Archive of Our Own

You wake in the night to the sound of coyotes. The sound is distant, but loud enough to make you shiver in bed. You’ve been alone on this farm for a week now. 

You’ve been staying with your brother-in-law, a kind courtesy after your fiancé passed. He’s a Texas Ranger like your man was, and he left last Thursday. You don’t mind being alone too much. There’s only two horses and one cow, nothing too much for you to handle on your own. 

It’s the nighttime that really gets you. 

You used to pride yourself on being a brave girl. Never afraid of a spider or a mouse. The Texas Rangers said your fiancé was mauled by something big with sharp teeth. A bobcat, most likely. But it mighta been bigger. That’s all it could have been with the way he was left. Or rather what was left of him . You remember they sent the kid with the kind face who held his hat and looked at his shoes as he stammered out the gruesome fate of your poor sweet love. 

Now it’s Thursday again, and as the big grandfather clock in the house ticks closer to Friday morning, you hide underneath the blankets of your bed. 

I’ll be back on Tuesday around noon and the shotgun is just-

The coyotes stop howling and the still night air feels loud as church bells in your small room. A horse outside neighs faintly. 

And the knock on the door is deafening.

At first, you almost think you imagine it. Not at this hour. Not this far away from any towns or cities. The little part of your soul left back in Houston thinks it could be a neighbour, but there are no neighbours here. Nobody here to borrow sugar or ask for a favor–

Your train of thought veers off the tracks when you hear another knock. You slowly rise and descend the stairs, pulling on the boots strewn on the floor and the coat hanging off the railing. You’re in your nightgown, but you’ll peek first before you open the door. The floorboards creak beneath your boots as you look out of the window and see a man in a black hat. He almost seems to not breathe, standing so still you shiver in your boots. 

He reaches to knock again and you stand up straight, trying to remember where your brother-in-law had stashed that shotgun.

“I-I heard you,” you say without opening the door. You deepen your voice, trying to sound manly. 

“ Evenin’, now ,” a smooth, cold voice responds. “ Is your mama home, by chance? ”

Oh, Lord. He thinks you’re a boy.

You open the door cautiously. He takes off his hat. 

“Ma’am,” he greets you. “Did I just talk to you like a little boy?” You nod, embarrassed. It seems he is too, shifting from foot to foot.

“It’s awful late, mister.”

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but my… my poor horse broke his leg in them woods out there… ‘n I had to shoot him. Now I’m on foot ‘n… well, you were the first place I could find.”

He’s got a funny accent. He’s certainly not Texan. He looks bad, all sweaty and plenty dirty. His clothes look ragged and dirtier than he is. 

“You’re not… some kind of outlaw, are you?” you ask. 

You realise it’s a stupid question as the words leave your lips.

Your pretty, pouting lips , Remmick thinks, starving. He couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome. Even when he thought it’d be a young boy and his mother, he thought he’d hit a jackpot. But this? One little lady all alone on a ranch? It was perfect . 

His cold heart beats slow in his cavernous chest, a percussive lament for a lack of fresh blood. The outlaw and horse he ate satisfied him for only a moment, and he’s fiending for more hot flesh to rip into. His current concern is time, and the sun loaded in God’s pistol ready to rise and serve as the anticlimactic ending of a poorly told story. 

He chuckles, doing his best to seem charming and not like the desperate animal he is. 

“No, miss. Just an unlucky cowboy.”

You sound maddeningly familiar, but he can’t quite place your accent either, but he hasn’t had too much experience in the States. His nights are occupied by running and killing what he can, when he can. 

“Do you have a gun?” you ask him, your scared eyes flitting to his sides.

He holds up his hands innocently.

“I do not.”

You think it over for a moment. You really shouldn’t let a stranger in. But it’s an hour ride on horseback to the nearest town and you can’t give up your brother-in-law’s horses. It’d be more wrong of you not to give this man shelter.

Remmick watches your face change as you think. You’re a sweet morsel, and he’s dying to sink his fangs into you. He can hear your heartbeat and smell the cold sweat on your skin. When you look up at him he watches a thought form in your face. You realise something, and it shifts your brow ever so slightly. Remmick feels another want deeper in his chest. The steady death march of his heart has sped up to a rolling drum.

He doesn’t just want to eat you. 

