceptible to them, to your demise. 

You tried to catch your breath, panting like you had run a few miles. Your eyes were wide as you stared at the backing of your couch, you were faced towards the wall. You suddenly felt pressure on your shoulders. Your head whipped around to address the source of what was touching you. It was Remmick, he was standing above you with his hands on your shoulders, he was saying something. It took a second for the ringing in your ears to subside, but you heard him soon enough.

“Hey, hey, hey, you’re okay, it’s okay.” He moved to sit next to you. He must’ve gotten up while you were asleep, leaving you sprawled out over the loveseat and tucking a woven blanket over your body. But now he was back, sitting next to you and smoothing a hand down your back. You sat up, pinching the bridge of your nose as the adrenaline left your body. 

“I- I…” You tried to talk, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I’m sorry.” 

It was stupid, the grasp that night had on you. It was dumb to have nightmares about it, you felt like you should be over it by now, but that wasn’t the case. You didn’t want him to see your baggage, you felt weak. You liked to joke to yourself that you were never meant for the vampire life, you were destined to be a mortal but fate had a hiccup and accidentally crossed your path with one. That was hard to admit when you were sitting next to a strong vampire, someone who had adapted way better to the life forced upon them. 

“Why are you apologizing?” He asked, chuckling, “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“I know it’s just-,” You sighed, shaking your head. Your hand ghosted over your shoulder scar; you knew he had seen it before in the bath, but he didn’t know where it came from and honestly you didn’t think about it until that night came rushing back, “It’s so stupid.” 

“I don’t think it’s stupid.” He said, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. “Nothing wrong with having a nightmare.” 

If it were anyone else having a nightmare, you would have agreed. But you were hard on yourself.

“Yeah.” You said, purely to avoid further conversation on it, or an argument. You failed, you could tell what he was about to say. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, voice low. Honestly, you were conflicted. On one hand you should talk about it, get it off your chest to someone who could actually understand. On the other hand, you were embarrassed. Remmick was confident, most likely having loads of run-ins with hunters and obviously always came out on top. He didn’t even think about it, it wasn’t something on his mind.

You knew what this was, it was trauma. You had seen it in your father after the war, he was wracked with night terrors. You woke up in your bedroom to the sounds of his screams across the house, running in to find him thrashing around in bed. Mother was usually on the couch downstairs, passed out, so it was up to you to soothe him back to sleep. You were thankful that your experience did not leave you with such an intense reaction, but you had a reaction nonetheless. 

“I had an encounter with hunters a while ago, a long while ago. Sometimes it just… comes back to me as if it were last night.” You explained, lifting your hands and digging your fingers into your temples.

“I see… and where are these hunters now?” He asked, hand stilling on your back. 

“Dead.” You said, curtly. Just the facts.

“Good, that’s good.” He moved his hand to sweep your hair over one shoulder. You froze, he would definitely see your scar now. You heard as his breath hitched in his throat, felt his ice cold fingers trace over the flesh, he had put it together.

“It scared me.” You admitted, tilting your head away from him. 

There was a moment of pause. You dreaded it, the silence. You didn’t want to look at him, see that he realized how pathetic you were being. 

“I understand.” He finally said, giving your shoulder a squeeze and leaning down to kiss your scar. You turned back to look at him, lips slightly parted. 

“You do?” 

“Of course I do.” He said, peering down at you. “In the early days of my vampirism, I had nightmares about the men who took our land. I thought about the God above and Devil below that they forced upon my people with fear. It took me a long while to get over such feelings.” 

It made sense, anyone would have a hard time processing something like that. You weren’t glad that he experienced it, but you were happy that he understood. 

“It’s not fun.” You said, letting your back hit the cushion as you looked at the ceiling. 

“No, it is not.” He agreed. As your adrenaline wore off, you felt the oncomings of a headache, no doubt from the wine you drank before sleeping. You felt sober enough now, and not terribly too hungover but at the same time you were emotionally sore from your dream. 

“God,” You looked around, glancing at the dinky clock on your kitchen wall. It was a little after noon. “What have you been doing?” 

“Uhh,” He got up from sitting next to you, walking over to the dining room table where you presumed he had been sitting. He picked up the sketchbook, “Practicing,” He then gestured to a novel sitting there as well, “And reading.” 

You stood, your socked feet met the hardwood floor and surprised you, you didn’t realize he had taken your boots off as well. It was sweet, the little gestures of kindness he showed you. On your way over, you scooped up your panties, stepping into them and sliding them up your legs. 

“Let me see.” You reached out for the sketchbook he was holding. He handed it over, and you brought the pages in front of you. He was definitely improving, each shape he drew became more and more clear and refined. He gradually went from chicken scratching to confident strokes with believable lineweight and a clear light source. He was a fast learner with a natural talent for art. 

“I gotta say, you’re getting better.” You smiled, looking over the pages he had filled; you flipped between them, loving the clear development. 

“Best student I’ve ever had.” You gave the sketchbook back, he placed it on the table again.

“And how many students have you had?” He grinned, catching onto your bullshit. 

“That doesn’t seem like an important detail.” You were grinning now too, hands clasped behind your back. 

“Right, right.” He just shook his head. You glanced back at the table, immediately recognizing the novel he had taken off your shelf. Little Women , one of your favorites. 

“Are you enjoying it?” You asked, pointing to the novel. He followed your finger before picking up the book and splaying it open with his fingers, ring and middle held the pages open while the pinky and pointer rested on the sides. It reminded you very much of the first day he visited you, when he dipped his fingers just like that below your underwear and played you like his banjo, making you come undone. You stared at his hands, his dorsal side had veins that ran up his wrists, calloused fingers that felt divine when they ran down your body and a grip that grounded you every time. 

“It’s a nice story.” He said, flipping through the pages. “Only got to chapter five before you woke up.”

“Do you have a favorite sister?” You asked, knowing yours was Amy. Yes, she was annoying as a child but as a painter you empathized with her, you understood her want for attention as you had to take care of yourself as your parents were absent, you got her imposter syndrome, although you didn’t feel it for your art, you felt it in life. 

“Jo is interesting,” He said, “She’s very different.” 

You liked Jo too, you liked all the sisters. They were depicted in such beautiful ways, their flaws and strengths both described and explored. You loved their growth throughout the book, it felt like watching someone grow up, it was immersive. 

“I think it’s a good different, though.” You said, you were different too. Back when you were alive, you didn’t fit the mold of the typical woman. You had hobbies unbecoming of you, like painting. You were outspoken, making it very difficult for your parents to marry you off. You were sarcastic, blunt, and at times, rude but only when you deemed necessary… which was often considering how people talked back then. 

“Yes, well,” He closed the book, “she reminds me of you.” 

“Really?” You said, taken aback. 

“You’re both very opinionated.” He explained, setting it down on the table. 

“What do you mean?” You asked, curious. You crossed your arms, not because you were uncomfortable, you just needed something to do with your hands.

“You know what’s right for you and when it’s wrong, you say something about it.” He reached out to stroke your face with the back of his finger, a light drag of his knuckle down your cheek before he retreated it. That did sound like you, you thought back to how flippant you were when he first graced your home. 

“You got me.” You held your hands up in defeat. “But my favorite is Amy.” 

“Really?” He said, almost in disbelief. 

“Yes, really.” You laughed at the reaction, “She gets better, I promise.” 

He hummed, nodding.

“You should take it with you when you leave.” You offered, you had read it a million times at this point so lending it was no big deal. 

“You sure?” He asked, you nodded.

“Thank you, mo mhuirnín.” he picked it up, fingers running over the spine before he put it into his pack. That damn pet name had a shiver running down your spine every time he said it. You were tingling for him, wanted him to touch you. Wanted to touch him, too. 

 You surged forward, hands quickly angling his face downwards to make way for your lips. You crashed your mouth against his, he made a little surprised sound but his hands found you almost immediately as his eyes closed. You couldn’t help yourself, you needed to touch him, feel him, anything . He grabbed your ass with one hand as the other snaked up to hold the nape of your neck, your hands grasped his shoulders. You had to steady yourself, even though you initiated it, the turnaround of the situation made you dizzy. He delved deeper into your mouth, it was wet and messy but full of passion as your tongues danced together. You don’t know why, but your hands were trembling as your fingers dug into his biceps, making him groan into your kiss. Every time you kissed him, it felt surreal. You were actually here with another vampire, someone you couldn’t hurt, someone who understood you. 

He untangled himself from your lips to press kisses into your cheek before your jaw before he licked your pulse point. It was warm against your neck, you instantly tilted your head to make room for any more attention which he was happy to grant. He sucked along your throat and then smoothed the spots over with soft pecks and his tongue. You knew you would bruise, but you think he liked that. He wanted to see the remnants of himself on your skin, and wanted you to see it, too. You reached down to grab his bulge, he was painfully hard already. He took a second to pause his kisses and moan quietly.

“F-fuck.” He murmured against your neck, the hand on your ass squeezing. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me, mo mhuirnín.” 

“I think I have an inkling.” You whispered into the shell of his ear as you unbuttoned his pants, pulling the zipper of his fly down; he chuckled a low sound that rumbled through his chest. Carefully you palmed at the erection through the cotton of his underwear, he sighed at the relief of being freed from the restraints of denim. It was so pretty, the sounds he made when you touched him. The slight whimpers, sighs, groans, and moans filled your ears like the music that emanated from your little radio as you painted. This was art, this was something you could dedicate your time to, build your skill with.

He stood up straight and undid the sash around your hips, loosening the dress enough for him to tug the straps from your shoulders and shimmy it off your body in a pool of beads and fabric on your kitchen floor. You just scratched his shoulders gently, encouragingly as your head fell back and you looked at the ceiling. He took a good look at you, you were wearing a lacy red bra that matched your dress, a fact he seemed very excited about as he squeezed you. 

“This is nice.” He said, running his finger over the lacy cups, dipping between the valley of your breasts before tracing back up again. You looked back down at his motions, the way he swirled his finger around your breasts had goosebumps swarming your skin in seconds. 

“I’m glad you like it,” your hands cupped either side of his face, “It’s for you.” 

You had no idea when he’d come back before he did, but you dressed up every day that he was gone in hopes for you to see it. Technically, yes, this dress was bloodstained but the red hid it seamlessly. You had your pristine dress you kept clean, you had worn that a couple times too. It made you realize that you needed more clean clothes, maybe you could pay someone to get you some later; a woman preferably, you didn’t trust a man to get you what you needed, nice ensembles. Or maybe you could ask Remmick to pick out clothes he wanted to see you in, stuff that he liked. 