The shotgun is under the bed upstairs. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Remmick, miss.” 

You give him yours, which he repeats in a voice that makes you shift in place. You really should make this man sleep in the stable.

But that’s not what you say.

“Well… why don’t you come in and get out of the cold, Remmick?” 

Come in. 

He feels a weight lifted off of him and he grins. 

“Thank you, miss.”

You open the door for him and he steps through the threshold, his eyes almost rolling back in his head from the smell of your home. There’s a man who usually lives here, he can smell that lingering staleness. It smells like fear and loneliness, but your blood is hot and he needs it. Bad.

You lead him to your kitchen where he sits, legs spread wide, the way your fiancé used to sit when he was waiting to grab you and tug you into his lap. You suddenly feel that crushing loneliness again, accompanied by a vast and ugly feeling of want. You haven’t wanted a man since that creature took yours.

It’s a foolish thought. You’re all alone and you’ve known this man for all of– you count the grandfather ticks in your mind– five minutes. 

“Do you want something to eat? Or… some tea, maybe?”

“That’d be very nice,” he says with a toothy grin.

His grin is wide and his teeth are scary white, like staring down the snout of a coyote. You know where the shotgun is. Your brother-in-law didn’t bother to show you how to shoot it but that won’t stop you from firing it. 

You brew Remmick some tea and place the mug in front of him. He drinks it down, maybe too fast, he can see concern on your face.

“Jeez, wasn’t that hot?” 

“I’m freezin’,” he lies. 

You feel cold yourself, and exposed. You button the coat around your waist. 

“Oh, and you must’ve gotten rained on,” you say as you remember it had been pouring earlier. “Let me getcha some clean clothes to wear… I… I think those ones you oughta just throw out. Except that hat.”

“That’s so kind of you, miss. Thank you.”

Dressed in your brother-in-law’s clothes, washed up, and hat on the table, Remmick sits there like he belongs. Legs once again wide and elbow on his thigh, leisurely leaning to the side as he watches you. You could hardly sleep and decided– for some reason you truly can’t understand yourself– to make cornbread.

“Are these your… husband’s clothes?”

You should lie, but you’re too focused on stirring to be that smart.

“My brother-in-law’s, actually. I’m a widow,” you admit absently. “Well, not a widow. We never married.”

You’ve said those words a thousand times before. You don’t get choked up anymore. It’s like stating a fact you’ve always known, like where you were born or your height.

“I see. He’s not here, then?”

“Not tonight. He’ll be back tomorrow,” you lie.

“Was he a soldier?” Remmick asks, looking around the house.

It’s not organized, everything has a woman’s touch. He feels like it’s not yours, something about you is too freshly frazzled to be so warm. You seem sweet, though. Suspicious, but he could sweet talk anything that had ears to listen. 

“He was a Texas Ranger for a while. My fiancé was, too. He died on duty.”

“Brave man.”

“Well, it wasn’t an outlaw that got him. It was some kind of… animal.”

Remmick tenses up, but doesn’t let you see.

“Like a bobcat?”

“They think, but… they said he has these… bites, but only on his neck, and no animal in Texas has got that kind of teeth.”

“Strange,” he says, eyes looking into his tea.

───────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─────────

Your fiancé clutched his broken arm, scrambling back on the stony ground, trying to escape the monster before him.

“No, no, I’m beggin’ you-”

“Well it ain’t workin’, ranger.”

Remmick was starving, in his full form. Fangs bared, claws sharp and long. His hands felt heavy as he swung at the ranger. There was something funny about a grown man crying. Hunger and exhaustion had made this monster more cruel than he cared to be. There was no unity with this meal, only a fix of blood before he had to hunker down in this cave and continue on foot the next night. 

“I’ve been eatin’... vampire bats and fuckin’ salamanders for a month now, and you look pretty good.”

“Please, please , my girl’s waitin’ for me-”

“Oh, I’m sure she is, loverboy. Maybe once I drink all your blood and leave you for the vultures, I’ll go and find that girl, huh?”

“No, no-”

“Yeah. I’mma go find her, fuck her good ‘n right.”

“-you goddamned son of a bitch-”

“Yeah. I’ll go ‘n fuck your girl so good, she won’t even remember you.”