“Oh, darlin’,” He kissed you, a kiss that said a thousand words of thanks and appreciation. His quick hands undid your bra in record speed, but this time he was careful to throw it on the couch instead of the floor. He kissed along your throat again, but made his way even lower. You arched your spine towards his mouth as his ministrations moved to your breast, his hand keeping you steady and holding onto your upper back.

“Yes,” you sighed as he took your nipple into his mouth, his tongue running laps around the bud. Your fingers moved up his head, scratching patterns into his scalp as he worked. You were throbbing, aching for him to fill you, touch you, have you. He moved onto the other nipple, his thumb replacing his tongue and running over the now wet peak. He rubbed the wetness over the bud, once again tracing circles around it, all while lavishing the other one with kisses and licks. You were mewling, soft cries of pleasure left your mouth involuntarily, it just felt so good. He gave them equal attention, stimulating your chest in a way that had you leaking from your folds. You were so wet and ready, you had to make him feel it too.

“Remmick,” you gasped, taking the hand on your nipple by the wrist.

“Hm?” He stood up straight, looking into your eyes for any sort of doubt or a wanting to stop. He found none, instead you showed him the opposite by leading his hand south, under your panty line and pressing his fingers against your core. The contact made you shiver and it took everything in you to not grind against his hand in this position, but you held still, simply looking up at him with pleading eyes; eyes full of want. 

“Jesus,” He dipped his finger into your folds before lifting back up, swirling the slick around your clit. You buried your face into his shoulder, your moan was muffled by his shirt. “You’re soaked.”

You nodded into the fabric, he brought his free hand to cradle the back of your head, stroking gently. “All worked up for me,” He breathed out, you could tell he was having a reaction to the knowledge he was doing such things to your body. He dipped again, this time he slipped inside you with two fingers, pumping slowly. His palm rubbed against your clit, sending shocks of electricity through you with the friction. You wanted to double over, your legs felt unstable as you were hurled towards an orgasm. But, then he stopped and retracted his hand completely. You whined in protest, but he greedily swallowed the sound with an open-mouthed kiss. 

After moments of teasing, light touches, and a wisp of a promise, he spun you around by your hips, bending you over the dining room table. It was sudden, exhilarating as he tugged your panties back down your legs for the second time that day. 

“Fuck,” You gasped, white-knuckling the tabletop. “Remmick, please.” 

You didn’t know why you were asking, obviously it was about to happen. But something about the way you said it, so sweet and barely above a whimper, had Remmick squirming. His thumb swiped over your pelvis, a motion that indicated praise as he spoke. 

“Asking so nicely, such a good girl, sweet girl.” He leaned forward to kiss your scar, down your spine and stopping at your middle back before he straightened back out. You hummed, eyes closing at the gesture. 

You hung your head, lowering to your elbows as your mouth hung open in expectation, bated breath escaped you as you trembled. He put his hand on your pelvis, holding that spot as he freed himself from his underwear with the hand not on your body. Your breasts pressed against the table and with your ass in the air, you were sure you were a sight. 

“Beautiful.” He muttered, aligning himself with your entrance before pushing in. He filled you with one thrust, sheathed completely to the hilt as he grunted a curse; you just whimpered, a lewd moan following as he began to move inside of you. He pulled backwards, you felt every vein as he dragged along your walls. 

“So tight…” He said, pulling out almost completely, just the head stayed inside you before he moved back in. He was going slow, painfully slow as he tried to make this moment last, no doubt. But you needed more; faster, harder. 

“More,” You said weakly, all the breath from your lungs was stolen by the man behind you, you could barely muster any words in your plea. “Please.”

He obliged, starting up at a quicker pace. All you could do was hang onto the table as his hands slid to your hips, assisting in his thrusts by pulling you towards him with every jerk of his pelvis. You panted, breathing heavily as he adjusted his angle, hitting that sweet spot in you and bringing tears to your eyes.

“Right there,” You exclaimed, not wanting him to move an inch as your legs shook and pussy squeezed around his cock. He whined at the change of pressure, his own breath becoming irregular and heavy. “Stay right there…”

“L-look so good for me,” He managed, “Fuck, taking me so well.” 

You lowered your head to the table completely, your cheek pressed against the polished wood. You were drooling, it slipped past your lips so easily and pooled beneath you before you brought a shaking hand to your mouth to wipe it away. Pure bliss is how you’d explain it, pure bliss of hazy vision and a carnal hunger for his cum to paint your walls. 

“I’m close,” He groaned, thrusts becoming sloppier and erratic as he rammed into you over and over again. You were close too, you felt the telltale warmness in your core. 

The table was shaking with each jab, you stared at the sketchbook as you approached an orgasm, it bumped back and forth with the motions, threatening to fall from the table completely. Then, you came, falling from the cliff of foreplay and rigorous fucking into a mindblowing orgasm that had your crying out his name as your pussy fluttered and pulsed around him. 

He panted a few more times before spilling into you, stuffing you to the brim. The sound he made was downright wanton, a whine that told you everything you needed to know; he had the same effect on you as you did him. You made each other come undone in every sense of the word. You hadn’t known him long, but you could tell a storm was brewing in your heart. It thundered with a need to please him, to have him please you for your mutual enjoyment. You wanted to fuck him, but more than that, you wanted to know him. It scared you, but not enough to stop. 

He pulled out, tucking himself back into his pants. You looked back at him, he was staring at your core, you were leaking his cum, you could feel it trickling from you. 