The ranger howled as Remmick bit into his neck. Memories flooded his system, a sweet thing with her skirts pushed up telling him hurry, hurry, before your brother gets back . The soft feeling of two thighs pressing against the side of his head and the pretty litany of moans falling on his ears like they came from heaven. Yes, right there, oh, don’t stop, yes! A tight grip on his cock and sliding, in, out, in, out, and breathy whines that made his eyes roll back.

He pulled away from the ranger, twitching and choking. Remmick sighed, sitting back on his haunches as blood and drool dripped down his chin.

“That’s a helluva girl you got,” he thought out loud. 

He sat for a moment and realised the ranger would be waking up any moment now, rejuvenated, with a little part of Remmick in him. He didn’t have time to teach a fledgling how to act, or to deal with a traveling partner. He searched for a large rock and sighed.

So much for fellowship and love.

───────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─────────

You. 

You are that girl with the trembling thighs and the tight cunt he’s had so many dreams about. Absorbing the memories of everyone he turns can be a blessing or a curse, and he really didn’t mean to turn your man. He was just so damn hungry.

He’s so damn hungry, he’s feeling like he could give up on chivalry and kill you right now. You’d make a pretty little partner. He saw a cabin in the woods you could live in, hunt at night and board things up during the day.

You put the cornbread on the stove to cool, and you’ll eat it in the morning, which is coming soon. You set up Remmick in your brother-in-law’s room. Simple. Stern. He’s more of a soldier than your man was, never silly or playful.

“G’night, Remmick.”

“Goodnight, miss,” he purrs in a voice that makes you feel scandalized.

You quickly ascend the stairs and kneel, crawling under the bed to pull out the shotgun. You don’t even know if it’s loaded, but you sleep with it anyhow.

───────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─────────

You wake up hot and sweaty, squirming in your nightgown. You dreamt about your fiancé, his strong hands and kind eyes. You sit up and sigh, shaking your head.

You manage to accomplish your morning tasks on the farm. Feed the chickens, get the eggs. Feed the horses, feed the cow. Earlier than you’d like, the sun completely disappears behind gloomy gray clouds and it begins raining. You dash from the stable to the house and still get soaked, shivering as you seek refuge under your porch. You gasp as you almost trip over a dead raccoon. You shriek and Remmick comes out to find you.

The stormcloud cover keeps him from burning but it is giving him a nasty headache. He kneels down and pretends to be disgusted by the thing he killed. The evening before he left some food out on the porch and lured the thing in, lurching out to grab it. Leaving meant needing your permission to re-enter the house. And that was not an option.

“Wh-what kinda creature does that?”

“Coyote, probably.”

“Th-they kill like that?”

“Time to time,” he lies. 

You can’t help it as you begin to cry. Remmick takes you in his arms. He’s strong and he smells nice, like the woods and a warm fire. You’re so wet and cold, and he doesn’t do much to warm you. It really is freezing, you think.

“I’ll get rid of it, honey,” he coos softly, holding your face.

Honey. That struck you. It plucked a taut cord in you and made you blink at him stupidly.

“Oh, no. Don’t touch that thing… what if you get sick?”

“Reckon I’ll be fine. You leave it out here, you don’t know what kinda things you’ll get up on this porch.”

He does his best not to show you a smug grin. 

“Well… okay. Just… put it in the woods.”

You offer him a thick jacket to drape over his head in the rain.

“And then come back in, you’re gonna catch cold out there!” you call out to him.

You almost make it too easy.

───────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─────────

That grandfather clock ticks away and you realise you’ll have to amend your lie. Your brother-in-law is not returning today. You don’t exactly want Remmick to leave. He’s charming and funny. He sang a little song today while he read a book, and you found yourself tapping your foot as you embroidered in a hoop. He calls you honey again three times, and you’re getting real used to the attention.

You like having a man in the house. It reminds you of when you first started to live with your fiancé and his brother, however taboo that was. Neither man cared, and your brother-in-law didn’t mind leaving to go on a ride around the area while you and your man made love.

Remmick can feel the ranger’s memories, triggered by little things here and there. The way you stick your tongue out in focus has him biting back a groan at kitten licks on the head of his cock. You lean over the kitchen table to grab a spoon? He remembers bending you over it and driving into you, and the wild way you begged for more, more, faster, yes, that! You say his name but all he can hear is the sound of your voice whispering in his ear about sooner you put a ring on this finger, sooner you can put a baby in me. He can’t even make babies, but he’s fiending for your cunt so bad he’s starting to get stupid.