“Shit,” He ran a hand down his face before meeting your eyes, “you okay?” 

“Spent.” You said, slowly climbing back to a straightened position. 

“Stay there.” He said, moving to the opposite side of the kitchen, retrieving a clean towel and dipping it in the basin. You didn’t move, standing there slightly bent over as your hands perched against the table. He carefully approached you, taking the wet rag to your folds and cleaning up his mess. He hit your clit, you hissed through your teeth, overstimulated. 

“Sorry, mo mhuirnín.” He finished up, placing the rag somewhere behind you. 

You reached down to pull your panties back up, he leaned against the wall, still coming down from the high as he stared at the ceiling. You sat down on one of the chairs pushed against the table you were just fucked on. 

He smiled, looking at you before walking over and standing behind the chair. You peered up, looking at his upside down face as he leaned down to press a kiss to your nose. 

“Mmm.” You hummed, eyes closing. You felt sated, but would not sleep again until you absolutely needed to. You would not let what just happened be soiled by another nightmare. 

“Tired?” He asked, you nodded. 

“I won’t sleep though.” You said, opening your eyes. He walked away from you, finding your bra and bringing it to you. He set it on the table in front of you, you got to work putting it back on. When you looked back at him, he was standing beside you, a hand extended. 

“You don’t have to sleep, just come lay with me.” He requested, and how could you say no? You would not pass up the opportunity to laze around with him, just basking in the glow of each other's company. You took his hand, he guided you to stand up and took you to your bedroom. Your legs were wobbly but he supported you, letting you lean into him. The sight of your bed was heavenly as you crossed the threshold of your doorway, you don’t know how you were so sleepy after already resting for hours earlier. 

You flopped onto the white comforter, scurrying under the covers and watched as he shucked off his boots. 

“No outside clothes on the bed.” You said, mostly just wanting him to take his clothes off for skin-to-skin contact. He nodded.

“Alright,” He began to unbutton his shirt, staring at you staring at him. Next to go was his pants, pulling his belt off before his jeans. Soon he stood in his boxers, toned body once again on display for you. You smiled to yourself as you pushed the covers away from the vacant side of the bed, inviting him in. He slid in, you tucked the blanket back over his body before scooting over to lay your head on his chest, it felt nice to take care of him, no matter how small the act was. He wrapped an arm around you, you took the back of your hand to run down his cheek, down his neck before arriving at his chest. You drew swirls over his sternum with your finger lightly; when you looked back up at him, his eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful, angelic. Ironic to call a vampire angelic, but what you saw was heavenly. 

“You’re so lovely.” You said, kissing his chest. 

“That’s all you, darlin’.” His voice was quiet, strained. He was falling asleep, you would stay here with him as he did, maybe meditate. It just felt good to be around him, for him to hold you. Your hand moved to trace down his forehead and down the sweep of his nose, very lightly. It was something your father did for you as a kid, it put you to sleep every time. 

“That’s nice…” He trailed off, sleep overtook him and his breathing slowed down as he slipped into unconsciousness. You stilled, retracting your hand to rest on his chest again as you closed your eyes as well. You didn’t even realize you did it, but soon your body betrayed you and you fell asleep. 

Chapter Text

You woke up to stirring, opening your eyes to your dark room. The lantern which was illuminating it must’ve gone out, leaving everything drenched in twilight. Your eyes slowly adjusted as you looked around the room before lifting your head to peer at Remmick. You could tell he would wake up soon, just by the way he was moving. His arm still laid around your waist, your own arms were folded against his side as your head came back down to rest on his chest. You closed your eyes just for a second more, basking in the moment. You hadn’t had the nightmare, you slept despite the fear of living through it again, but it never came. It felt like you had bested a dragon, or something. Like it retreated to lick its wounds, not gone but not here. 

After, you sat up, rubbing your eyes with your palms. You moved a hand to feel your hair, the once styled half-up, half-down look was no more, instead replaced by a poofed up mess. You pulled the ribbon from your hair, running your fingers through your scalp and massaging lightly. You felt a hand on your bare lower back, tossing a glance behind you to find Remmick looking at you with half-lidded eyes.  

“Hello.” You said, toying with the ribbon. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” He pulled at the ends of your untied hair gently, twirling strands around his fingers like a witch weaving magic. “More than fine. What about you?” 

“You tricked me,” You smiled, swatting his leg from over the blanket, “You said no sleeping.” 

“I did say that, yeah.” He agreed, laughing to himself, “Didn’t expect to be so tired when I laid down, though.”

“I didn’t expect to sleep again.” You said, feeling overly rested. It was worth it though, this grogginess that clouded you now. The moment was more refreshing than any amount of sleep could be, than any rest you’ve had before. 

“Did you have another nightmare?” He asked, his hand stilling its motions around your hair. 

“No,” you admitted, stretching out your neck. You hadn’t had a nightmare when you explicitly thought you would’ve. You weren’t going to immediately assume it’s because Remmick was in your bed, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel safer. You felt so protected laying next to him, you believed he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, your kinship too strong. It was so odd how quick the two of you buddied up, this companionship felt like you’d been a part of it for years, not mere weeks and two visits. “I actually dreamt of nothing.” 

It was rare for you not to dream, your imagination ran wild every day and leaked into your nights with visions of hogwash. They never made sense, just flashes of faces you barely knew, quotes you heard once or twice and all the places you had visited. They were all random, mixed and matched to create new, uncharted stories in your head. It made for lousy sleep, you woke up never feeling rested due to just how much brain power you were dedicating to dreaming. But, you didn’t dream just now, you were blank.

“No dreams is better than bad dreams, I would think.” He said, propping an arm under his head and regarding you through the darkness. 

“I agree.” You said, crawling out of the entanglement of blankets. You walked over to your vanity, lighting a lantern. It was a small rickety thing that held your hairbrush and the teeny tiny amount of makeup you had. It also had your jewelry box, a new addition to your home. It held barely anything, just a dainty gold chain bracelet and necklace that held a single pearl. It was a dream to collect more, you loved jewelry. When you were alive, you were definitely a silver lover, but since your turning you’ve had to switch to gold. You had more pieces throughout the years but you had been dwindling down to these recently. In all your moving, running and hiding, you lost things; it was sad, but accepted and expected. 

You sat down on the wooden chair, picking up your hairbrush and setting the ribbon inside the box. You ran the bristles through your locks, soothing out any tangles and knots. You thought about earlier, your idea to let Remmick pick out clothes for you. It still held up, you thought, even after the heat of the moment. It’s not like you would switch out your whole closet but you were not opposed to letting him pick out a few things he’d like to see you in. 

“Hey,” you turned around, setting the brush down and looking at him. “I have an idea.”

“What’s that?” He asked, sitting up before swinging his legs over the side and standing. He walked over to you, setting a hand on the back of your chair. 

“I was thinking that maybe you could…” You trailed off, suddenly embarrassed by the request. Would it sound weird? Maybe it wasn’t a normal thing to ask and you were just so detached from decorum to think of it in the first place. “Uhhh, nevermind.” 

“No, no. You can’t do that. Ask me.” He moved his hand to rest on your shoulder, finger sliding under your bra strap before he placed it back gently. The jig was up, you had to tell him now. He wouldn’t let it go, you knew that.

“Okay, I was thinking maybe you could… pick out some clothes for me. Stuff you’d like to see me in.” You suggested, shrugging. “Only if you’d like to, you don’t have to.”

He moved his hand to cup the hold of your face, his thumb swiped over your cheek as his fingers were buried in your hair. 

“Is that what you want?” He asked, you nodded. 

“Then it’d be my pleasure” He said, dipping down to kiss you. You returned it eagerly, that went over well. You were a chronic overthinker, had been since you were little. It was exhausting, worrying yourself about what people think of you. You guessed it was one perk to your reclusive lifestyle, nobody to think about… or at least you didn’t. That all went out the window when a stranger emerged from the treeline surrounding your cottage, banjo across his back and a fang-filled smile plastered across his face. 

He pulled away, looking at you with a gentle expression. 

“I have to leave come evening.” He said, voice low, barely above a whisper. 

“But I will come back.” 

“Okay.” You said, a bittersweet smile spreading across your lips. You were in for more lonely nights. Now that you had tasted the sweetness of another body next to yours, you were craving it in moments of solitude. 

“Okay.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You looked over at your easel, it still held the painting of Remmick you had made weeks ago. It was still a little wet, but you were eager to take it off the easel and start something new. Plus, this was a painting you were proud of, despite not being the most in depth, detailed piece you had ever painted. You had completed it in only one sitting, it was more of a study than a masterpiece but nonetheless you really liked it. You wanted to hang it up in your home, you could stare at that face for hours. You sighed, it had, in fact, been five days since you had last seen it, seen him. You walked up to the painting, taking it by the edges and lifting up and away from the frame of the easel. 

You looked around, looking for a good spot to put it. Your eyes fell to the painting above your fireplace. It was just a still life of a bowl of fruit, nothing special and terribly bland. It was the same size canvas as the one in your hands now, and you decided it would be a perfect fit. 

You pulled one of your dining chairs out and dragged it across the small space, propping it in front of the brick mantle. You stood upon it, carefully taking the fruit painting and replacing it with the portrait, careful not to touch the paint. You were impatient, a horrible trait for an artist, but you usually got over it. However with this, you needed to put this painting up, needed to do something with your hands. You stared at his face, wondering when you would see it again. 

The sun had set about an hour ago, it was time to check your traps. You slid your boots on, lacing them up and tying a neat bow at the top. You held a lantern as you closed the front door behind you, beginning your trek to your designated hunting spots; you switched the areas up every few weeks to avoid the critters becoming suspicious, and this time they were a tad farther away from your home than usual. It didn’t matter, you loved a good walk under the full moon. It was gorgeous tonight, big, bright, and yellow. It cast the pale, dim light over the trees surrounding your home as you disappeared into them, lifting your lantern to illuminate your way.

Carefully, you avoided fallen logs, twigs and rocks as you followed the small landmarks you had placed to guide you towards the traps; little ribbons tied around low-hanging tree branches. Finally, you arrived at your first one; another rabbit. You picked up the cage, reaching in and grabbing the scruff. You wished you could twist its neck, have the misery be over for the little thing and for it to not feel pain. But you needed it alive, dead blood was not nearly as filling as living blood, and when you only fed on animals, you needed all the energy you could get. You were wearing that same sky blue slip dress you had been wearing that first night, you had a sense of déjà vu as the blood pooled atop your collarbones. It slipped past your sternum, darkening the already stained fabric like a raincloud forming over farmland. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The walk home was uneventful, you swatted at your chest to catch the droplets of blood running down. You hated the tickling feeling of the syrup trickling down your body. It was unfortunate that messy eating came with the territory, you just felt gross. You sighed, looking down at your hand; sticky and red. It was hard to scrub blood completely from a person, it had a way of burying itself into every nook and cranny, like under your fingernails or somehow in the shell of your ear. You rubbed your fingers together, they slid easily along with the lubricant provided by the substance. You cringed, wiping your palm and finger off on the front of your dress.