“Remmick?”

“Yes?”

“I… I’m guessing his train got delayed. So, he’ll probably be here tomorrow.”

It’s a clumsy lie.

“I can get out of your hair any time you want, honey.”

“No, no. I… I was going to invite you to stay another night, you’ll just have to leave in the morning.”

“I’d like that very much. I just can’t get enough of your cookin’,” he flirts.

It’s charming and it has you blushing. 

“Thank you.”

He’s on a deadline now, and a creature that can only thrive at night lives and breathes a deadline.

The rain calms to a light sprinkle when the sun makes the sky glow orange, and Remmick has– with complaints of a headache– retired to lay down for a while. You go upstairs and decide that you should move the shotgun. It scares you to have it so close to your bed, and you stash it just above your cupboards. It’s a little bit of a reach, but maybe if you feel really unsafe, Remmick can get it down for you.

───────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───────── 

You continue like this for three days until the sun sets on Monday evening. You know your brother-in-law returns tomorrow, and you are so frightened. Whatever creature is lurking in those woods has been leaving dead animals like lambs on an altar every morning. You know it’s not a coyote doing it because this morning, it was a damn coyote. A ravaged little creature that you felt pity for. You said a short prayer, which made Remmick twitchy. 

This man was a strange one. He slept until late in the day, and any time the rain calmed down, he had an awful headache. You knew of old folks whose bones ache when it rained, but never someone who was ailing without a downpour. You wonder if he usually smokes or quit chewing tobacco, as he’s mostly twitchy and excitable, but calculated all the same. He fiddles with his hands and he claims to enjoy your cooking, but he seems to be choking down gags every time he eats. Maybe he’s an opium smoker or he’s usually on the sauce– your brother-in-law is a militant teetotaler, which saved you from becoming a drunken mess after your man’s massacre. 

Monday evening is cold and dark. The ground is soaked with mud and yet Remmick decides he wants to take the air .

You oblige him, and he dons those black clothes he met you in to go hunting.

He’s stalking a deer for a while when he hears something distantly. The voice of a man grumbling to himself. The ranger’s memories flash again. Two boys fighting over a pop gun, two teenagers fighting over a girl. No fair, I saw her first, met with she ain’t a damn penny, stupid! Then the serious promise of I’ll keep an eye on her, brother, you know I can handle her.  

He grins.

Your brother-in-law is home early. 

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Your head shoots up when you hear a man’s voice outside. Remmick has returned.

“What’d you put those awful clothes on for?”

“Figured I wouldn’t get those clean ones dirty.”

It was almost clever, but exceedingly strange, as you knew him to be.

You share the dinner table and when you stand to clear it, Remmick reaches for your hand.

He says your name. You pause and try to pull your hand back.

“It’s a shame you never got to be a wife, honey. You’d be damn good at it.”

The grandfather clock ticks as you stare him down, your mind empty. He sees the corner of your mouth twitch and he can remember just push my dress up, c’mon, nobody’ll know.

“You need a man to take care of you, sweet thing,” he offers softly, ever so slightly tugging you to him. You stand between those wide-spread legs as he looks up at you, cupping your cheek in a rough hand. It’s half-reverent, half-predatory as he traces your face with his knuckle.

You want to deny it. But you’re so scared, so incapable, so alone . You give him a quick and shameful nod, unable to meet his eyes.

“Want me to take care of you, honey?”

You see through the corner of your eye that he’s drooling. Not a little the absentminded dribble of getting hot and bothered but the serious drool of a dog waiting to be fed. 

You should probably be disgusted. And if you were a little more attentive, you would notice his glowing red eyes, too. But if anything, it fans the fire in your belly.

“Lemme take care of you, baby,” he pleads, gazing up at you. “Fuck, I’m crazy for you. I can smell you… Christ, it’s drivin’ me wild , the smell of you.”

“What smell?”

“Old books and chamomile tea…”

He winces, his nails digging into your wrist. He quickly looks up at you, sitting back on his haunches.

“I can smell that pussy, mo ghrá ,” he purrs.

You take a sharp breath at his words. 

“Wh-what’s that mean?” He inhales deeply, shakily exhaling as his eyes close. A smile spreads across his face. 

“You want me too, honey?” 

You’re quiet for a moment.

“Yes,” you answer softly.

“What do you want?”

You swallow, shifting from foot to foot nervously.

“You… your hands.” 

You spot his hips rocking in place, desperate for your touch.

“What about my hands?”

“You’re so strong, Remmick. Last night I was thinking about… how the… the veins on your arms pop out,” you manage, your breathing laboured.

He successfully hides his grin, clasping his hands.

“Please, baby, doesn’t it hurt? God, it fuckin’ hurts ,” he snarls. 

You nod, close to tears. You feel feral and untamed, and you need him to rip your clothes off and take care of you.

“I just want to help you, mo ghrá , please ,” he whimpers.

“Just fuck me, please!” you blurt, slapping your hand over your mouth. 

He’s on you in an instant, pushing the chair back behind him. He noses at your neck, inhaling the smell of you. He can hear your heart pounding as he backs you against the kitchen table, your backside bumping into it.

“Remmick,” you start carefully.

“Yeah, baby?” he says, sickly sweet as he grins at you.

“Be gentle now.”

“Course, honey.”

He lifts you to sit on the table, kissing you deeply. It’s sloppy and hot, and you can feel the drool dripping down your neck. 

“Lemme eat you, baby. I’ll lick you so good- oh, fuck ,” he hisses when your hand palms him over his trousers.

He chuckles, his breathing heavy.

“I’ll lick you so good you forget your own name,” he promises.

He meets your eyes and you nod at him. 

“You have to say it,” he breathes against your lips. 

“Please,” you whisper.

He takes off his suspenders and rolls up his sleeves, eyes stuck on you. You quickly shove your layers off with his help until you’re only left in your shift, half-bare to him. The cream coloured fabric is sheer and he can see your nipples hardening underneath. He drops to his knees, rucking up the skirt and wrenching apart your thighs. He groans loud when he spots the soaked fabric of your bloomers. 

He kisses the side of your knee, gazing up at you from between your legs.

“Can I?”

“Quit teasing,” you beg him. 

He leans forward and slips your bloomers down your legs. He brings the fabric to his face, inhaling your sweet scent and bucking his hips unconsciously. He tosses them behind him and rucks your dress up, moaning at the glisten when your wetness catches the light. 

He dives forward, licking a stripe up your slit and lapping at your clit.

You gasp, a hand threading in his bronze hair.

“Fuck me,” he grunts.

He pushes his tongue inside of you, making you squirm. He holds you down with his strong hands, veins in his arms bulging. You have to plant another hand beside yourself to stop from fainting backwards.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he breathes, pulling back. your wetness makes his mouth shine, and one strand of drool drips from his lips. You’re soaked, and your movement makes a sickly squelching sound. He works one finger in and slowly adds another.

“Oh, Remmick,” you whine. 

He curls his fingers up like he’s trying to get you closer, but if you were any closer to his face you’d be a mask. Your fiancé never did anything like this, you didn’t even know you could feel this way. Everything is so slick and hot, his drool and your wetness combining as he drinks it all down greedily.

He hooks under your thighs to pull you to the edge of the table and continues. He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard. You shout, covering your mouth and laying flat on the table. He rocks his hips to seek some touch, only feeling the light brush of his own britches. Your hips buck into his mouth and he lets you as he lavs at your clit endlessly.

“Remmick, w-wait-”

“Nearly there, mo chroí .”

He traces the letters of his name with his tongue, your legs hooked over his shoulders.

The taste of you is supplemented by flashes of you in different positions, on your knees, in his lap, behind a pew. Dirty girl . He crooks his fingers, licking flat on your clit slowly, pressing in.

You cry out, grabbing his hair and yanking as your back arches. You gush into his waiting mouth, which he drinks down gratefully.

“Thank you, thank you , fuck, don’t stop, k-keep bucking like that,” he mutters encouragements, kissing at your clit every few seconds to keep you jolting.

Finally he winces and squirms, cock twitching in his trousers. He stands on wobbly legs, looking down at you. You exhale and sit up. He kisses you softly. 

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” you puff out against his lips.