Then, your little home came into view, and the silhouette standing at your front door immediately caught your eye. You watched from the treeline, squinting at the person from the shadows. They were banging on your door before they spoke, and you immediately recognized the voice.

“Darlin’? Are you there? Open the door.” He sounded distraught, worried. You held your lantern up as you emerged from the treeline, calling out. 

“Remmick!” You said, he whipped around, shoulders falling as he let the breath out of his lungs. You immediately noticed that his chest, mouth, and neck were covered in blood that mirrored your own.

“There you are, you scared the shit outta me.” He descended the stairs of your porch, meeting you halfway. 

“I was just feeding,” You said, a flattered smile shining through. It made you feel good that he was worried about you. “No need to fret.” 

“Oh, but I did.” He reached for you, pulling you into a hug. You tried your best to reciprocate with a heavy lantern in your hand and with the pack strapped to his back. He smelled good, fresh. When you pulled away, you glanced down at his attire. Tank top, brown belt, and green dress pants. You wondered where he got his clothes, not having a place to stay every night. The idea then popped into your head that he could keep some stuff here, if he wanted. You would let him.

“You’re covered in blood.” You looked down, gesturing to his chest and neck. It was somewhat dry but still mostly wet. 

“Bit of a mess.” He said, taking a finger to swipe over your upper chest, “But so are you.”

“Couple of undead peas in a pod, you and I.” You chuckled, grabbing the outstretched hand and pulling him towards your cabin. You glanced at the pack he was carrying, wondering if he had brought you anything; clothes, to be specific. You were curious as to what he would pick out, and if you would agree on the items.

“Come in,” you said, walking him through the threshold of your house. It was nice to own a home, no need for any invitation when the property was yours. You led him to the lone chair at your dining table, you had forgotten to pull the other one back. He sat down, setting his pack next to the chair and glancing at the empty spot before looking around to find it. His eyes immediately fell on the fireplace, looking up and seeing his portrait on the wall.

“You hung it up?” He said, sounding bewildered. 

“Of course,” you said, “It’s my first portrait in so long, I adore it.”

You walked over to your basin, dipping a towel in before returning. You stood in front of him, he spread his knees to make way for your invasion as you took the wet towel to his face. 

“You’re very talented.” He complimented, staying as still as he could while you dabbed at his mouth. You turned to look at the painting again, you liked it so, in turn, you would accept the compliment. 

“Thank you, I had a good subject.” You said cheekily, swiping one broad stroke down his chin. After a minute, you had cleared off his face. You were just about to start on his exposed chest when he turned his head to plant a kiss on your wrist. You stilled, looking at him. 

“I’d never been painted before.” He said, looking up at you. That surprised you, in his many years of death… he had never been painted before? He had survived through all the years it was wildly popular, but it begged another question.

“Wait…” You started, looking back at the painting, “is my painting the first time you’ve seen yourself since you died?”

“Well, no...” He trailed off, glancing towards his pack. “But you’re going to ruin your surprise.”

“My surprise?” You questioned, having absolutely no idea what he had in there that would relate to the conversation. 

“Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll show you,” he smiled, “I think you’ll like it.”

“Okay…” you drew out, resuming cleaning his chest. You took long strokes down his chest, rewetting the dried blood with the damp rag and collecting it. Soon, it was all more or less wiped away; you did the best you could with one rag. He stood, gently guiding you by your waist to replace him in the chair. 

“Your turn.” He said, collecting a clean rag from your kitchen as you put the bloody one on the table in front of you. When he returned to you, he guided you to look up with a finger under your chin. 

“There she is.” He cooed, taking the rag to wipe over your mouth, cheeks, and chin. You just hummed, eyes wide as you regarded him. “Here I am.” 

He gently dragged the rag towards your chest, wiping away any evidence of the small lives you took that night. As the towel glided across your skin, you realized you were holding your breath, as if the tiniest sound could break this moment like a strong gust against a spiderweb. You glanced back up at him, not realizing your gaze had wandered. He was focused on his task, eyes following the movement of his hand as he inspected your chest carefully. You noticed the way his brows furrowed when he was involved in something like this, when he was concentrating. 

“You look cute.” You said, smiling. He looked up at your face, scoffing.

“I am not cute.” He dismissed, shaking his head.

“You are.” You protested, taking your finger to swipe down the bridge of his nose.

“Mhm.” Said with sass and a roll of the eyes. 

“Mhm!” You emphasized by jabbing your finger into his side. He jerks away, stepping back and exclaiming. 

“You have got to stop doing that.” He scolded, taking a lap around the kitchen before returning to you.

“Maybe, but where’s the fun in that?” You said, tipping your head back and looking at him smugly. You were feeling very impish, cocky as you stood up and extended your two pointer fingers outwards.

“Don’t you dare.” He warned, backing up into the living room.

“Ticklish?” You asked, bending and straightening your fingers in quick succession. You stalked towards him, grinning devilishly. 

“No.” He crossed his arms, standing his ground.

“Liar.” You retorted, pouncing at him with your arms extended, but he quickly jumped out of the way. You corrected, moving to compensate for his dodge and found him with your fingers. You pressed into his sides as he squirmed, hollered, and ran away back into the kitchen. There wasn’t much space for this game, so you relented. 

“I got you.” You walked over and lowered yourself back into the chair. 

“I let you.” He picked up the rag again, gathering the last bit of blood on your chest. 

“Uh huh.” You nodded, scoffing. 

“All done.” He placed the rag on the table, offering you a hand so you could stand. You took it, coming to your feet. 

“Okay,” you were bursting at the seams, “what’s my surprise?” 

He chuckled, setting his pack rightside-up on the table and opening the flap. “I brought you some clothes, like you said.” 

“Lemme see.” You requested, peering at the pack with curiosity. You held your hands behind your back, keeping yourself from pushing him aside and tearing open the bag to just cut the suspense all together. He reached inside, pulling out a bundle of floral fabric. It was a cream color with small pink flowers spouting over the silhouette. The material was beautiful, you wondered what it was. 

Finally, he pulled it up by the strap sleeves, revealing a halter-top. This style was semi-recent in the fashion scene, at least from what you could tell. It had cinching along the sides, ensuring that this was a form fitting garment. Oh, and one more thing; it was absolutely stunning. You reached a finger out to run along the fabric, it was soft and had some stretch to it. You smiled heartily, taking the top from his hands and holding it over your chest. You peered down, it looked like it would fit you, and it complimented you so well.

“Thoughts?” He pried, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I love it, it’s beautiful.” You beamed, hugging the garment. You leaned up to kiss his cheek, he just smiled. 

“There’s more.” He started digging around in the pack again.

“More?” You exclaimed, eyes wide. You didn’t expect more.

“Of course, mo mhuirnín.” He pulled out another folded piece, dusty pink in color to go along with the details of the top. When he unraveled it, you couldn't help but gasp. It was a six-paneled gored skirt, meaning it fit slimly at the top but flared out a bit towards the end. He handed it to you as you folded the top and set it on the table. You held the skirt in your hands, the material was a silky satin, it reflected the candlelight of your home with a twinkle. You held it to your body. It was high-waisted, coming down to about your knees. It followed the natural curve of your legs, the flare was subtle and elegant. 

“This is gorgeous,” you breathed, “I’m at a loss for words.” 

He came down to kiss you, and you returned it eagerly. You were shit with words sometimes, so maybe you could express your gratitude through your actions. You set the skirt to the side, on the table as you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close. Your arms hooked over his upper back as his hands wrapped around your waist. You showered him in a series of pecks, many to his mouth, but others along his face as well. He chuckled at your attacks, smoothing his hands over your lower back. You ended with a long kiss to his lips before pulling away and looking over your new items. 

“Go try them on.” He encouraged. You nodded, sliding your fingers under the straps of your dress. He quickly stopped you, stilling your hands with his own. You looked at him confused. 

“I wanna be surprised,” he smiled, gesturing to your room down the hallway, “I’ll be here.”

You nodded, “Alright.” 

After closing the door behind you, you began to undress. Your hands worked quickly to rid yourself of the stained slip, the fabric pooling around your feet as you let it fall from your body. After pulling on the top, you could finally answer the awaited question; would it fit you? And yes, it fit perfectly. It was snug, but not uncomfortable, supportive was a good word for it. You pulled the skirt up your legs before securing the zipper on the side, tugging the fabric taught around your thighs and behind. It truly was form-fitting, but you could move around just fine, you tested that by doing a couple laps around your room. You looked down at your body, you felt so beautiful, so stylish, and alive . 

To complete the look, you slid into some short, plain Mary Jane heels that you had gotten rather recently as they came into style. With one more glance down at your body, you wrapped your fingers around the doorknob and pulled, revealing yourself to a pacing Remmick. He stopped in his tracks when you opened the door, a smile spreading across his face as you approached. 

“Well, look at you.” He offered you a hand, you took it and he quickly lifted it so you could do a spin. “Gorgeous.” 

“Everything fits perfectly.” You said, sliding your hands down your sides. 

“I can see that,” his eyes trailed down your form, “very perfectly.”

He caressed your hips with both hands, “You’re stunning, mo mhuirnín. Absolutely beautiful.”

“I can’t express how grateful I am.” You placed your hands on his chest as he pulled you closer. 

“It was nothing,” He said, peering down at you. You didn’t want to think about how he got the clothes, it wasn’t like he could just stroll into a store considering general places like that closed at night. It didn’t matter how he got them, but the effort he put into getting the right size, finding something you both would like, and delivering them to you was beautiful. He was beautiful.

“It’s not nothing to me.” You whispered, resting your head against him. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. You closed your eyes, listening to steady breathing and silence. 

“I have something else I think you’ll like.” He broke the quiet, retracting from you and reaching into his pack. You watched with your hands folded in front of you, resting on the silky fabric of your skirt. The whole outfit felt luxurious, like you weren’t a weak vampire hermit who lived alone in the middle of the woods. Maybe, just for a moment, you were more. 