He scoops you up and carries you up the stairs to the bedroom, setting you down. StandingHe stands in front of you and you undo the buttons on his shirt, parting the fabric. You smooth your hands from his toned stomach to his muscular chest. 

He breathes softly, his eyes closing. You feel his pectorals, biting your lip at the plushness of them and how they’re cool to the touch. You reach down and unbutton his britches, unzipping them and trying to push them down. He pushes your shift up your body and tosses it to the side. You’re bare to him, and he’s nearly there.

He shoves you back onto the bed, snarling as he climbs over you. He kicks off his britches.

“ Mo shíorghrá ,” he pants, nosing at your neck. His teeth scrape at your skin. 

“What is that?”

“Hm?”

“What does that mean?” 

He hesitates. 

“It’s Irish for ‘eternal love’,” he explains quietly, his breath on your cheek. 

“Forever?”

“Only if you let me make it forever,” he utters, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone. 

“Can we do this forever?” you sigh, draping your arms around his neck.

“Of course we can, mo ghrá ,” he says, sickly sweet, hooking your legs over his hips as he grinds against you.

Your hand darts down to grip him at the base and guide him in.

“You opened the door for me and now you let me in so nicely,” he teases, pushing into you slowly. 

A bell should be ringing in your head, but all you can think of is the divine stretch of him sliding into your cunt slowly. 

“Feels good, baby?”

You nod wildly, your nails digging into his chest as you brace yourself. He gasps when he feels you envelop him, a hand fisting the bed sheet next to your head. 

“F-fuck,” he breathes shakily. 

“It’s so good, angel,” you mewl, your nails digging into his back. “Oh, Remmick… oh, honey ,” you whine, twisting when he bottoms out, panting.

“Oh, Jesus ,” he wheezes. 

He gazes at you, half-lidded and drunk on the feeling. He’s so hungry, and he can’t help when his fangs slide out of his mouth.

He leans down to the top of your breast. The pearly white points in his mouth pierce your skin. 

You cry out.

“D-did you bite me?”

The feeling of pain lasts for a moment, and suddenly all you feel is warmth in your chest. Blood beads at the wounds and he latches on, sucking the blood from the wound and swallowing noisily as he does. He continues to move his hips, fucking in and out of you as you whimper.

“Remmick, th-that hurts…”

He moans against your skin when you tighten around him. 

“Fuck… d-don’t do that,” he puffs against your skin, your blood all around his mouth. 

“Do what? This?” you giggle, flexing your abdominals to make his eye twitch. 

You’re fucking giggling , and he’s about to make you his forever.

You smirk, turning him over when he’s lost in it. He holds your hips and lavs at your wound until it closes.

“Fuck me,” he breathes.

You plant your hands on his chest and raise yourself up with his help.

“So good, honey, so good,” you chant, eyes closed.

“Yes, yes, fuck… damn it to hell, girl, g-go faster…” 

He helps you, pulling you down quicker and quicker on his cock until you’re bouncing on it, lip between your teeth. 

“Baby,” he manages, his voice shaking. He twitches inside of you as he hits the spot that has your vision spotting.

You’re breathless, you can’t even think. There’s just the in-out, up-down drag of his cock filling you up like you’ve never known before. You see fangs in his mouth and you aren’t even scared.  

“Cum with me, c’mon, please,” he mutters, his face in the crook of your neck.

You both stiffen up and break. He growls, biting at your neck as your back arches. You feel alive and dead all at once, like every inch of your body is being kissed and bitten. He drinks more of your blood, drool and sweat and tears all trail down your body. You go limp and Remmick falls back. You moan as you rest on his chest. He whimpers softly and cradles you. 

You drift off briefly and awaken feeling loose and rejuvenated. You reach to touch your neck and Remmick takes your hand. You see claws on his fingers, and notice that your nails come to sharp points too.

“Aren’t you glad you let me in?” he jokes in a black honey voice.

You hear it with your ears but you can hear him in your mind, too. He's all over you, inside of you, right in your chest. Your heart is hardly beating, in exact time with his.

“Mhm,” you murmur, curling up. You feel the warm, wet sensation of blood pooled around your body, but you don't care.

“Aren’t you glad I killed your stupid fiancé and his dumb fuck brother, too?”

"Yeah."

“You’re gonna be my little wife now, baby. All fuckin’ mine.”