“I’m on the edge of my seat.” You said as he pulled out a drawstring bag a bit larger than his hand. You really were intrigued, what could be in that little bag that he was obviously so excited about? He undid the tie, pulling the bag loose before revealing a camera. A camera . 

“A camera?” You asked, he nodded. “Nothing much around here to photograph, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I disagree.” He opened the flap and inserted a roll of film he pulled from his pocket. After closing the lid and loading the camera, he bounced it in his hand a bit as though to test the weight. It was an idle gesture, just something he was doing with his hands as he thought about what to say next.

“Do you, now?” You pried, curious. “What around here is so important, you had to bring a camera?” 

“Well, you .” He said. 

“ Me? ” You repeated, confused. You were a vampire, he was a vampire, neither of you would show up in a photograph. 

“I don’t know if you know this,” you started, sarcasm lacing your tone, “but vampires and photography don’t mix.” 

“Not usually,” he allowed, bringing up the camera to his eye and peering through the viewfinder before adjusting one of the dials. 

“But this is Ghostgrain.” He said, like that explained everything.

“ Ghostgrain ?” You asked, wishing to get to the point.

“Well, traditional film uses silver halide crystals to capture images. Silver doesn’t really like us vampire folk, so it doesn’t capture our image.” He explained, you just blinked.

“So how does… Ghostgrain capture the image then?” You wondered, trying your best to follow along. 

“Enchanted moonstone powder replaces the silver.” He said, “It’s very hard to find, and even harder to make.” 

“So you’re saying…” you couldn’t believe the implications, “that the camera you’re holding can actually… take our picture?” 

“Exactly.” He reached into his front pocket, pulling out a small stack of photographs. He handed them to you, and you began to flip through them. There were various scenes to look at, most of them featured Remmick standing in front of scenery from, you presumed, his travels. You couldn’t help but let your mouth go slack, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. You had never heard of this Ghostgrain , though that wasn’t entirely surprising since you never really dabbled in enchantments and magic, and you were completely out of the loop. You didn’t know any other vampires, not anymore, so there really was no way for you to know about such things; but now your eyes were open. 

“How are these so clear if they were taken at night?” You asked, running your finger through the stack. You had many questions; first of all, they were in color. Colored film was only invented this year , 1932, but it was obvious that so many of them had to be years old. “And the color?”

“The enchanted moonstone.” He said, “I’m not an expert, but that’s what I’ve learned.” 

“How long has this film been around?” Another question, and you were nowhere close to being done asking. 

“I heard about it about a year after cameras as we know them were invented, so around 1817.” 

“I wonder who started it.” You thought aloud. 

“A witch, I would think.”

“And who took these?” You asked, stopping your flipping to stare at a photograph of Remmick standing in front of a rocky beach. He looked so casual in it, hands in his pockets as he regarded the camera with a slight smile. 

“Various people of the past. I’ve run with many groups, met many people.” He said, watching you flip through the photos. You took your time to observe each one, many of these looked European, but a few had that American flare that was so recognizable.

“You mean you’ve turned a lot of people.” You corrected, lightheartedly. “This is really incredible, Remmick. How do you go about developing these?” 

“Just like a regular photograph and film.” He confirmed, cocking his head as he peered down at you, the gears were turning in his head. 

“Mmm.” You nodded, “Can I keep one?” 

“I was thinking we could make our own,” he said, smiling, “after all, you’re all dolled up.” 

You hadn’t even considered you being in a photograph, didn’t think about the fact that you could see your face for the first time in over a century. Your hands shook, were you ready for something like that? You took a moment to think… yes , you thought, you wanted to see the face you’d almost forgotten. You had never gotten your picture taken when you were alive, cameras were not a thing back then. It was an experience you thought you’d missed out on, but now that didn’t seem to be the case.

“I would… love that.” You said, his hands cupped your trembling ones.

“Yeah?” He asked, you nodded. 

“But you’re all bloodstained.” You pointed out, glancing at his tank top. You had gotten it off his skin, but the white material of his shirt was a goner. He chuckled.

“I thought ahead.” He pulled a folded shirt from the pack; a plain, white, band-collared shirt. He put the camera on the table before he pushed his arms through the sleeves, buttoning it up before tucking it into his pants. 

“Good as new.” You said, helping him adjust his collar. “You look good.” 

His eyes trailed down your body again, he smiled. “You have me beat.”

“It’s not a competition.” You slyly smiled. 

“Wow, I’m wounded.” He scoffed, picking up the camera again. 

“You brought it up.” You crossed your arms and laughed, he quickly snapped a picture. 

“Hey!” You were caught immediately off guard, “I wasn’t ready.”

“That’s the point of candid shots, mo mhuirnín.” He said, pulling the film advance lever with his thumb, preparing for another picture.

“Don’t waste all your shots on me looking ugly.” You said.

“Stop that, you’re never ugly.” He said, setting the camera on the table and adjusting a dial on the side. You blushed, looking down. He retreated to behind the table, leaning over to inspect the viewfinder from its perched position against the wood. 

“Step back a little,” he instructed, you did so, but then he held up a hand. 

“Not that much, come back just a tad.” 

You stepped forward a few inches, he held up a thumb to signal you were good. “Perfect.” 

“Now I’m gonna press this button, and it will activate a timer. When the timer goes off, it’ll take a picture.” He explained, straightening up and looking at you.

“That means we gotta decide a pose.” You said, placing a finger on your chin to pull off the classic thinking gesture. “Hmmm.”